WHAT Just Happened?

Certified: I’m Digit(ally) Impaired

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 18:04:00 +0000

The bushes in our backyard were threatening to become trees with some having reached beyond the height of the purple martin house. I knew that they should be cutback and had tried more than once to get my two-cycle gas hedge trimmer started. It took me awhile to figure out the plastic tube from its gas tank had broken – as it also had on my gas powered blower.

Within three short weeks of this discovery, everything was fixed and ready to go. Except I wasn’t. Temperatures started regularly exceeding the century mark and my enthusiasm for the task (which was low to start with) became inversely proportional to the temperature. When I finally got the gumption, I found the ”repaired” gas hedge trimmer again would not start. Closer inspection revealed the little plastic bubble used to prime the engine had developed a hole in it about the size of the price tag of my earlier repair. Rats! I decided against throwing more good money down this path and headed for Home Depot. I was going electric.

I found a beautiful model for a little more than I wanted to pay but rationalized it because (1) it would never require fuel line repairs and (2) it was Father’s Day and I deserved to splurge. Plus it could cut ¾” limbs and had a l-o-n-g blade so I could reach those higher branches. Feeling good with this decision, I brought it home and put it in the garage where I admired it every time I passed it during the next couple of weeks.

Last Tuesday I tardily decided to get outside early and get as much trimming done as I could before the thermometer hit 100. By 9:30am I was in a hospital emergency room having been transported there by my very pale BBL. The top inch of my left index finger was being held on by a bare thread of skin. [Some advice to DIY hackers: if you’re going to maim yourself, do it fairly early in the morning and you’ll avoid the long lines that develop at the ER later in the day.]

Ironically, my BBL recognized the ER doctor as the one who had attended to my last emergency visit a couple of years ago. If nothing else, we are loyal with our patronage. Dr. Z quickly consulted with a couple of different hand surgeons to assess the prospects for re-attachment. He reported it could be done but would probably require a 10 hour operation followed by an ICU stay, and probably cost >$100,000; and then there would be the increased possibility for complications. Not a hard decision for me. I’m no fan of surgical operations or hospital stays, having had some past experience with both. Besides, I’m already used to typing one-handed.

Dr. Z referred me to the hospital’s hand surgeon on call – Dr. A (no kidding). We were told to show up in his office by 3:00pm and he would work me in. We cheated a bit and showed up earlier. This is when I learned that hand surgeons usually double as plastic surgeons (maybe it’s vice versa). Arriving early meant we got to study at length all the “before and after” pictures displayed on the wall and the digital picture frame in the waiting room. We saw lots of shots of improved butts, thighs, breasts, tummies, throats, chins, etc., but not one hand!

When Dr. A finally worked through his more interesting procedures and got to me, he asked how I was doing. I felt oddly fine under the circumstances, but told him I was going to really freak out if he asked me to disrobe. An hour later, he announced the completion of “a textbook amputation”. Certified by Doctors A to Z, now I can only count to 9 2/3 – unless I’m totally disrobed.

It Was All Relative

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 13:25:00 +0000

My BBL achieved her XXth birthday last week. On her short “wish” list was a desire to visit family by taking a roadtrip to roam the Northwestern reaches of Chicago-land & /Northern Indiana capped with a stop in St. Louis.. The caveat (and I think her real birthday wish) was that she wanted me to chauffeur her! So we packed up the Mighty Mercury Montego and racked up some impressive stats:

2443 total miles
219 hours away (start to finish)
200 tollbooths (it seemed like that many!)
87 gallons of gas
53 average miles per hour (not 83 as originally posted!)
46 hours (behind the wheel)
28 average miles per gallon
Resulting in visits with:
1 Father (in-law)
1 Mother (in-law)
1 Son
1 Doctor (SO)
1 Step-Cousin
3 Brothers (in-law)
3 Sisters (in-law)
5 Nephews (in-law)
6 Nieces (in-law)
6 Spouses of brothers/sisters/niece (in-law)
7 Pets (in-law?)
Or:
28 family members visited (excluding pets)
87 miles driven per relative
199 ounces of gas consumed per relative
469 minutes away from home per relative . . .

But who’s counting? It was a priceless experience.

Thanks to all who have served

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 22 May 2011 19:11:00 +0000

These aren't my words, but they definitely mirror my sentiments:

It is the VETERAN, not the clergy, who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the VETERAN, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the VETERAN, not the legislator, who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the VETERAN, not the judge, who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the VETERAN, not the politician, who has given us the right to vote.

It is the VETERAN, not the orator, who has given us freedom of speech.

And if you can read this in English, thank a VETERAN!

If you've got two minutes, check out this link, then click on the screen to start.

Best wishes for a happy and safe holiday weekend.

Voir Dire Y’all

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 02 May 2011 04:24:00 +0000

Last week I answered my civic jury duty “invitation” for the DC court system. Not the DC you might immediately think of, but the local county court system with the same initials and, I guess, the same pedigree.

This is the third time I’ve been summoned for jury duty by this court. In retrospect, that averages about once for every ten years I’ve resided in their jurisdiction (and about half the invitations my BBL’s experienced, for which I’m thankful).

In the past, the event ALWAYS came at an awkward time for service, but this time there were no conflicting pressures upon my time and I approached this “opportunity” with a different mindset: I found myself mentally willing, albeit not particularly anxious, to serve should I be selected.

The first couple of hours were no different than my previous visits – essentially a boot camp to explain the process, how honored one should feel that a computer had selected you at random, how even MORE honored you should feel if the computer again randomly selected you for a specific jury pool, but that you could not feel honored if the computer selected you and you happened to somehow be associated with the legislative branch of government, etc. Thank God the court has some minimal standards!

So I felt duly honored when the computer randomly selected me to report to the 999th district court – but they won’t need you for at least an hour. We were instructed to show up again no later than 11:15 or else the sheriff would be sent to find our honored bodies, presumably to dishonor them somehow/someway.

At 11:30 the 999th Court bailiff came to read off my name with approximately 34 other honored people and inform us that (a) the judge does not like cell phones, particularly ones that ring/buzz in his courtroom; (b) if your cell phone does make its presence known, he will bestow a contempt of court fine of at least $100 on your honored wallet, and (c) show up at the courtroom no later than noon without food, drink and preferably your cell phone (or else you know what).

At the appointed hour, we were role-called in to the courtroom. I am not in the first twelve, but find myself well within the first half of prospective jurors. After we genuflect to the cell phone phobic judge, we begin the process of voir dire. Anytime anything remotely representing a French phrase is uttered in Texas, one can be forgiven to assume the worse could happen.

Both the prosecuting and defense attorneys “explained” the voir dire process as meaning “to tell the truth.” They both professed to wanting to get to know us better. In actuality, what they both really wanted to do was start un-randomizing the process of jury selection that the County had spent so much time and treasure to accomplish. In other words, they each wanted to stack the jury in their favor as much as possible. The game was on!

Although we could see the defendant, the rules of this game were that the attorneys could not represent any specific facts of the case; they could only ask questions about jurors thoughts of the case in the abstract. The only specific: the charge in this particular case was burglary of a habitation.

