When Spirits Strike

Working overnight at KOZZ left me in the building by myself most of the time.  I didn’t mind it until management started remodeling the from office, adding a new sound booth and redirecting the hallway to the studios.

That’s when strange stuff started to happen.  And I couldn’t get my boss, Jim McClain or his morning-show partner Steve Smith to believe me as they figured it was jus’ my imagination running away with me.

One morning I saw “Moon Kitty,” in the hallway. She looked at me and ran down stairs into the engineering office where she disappeared. 

Problem is—“Moon Kitty,” had been dead for several years. She had been buried in the indoor garden, but that garden was removed during the remodel.

The most frightening event was the morning that I was returning from the kitchen area with a cup off coffee. As I walked around the new wall created in the hallway to accomodate the new sound booth, I passed through a foggy mass that chilled me to the bone.

I literally ran to the end of the hallway and into the studio, where I attempted to barricade the door.

Later in the day it occurred to me that I recognized the ghostly-form. It was a long dead co-worker by the name of Christine, who killed herself nearly ten-years earlier in the studio across the hall from where I encountered the chilly mist.

And I swear there was nothing more than coffee in my cup!

Hot Dogs and Baseball Bats

While running errands for the bride, I happened upon an older man being beaten by two women, one with an aluminum baseball bat. He was on the ground, being stomped, kicked and savaged by both la femme fatale.

The man left his dog locked in his truck (a no-no in hot weather,) and went into the store and the two women, saw the dog, decided to waited for him to return. Once there, they ambushed him and the beating commenced.

I drove up at that moment and decided to intervene.

The older woman took a swing at me with the bat after I yelled at her to stop. I stepped inside the swing and took the brunt of the strike with my right shoulder and forearm.
I then smacked her in the nose, causing blood to gush all over the place and knocking her on her butt.

She hit the asphalt and let go of the baseball ball. The aluminum bat rang out as it bounced across the parking lot.

Before I realize it, another guy comes rushing to the aid of the woman with the bat. And now, he wants to fight.

Luckily he backed down when I flicked open my lock-blade knife. Then I stood near the beaten man as the two women hustled off to their car and drove off.

I have a couple of rules about situations like this: First, two wrongs don’t make a right and secondly; if a woman picks a fight with a man, she should expect to the man to fight like a man.

Family Addiction

A friend of mine has a daughter who is dealing with family addiction. Not only does she come from grandparents and parents who have their own addictions, she struggles with an addiction herself and now has a child fighting an addiction.

The same situation exists in my family and more importantly, my life. It’s one of the reasons I do my best to not hold back secrets or feeling as both can destroy a person’s serenity and sobriety.

To help me understand this process—this generational disease—the personal illness of addiction, I started attending Al-Anon groups in the late 80s. Furthermore I started going to AA groups when I had a drinking problem crop up while I was seperated from my Bride.

The two best pieces of advice I was given—and yes, it is only advice as no one will force you to do anything you do or don’t want to do—is this: “Let go and let God,” and “Keep coming back, it works.”

An Open Letter to Dumb A$$

Dear Dumb-A$$ —

You are a moron for stepping off the sidewalk and into the crosswalk at 16th and Prater in Sparks. Either walk across the road or return to the sidewalk from where you came.

You made a cluster of cars and trucks stop for you because the law states vehicles must stop and wait for all pedestrians to cross the street when you’re in a crosswalk. Then you stood there, like an idiot and waved at us to continue by as if you weren’t there!

We couldn’t go because your skinny-unwashed-a$$ was in the middle of that crosswalk and those driving, including me, would have been subject to a citation and a fine for failing to stop for a pedestrian in that crosswalk. Do you get the frickin’ picture, you scum-bum?!

And remember, you are not a traffic cop, but by standing in the center of a driving lane, you can quickly become road-kill. Good thing the driver on the otherside of the street stopped for you, because you had ‘target’ written all over you, you id-git.

And yes, that bird I flipped at you—I meant it! Not only did I mean it, it made me feel better, you freakin’ dumbsh*t!


The Guy in the blue pick-up you called a Douchbag.

Generic Beer

“Hey lets go get some beer,” Robert said to Adam.

Adam smiled, “Yeah and we’ll go to the Knob.” As he said it he looked at me as I was the only one old enough to buy beer for the trio.

