Running Away To Alaska

One of my favorite stories that my grandfather use to tell me was that when I was about 4 years old he came upon me walking down the road heading away from our ranch/farm in Central Texas dragging a small suitcase.  He asked me "Where ya going boy?"

 I answered "I'm running away to Alaska, going to strike gold and then come back and tell everyone Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo!"
He stopped and watched me walk ahead. Then he pulled up beside me again and told me "Ya know... I don't think your going to get there before dark."

He told me, I stopped and thought for a second and then asked him, "Granddaddy, Can you give me a ride back home?"

Years later, I actually did make it to Alaska while in the Navy. I did pan for gold and I did stand up,  face what I figured at the time would be about where my home in Central Texas would be, put my thumbs in my ears, wiggleed my fingers  and hollered as loud as I could  "Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo".

 And I left there if nothing else "feeling" a little bit richer.

Bull Nettles, Cows, Horses and Memorys

The man walked up as I took a photo of the old sagging wooden house that sat along a back road in Central Louisiana. I asked for permission to take some shots and his answer was "Have at it! Shoot away, it's not much to look at. 

As I continued to take my shots we struck up a conversation. He would explain what each building had been over its life on the ranch and farm that I learned he had grown up on. We compared what it had been like for him in this small parcel of land in Allen Parrish and the ranch and farm that I had grown up in Travis County.  The  more we talked, this old country boy from Central Texas and that old country boy from Central Louisiana we figured out real quick that we shared some common interest. Bull Nettles, Cattle, Horses, a respect for family values and Memorys.  Where I had traveled the world, he had hardly left the Parrish. Still the same, over the next few minutes we learned we actually had a lot in common, becaused we had both been "Raised Country".

 We talked about how to get rid of Bull Nettles since that was what he was in the process of doing when he saw me stopping alongside his ranch.  I shared with him my storys of digging down to their root and throwing a handful of rock salt to rid my Dad's land of them. He replied that he didn't knew of that remedy and would have to try it out. He shared his opinon that they stung so bad and there was no stopping it no matter how much scratching and rubbing you did to try and ease the pain.  Then he grinned while he looked around to see if anyone was listening even though we both knew where there wasn't a soul within a mile and asked "Ya know, they say there is only one way to stop it from stinging don't ya?" And with a smile I answered "Yea and a couple of times I was almost stupid enough to try it!"

We talked of cattle.Working cattle by horseback not like they do today with the motorized four-wheelers or motorcycles.  Then the subject went to horses after I noticed a beautiful paint and a roan off in a distance and how much we had both enjoyed riding but those days had long past for both of us. 

We talked about how things and people had changed since we had been kids and how courtesy, honesty and family values didn't seem to mean a whole lot to people and how it has gotten to the point that ya just didn't know who you could trust nowadays.  We both got quiet and just stood and listened to the country for a minute. Then, he broke the silence with  "Ya see that window on the right of that old house over there? I acknowledge that I did and he stood looking at it for a minute without saying anything. Then he added "I was born in that room, Now, I guess I'm just hanging around to see which one of us is going to fall  over first."

I shook his hand and thanked for his time. His answer was "Hell, time is all I've got left."  I corrected him telling him that time is not as important as the memorys he carried within himself.  He smiled, turned and walked away, and I returned to my car to continue on down the country road.

A Christmas Letter to Our Military

"So Help Me God". 

The last four words of a oath that many of us have taken for our country.
A oath that says that we will defend what we are proud of and will fight
for, if need be.  For those who have raised their hand and made
the decision that, for at least a portion of their life, their defending our rights
and freedoms were or is their highest priority, please know your actions
 holds our respect.


"Standing Duty" for one's country can be considered one of the most
honorable actions that a person can ever do. Know that your actions are
worthy and remembered and that we back here at home keep you in our prayers.
Just as the soldier standing beside you has your back, those of us who have
"been there" stand behind you and support your actions.


It does not matter where, when or to what capacity you have or are giving to our
country.  It is just the fact that you were willing to step forward and  say "I will go"
that brings you our trust, respect and appreciation. Know this, that when your
"Duty" is complete you can come home, stand proud, and know that there are
many of us who feel your actions as a member of our military will and should
 always be held in our country's highest regards.

War, is not a pretty thing. War hurts, destroys, and cripples and I wish that
God would take the act of making of war away from us. But as long as there
is the possibility that our rights lifestyles here in the United States of America
are jeopardized by wrongful acts of others, then I am happy, proud and
comfortable in knowing that you are there to defend us. 

God Bless You and Keep You Safe.