The prosecutor started hitting voir dire paydirt when he explained the penalty for this particular crime could be 20 years to life under certain circumstances. The question: could you consider such a sentence? Much consternation arose among my peers that they could vote for such a sentence. What circumstances would warrant it? The prosecutor offered as one scenario: what if you found out the defendant had murdered someone in the past? Hmmm. Defense attorney calls a sidebar conference with judge. The verdict – let’s adjourn for lunch,

We reconvened at 2pm. It’s the defense attorney’s time at bat. We learn that at one time he was a mayor of a small municipality nearby (I can’t help myself hoping that they had a good audit committee there). He tries to address the prosecutor’s scenario with a different one of his own. We find out if the defendant is found guilty of this crime and, let’s suppose, he was guilty of two other felonies, say as simple as passing 2 bad checks (>$1500 each) twenty years ago, A-HA, then the State would require us to consider that 20-year to life sentence as minimum. Oh, and by the way, what do you think if I don’t put my client on the stand to testify in his behalf? You know he doesn’t have to say a word – you have to presume his innocence. Can you do that? Consternation consequently expressed on several levels amongst my peers = defense voir dire paydirt.

To make the proverbial long jury selection story bearable, the judge eventually called the attorneys to his bench where they conferred for some time. At the end, I was not particularly surprised to learn I wasn’t selected to serve, but I was surprised that NO ONE was selected to serve from this group. The system voir dired itself out of a jury and I’m still unsure of the mechanism (I thought each side could strike 10 prospective jurors apiece which would have still left at least 12).

What I do know is approximately 35 citizens sacrificed a day of their time and treasure (mine amounted to driving ~70 miles + lunch) – but for the infrastructure (judge, attorneys, bailiffs, court reporter, security screeners, etc.) it was just another day at the office, playing the game where they know the rules.

Reflecting upon the experience, I was extremely surprised to learn that seemingly more than half of my fellow jury candidates had experienced some type of theft; most were in-personal (garage, auto, office, etc), but some were of a very personable nature – and under capable attorney questioning, I found out that none of the perpetuators had been identified, much less brought to justice. I, for one, am therefore very surprised at the restraint these “random victims” exhibited at potential sentencing scenarios during voir dire.

One result of all this: I have started setting the home security system again. Why? In addition to the above, what if I told you (hypothetically, of course) I heard a court employee say the defendant has been charged with more than 15 similar offences?

Collaborating Testimony

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 16:20:00 +0000

I have always thought of my BBL as an angel (well, at least most of the time). She came home last week with a letter that had been sent to the hospital by a patient she had briefly interacted with.
“Three days until Christmas and nine days before my scheduled surgery, I found myself at the pre-op appointment at the hospital. It was the third hour taking care of the business at hand and I was growing weary, but this was my last stop. This particular nurse was asking questions regarding my health history and, as her fingers typed feverishly on the keyboard, I couldn’t help but notice a silver ring on her little finger. From my vantage point it looked like a small angel charm dangled from the ring. It was the smallest charm I’d ever seen, and the angel appeared to be holding a trumpet. I answered her questions without too much effort but was mesmerized by her ring.”
“Abruptly, my eyes were removed from the ring as she turned toward me waiting for an answer to her last question. I paused for a second but knew no other way to answer except to honestly say, ‘I don’t recall much about myself at that time of my life because my middle son had just passed away from cancer and I was grieving.’ She turned even more to face me and gently asked what form of cancer. I replied, ‘Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma; he was about to turn 21 when he passed away. He was an A&M student when he …’ And by that point the tears spilled out and I began sobbing, Just thinking back to that time … in the grip of the darkest season of my life, produced such intense pain and sadness. The nurse graciously shared that no mother should ever have to endure such pain.”
“For some reason, I told her that I’d been staring at her angel ring and that I wanted to buy myself one like it—that I believed in angels. Without hesitation, she shocked me when she spoke: ‘Please take my ring—I want you to have it! This angel charm isn’t even made anymore.’ I argued that I had no intention of taking her ring, but she softly said, “I haven’t worn this ring in a long time. I don’t know why I wore it today, so it must have been to give it to you. Please, have my ring.’ She took it off her little finger and I tried it on mine…it fit perfectly.”
“We completed the questions and stood up. We hugged. She was my nurse, my friend and my angel that day – and she had no idea that I had prayed to God that morning desiring more of Him and a strong sense of my son’s presence in my life that day.”
That’s my BBL.
1/24/11 edit: corrected typo "harm" to "charm"

Spirit of St. Louis

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 08:17:00 +0000

Less than ninety days ago, it wouldn’t have entered my wildest dreams (not that I have that many anymore) that I would ever spend a Christmas in St. Louis. My visit there awakened some good, and some sad, memories.

In November, our Denver-based number one son moved East to Lucky Lindy’s hometown in order to join a firmly rooted Western based financial firm (whose motto is “Together We’ll Go Far.”) Fulfilling the “together” role, Dr. S(O) also made the same journey (we will not speculate on who followed whom). Faced with the prospect of not having our kids together with us on Christmas morn, my BBL artfully wrangled an invitation for us to visit the new transplants. And so we did -- and had a great time. Then, on the day after Christmas, my Blackberry calendar reminded me that John, my St. Louis friend/associate, had died nine years ago.

In the 27 years I served as a region manager, St. Louis had been in-and-out of my geographical sales “responsibility” at least three times. During one of those touch points in the 1990’s, it represented the best market share area in my region, if not in the entire nation. Certainly not because of me, but most certainly because of John.

I remember that John almost didn’t get hired by my company. The region manager who was trying to hire him confided that he was very worried that the current perceptions of what a sales rep should look or be like (young, athletic ie. run/play tennis, etc.) would wash him out during the HQ interview process. He shouldn’t have worried so much, because the guy who looked like a balding fireplug proved to be the sparkplug most of us would come to admire. As evidence, I remember that John’s name, when mentioned during national sales meetings would elicit a spontaneous karaoke version of Volare – a close approximation of his surname.

Confident. Intelligent. Engaging. Cognizant of “the little people” in any organization. Independent. Principled. Loyal. Seeing/Using Humor. Organized. Networking for the good of all. Devoted to family/friends/associates. All attributes of John – and every other person I know or have known from this city. Perhaps all represent the true “Spirit of St. Louis”.

It pays to go to the State Fair

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 02:46:00 +0000

[But only if you’re smart enough to take your wife (and not eat tooo much of the food)]!

My BBL and I managed to squeeze in about 7 hours at the Great State Fair of Texas a few days before it ended for the purposes of:
 Enjoying an absolutely beautiful outdoor October afternoon, and
 Ride the huge Texas Star Ferris Wheel, and of course
 Savor our 2010 Fletcher’s Corny Dog, and
 Sample one of the newest confectionary Fair concoctions – fried Oreo cookies!
I’m happy to report we accomplished all of these objectives (and we are still alive). Unexpectedly, we also thoroughly enjoyed a couple of other experiences, namely:
 Discovery Gardens and the Butterfly House (we must be getting old), and
 The Russian Bar Troupe (three talented folks from Quebec–go figure).