“Okay,” I said without further discussion.

It was a Friday night in Crescent City and that was about the only thing that the three of us could do. Within minutes he had the twelve pack of beer in the back seat of the little Opel Cadet that Robert owned

Adam sat in the front passenger seat while Robert drove.  He grabbed a beer out of the box and popped open the top. It foamed up and he slurped at a multitude of creamy white bubbles.  He finally took a long drink of the content.

Adam popped a top and took a long drink.  “For generic beer this doesn’t taste half bad,” he announced.

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers,” I shot back.  Then I added, “Besides, it’s all I could afford.”

Then Robert chimed in, “Beers a beer as far as I’m concerned, just as long as I can cop a buzz.”

The three of us agreed with the statement as we headed down Highway 101.  The little blue car turned onto Enderts Drive and headed down the paved and then gravel roadway to the Knob.

The Knob jutted out into the fog shrouded Pacific Ocean and had been a meeting place for area kids for years.  Teenagers headed up the hill to get together with their friends and hang out with the opposite sex nearly every Friday and Saturday night.  Even if it rained, there was always a backseat one could climb into for a couple of hours of socializing and entertainment.

But there was hardly a vehicle parked along the bluff.  And the few that were there had fogged over windows.

Robert cruised past the parked cars and two trucks and turned around.  He aimed the Cadet back down the hill and towards the highway.

“Let’s go hang out by the harbor,” I suggested.

“Better than nothing,” Robert replied.

Adam just gulped at his second can of generic beer.

They pulled off the highway just south of the harbor.  The Cadet slowed down in the sand as Robert negotiated the small access road along the beach.

He parked where they could see the lights of the small town, the harbor with its neatly lined row of fishing boats, the foam laced waves as they rolled in from Japan, and the intermittent flash of white light of new Point St. George’s light house as it stabbed its beam through the night. The three of us sat on the hood of the car and drank our beer in a brooding silence.

The headlights of cars on Highway 101 slipped through the trees.  We could hear the rubber of the tires as they wore along the asphalt.

In the distance the waves gently toppled and fell.  Then they lolled their way over the grey shoreline of volcanic sands.  The fog moved in and out, moody and mysterious in patch work puffs in the chilled night breeze.

“This ain’t cutting in,” I said, voicing our disappointment.

“Yeah,” Adam returned, “But what else is there to do?”

“I want to find some girls,” Robert replied.

“Me, too,” Adam said.

They sat there and turned over ideas for the next few minutes.

“Tell you what,” Robert started. “Let’s go hang out in the Denny’s parking lot.”

Without another word we drank the remainder of the beer we had in hand, tossing the rest of the twelve pack in the car and climbing in after it.

Again we turned onto Highway 101.  We drove past the harbor with is fog cutting parking lights.  They continued north, past the towns greatest land mark, the tetrapod, which was moved from its platform when struck by a tsunami in 1964.

We drove by the Squeeze Box music store and the now vacant building that once was home to a roller rink and then a furniture store.

The three of us turned in to the parking lot of the Denny’s Restaurant and cruised for the ideal place to park.  We needed to be able to see people, especially girls, coming and going.  And they needed to be seen.

Within a couple of minutes a female voice called out, “Hey guys!”

It came from a car full of teenage girls as they sped through the parking lot and turned north onto Highway 101.

As I climbed into the backseat as Robert fired up the Opel’s engine.  Adam flopped into his seat as the car backed out of the space and turned for the highway

“Hurry man!” Adam demanded.

He leaned forward in his seat and looked in the direction the other car had gone, “Crap, I don’t see them.”

Robert swung the car out onto the near empty roadway and slipped the shifter into third, “Don’t worry, it ain’t a big town, we’ll find them.”

Suddenly a bright red Chevy Chevelle roared past our little blue car.  There were two young men in the front seats.

The driver looked over and flipped us off. The mood in the blue Opel Cadet changed suddenly.

The three of us were immediately spoiling for a fight.  Both Robert and I knew that Adam could fight and he was instantly mad, “Let’s catch up with them and kick their asses.”

The red Chevy turned left on “H” street and we sped up to follow them.  We chased the Chevy towards the hospital, then along Pebble Beach Drive and then into a residential area that I knew well.

