Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing,
Calling yourself Catholic is no more making you Christian than standing in your garage for one hour each week makes you a car, seems to have touched a nerve for lots of folks.
Wow! Did I ever get comments on that thing. Some good, some bad, but lots of comments. Just like dancing, some folks can and some folks can’t and some folks wish they could dance. Oh well, just depends on ones point of view, the way ya see things I life.
Saying thing like that is a paraprosdokian figure of speech in which the back part of a sentence or phrase is so surprising or so unexpected in such a way that causes ya to go back and look at the front part again. Those things just kinda makes ya stop and rethink the whole deal from the start to the finish. And some times, sometimes they just make ya smile, or even laugh out loud, from, time to time.
Paraprosdokian figures are fun things to think up and even more fun to write. Things like, If I agreed with you then we’d both be stupid, or we don’t know what we don’t know and we don’t know that we don’t know it, you’re never too old to learn something dumb, I didn't say it was your fault; I said I was blaming you. I was looking back to see if your were looking back to see if I was looking back to see if you were looking back at me.
Alistair Cooke is credited with on of my personal favorites for paraprosdokian figures of speech when he, while speaking of the Duke of Windsor, said “he was at his best when the going was good”. Paraprosdokian figures of speech, fun things to play with. Words, ever gentle on your mind, gota love ‘em.
Did ya see the meteors Thursday night? Well if ya went out somewhere after ‘round 9:00 o’clock or so and looked toward the east, a little southeast, then you’d be bound to see ‘em if ya looked for any time a all. 30 to 50 meteors per hour was what I’s seeing when I’m standing out there in the cold, wondering why I’m out here standing in the cold. Now I’ve seen this same meteor light show every year and still go out and stand in the cold night of November like I’ve just been introduced to meteors. It’s a little magic show in the sky. They sometimes come and go so fast, ya wonder if ya really seen it or not, them sneaky little meteors. Then sometimes the meteor will go from horizon to horizon, now that's kinda cool. Ya don’t see too many of those kind, but when ya do, it’s kinda cool.
I just don’t stargaze like I used to when my brother in-law was alive. Ed and I enjoyed a rather unique style of stargazing. Ed was no longer able to look thru the eyepiece of the telescope, I was. The way it worked for Ed and me was I’d set up the telescope, and look at whatever I wanted to. When I found something interesting, I’d give Ed the coordinates by computer webcam and he’d either find my position in his star chart reference books or more likely, Google Sky.
Ya know ‘bout Google Earth, but don’t know ‘bout Google Sky. Well just like the Staples commercial, hit the “that’s easy” button, ‘cause Google Sky has been right there on you computer all the time, Ya were just having too much fun with Google Earth, finding your house, then the house of everybody you know.
Yep, Google Sky is right there on the top row, in the icons, ‘bout in the middle as I recall, just click and ya go from looking down on earth to looking up from earth. The Google Sky is lot easier to get lost than Google Earth, ‘cause after all, the distances in Google Sky are a lot farther than from the East Wing to Alabama. Google Sky is so good, sometimes when I’m too lazy to set up the telescope and go out in the cold, I just look at Google Sky.
Now ya gota remember that the images displayed in Google Sky came from a better vantage point than the East Wing in the dark. There’s a little telescope high in the sky taking all kinds of really neat pictures from space. Ya might have heard of it, It’s called the Hubble Space Telescope. That’s a different brand than the one I use outside on the north deck of the East Wing. I bet the controllers of the Hubble don’t have any more fun looking at the stars than I do, but they don’t have to go outside on crisp cold clear winter nights to see the best stuff like I do. I miss stargazing with Ed. Stargazing’s more fun with someone to share with.
Last Tuesday me and the she found ourselves in Michigan City IN when it was time for supper, went to Ryan’s and had a buffet which is a bad place to go for a diabetic for supper. Oh well, if ya watch what ye eat then ya can eat anywhere, and so I do. The one thing that stuck in my head was cornbread with Jalapeno Peppers inside.