However, our most favorable unexpected experience was when we visited an unusual booth in the Texas Food Pavilion (after sampling some Nolan Ryan’s sausage). It was displaying signs proclaiming “Your Father was wrong – money does grow on trees” and “Texas’ Best Cash Crop.” Because there was a non-existent crowd around this booth, I sauntered up and inquired about its purpose. The lone worker somewhat boringly explained that Texas has a great amount of unclaimed property which they would willingly return to its rightful owner, pending due process of proper ID, claim, etc.
Intrigued, I asked him to enter my name (18 letters + a space) into his laptop. Nada. I asked him to do it again, since his attitude and the number of keystrokes could easily have produced an error. Zilch. I had struck out.
Enter my BBL (who had been off on her own sampling a quesadilla). She quickly grasped the concept and asked the worker if he could just search by surname. While I suspect she was really trying to see if her or our kids’ names popped up, I struck pay dirt. First initial, middle initial, surname = $75 (a rebate from a computer accessories firm that probably dated back a dozen years or so).
We figure our net gain will be about $10 after deducting parking, admission, food, drink, rides, etc. After factoring in gas, tolls and inflation, it might even be breakeven – but good fortune nonetheless, thanks to my BBL. But a coronary from the corny dogs or the Oreo’s would definitely wipe out any benefit! Live and learn: my tactic for the next visit is to eat healthier and go for the fried chef’s salad with dressing on the side!
And, of course, I will check out the Texas’ Best Cash Crop booth again.

Magic Out Of Thin Air (Again)

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 03:33:00 +0000

I’m young enough not to have known this world without AM radio --- and old enough to remember discovering the existence of FM radio. I don’t exactly remember when it happened, but when that wonderful development that amplified the FM experience (FM STEREO radio) I coveted it immediately. I think I bought a different car just to enjoy that one feature.

I am now ancient enough to know some people who have never listened to any station broadcasting on the AM “dial”—and with good reason. The last time I was there was to listen to a sporting event on KRLD (1080), an event that surely ended badly at the time (according to their website they started broadcasting on Halloween Day in 1926 which somehow seems appropriate). I suppose there are also some youngsters I know who aren’t at all familiar with FM radio either (which is to say radio period).

I bring all this up because I recently acquired a Microsoft Zune – a portable everything device similar to the fruity i-Touch – but with the all important distinction of having a FM radio, which is the sole reason I bought it. At my advanced age, I don’t get delighted easily, but the Zune did it. It brought me back to me the wonder of FM and FM Stereo . . . with its HD FM receivership capabilities.

It seems in the recent past, some FM stations have quietly added HD multi-casts to their assigned bandwidth. Who knew? Surprise! HD radio (which does NOT stand for High Definition like you’d think it would) simply performs like it is High Definition radio. A single station can broadcast up to 7 different programs digitally with absolutely clear (no static) reception (although I haven’t found one yet with more than 3). Plus it can tell you the artist, song etc.) currently playing. I was transported back to the magic of going through a tunnel with no loss of the FM radio signal while different sounds were coming out of the left and right speakers.

The cost of this magic? Zero. NaDa. Free. Just like before. Take that satellite radio!

Beyond the benefits of crystal clear reception, the other benefit seems to be (with stations broadcasting on their 2nd or 3rd HD program) an almost complete lack of advertising. It’s almost like listening to a CD.

Why has this been under the (my) radar? I suggest perhaps poor marketing, at least to my age group. I offer the idea that they adopt a theme along the lines: “Let us create your ‘playlist’ for you.” Might even catch on with the younger crowd.

On August 24th--

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 23:59:00 +0000

10,957 days ago, a baby girl joined our family. And we were blessed.

52 days ago, she symbolically left us to adopt a different last name and officially start a new branch of our family. And she was blessed, just as my BBL and I were blessed in our own right only 13,478 days ago – and every day since.

When birthdays or anniversaries come around, it is only natural we tend to score their accumulation. But the real measure of success and/or just plain good fortune is the quality of the accumulation, not just the quantity.

When my favorite daughter “left us” via her wedding (the afore mentioned 52 days ago), I declined my opportunity to offer a toast, but only due to practical reasons. The ceremony ran long, the reception was rapidly accelerating toward its end, and the best man and maid of honor had the occasion fully covered. But I offer this sentiment now in lieu of doing it then:

As we all know, the weather was a bit threatening on your wedding day, but co-operated during all the “strategic” times when we had to be outdoors. It occurred to me then that we didn’t know if the weather was due to the end of Hurricane Alex or perhaps the beginning of Hurricane Baker (your new surname). Hopefully not the latter! But as you face your future, there is no doubt you two will encounter some rain – be it in a physical state that threatens to spoil a pretty day, or in a mental state that threatens to spoil contentment and happiness. To paraphrase a prayer I learned as a child, I offer you this thought whenever it may be appropriate to consider – and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to consider it daily:

“Lord, we await the day when your Kingdom will come. Until then, may the rain [reign] of Your Divine Truth, Life and Love nurture us individually and help us grow together as husband and wife. We ask You to help us repel the sins of this world and that Thy Word continually enrich the affections we have toward each other -- and that we have toward all mankind.” Frankly, so far I think it’s worked fairly well to maintain my perspective.

Happy birthday, baby. Here is your entire wedding reduced to a 14 minute video.

Thankfully It Wasn’t Posthumous

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 01:30:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, my BBL and I managed to escape the blast furnace we call Summer in Texas by climbing aboard a jet bound for the Pacific Northwest. We arrived to a positively refrigerated Seattle climate and, through no planning on our part, just in time to experience the opening of Seafair and its Torchlight Parade. However, apparently 75,000 other people did plan to be there which created a crowded downtown experience that was very close and way too personal for us. We decided to go camp in our Arctic Club hotel room and watch the parade on TV along with some local Pinot Noir.

The next day we escaped the Seattle crowds by climbing aboard the Victoria Clipper IV bound for (you guessed it) Victoria, BC Canada. The day didn’t start off all that promising – downright cold and overcast – but things started to brighten up as we pulled into our foreign harbor (sorry, harbour). We were immediately surprised to see the amount of seaplane activity in the port. We boarded a pre-arranged tour bus and were whisked off to the incredible Butchart Gardens only about 12 km away. This is the most fantastic reclamation project I’ve ever seen! The place exists because the Butchart family mined limestone/cement and the naturally ugly quarry it left behind was transformed into a thing of unparalleled beauty. The Gardens now take in more revenue than could ever have been imagined when the mining project began.

We were deposited back in Victoria with a few hours to spend before the Clipper departed. Again, without any advance planning, we arrived in the nick of time to witness the beginning of their outdoor Symphony Spash Festival. Lots of people to rub elbows with but it hardly registered on our Seattle “hassle” scale. Our return cruise was faster due to now perfect weather conditions and we were treated to a marvelous sunset off the stern which seemed to underscore our good fortune to have experienced someplace truly different and wonderful. We’d go back in a heartbeat, particularly if we can find someone to pay the freight.