We turned onto Grandview just as the Chevy came to a stop. Adam jumped out of the car and while standing at the passenger door of the Opel yelled out, “What’s your problem?”

The driver of the Chevy got out of his car and yelled back an obscenity laced answer about the fact that we were following him. Adam walked towards the Chevy and its driver.

His shoulders were squared back, making his already muscular chest look larger.  His waist appeared small giving him a wedge shape to his body.  I recognized this as one of Adam’s fighting stances.

Adam was making certain that he looked as big as possible.  I also knew that opponents who wanted to fight at first usually changed their minds as soon as they saw Adam’s size.  His brawn was as big his bluff and he was as fierce as fearless.

Just as Adam approached the driver, the passenger got out of the car.  He walked over to the driver of the Chevy and turned to face Adam.  I realized that my younger brother was about to get into a fist fight with two opponents.

Robert, however was busy talking to a young woman who had appeared out of the house they were parked in front of.  She leaned in the driver’s window and spoke softly to Robert.

Meanwhile I fumbled with the lever to let the passenger seat fold forward.

The headlights of both cars were on and illuminated the street where the confrontation was about to erupt. The driver of the Chevy faced-off against Adam.

Both young men stood, face-to-face, speaking in very low and vulgar tones to one another.  The passenger stood just to the left of Adam.

The seat in front of me finally folded down so I could get out of the car.  I had not taken my eyes off the two from the Chevy.

Suddenly I saw a flash of silver in the driver’s hand.  I knew Adam had not seen it as he was still looking the driver eye-to-eye.

Without notice the passenger pushed Adam sideways. Adam stepped back and to the side, launching himself at the passenger.

He struck the young man in the face.  The blow caused a rush of blood from the attackers face as he crumpled to the ground.

“He’s got a knife, Adam!” I cried.

Adam had fallen into a trap.  He had taken the bait by failing to watch the driver’s hands.  The driver stepped to his left and half way behind Adam.

“He’s got a knife, Robert!” I shouted again.

Without hesitation, I rushed towards the fight.  However I was not quick enough to prevent the driver from slashing Adam across the back as a bright streak of red appeared against his white tee-shirt.

A second or so later my right fist slammed into the driver’s head.  The knife-wielding man fell backwards to the asphalt as I continued at him.

Meanwhile Adam slowly dropped to his knees as he reached around to his lower back.  The passenger raised himself off the roadway and kicked at Adam, but he blocked the oncoming blow, using the leg as a lever. Then Adam stood up, raising the man’s trapped leg waist-high, he jerked on it and smashed his fist into the passengers face over and over again.

As I continued to hit and kick the young man who had slashed my brother from behind, Robert joined in the hitting and kicking as well.

The driver managed to roll away from the beating he was receiving, get to his feet and run.  I pursued him as he ran around the back of an out building, where he fell down and I dived on him.

Robert joined me once again, but this time had a weapon.  It was an old long knife that Pa Sanders had given me a few years back after I broke the tip from the blade.

Before I could stop Robert, he plunged it into the driver as he lay curled in a fetal position.  Twice more Robert stabbed the tip-less knife into the motionless body as it lay on the ground.

Still in a rage, I kicked the driver in the rib cage.  He didn’t make a sound.

Robert appeared poised to run the knife into the body again when I pushed him away, “Stop it, damn it!”

The body jerked suddenly and I kicked the driver viciously in the side.  I then picked him up and with great effort tossed the limp body of the man into a darkened patch of blackberry brambles.

It occurred to me at that moment that Robert and I had left a severely wounded Adam alone to fend for himself. We turned and ran back to the street.

Adam was in the middle of a swarm of people.  They were being struck and kicked by Adam.  No one was able to lay a hand on Adam as he fought on single-handedly.

“Adam is great in a fight,” I thought as I rushed to assist my brother.

The passenger and another man rushed me.  I side-stepped the first one and slammed my fist into the back of his head as he ran past.  The attacker fell, sprawling to the pavement.

The second one was met by a left shoulder that lifted him from the ground.  That attacker found himself tumbling over my back and landing with a painful thud in the roadway.

However, the passenger was on his feet, ready to have another go at me.  This time I leaped into the air and with both feet, hit the young man squarely in the chest. The blow sent him crashing backwards to the ground.