Now I’m telling ya that’s not the hillbilly way, putting those Jalapeno Peppers in cornbread and all, but I was surprised that it worked well. I liked it. Can’t say the same for all the other stuff there, but the kicked up cornbread with a 5,000 unit Scoville rating, I’d eat again.
Did ya ever hear ‘bout Wilbur Scoville? Well don’t feel bad most people never did, I just happen to have had a chemistry professor one time in the past who just so happened to know a chemist by the name of Wilbur Scoville back in the day, and my professor delighted in sharing the fact that he knew someone that had made a name for himself so to speak and he was hot item in the scientific circles. And continues to be so to this day.
Now Wilbur Scoville was a chemist in the early 1900’s, as I remember the story, and working for Parke Davis, a pharmaceutical company when he developed a method of measuring the heat level in chili peppers. He ground up chilies with a sugar water solution and diluted the concentrations in measured steps till ya couldn’t taste the heat any more.
Testers sipped the stuff till they reached the point where it no longer burned their tongue. At that point a number was assigned to that chili based on the dilution factor. And just that easy the Scoville Organoleptic Test was born. A way to measure the heat of given chili peppers against all other chili peppers. Now that organoleptic word is just a quasi medical term that refers to qualities that affect our senses, taste, sight, smell, touch, that kinda stuff.
Like most pioneers in laboratory research, someone else comes along and improves upon the original work. And so it was with Wilbur Scoville, and the red hot chili peppers.
Machines now measure the heat of chili peppers, but even with the high tech of Liquid Chromatograph and pepper heat never touching tongue, the Scoville name remains as the acknowledged unit of measure for the heat of peppers. A researcher from the Texas Agricultural Experiment Station listed most all peppers from the mildest to the hottest. Those in the pepper business refer to the pepper heat as the pungency level.
Here’s the Scoville Units of pepper pungency, so pick a peck of pickled peppers.
0 -100 Scoville Units: Bell/Sweet pepper varieties
500 -1000 Scoville Units: Big Jim, Anaheim peppers
1,000 -1,500 Scoville Units: Ancho, Pasilla peppers
1,500 - 2,500 Scoville Units: Sandia, Cascabel, Rocotillo peppers
2,500 - 5,000 Scoville Units: Jalapeno & Mirasol peppers
5,000 - 15,000 Scoville Units: Yellow Wax, Serrano peppers
15,000 - 30,000 Scoville Units: de Arbol peppers
30,000 - 50,000 Scoville Units: Piquin, Cayenne & Tabasco peppers
50,000 - 100,000 Scoville Units: Chiltepin, Thai, Santaka peppers
100,000 - 300,000 Scoville Units: Scotch Bonnet & Habanero peppers.
575,000 Scoville Units: Red Savina Habanero peppers.
855,000 Scoville Units: Naga Jolokia peppers (Professional pepper. Do not try this at home) .
16,000,000 Scoville Units: Pure Capsaicin (Don’t even think about it.) This is the chemical that makes the fire. I think if ya just put pure capsaicin on your tongue, ya don’t have to die to go to hell, you’re there.
Ya just gota love that word “pungency”. Ya don’t find good descriptive words like pungency around too much anymore. I think President Obama’s Word Czar took most all those good descriptive words from the dictionary, but maybe the House Republicans will bring ‘em back. I think that was part of the deal.
With the end of year winter holidays fast approaching, Thanksgiving is on the radar this week. Thanksgiving, such an American Holiday, a day recognized by all as a special day to thank God for all that we’ve received in life. I'm sure there are some who may not agree, but it you’re reading this, then you’re on the right side of the dirt, and that’s something worth being thankful for, unless you’re a mole.
Being an almost exclusive American Holiday, Thanksgiving has its origin all the way back into the very earliest history of the people who suffered so much to get to this land, this thing we call home, this America, started. An Indian played a major role in the process of thanksgiving becoming a holiday. Yes an Indian, a fellow by the name of Squanto, taught the Pilgrims how to feed themselves in this new and hostile land.