Our next day in Seattle was all touristy. The “hop on -- hop off” bus tour moved us around the city to visit the Space Needle, the city mall area, Pike market, original Starbucks store, stadiums, waterfront, Pioneer Square and the sundry stores in these different areas. Two establishments stand out in our memory: the Chocolate Market (which had only been open a week and who were so happy to see us—or anyone—come in that they gave us several free samples and even took our Canadian coins when we made our purchase) and the KuKuRuZa “gourmet” popcorn shop (I heartily endorse the jalapeno cheddar option).
Leaving Seattle provided another first for us – a trip on Amtrak using business class service. Our destination was Vancouver, WA, a 3 hour trip but destined to be 4+ (due to track work and a dispatcher in Ft. Worth accused of being on a smoke break). Not a problem due to the scenery, first class seating, power outlets for the computer, free drink/food coupons, free movie and the freedom to move around. We were met in Vancouver by a longtime friend and resident who delivered us to our downtown Portland hotel after treating us to dinner at the Blue Hour restaurant where we feasted on the sea bass spaghetti entrée, the first of many delightful dining experiences in Portland.

In truth, Portland was our ultimate destination for this trip and the place where I had to go to “work.” I had been given an assignment to represent my employer at the summer conference of the Association of Independent Printing Paper Merchants, an assignment that has occurred as often as twice a year for the past 6 years. Attending this group’s meetings has always been a highlight for my BBL and me, but I cannot describe the surprise and shock I felt when the Executive Director announced me as the recipient of their “Career Leadership Award” named after their founder, Peyton Shaner. I left my camera with my BBL, stumbled forward to accept the honor, and mumbled a few words of appreciation all of which probably left the majority of the audience wondering about the selection process!

I have never been particularly good at impromptu speaking (and I know plenty of folks who would say “his public speaking in general”). Being caught flat-footed certainly didn’t make it any better. So my inevitable post-mortem evaluation of my acceptance comments leads me to wish I would have been astute enough to address:
- The kind/humorous comments of Joe and Noel, the award co-presenters and long-term customers;

- The selection process may have confused the terms "leadership" and "longevity";
- A plug for my company whose values have allowed actions in the field worthy of this recognition for one of its individuals – and not just once, but twice – and I know how much the recognition also meant to the other recipient;
- That both my VP and new Director of Sales were present in the room and equally surprised (I think) -- and that Jim’s presence represents my employer's new emphasis on the Association's segment of distribution;
- Most of all to recognize my “secret selling weapon” and soul-mate, my BBL, who has not only totally supported me during my career, but has made genuine friendships in her own right among many in the Association; and
- My gratitude they did not wait to perhaps present this award posthumously (as they did with their founder). Thank you!

Pictures of Victoria
Pictures of Seattle
Pictures of Portland

The Milestones Just Keep On Comin'

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 31 May 2010 23:27:00 +0000

First, today is Memorial Day. In my humble opinion, we need to thank all those who have served our country, particularly the fallen. Their sacrifices have allowed us to experience all of our daily tribulations and trials under the blanket/blessing of freedom.

Since my last post, the seasons have morphed from Winter, through Spring (in just a blink of a pansy or two), and we now sit perched on the edge of Summer (high was 97 again today). It’s almost getting warm enough for an Al Gore sighting!

It would have been busy enough for me just watching the weather change and our pond water evaporate, but life and its relentless need to change has offered some additional seasoning of its own – salt and pepper, sweet and sour -- in the past couple of months.

My favorite daughter was asked by her favorite guy to marry him. Guess what she said? The wedding is planned for July 3rd when they will formally acknowledge the end of their individual independence. Being the day before Independence Day, something in me finds that ironic, yet appropriate. That day will also be the second anniversary of the beginning of their courtship.

As if a wedding isn’t enough to plan by itself, there has been a near frantic drive to stabilize/remodel/redecorate/landscape their future residence (see earlier post). That sucking sound you hear is the house gobbling more resources – mostly time, energy and money. The latest news is the air conditioning system needs to be replaced! But even though significant progress can be seen, the suspense continues to build whether or not it will be ready in time. As my daughter observes, “EVERYTHING TAKES LONGER THAN IT SHOULD.”

Frankly, if all of this wasn’t happening, I probably would have been more affected by the passing of my last maternal aunt in early April. Although I never put it in this perspective before, upon going through her papers I realized she was barely 20 years old when I was born. My most vivid memories of her probably date back to when I was 8 or 9. I was in awe of her beauty, vitality, and sense of “being with it.” And it didn’t hurt that she also gave me the best wrapped birthday and Christmas presents! She would regale me with stories about being a single girl working for DuPont in downtown Chicago, fending off unwanted advances from men she came in contact with. My memory doesn’t have to be too sharp here, because she repeated this story during my last (almost) weekly phone call.

Although I lost Aunt B in Lakeland, Florida, I am fortunate to say I transitioned an acquaintance there to full-fledged friendship status as a direct consequence of this sad event. If you would ever doubt angels exist, I could offer proof by introducing you to Mrs. G, who had been a local ray of sunshine to my Aunt B for years, and now she has taken on that role with me. Combing through 30 years of another’s residence is not my idea of fun, but having someone to share emotional support, advice, a sense of teamwork, run countless errands (and provide meals too) was/is priceless.

Just as each of these events could be an individual post, there was also the trip/escape to Phoenix/Sedona; the ride on the Grapevine (Texas) Wine and Jazz train; my favorite son advancing to the wise young age of 32; and my other angel (BBL’s) completion of her xxth trip around the sun tomorrow. Which also is the same day I celebrate(??) my 40th year of association with the best little paper company on the planet. Whew!

The Weirdest Super Bowl Wager?

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 03:18:00 +0000

When I saw this I knew the Saints would be the more motivated “artsy-fartsy” team! Or maybe it was this musical tribute to the “Bayou Beasts” that did the trick?

Congratulations to the long suffering Crescent City.

Indy vs. New Orleans respective Museums of Arts’ wager:

From IMA's Anderson: "Deal -- Claude for Turner. Two masters in spirited competition across the channel, and between our fair cities. Go Colts!"

And in polite, collegial reply, NOMA's Bullard: "Max is a gracious opponent. Thanks for accepting the wager of a Claude from New Orleans for a Turner from Indianapolis. But this is definitely the Saints year. They are the Dream Team and in New Orleans we know that dreams come true. Geaux Saints!!!"
http://www.artknowledgenews.com/2010-02-04-01-18-21-museum-directors-bet-masterpieces-in-2010-super-bowl-wager.html

Becoming a (Federal) Good Neighbor

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 06:03:00 +0000

On February 5th at approximately 2 pm, my favorite daughter officially became a homeowner, joining the fraternity (sorority?) of citizens who are expected to be responsible enough to pay real estate taxes. In retrospect, I would rather have a root canal than watch her go through this process again.