The second man got up and grabbed me by the hair. I reached around and caught a handful of the assailants reddish beard and twisted.

The man tried to get away by rising up on his tip-toes and leaning with the twist.  That’s when I jerked him forward, which was made easy by his lack of balance and brutally smashed his faced against the edge of the Chevy’s roof.

In the meantime, Adam had another man in a headlock and was proceeding to knee him in the face, in-between throwing punches and lightning fast kicks into other attackers.  Robert came back into the fight by smashing one of Adam’s attackers in the back of the head with his fist, dropping the assailant to the ground like a bag of wet sand .

Out of nowhere came a shrieking cry.  It filled the dark edges of the street until a body materialized.

It was the driver of the Chevy.  He was running towards the melee with a double bit ax, raised and ready to use.

He ran headlong toward Adam, but Robert tripped him.  He stumbled, losing momentum but still swinging the ax at Adam.  Adam stepped back and to his right.

At that moment someone standing behind Adam, slugged him in the lower back.  The pain was so intense that Adam grew weak in the knees and fell to the ground.

That’s when I realized how badly my younger brother was bleeding.

“Robert,” I yelled, “Get the car!”

The Opel was slowly being backed up by the woman with whom Robert had been talking too when the brawl first started. Robert raced to the driver’s side of the car and reached inside, switching off the ignition.

Then he pulled on the woman, yanking her entire body out through the open drivers window. I could see that the woman was pregnant.

But I didn’t have much time to pay attention to this fact as I still was busy fending off one attacker then another. I started thinking that our attackers were starting to multiplying in number and it was time to pull out of the melee.

Robert climbed in the car and forced it into first gear.  It moved slowly forward and came to a stop just in front of me and my gravely injured brother.

As Robert got out of the car, the driver from the red Chevy pushed forward with his ax and took a swipe at him.  The blade bounced off the edge of the open car door.

The driver swung the ax again and again.  He slammed the bit into the left headlight of the blue Opel, where I became momentarily wedged, and requiring brute force to yank it free.

As he popped it loose and started to swing again, he struck the pregnant woman in the belly.  All the attackers rushed around the now injured woman.

This proved to be a convenient time for the three of us to retreat. I knew we needed to get Adam to the hospital.

Robert climbed into the front seat as I assisted Adam to his feet.  The passenger door was jammed shut, so I hoisted my kid-brother onto the roof of the car and climbed on behind him.

“Go!  Go!  Go!” I shouted, pounding on the roof.

Robert stepped on the gas and they quickly drove away. I could see the extent of the damage to Adam’s lower back as he had taken a deep slashing that left the tip of his right kidney hanging out.

Quick as I could, I pulled off my gray sweat shirt and wrapped it tight around Adam’s waist. The wound was gapping and extended from side-to-side, just above the hips.

Robert sped up and skidded through two corners.  The second one threatened to send the Adam and me flying off the car’s top.

“Slow down!  You’re going to kill us before we get to the hospital!” I yelled at Robert. He immediately slowed down and I was able to continue dressing the injury using my tee-shirt.

The car pulled up into the ambulance bay, where Robert got out and ran inside.

Seconds later, two nurses with a gurney came outside to the car. Looking down at the gurney, I saw some neatly folded white sheets.  I took one, unfolded it and quickly tied it around Adam’s waist near the hips.

Meanwhile the nurses were urgently attempting to coax us off the top of the car. I was the first off, and then I helped Adam slide down on his belly.  He however refused any assistance as he crawled up on the gurney.

Three and half hours later and so many stitches that the doctor lost count later Adam came walking out of the Emergency Room under his own power.  “I still think you should spend the night for observation,” said Dr. Kim.

“Naw,” Adam replied, “I’ll be okay at home.”

“Any problems and you get back here right away,” the Doctor retorted.  He looked at the three of us.

As we turned to leave we were met by two sheriff’s deputies.  “We need to get statements for you,” one of them said.

The other one chimed in, “We can follow you to the station.”

It was more of an order than anything else.

At the sheriff’s station each of the trio was questioned separately.  Soon Robert and I were sent to sit and wait out front in the public waiting area.

Not much more than fifteen minutes had passed when the front door to the sheriff’s station flew open with a loud crash.  A growling voice boomed, “I’m going to kill the bastard’s who had my brother arrested!”