Seems I recall that fish played a key part in Squanto’s success, but he didn’t invent the dish “Fish and Loafs”. That’d been used to feed large crowds in the past, way before Squanto’s time. I think that “Fish and Loafs” deal was the start of the first catering business. Oh by the way, Squanto is the great, great, great, great grandfather of Tonto.
Good thing Squanto was around, else the Lone Ranger would’ve been just another cowboy with a mask, and probably would’ve went to the dark side, I mean with the mask and all, what other line of work could he get into? And he’d even have to changes horses, ‘cause everybody knows that ya can’t go to the dark side while riding a white horse, that’s just not right.
I think I’ve already invited each and every one of you to join me for Thanksgiving Dinner at Grand Central Station in North Judson IN. We’ll start at 12 noon and eat till everyone’s full or the food’s all gone, whichever comes first. I bet we get full first, ‘cause for backup there’s always Fish and Loafs.
Stay safe in Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, Paraprosdokian Figures, Google Sky, Wilbur Scoville, Squanto, Tonto, And Fish and Loafs
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
From the East Wing, With Spike Doing Well, Sophia Moon Walking, Email Scams, Father Mark From the Mountains
Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
Thank you one and all for your concern for the Birthday Kitten, The Man Cat, Spike. Spike is doing well and is currently holding court in the East Wing. Now having joined the inside pets completing his special elective surgery, he’s truly one of the gang. They still look at his rear end hair cut and laugh, but oh well, things are like that in the East Wing. We some have hair and some don’t
While Spike has settled into his new role as house cat, Sophia on the other hand is yet to come down from the clouds of euphoria. Wow! Talk ‘bout a cat high, ya wouldn’t believe a cat could get so high till ya see Sophia walk on air. Remember Michael Jackson’s Moon Walk? She can. I’m telling ya, Sophia can Moon Walk with the best of ‘em. On her back legs, standing tall, Moon Walking Cat. And I thought she looked good doing the back flips, till I saw the Moon Walking.
Sophia says she’s glad the President is out of the country. 'Cause every time he leaves the country his approval rating goes up. She thinks it’s ‘cause people want him to get as far away as possible. Damn Republican Cat.
Was last week’s weather great or what? How many thought for sure that’s Indiana Summer? Wrong! Indian Summer don’t start till St. Martin’s Day. November 11, is considered the beginning of Indian summer, a period of warm weather following a cold spell or hard frost.
An old saying is “If All Saints’ (November 1) brings out winter, St. Martin’s brings out Indian summer.” Indian summer can occur between St. Martin’s Day and November 20. And if ya remember, last Thursday sure felt like summer, being 70° and all. But for the rest of the Indian Summer, it kinda cooled down, down toward winter, but that’s ok too, ‘cause winter’s kinda cool. At least two summer like days fall within the St. Martin to November 20th time frame this year. Some times it just don’t happen at all, so were blessed this year with a short Indian Summer. Sometimes it’s quality not quantity that counts.
Seems I remember hearing somewhere the origin of the term, Indian Summer, some say that it comes from the early Native Americans, who believed that the condition was caused by a warm wind sent from the court of their southwestern God, Cautantowwit. I wonder what those old Indians were smoking when they thought that one up. Pot’s old, and been ‘round a long time ya know.
Some times I think my email is like a pop quiz, ya never know what’s coming next. A fellow asked if I knew the name of the full moon of November. HELLO ! I’m a stargazer, have been so forever. Not really forever, but for a long time. Did ya ever wonder ‘bout things like how long is forever. I think it’s as long as it needs to be and then it’s some more.
Talking ‘bout forever, I had some people want to talk a while back ‘bout the “end of time”, did I think it was near, did I think it was far. I told ‘em right up, “if ya die today, then your end of time is near. I hope mine’s far”.
The answer is yes, I know. The Full Beaver Moon of November. I should’ve answered back and said do ya know why it’s called the Beaver Moon. I didn’t, but almost did. That would’ve been the wrong thing to say to a person who may not know. But I almost did. Smarty pants from guy Montana, trying to get me to sin by talking mean to a person I don’t even know, but I almost did.