It certainly started off with a lot of euphoria about three months ago when she learned she had “won” a lottery to purchase a HUD foreclosure under their “Good Neighbor” program. In return for her commitment to fix up an unsalable house and live in it for three years, she could purchase it at a significant discount to its (HUD) appraised value.

I had never heard of this program before, but it seemed to have many virtues like:
- Giving a legitimate “break” to those who serve our community (e.g. teachers, firemen, police officers, etc.).
- Placing community-minded, gainfully employed people in the affected neighborhood, and
- Helping maintain/improve real estate values in the area of the foreclosed home (not to mention continuing the revenue stream in the form of taxes to help pay for those teachers, firemen, police officers, etc.)

Thus began the saga of dealing with our benevolent government. It soon became apparent I was not the only one unfamiliar with this program and its requirements. Her real estate agent (a family friend) readily admitted this and brought in a colleague with HUD experience, who promptly filled out incorrect paperwork, again and again. Not totally her fault, as she attempted to get the correct procedures from that faceless government agency (with often nameless employees – I dare you to be able to talk with the same contact twice).

My daughter was advised to approach Bank of America for her HUD financing. Remember them – the folks that received billions recently from the government? They apparently didn’t have a clue about processing the “right” kind of mortgage for this government loan – and didn’t admit it either.

Inspections were another area of frustration. During the 15 day window to back out of the deal, my daughter had an independent inspection done, plus an estimate for foundation repairs. The need for foundation repair was fairly evident because, even to my untrained eye, the house slanted in several different directions. Having received an estimate on foundation repairs, this had to be validated by a structural engineer. A recommendation was made for a particular professional by a family friend (turned out to be someone who had never personally been used before!). He came in with an approach/estimate that even the foundation repair service took moral and practical exception with (and they would have benefited from all the excess work),

Then the new lender, (who replaced the “too big to fail” bank after it failed my girl) advised her HUD would only accept an inspection from one of their “approved” people. And this had to happen immediately in order to continue the loan application process. The $600 man showed up at the duly appointed time and, miraculously, within 15 minutes the process was able to continue. Oh, yeah, this was explained as being necessary “for her protection.” I’m biting my keyboard not to comment further.

I was invited to the final walk-through two days before closing which is basically done to ascertain the house is still standing and that no one has ripped off the air conditioner (although they had taken the mailbox!). That was when the real estate associate dropped the bomb that my daughter needed an extra $5000 at closing (~45 hours away) to pay for her services (all along my daughter had been told the government would take care of real estate fees). After all the things she had encountered, it was almost a deal breaker because she did not have the money to comply (and I couldn’t help her because there are all kind rules about using your own funds). While I was fuming and muttering about calling senators, congressmen, newspaper columnists, lawyers, et.al., fortunately they reached an agreement barely hours before the scheduled closing.

So approximately 3 months after starting the process, negotiating all of the many obstacles (including several holidays) along the way, shuffling reams of paper and signing her life away countless times, she has become an official real estate tax-paying Good Neighbor for HUD. I’m very proud of her for competently dealing with the roller coaster ride. Maybe the environment she works in as a kindergarten teacher has conditioned her to deal with it better than I can.

Although it is probably just part of my DNA, but observing this whole experience has, sadly, served to make me even more wary of government programs. The problem does not lie with the ideas nor their intent – just the seemingly constant inability to smoothly implement them. It doesn’t exactly encourage me to turn over the keys to our health system.

Once In A Blue Moon

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 12:48:00 +0000

A full moon occurred December 31, 2009, the second time during the month which made it an official “Blue Moon”. The next time we should see two full moons in one month will be August, 2012 (which, incidentally, was the month I had originally planned to retire). The next time a “blue moon” will coincide with a new year’s eve is calculated to be in 2028. Hopefully, you, I, the country and the world will be around to see it. If I do, I’ll be 1/3 of my way through my 80th year. On one hand, this is encouraging since the chance of this happening is so much better than the odds of me seeing Halley’s Comet again (July 2068). On the other hand, it might be a moot point if it is too overcast (or smoggy) to see it. In that case, I'll just listen to Elvis Presley croon it from a record/CD/MP3/MPEG4/Internet or whatever form exists in the future.

BEST WISHES FOR A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

(AND AN EVEN HAPPIER NEW DECADE)!!

My Wurst Texas Experience

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 02:13:00 +0000

(aside: I attended a recent neighborhood party (featuring fantastic BBQ BTW) and was chided by one friendly literally-attuned little lady about the absence of blog entries lately. So with my thanks and apology, I submit my following 2¢ for which “1¢” is now responsible.)

In early November I found myself a new Texas experience as I was working my way down I-35 toward San Antonio. After stops in Waco, Austin and San Marcos, I decided to pull up for the night in New Braunfels, arguably a suburb of the Alamo City.

New Braunfels was named after, of course, (old) Braunfels in Germany by none other than its wayward son Prince Carl who had a temporary job as Commissioner General of Adelsverein, a Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas. Shortly after establishing NB as the first Germanic colony in Texas (circa 1845), he became homesick for the old castle and returned to Germany (you would too if you saw his Texas castle – kind of looked like a drive-in beer store before its time).

Like Prince Carl, I’m also of German ancestry and I got to Texas as soon as I could too. So I guess I was genetically disposed to be absolutely enthralled when I stumbled into the traditional New Braunfels celebration called “Wurstfest”. – billed as their annual 10 day salute to sausage. Thankfully it is not a celebration of Hossenfesser, which I suspect would be much harder to market.

For a Tuesday night there was a big crowd, maybe 1500 or so. About 15% of the people there were dressed in Germanic garb – and maybe half of those were there as entertainers, booth workers, etc. Lots of funny hats prevailed. I’m sure the attendance was helped by the mild weather. Except for lack of any costume, I had the weirdest feeling of blending right in with the crowd – age, hair/skin color, waistline, appetite. I am a stereotypical Tuesday evening Wurstfest attendee!

True to form, there were dozens of different type of sausage offerings. The most popular seemed to be a combo sausage, potato pancakes and apple sauce plate – no fewer than 150 people in line all three times I counted! The most iconic offering was the “wurst-kabob” consisting of 5 kinds of sausage on a stick. Personally, I opted for a foot long sausage link wrapped in a tortilla along with a couple mugs of Shiner Bock while listening to a few really good polka bands (enough Shiner may impact your judgement).

I was back at the Hampton Inn ~3 hours after my Wurstfest arrival, well fed, oiled and convinced that regardless of what they say, lederhosen is not designed to make you appear slimmer (although it is better than wearing knee socks with Bermuda shorts). My only regret is I didn’t buy the T-shirt that proclaimed “I’m Perfect . . .and I’m German too!”

While Wurstfest would typically provide all you could want in terms of encountering sausage, my return trip home included a small side trip through Elgin – home of three sausage companies (and three brick companies if you want a full accounting). One of the sausage outlet’s motto is “You’ll Love Our Guts!”

Actually, the real draw of my visit to this place was due to the town’s name. My boyhood hometown is just south of Elgin, Illinois (where namesake watches and street sweepers were made). But the locals of these two municipalities pronounce the name of totally differently: Up north it’s el-GIN (like L-Beefeaters); in Texas, it’s said el-KEN (kinda like L-Barbie’s boyfriend). Who knew I was pronouncing it wrong all these years?