A large man came walking straight towards Robert and me.  I rose to my feet.

However Robert remained seated and had a hold of my left coat sleeve.  That was all I had on since my sweat shirt and tee-shirt had become blood soaked rags.

“Let go of me, Robert!” I growled as quietly as possible.

I swung my hand up and over Robert’s hand, then down and over the outside of Robert’s hand, effectively breaking his grip.

Just then the large man slammed me in the lower back with an iron-like fist.  The punch nearly dropped me to the floor.  However I managed to remain on my feet knowing that if I fell down now I’d be injured severely or worse.

Without seeing where I was swinging his leg, I kicked out.  It caught the large man by surprise, causing his right knee to buckle.  Next I threw a roundhouse punch that landed on the man left ear, but it had no effect.

Yet the large man had no real chance to respond to my kick or punch as he was jumped on by six deputies.  Within thirty-seconds he was handcuffed and bodily dragged off to share an adjoining cell with his younger brother, the Chevy driver.

Deputy Seats walked over to me, as I rested on my knees in the middle of the station floor and asked, “You okay?”

“Yup,” I answered, “But I sure thought I was gonna be dead for few seconds there.”

“Let’s get some pictures of your back for evidence,” said the Deputy,  “and a statement too.”

Sitting at a desk across from Adam, we each gave the sheriff deputies a statement. I added my statement about the attack in front of the station desk.

“Do you all realize you took on fifteen people tonight?’ one of the deputies asked us.

We looked at each other in astonishment and then shook our heads sideways to indicate that they had not known that fact.

“That’s five to one odds,” said Deputy Seats, “amazing someone wasn’t killed.”

He looked over at Adam.

“What about that pregnant woman?” I asked.

“Oh, she’ll be sore tomorrow and she’ll a nasty bruise on her tummy, but she’ll be alright,” the Deputy responded, “That ax was so dull you couldn’t cut warm butter with it.”

We didn’t return to the apartment we shared until around four in the morning.  The three of us dragged ourselves from the little blue and battered Opel, ragged and worn out.

Adam had the remainder of the twelve pack in his hands.  I couldn’t believe what he was seeing after the night they had just been through.

“What the hell are going to do with that?” I asked.

Adam smiled as he stepped in the doorway, “Hey, I ain’t going to let perfectly good beer go to waste…even if it is generic beer.”

Racing Horses and Fire

The fire department meeting had jus’ let out and I was on my way home. However, what was generally a ten minute drive would turn out to be a bit longer than usual.

While heading south on U.S. 395, alongside old North Virginia Street, I could see a strange glow in the nighttime sky. Then I saw the Washoe County Sheriff Cruiser racing towards the light.

Immediately I turned off the highway as I suspected it might be some sort of fire. As I pulled up to the cruiser, I could see the field below where we were stopped was ablaze and it was starting in on a barn.

Without waiting I grabbed my turn outs and pulled them on. Then I dashed over the side of the road, climbed between the lines of barbed wire fencing and made my way through the burning field to the barn.

Inside the now-burning building, I could hear the screams of horses as they tried to escape. I popped open the large double doors and I was met by six of the wildest, out-of-control animals I had ever seen.

They knocked me down and raced over me.

A little dazed, I wandered back in the direction of my car. I could see a couple firefighters, hoses streaming water, working to put out the grass fire.

They saw me and waved. I waved back. They waved again. I returned their wave. They waved a little more frantically. I politely returned their waves one more time.

Then I heard the pounding of horse’s hooves racing up behind me.


Truly, I don’t want to sound as if I am complaining, being a smart-aleck or that I’m ungrateful. But I must register my surprise.

My sister Deirdre sent me a birthday card. It’s the first time in eight years she’s acknowledged my birthday.

Could it be she’s finally forgiven me for having bailed out on her after she planned a birthday party for me back then?


Kyle came home last night with a headache and sick stomach. I was asleep when he arrived so I didn’t know how bad off he was until I got up to go to work.

That’s when I found him laying on the couch, something he never does, with what I believe to be a fever. I asked a couple of questions of him and found out he had been out in the heat loading a moving truck for his mother.