The Man Cave

Man’s Fortress of Solitude

                                                                                                 

During the second half of the last millennium the man of the house, after a long day at work wanted a place for the evening to rest and relax.  Hence came the development and introduction of what at the time was called the Den.

 The principles for the space were simple, a room where he could invite other male friends to share in enjoying “man” activities such as, watching football, sharing in a stimulating game of chess, watching baseball, discussing environmental issues, watching basketball, sharing concerns regarding the present day social-economical situations, watching baseball, or enjoying a game of cards, otherwise known as “Poker Night”.

 The men always found it relaxing in the Den if nothing else but to sit in front of the TV, surfing the channels for whatever sport event was available or giving up and discussing the sports statistics of their favorite players. It was a place where dad and his friends could hide while their woman carried on their own stimulating discussions regarding neighborhood activities, unofficial PTA meeting, the ever changing clothing trends, ideas on new pot roast recipes, and of course, the always important opinions regarding their observations of the latest ongoing dramatic, life changing activities of the 10a.m. fictional theatrical television series or commonly known as the soaps.

  In most cases the Den was off limits unless father offered the rare privilege of sharing his room for an hour or so.  The basic understanding was that this room was accessible to the man of the house and other visiting men over the age of 21.  The only exceptions would be any younger Active Duty Soldier who was home on leave or the first time a young man made the mistake of ringing the front door bell to pick up fathers “little girl” for a first date. The poor soul was escorted by mom who knocked first then allowed the young man to enter the Den where for next 15 minutes the father interrogated the victim on their past, their future goals in life and their intentions regarding the first date with his daughter.  

Over the next two generations this purpose for this room somehow started through an evolutionary change.  With the new wave of electronics that burst forward in the 70’s and 80’s the den turned into where the family arcade could be found. There were Video games, Large Screen Projector Televisions, VCR’s, DVR’s and CD Players which the man gradually was pressured into sharing with the rest of the family. At first it was only on Friday nights for Family Night, then Saturday Nites for Mom and Dad time. Until finally the inevitable happened and the door was either taken off completely or the entrance was modified thus the coming of the “Family Room”.  Without knowing it, the man had lost his Fortress of Solitude. 

For those rebels who had to have a “room” for them they found a new way of saving their manhood by slowly transforming their garages into their hiding place.  It usually started with the excuse that the place “just needed cleaning up.”  Then came the re-arranging of the tools and building of the workbench which soon provided the need for a Television, Refrigerator and a second hand microwave.  It was obvious that the family vehicle no longer had a place within the confines of what use to be the garage. Then, down went a coat of concrete paint and some sports memorabilia hanging from the roof and neon beer signs on the walls. Again, Mr. Macho had his place.

The father had his own little castle and quickly the old Den rules were again put into in play.  When those garage doors went down the dropping of the Kings Drawbridge signaled the return of his privacy and all was well.  That is until, the third child arrived and now suddenly the 14 year old son needed a “place of his own” and with the garage doors replaced by solid walls and a wall air conditioning unit, the teenage boy had his Bachelor’s Pad and Dad again lost his home away from home. 

For the next few years the man of the house bided his time waiting for a chance to reclaim his hide away.  Somehow though, when the oldest child moved away with dad gladly helping him to move out, the next son slipped in and enjoys the “bachelor pad” all the way through his remaining years of high school and his 4 years of college.

Finally with the coming of the empty nest and the start of the new millennium the man has finally had the opportunity to reclaim his Man Cave.  But wait a minute, now things are different, now the items that seemed so important to him in the den of 30 years ago no longer carry as much importance.  Now, the new Man Cave is more a Museum of Past Adventures, Memorable Experiences, Unusual Collections and of course his “Own” Super Doper Maximums Home Computer.  The little box that is the world’s answer for enjoying the entire world and universe without ever having to leave your highly expensive, “don’t you even think of sitting in my” Real Corinthian leather chair.

The Man Cave, of the 2000’s, The Baby Boomer Males attempt to still have a place where he can step into and mentally spring forward into the future trying to figure out where and what he may be in the next 30 years or step back and be allowed to relive some of the many life experiences he has collected over his lifetime.  Or to be able to sit and just enjoy the present and enjoy what he has accomplished and attained regarding MAN things.