When I got back to the interstate on the way home, I pulled into the “Czech Stop” in the town of West. This is one of the few places where you can gas up AND load up on kolachies – and you guessed it – sausage. In recognition of my Wurst Texas trip ever, it just seemed right to bring home some local six inch “Hot Chubbies.”

Hope you always experience only the best Wurst – wherever you are! Click here to see pictures/evidence. (suggest you select slideshow)

New Beginnings Again

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 03:09:00 +0000

This past week brought about a new school year, and for some of a tender age, the entry into the most German of American educational experiences – Kindergarten.

This is our daughter’s ninth year in Kindergarten. Of course, the first time (see picture) was a couple of dozen years ago, when she was facing the teacher along with a bunch of other 5 year olds. Whatever happened that year apparently resonated with her—enough to grow up with the desire – and now with 8 years of experience – to be the one facing an ever increasing number of kids in her classroom. The current count is 22, but others are expected to show up after Labor Day when their “traditional” parent(s) think that’s when school really starts. [Side thought: I know there will be those who might argue with me, but I really think Labor Day exists primarily to recognize our nation’s teachers return to their livelihood.]

I’ve been observing the preparation/tension that precedes the start of each school year for awhile now and can say, honestly, the time frame for foreboding shortens with each passing year – but is no less intense in the final week. In the beginning, my BBL initially volunteered to help prepare the classroom. While I think that characterization still “officially” applies, lately for some reason, it seems more like she’s been drafted!

My arm length involvement is sooo much longer than her mother’s, but my respect and pride of her daily endeavors takes a backseat to no one. There is no doubt that I could NOT do her job -- even if I had two Aggie degrees in Education. And I challenge any school administrator or public official involved in setting teacher compensation to try it for a year. And I know I would fail at the most rudimentary of her tasks – like remembering the kids’ names. Seems like these days most of their first names are distilled from a brew of alphabet soup spiked with vowels. I’m not saying that’s bad (our surname certainly contains a hefty surplus of consonants); just that it’s an indication of my memory limitations.

Along those lines, I regret to admit I don’t remember my own Kindergarten teacher’s name, but I suspect my mother would. Just like the cashier today at our local PETCO store did of her kid’s. I had provided my credit card to her to pay an exorbitant price for some food to feed the Koi (fancy carp) in our pond. The cashier asked if I was related to a certain Kindergarten teacher. After I responded in the affirmative, she told me her daughter had been in my daughter’s class three years ago and had loved the experience.

That absolutely made my day.

The Walking Hub City of the Universe

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 17:48:00 +0000

After a brief stop in Big D to allow my BBL a day at work (somebody has to keep a job in this household), we were off to Boston via AA along with everybody else who could fit in the 757. This was the maiden visit to this fair city for my maiden, although I had visited the area once over 35 years ago. It's funny the impressions of a place that stay with you--lingering in my subconscious was what terrible drivers I had seen, maybe on a par with those in Puerto Rico. First time I had ever seen both freeway shoulders regularly used as passing lanes! Anyway, I had no desire to see if 3 ½ decades of driver education had had any positive impact on the area drivers, so you can imagine how my my interest peaked when we learned that Logan Airport is serviced by water taxis: $20 and 10 minutes later we arrived downtown only a half block from our hotel with both a new experience and several restaurant suggestions from our driver/captain. We took this as a very good omen about the time we were about to spend here.

One of Boston's nicknames is "The Walking City" and as soon as we deposited our luggage at the Marriott Long Wharf, we were (mostly) on our feet for the rest of our stay. It’s probably called “The Walking City” because available parking spaces are extremely rare and expensive.

Boston welcomes tourists with a “Freedom Trail” that winds all through the city and neighboring Charlestown. The Trail is (usually) clearly marked by either a broad red line painted on the pavement--or by a much classier double width red brick line embedded in the sidewalk. We followed this "line" everywhere and it took us past more historic sites than we’ve ever seen. And it's amazing how you want to keep your feet in contact with that line (which shrinks the width of the sidewalk considerably when encountering tourists going the opposite direction)!

The Freedom Trail line took us a few days to complete. It led us by Faneuil Hall/Quincy Market where you are free to indulge in 50x50 different ways to snack/eat/shop. It took us by the Boston Massacre that apparently occurred on a small traffic island in a street intersection (hard to miss . . . there was usually a tour group standing on it). Of course, any intersection in this city has the potential to continue the massacre of pedestrians with automobiles in the constant daily struggle for right-of-way.

We saw lots of churches with their attendant steeples and cemeteries, most squeezed by modern office skyscrapers and buildings. Busy narrow streets were populated by the competition of the expected number of Starbucks and a surprising number of Dunkin’ Donuts -- separated by lots of local bagel outlets and a few haberdasheries. We stumbled across several open air markets offering fruit and flower bargains that we would have loved to take full advantage of, but obviously couldn’t.

Speaking of open air, we took the opportunity to get back on the water for a couple of cruises: a delightful dinner cruise around Boston Harbor where we caught a beautiful sunset behind the city’s skyline; and a whale watching adventure that provided an astounding amount of whale sightings/activity once the crew found their feeding area (about 90 minutes on a fast catamaran from our hotel).

Another of Boston’s nicknames is “The Hub City” which supposedly morphed from a Oliver Wendell Holmes statement that Boston was ”the Hub of the Solar System”-- later toned down to the humble “Hub of the Universe” [and they think Texans exaggerate?!]. But it is definitely the liberal land of Kennedy, Kerry and Barney Frank all of whom helped stimulate Boston with the “Big Dig,” originally a $2.8 billion project (in 1986 dollars) to reposition underground some of the downtown’s Interstate--which ended up costing $22 billion with a five year delay. But the resulting downtown city parks atop the buried road are beautiful and it’s our opinion that every taxpayer should experience them (otherwise it would have been a waste of money). Comforting to know that we still have this kind of expertise in Congress.

A few other memories we took away:
· There are 294 steps up the inside of the Bunker Hill Monument. And there is a much easier route to get panoramic views which is riding the elevator to the 50th floor of the Prudential Building;
· A Sir Speedy Print Shop resides at the Birthplace of Benjamin Franklin, who was a printer (among many other things) himself;
· Charlie’s Sandwich Shoppe has the best breakfast/lunch, but no restrooms;
· Norm is still at Cheers! (as a cardboard cutout character);
· The pews at Paul Revere’s Old North Church are in “boxes” that were rented annually to families and designed to keep them warm(er) in Winter;
· The many parks and statutes—particularly Boston Marathon’s “The Tortoise and the Hare” and the Public Garden’s “Make Way For Ducklings” (which was always mobbed by kids);
· One Italian restaurant after another in the North End;
· My BBL’s first encounter with a Lobster Roll (that will be $25 please!);
· Lunch with a friend who was a colleague of mine when we started our careers a lifetime ago.

If you get the chance, do go experience the city yourself. You won’t regret it.