Couple this to the fact that his mother and step-father don’t use their central air to cool their home, because of the high cost, and I think he is suffering from a case of heat exhaustion. I gave him a couple ibuprofen and tucked him in to bed before heading off to the radio station.

I checked on him before turning out the lights in the living room, and he was sound asleep, with the covers kicked off. With any luck, Kyle will be feeling better by the time I get home.

I have come to realize that no matter how old he gets, I’ll never stop worrying about my son.


My co-worker and friend Monica Jaye told me she ran into a woman I used to teach with a Sierra Nevada College. Monica says Lynn listens to the radio station and wanted to know if I was the same person she knew from way back when.

What makes this so interesting is the fact that Lynn told her about one of my many stories that I used as a teaching-tool to hold the attention of our students. I had actually forgotten about using that story let alone the event itself.

So maybe it’s time I write it down and let everybody know about my stupidity. It is actually a pretty funny story, I jus’ hope I can translate it to paper as well as I can tell the tale.

Motor-Inn Memories

Grandma Agnes was on her deathbed, cancer eating her alive, and Dad was given emergency leave to get home before she passed away. The notification came via the Red Cross on a little yellow piece of paper.

Though I was very young at the time, I recall the motor-lodge Grandpa Tom owned and in which we stayed. Like the fact that the motor-inn was painted white and the office was directly to the right as you pulled off the roadway.

Inside the office area was good sized area, with a counter. It’s here that I recall being chased by a pet bird, a parrot I think. I also had a time with a couple of cats that were also the target of the bird.

Another animal was a turtle I had found. It disappeared somehow even though I had it in big box.Grandpa told me that it must have run away. I recall looking for it everywhere, including a culvert that was almost straight across from the office’s front door.

Dad, mom, Adam and I stayed in the far bungalow at the end of the set of buildings that the office was in. Adam and I slept in play pen.

To the right of the office was the front room, a kitchen area and bedroom for Grandma and Grandpa. I remember Grandma lying in bed against a wall with a window above it. She spent much of her time asleep. But when she was awake she was in great deal of pain and moaned constantly.

My cousin Caroline and I were hiding behind a large chair in the living room, as the men-folk watched a football game. It was there that I was talked into allowing her to paint my finger nails red. I was teased by Dad and Grandpa for this.

Other guests staying at the motor-inn were little-people. I can remember picking a couple of them up and carrying them around as they were the same size as I was and I thought of them as playmates, even though they were more than likely adults.

We would gather out in the center of the motor-inn and have barbeques and eat water melon. The center area was ringed by a grave road. It also had a well or a septic tank buried in it.

It was covered with a piece of white plywood and I even got a spanking for playing on top of it. Evidently I could have broken through the wood and fallen in and either been hurt or killed.

One morning I was not allowed to go outside. I didn’t know why Mom wouldn’t let me go play, but when she stepped outside I followed her and that’s when I saw Dad crying. It was the first time I ever saw him like that and I tried to run to him but a man, I think it was my Uncle Vince, grabbed me up and though he was also crying, he handed me to Mom.

Later that day I saw a big, black station wagon-like car pull up in front of the office. Now I know that was the hearse that came and took the body of Grandma away.


Our housemate, Kay got me a small German chocolate cake. To explain “small,” it was about six-inches across and to explain “was,” — I ate it all along with drinking two large glasses of milk.

By the time I was finished, I knew I would have h3ll to pay as I was super-full. I don’t usually eat cake of any sort and it’s been a couple months since I’ve had a milk.

Then I went to bed until it was time to get up and get ready for work. I awakened with a sick headache and a queasy stomach.

It was so bad that I refused the chicken dinner Mary had made for me. And I never turn away food — especially chicken.

So all-in-all, I’d say it’s a birthday worth remembering!

Bad Day

My bride went to bed feeling bad. Twice during the day she had done something to our Pit Bull Roxy.

The first incident happened when she went outside to pull a few weeds as I slept. Evidently she stepped backwards and stepped on the dogs off-hind paw.

Roxy came racing in on three legs after letting out a loud yelp. The dog was followed by Mary, who had a very concerned look on her face.

The dog was licking her paw and didn’t want me to look at it, however after some coaxing, I found that one of the toes had formed a slight blood blister. At least it wasn’t broke or bleeding between the toes.