 Keep in mind that this luxury does not come cheap. Usually a compromise must be agreed upon. You don’t mess with me and my Man Cave and I will go to Bingo with you once a week,  or setting her up a Sewing/Scrap booking Room or participating in Garage Sale shopping on Saturday mornings. But that’s OK because you can return to your MAN CAVE each Saturday afternoon and know you have a place to hide when the now grown kids and grandkids show up unexpectedly.  Now after a few minutes of listening to what little Johnny or Mary did in school that week you can say “Hey Son, let show you something” and you both have an easy out to head to the MAN CAVE.  Once there, you watch proudly, sitting in your Corinthian Leather Chair as he walks around your room admiring your MAN treasures, knowing that in his mind he is saying “One of These Days, I’m going to have a MAN Cave just like this”.

Dear Santa... Stacking the Deck

Dear Santa Claus..

Now that Thanksgiving is over I feel comfortable in sending my letter to you and NOW can start making plans for CHRISTMAS.

Just felt the need to keep you updated on my behavior over the past few months. I am striving to ensure that my actions continue to meet your expectations and that by doing so you feel assured that I do deserve any (Canon EOS Rebel T3i Digital Camera) Christmas present that may possibly find it's way under our Christmas tree this year.

Please take note that I have cleaned, cleared and personally made sure that our chimney is void of anything that may hinder your arrival to our Christmas tree which will soon be in placed just to the right of the fireplace in the den. I also got to thinking that your probably getting tired of milk and cookies so, I will have you a nice Ribeye with a Baked potato there for you, Also and finally for the Rudolf and the others each will find a large "toasted" bag of oats sitting just to the side of the chimney with a pail of fresh spring water.

As you can see Santa, I am always thinking of those around me and not myself. I Hope your flight will go without any problems.

P.S. Attached you will find the GPS coordinates for our house because we have moved since the last time you honored us with your presence.

God Speed and hoping to see you soon.

John

Hello! I know your out there!

To all the people who read my blogs.  I would love to hear your opinion on my writings.  It doesn't matter, positive or negative.  One can only grow by learning from their mistakes, so please feel free to be upfront on how you feel after reading my work.  I promise I will not hunt you down. 

Thanks for taking the time to read my work. 

Onward Thru The Fog...

John

My Duty

The other day, my wife brought me a sheet of paper she had found somewhere in my old files. It was a folded, water stained prose I had written many years ago. Immediately I recognized it as what I think is the first piece of writing I ever did.  After reading it for the first time in almost 30 years I thought about how that time and place had affected me as a person, but more as a citizen of this country and what it meant to be part of such a great land.

 It was written when I was aboard the U.S.S. Albert David (FF-1050) in 1982 while we were in the Persian Gulf.  The people in that region had been in some sort of conflict with each other since the time of Christ.  But in 1979, Iran slapped our country in the face by the taking of the American Hostages and my patriotism had overwhelmed me and I had enlisted to “Do my Duty, For My Country”. 

Never did I think, as I raised my hand to take the oath, would I actually, be sitting three miles off their coastline wondering alongside 361 other men, what was going to happen next just two years later. Days of standing “Radar Picket Station” at Condition One while Iranian planes made false strafing runs over us and their gun boats, just within the safety of their territorial waters 200 yards away, locked their weapons systems on our ship kept us all on edge.  

Your mind plays with you at times like that. You think of people, places and things that you didn’t even realize meant so much to you.  You think about things in your past that you hadn’t thought about for years.  The little things, things like your first day in school, your first night away from home, of times playing with your brothers or maybe the first time you tried to impress that certain little girl.  Things that made you smile or inwardly laugh. You tried to find ways to mentally escape from the pressures of the moment. Oh yea, we laughed, we joked, and we poked fun at each other to relieve the tensions. But at the same time each of us individually sat wondering, waiting, and praying that we would not have to have to prove our loyalty by giving our life for our country.  

Then it was over, we left that danger behind us when another U.S. warship took our place “along the line”. “Our turn” was over, we were allowed to go back to the normal duties that most sailors do. We went back to doing the “games” of practices, drills and “sowing our oats” in ports around the world which most people picture when the word sailor is mentioned.  But with each practice, each drill, and port visit the men on our ship smiled a different smile then most, because we had knew that we had already proven we were ready.

But now, thirty years later I find I am still on duty.  Because even now, when I least expect it,  I still roll over in my sleep and wake to the sound of the ship’s warning alarms going off in my head followed by the scariest words a sailor can hear. “Battle Stations, Battle Stations, This is not a Drill. Now Set Condition Zebra, Battle Stations”.

Yes, I did my duty, I gave to my country, but I guess even now I’m not done yet. Like so many others who have seen “the real thing” in any armed services of our country we live with them, but we don’t talk about them.  The way I see it, those nightmares we have every once in a while, are just another part of doing our duty. But at the same time they are also a way for us to not forget why we did it.  For the Love of Our Country.