This link takes you to a video slideshow (with music). I prefer watching it in “full screen” mode, even though it makes the pictures a bit “fuzzier”. Or this link will take you to a silent site where the individual pictures are posted, although not in the same sequence as the video.

From Snowmass to Boston Mass

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 21:04:00 +0000

My BBL has been chiding me about my lack of blogging lately. But things have been pleasantly busy this summer. Since the last entry there have been personal (and ambassadorial) excursions to Chicagoland, both major cities in Oklahoma (and the 101 miles that separate them), N’awleans, The Magic City, The Alamo City, Amarillo & Denver.

All of these destinations (and the folks seen there) have a couple of things in common: 1) if the weather is nice, I always enjoy going there, and 2) I’ve been there more than once—in fact, collectively, I’ve been there scores (if not hundreds) of times! While it’s a “rut” I’m comfortable to stay in, we did recently add some diversity – five days each in Snowmass (CO) and Boston (MA)—made all the more interesting by doing it within two consecutive weeks!

Denver is now the hometown of our son, a Chartered Financial Analyst, who is doing his best to save the economy in spite of government programs. But truthfully, Colorado has always been a favorite destination (in the summer) despite the added attraction of his presence. This circumstance has developed into an excuse for planning an annual family vacation to the mountains. Breckenridge and Steamboat Springs have turned into newly-formed “traditional” favorites – enough so to whet our collective appetite to try someplace different. Internet searches helped us to select a 3-bedroom condo in Top of the Village Resort at Snowmass Village.

This turned out to be a good “bet” (maybe we should have gone to Vegas?). Our only hiccup was #1 daughter’s cancelled Frontier flight from Big D that, oh darn, “made us” extend our stay another day. This created the opportunity to experence a FREE Ryan Shaw concert (one of her favorite artists, but previously unknown by my BBL or me). Nothing like good music performed with a mountainous backdrop to add delight to your vacation. Experiencing it with your kids – priceless!

We did some relatively easy hikes which our son saw the need to improve by repeatedly running them back and forth until he caught up to our progress (and this is a highly educated person!). Perhaps the most difficult “hike” was the trek from the Snowmass Village shops/restaurants back to our condo . Only about ¼ mile, but 500’ in elevation gain. This provided us incentive to prepare more meals in the condo. . . .

Our location afforded a day visit to Aspen, another new experience for us. Aspen, as our son informed us, has the distinction as the place where the billionaires forced the millionaires to go to Vail! But all the money in the world couldn’t buy us a day without rain at the top of Maroon Bells. At least there’s a reason to go back. :)

11 minute video of our pictures (music by Shaw--I prefer Full Screen mode even though it’s a bit fuzzier)

Next stop: Boston

We Interrupt This Story . . .

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 03:25:00 +0000

. . . to announce Monday is my BBL’s birthday! I have now known her for 2/3rds of her life! And I’m happy to still be able to say our seemingly not-so-long ago meeting remains the most fortuitous event in my life.

During the year my BBL made her entrance, the world also experinced the births of NBC’s The Today Show, Bob Costas, George Strait, Dan Aykroyd, Patrick Swayze, Jimmy Connors, Christopher Reeve -- even John Goodman AND (shiver) Roseann Barr!

But to me, she was the true talent born that year and has continued to play the leading role in my show ever since the day I met her. Here’s wishing many, many more candles in y(our) future, my Beautiful Bodacious Lady!

2 Towns & the Tale of a Trail of Hope 'Tween Them

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Fri, 29 May 2009 01:44:00 +0000

Last St Patrick’s Day I found myself with a little extra time during a drive from Lubbock to Amarillo. Jumped off the I-State to wander to and through the town of Tulia, Texas. Why? No idea, other than I had never been there before -- and the name sounded vaguely familiar.

I went through the center of town almost before I knew it. Turned around at the Senior Center. Tulia had already given me the feeling it might have a lot of seniors among its citizens; however, the lack of any sign of life surrounding this very nice facility was, in retrospect, a little disturbing.
Returned to what I perceived to be the city’s main intersection (marked by the stop-and-go light at one corner of the Swisher County Courthouse) and parked the Hertz rental. Got out and read the County was established in 1890 (as inscribed on a huge granite boulder sitting on the corner of the courthouse property – along with its proclamation of Faith and Courage – Endurance and Success (sounds a lot like HOPE to me) and that “Law, Order, Education and Christian Principles have sustained Swisher County people.” I walked clockwise around the courthouse square, past the building that said it was the Tulia Pharmacy (but it was actually a print shop) with a poster in the window advertising the two upcoming (?) March 30th performances (5 and 7:30pm) of the Culpepper and Merriweather Circus. Not sure, in retrospect, the ad was for the this year (since the circus hasn't updated it's website since 2008).

The next thing I saw was a Washington monument-looking oblesisk standing smack-dab in the middle of the intersection. If that wasn’t unusual enough, the marker/monument/obelisk heralded the official route of the Ozark Trail. Some verbage (I think on a nearby historical marker) said something about the Trail being a promotion of a Northwest Arkansas resort. What the . . . .?

I have never laid claim to being a geographical genius, but I had always associated anything “Ozark” to be at least two states east of where I was standing. I took a more careful look at the intersection and its streets. One street was “Broadway”-- very aptly named because it was a VERY WIDE brick paved street—actually more like a boulevard. It had obviously been conceived and built during more prosperous (or, at least, more hopeful) times. It was all curious enough for me to “file away” to investigate later.

Which I did—albeit haphazardly and without any sense of haste. Eventually I learned [God bless Al Gore for inventing the Internet] that the Ozark Trail Association’s efforts predated the legendary Route 66 (which actually followed a good part of the Ozark Trail--just not through Tulia). Found out communities lobbied to have the OTA and similar endeavors routed through their towns. Local merchants, anticipating the lucrative commerce opportunities of all those folks passing by their businesses, funded the upkeep and marker placements. [As you might imagine, this practice did not always serve to create the most direct route to anywhere.] And it also definitely helped to have an ultimate destination to aim the increasing population of automobiles – which an entrepreneur by the name of William Hope Harvey was happy to provide.

Seems around the turn of the century, he started building a resort just outside of Rogers. Arkansas. He saw fit to name it Monte Ne (a moniker supposedly contracted from Spanish and Omaha (Indian) words meaning “mountain waters”). He also “unselfishly” served as the president of the OTA. One can only imagine how strong the attraction of a destination with lush green, hilly terrain, an abundance of trees and water might be to anyone who found themself with an automobile in dry, flat, dusty Northwest Texas.

And, as coincidence would have it, I would find myself there at the other end of the trail a couple of months later! [To be continued]

Geronimo's Farewell

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Wed, 27 May 2009 01:22:00 +0000

I was having breakfast Tuesday morning after a short walk to the little Donut Café not too far from our abode. Feeling good that I had chosen mild exercise and a cheese and mushroom omelette over the deathly (but much tastier) chocolate frosted concoction with sprinkes on the top, I opened a left-over section of the Big D Mourning News that was lying on the table. It was the section that contained the obits – which is the section I usually do my best to avoid reading.