The second thing to happen was that the dog went missing for nearly an hour-and-a-half. Mary had been watching television when it occurred to her that the dog was not hanging out in the living room with her or the other three animals.

She went outside and called for Roxy. Nothing.

Next she decided to search the house. That’s when she found the dog, locked in the front bathroom.

The best Mary can figure is that Roxy must have followed her into the head. As for Roxy, she didn’t whimper, bark or otherwise make a sound to let anyone know she was stuck there.

It’s safe to say they both had a bad day. I’m still chuckling.

Lesson for a Rural Salesman

As I planned for my life outside the military, I decided to learn the insurance business. At the time I was feeling the need for more money and I figured this would be a good way to get more of it , fast.

As a rural salesman, I chanced upon an elderly couple who had nothing more than a bed, dining table, a couple of easy chairs and a portable radio, all centered around a pot-bellied stove. The home was clean, but very plain.

They struck me at that time as being “poor people.”

Now, however, I see how truly rich they really were. They lived a simple, uncluttered life with more time to enjoy being alive and being with each other.

Personal Experiment

This last week has been an experiment of sorts for me. While at church I was struck by the idea that I have a personality much like Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde, jus’ not as murderous.

What I mean is that I’m a fairly easy-going, laid-back guy with the ability to turn nasty if placed in certain situations. I’m really rabid if someone is picking on a child, the elderly, a woman or a defenseless animal or my friends and family.

So I decided to log some of the words and thoughts coming out of my mouth this week. The outcome left me surprised and a little less than happy with myself.

Jus’ over 84-percent of the time my comments were generally negative. Everything from politics to driving to the weather to the laundry to work caught a dose of my downward opinion.

Worse yet, I ran myself down about 16-percent of the time. Comments about myself were usually self-effacing and meant to be funny, but they were still negative.

In short, I discovered in a short five-day period: I’m a whiner and complainer.

Welcome Aboard

The Corporal who competed issuing me the required gear instructed me that I should jus’ wear my helmet instead of carrying it on my back. He explained that it was less weight in an already heavy sea-bag.

Without giving it much thought I walked across base to the row of quonset huts where I knew my newly assigned unit was housed. I knew I had been had by the Corporal as drew stares, snickers and smart-a$$ed statements nearly every step of the way.

Once at my assigned building, I stepped inside to find neither an NCO or Officer. So I set my sea-bag down and entered the barracks area.

The first statement I hear was: Hey, look at the F-N-G and he’s ready for war.  The comment drew a laugh from the dozen guys in the room.

Without warning I was pushed from behind. The shove was forceful enough to send me chest first into the biggest guy there.

He shoved me away and I struck a post that rose from the floor to the roof. I hit it hard enough to fall to my hands and knees.

That’s when the big guy grabbed me by the back of my trousers and started using me a dust mop. Then he changed directions and started pulling me towards the head.

I had sudden flashbacks of high school and swirlies.

Within seconds I reacted by wedging my feet against the jambs of the head and pushing back against the brute. As he pushed I realized I could “walk up” the door jamb and flip myself over top of him, which I did.

As I landed on the floor behind him I threw 4 hard jabs into his kidneys. But they had no affect.

By this time I felt like my heart was in my throat and choking me. But I quickly realized it was my helmet, which had come off my head and the chin-strap was now pressing against my wind-pipe.

I continued to move as I fought to unbuckle the strap and free myself from my helmet.

Meanwhile the big guy continued to move after me. That’s when I looked down and pointed at his feet, telling him his boot was untied.

When he looked, I let him have it. I smashed my helmet into his face, then I beat him with it few more times.

He refused go down. Instead he stood there looking at me and I concluded that I was about to get murdered.

Then his knees buckled and he fell forward, his body making a slapping sound as he flopped on the hard cement. But as fast as he fell, he sprang back up to his feet. Next he shook his head vigorously, much like a Saint Bernard would shake off bath water.

He stood looking at me, then smiled, saying, “That was outstanding. Welcome aboard!”

As he offered me his hand to shake, I thought, “Nuh-uh, fool me once…”

Tea and Toast

There is nothing like being completely broke to make one appreciate the things in a person’s life. I found this out after I was fired from a job and was waiting for my paperwork from the Marine Corps to come through.

It was about three-months between the two and by that time I was down to pennies in an old Kerr jar. I eventually established a daily routine.

Each morning I would make myself two-pieces of toast and a cup of unsweetened hot-tea for breakfast. I would repeat this senerio twice more during the day. 

Living on six slices of unbuttered toast and three cups of tea takes some discipline, but I was able to do it. By the time my paperwork was approved and I was on a southbound bus heading for San Diego, I weighed about 135 pounds.

I have never complained about anything served to me since.

Close Call

It was a pretty close call, but I thwarted the urge before I let it get hold of me and cause me to break my promise. I nearly blogged political, something I swore off last month.

For the last several years, I think starting in 2003, I have been writing opinion and commentary on most things political. But in mid-June, I decided it was time to point my nose and mind in another direction.

To that end, I’ve been blogging about random memories and thoughts. I’ve been tossing in a few photographs to sweeten the content too.

Changing mid-stream like I have hasn’t been easy, but I sure it’ll get easier as I progress. I’m jus’ glad I remembered I wasn’t going to post anymore political opinions or stories before I pressed the “publish,” button.

Like it would have killed me — besides I know where the “delete” button is too.

Gone to the Dog

It was a nice day, neither to hot nor too cold, so I decided to go out and sit at our picnic table and read from my bible. Three of the five dogs followed me outside.

They were excitedly racing around me much like Indian’s would circle a group of wagons in an old black and white movie. One of them caught the heel of my right foot and it hooked the back of my left foot.

As I fell forward, I let go of my bible. I hit the ground and rolled trying not to screw up my back any more than it already is.

The bible landed in one of the five-gallon water buckets we have set up for the doors when they’re locked outside and sank to the bottom of the bucket. When I retrieved it, the entire book was soaked.

This isn’t the first bible I’ve had that’s been destroyed by one of the dogs. In the last couple of years three of my bibles have been chewed up by one of the dogs and it’s doubtful it will be the last.

I’m still shaking my head.

Herd of Turtles

All this week, I’m playing bachelor — sort of.  My bride is in the San Diego area visiting family so I’m kind of on my own.

Kind of? Sort of?

Our housemate Kay is here and she’s making sure I don’t starve to death or forget to finish up the few chores I’ve been given to complete by next Friday. That means she’s bossing me around too, an act I’ve grown accustom to as a married man.

I’m also working overnight and sleeping during the day.

It’s getting enough sleep while Kay is home that has become the real struggle for me. I’m certain that you have either heard a bunch of horses racing from one place to the other, either in a movie or TV show or in real life to know what that sounds like.

However, in the case of Kay — it’s more like a herd of turtles. Not a whole lot of noise, but jus’ enough to keep you aware she’s around.

Yesterday, as I tried to sleep, I’d hear her drop something on the floor, or close the cupboard harder than she meant too or go out in the backyard to yell at a dog. These noises draw me out of my deep sleep, but they don’t fully wake me up either.

Thus, Kay is like a herd of turtles, bless her heart.

Your Average Superman

I was out with my son’s high school cross country team as they practiced in the hills in and around Pyramid Highway. It was a pleasant day to be out in the high desert.

One of the members was in an area where the terrain was extremely rugged and sloped, having a hard time getting down the hill side. Add to it that the area is full of loose rocks and sand. Seeing this, I decided I’d go up and cheer him on.

After getting up next to this runner, I slipped and started to go down the slope at a quick step. I ended up running, which I am not supposed to do because of my busted back.

Somewhere in the last 20 or 30 feet I found a large rock to trip over. Next thing I know I was flying through the air.

I hit another rock, tearing up my right arm and my right knee. As I bounced for the third and final time, I sucked in a huge mouthful of dirt, rocks and sand. I suddenly found myself unable to take a breath as I also knocked the wind out of myself.

It took me half an hour to recover from this incident. Unfortunately I have yet to recover from wounding my pride.

The runner I went up the hill to help made it down without a scratch.

Note Pad

A few days ago my son noticed I don’t carry a note pad with me everywhere I go like I used too. He wanted to know why?

I didn’t have an answer for him at the time.

However it has occurred to me that I do know the answer and I’ve known it all along. It’s rather simple and has been staring me in the face for the last 11 or 12 years.

I have the Internet and blogging, so who needs a note pad all the time?