There, among the other poor departed souls (most of whom were pictured at least 20 years ago in their suits/uniforms/formal attire, etc.) was a photo of a 58 year old guy in a T-shirt that proclaimed “My Batteries Are DEAD!” At least I think that’s what it said ‘cause the resolution of the photo wasn’t all that great. But the letters D E A D were extremely legible.

I would like to think he selected this photo on purpose – kind of a farewell gag by a guy with the first name of Geronimo (really!). If he indeed had a sense of humor like that, I would have liked to have known him. Regardless, it made me smile and feel a bit more alive than I had a few minutes earlier. R.I.P.

Thanks Again For Our Freedom

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sun, 24 May 2009 17:51:00 +0000

A heartfelt "thanks" goes out to family members, friends and associates - and their family members - and ALL who have served and sacrificed to perserve our freedom.

I don't even want to contemplate what our way of life might be like today without having had the benefit of their contributions.

"Those who deny freedom to others, deserve it not for themselves; and, under a just God, can not long retain it." - Abraham Lincoln - April 6, 1859

Life Is Never Boring . . .

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 07:46:00 +0000

. . . when you know a Norwegian who is celebrating a birthday (it's like having Halloween in April)!

Natchez to Natchitoches

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 14:28:00 +0000

Last week we saddled up the Mustang for a business drive through East Texas and Northern Louisiana with the objective to reach Jackson, Mississippi. We were able to plan the trip far enough in advance that my BBL could arrange a week off from her nursing duties at Medical Metropolis so she could ride shotgun for the almost 1000 mile round trip.

After my soul was salved with customer visits along the I-20 corridor, we headed SW down “The Trace Parkway” jumping on it just outside of Jackson for its last 88 miles to the Mississippi River at Natchez. The “Trace Parkway” is an immaculate two lane Federal road with a 50 mph speed limit and zero commercial traffic. Combined with 80 degrees and a weather high pressure system, it was the perfect environment to drop the top, sit back and soak up the beautiful sunny Mississippi countryside.

We made one sidetrip into Port Gibson for some gas and to view the city (according to our guidebook) that was spared destruction during the War of Northern Aggression (i.e. the Civil War for you Yankees) because Grant said “it was too beautiful to burn.” Well we got the gas, but we must have made a wrong turn and missed the beautiful part of the city. We did see the old abandoned Trace movie theater and a most unique church steeple before escaping back to the Parkway.

A couple of observations about the Trace Parkway: it is 444 miles long which leaves approximately 80% of it as a future experience for us. The 20% we did experience was 99% downhill (a point I will remember if ever looking for a place to ride a bicycle); didn’t see one pothole or piece of litter; all in all, seems to us to be a fine use of our tax dollars.

The Parkway terminated in the splendid port city of Natchez as did we for the evening. It is said to be one of the oldest cities in the state which has seemingly allowed it to collect the highest number of mansions (antebellum or otherwise), historical sites, and B&B’s per capita. Because it sits high above the Eastern side of the very wide Mississippi River, it is uniquely suited to observe stunning sunsets. Almost as impressive was the experience and fare at Fat Mama’s Tamales (although it costs slightly more than watching the sunsets)—both are highly recommended, but the location of Fat Mama’s makes it difficult to do both at the same time!

The next day we traded The Parkway for the El Camino East-West Corridor or as known in Texas, the Old San Antonio Road (also known to everyone else as US Route 84)]. We kept the top down because the good weather was still with us. Speed limit was mostly 55 mph, but all manner of commercial traffic uses this road. Had to hang on to our hats everytime an 18 wheeler passed us going in the opposite direction. We missed the tranquility of the Trace.

Late afternoon, we rolled into the most difficult pronounciation for an American city we’ve ever encountered: Natchitoches - which we finally got around to identifying as “Knack-a-tish”. Evidently this was close enough to acceptable that it didn’t generate any giggles when we said it around a local person.

Natchitoches has several claims to fame. Supposedly the oldest city in Louisiana, it has its share of mansions/plantations/B&B’s too (due to its heritage of being a port city on the Red River and thereby a gateway to the mighty Mississippi). It’s also home to Northwestern State U with a very pretty campus. But perhaps it’s best known (according to the tourist literature we saw) as being the site where chick flick Steel Magnolias was filmed only 20 years ago.

Our lodging for the night took us to the outskirts of town where we found the Starlight Plantation B&B where owner/hostess Susan provided some rustic luxury alongside the peaceful Cane River Lake. Seems that the fickle Red River changed course along the way eventually leaving Natchitoches without a viable connection to the Red or Mississippi Rivers. But the “oxbow” type lake that was left was renamed Cane River. Although it is officially a lake, it looks more like a wide stream – and it is a real treasure. Now my BBL wants to read Cane River by Lalita Tadamy.

Bottom line on Natchez and Natchitoches: We would return in a heartbeat! In fact, I could live in Natchitoches (subsequently have learned that a 2007 US News and World Report included it in their top 10 places to retire.) But I would settle for another meat pie appetizer, salad dinner and a glass of wine with my BBL on Antonne’s patio overlooking the river/lake/water/whatever.

Click this link for a 7:45 minute “movie” of our trip.

The End -

noreply@blogger.com (LonestarWizzz) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 03:11:00 +0000

of a significant chapter of my life, but thankfully not the end of my life story.

This past Wednesday, 449 days after two of my associates and I were hit by a car while attempting to walk across the street in front of our company's headquarters, the driver received his plea sentence in Wisconsin's Outagamie County courthouse. I'm told the judge's decree included:

1. Alcohol and other drug testing - He is required to complete testing and any necessary follow up treatment as ordered by his probation agent.
2. Absolute sobriety - for the length of his sentence, He is not to have any drugs or alcohol. Additionally, he's not to be in any establishment where there is a provision for alcohol. He cannot have alcohol or drugs in his residence (even if belong to others).
3. $200/month for the entire sentence in restitution. (not to me, but to reimburse the company's Workman's Comp expenses)
4. 500 hours of community service to be provided at either of the two hospitals in the city; at a minimum, 2 hours per week for 5 years.
5. 2 full days per year for 5 years, he has to give talks to students about the impact drug use has had on his life and the lives of others.
6. A letter of apology to me.
7. As an alternative to a year in the county jail, he will serve 16 days in jail (on the weekends for the next 8 weeks). If he fails a random drug test during the next five years, he will immediately be taken to jail to serve a 12 month sentence.
8. He is required to maintain full time employment for the duration of his sentence.

My immediate thought, given the state of the economy and my own employment situation, is that the last condition may be the most difficult to accomplish! But the bottom line is that I'm positive we both wish we did not have to face any of the consequences from a brief unfortunate moment on that cold late afternoon winter day.

My BBL is most happy I've decided to signal the end of this event with the decision to shave off my beard. I had started it after the second crainiotomy when I felt that growing it was one of the few things I could do all by myself! But I'm truly relieved that this event has come to a conclusion -- and without having to relive it in detail via a court trial that was scheduled for next month.