Oh, and that Full Beaver Moon, well they called it that ‘cause that’s the time of the year to make sure ya set all the beaver traps before the creeks and rivers and everything freeze. That way you’re assured a goodly supply of warm Beaver Furs for the winter. And we all know how important that is today.
We don’t do much beaver trapping from the East Wing. I just rely on the hunting skills of the 2girldogs to keep me supplied with warm animal furs for the winter. It turns out that my warm furs pretty much amount to Pup Baby laying at the foot of my bed while I sleep. Oh well, at least it’s warm fur for the winter. Along with Sophia and Spike, I sometimes have more warm furs than I need, even in the winter.
Sometimes think the worst thing I could have ever done in my lifetime is to register with National Diabetic Association after being diagnosed with diabetes back in the spring. I now get lots of email related to diabetes. Today I received the ultimate email on diabetes.
It was from a law firm, that email letter on diabetes, they didn’t identify their location. Them folks wanted to know if I had ever taken ad drug called AVANDIA. I have not. They told me ‘bout lots of people having taken Avandia for their diabetes and having such bad things happen to them medically. They even went on and on ‘bout the Federal Government investigating the makers of Avandia.
Told me there was going to be a large sum of money set aside for people who’d taken this drug and had experienced a bad medical outcome, those email lawyers. All I had to do was just fill in the blank spaces on the form and I’m going to get some money, lots of money. Now the fact I never took Avandia didn’t seem to matter at all, just fill in the blanks and wait for the money.
Sounded like a democrat scheme to me so I decided to get Sophia’s input. Now for you that may not know the inter working of the East Wing, Sophia spends most all her time lying on the back of my chair when I'm in the East Wing. And for those who don’t know ‘bout the East Wing at all, it’s a 24x20 room built onto the original east end of my house. Three sides are all glass walls, floor to ceiling, the 4th side is the original outside of the house, with just enough walls to support the roof. The East Wing, where me and the 2girldogs, Sophia, Spike and the She call home. Although the She don’t stay in the East Wing as much as the rest of us do.
Sophia stays on the back of my chair for a simple reason. That way she can read the screen as I type, also so she can whisper into my ear, only on problem, Sophia don’t do whisper. Sophia knows I’m deaf without my hearing aids, so with her laying on the back of the chair, she can yell into my right ear with ease. And believe me she does, both loud and often.
When asked ‘bout the Avandia, Sophia said “there’s a sucker born every minute, you grape or orange?” Very few people like smart ass cats. But ya gota love the Calico Cat when she smiles. The Moon Walking part, well that’s just like gravy on biscuits, it’s just been made extra special.
Remember this time ‘bout a year ago or so, I was talking ‘bout a Catholic Priest from Kentucky coming to my church in North Judson. Well guess what, today we had another Catholic Priest from Kentucky come to my church in North Judson.
Father Mark Dreves from the Diocese of Lexington. Now when most folks think ‘bout Lexington, they tend to think one of three things, Blue Grass, Race Horses, or the University of Kentucky Wildcats. The Catholic Church’s not widely associated with the State of Kentucky, yet the Catholic Church puts forth extensive efforts in Southeastern Kentucky, both spiritual and charitable. Most all of this work goes unnoticed by the rest of the world, noticed only by those who’s lives are touched by the efforts. That alone is the reward for the effort.
Father Mark currently serves in the capacity of Vicar General in the Diocese of Lexington. Now for you non Catholic folks, the Vicar General is kinda like the Vice President, in the sense he’s the number two guy in charge. That’s where the similarity ends. The main job of the Vice President is to wait around for the President to die so he can be President.
Not the case with the Vicar General, this is the go to position that makes any diocese work, and Father Mark appears, from my too short a visit with him, to be just the right man for the job. He probably don’t think so, but I’ll bet ya his Bishop does.
Talk ‘bout Devine Intervention, last Saturday I had a certain amount of work that just had to be completed in my office. A deadline I had established two weeks prior. I was aware the Father Mark was on his way to my office and my concern was I’d have to ask him to cool his heels while I finished my work for the day. It was with that thought in my mind that I continued to process the stuff that had to be done.
The work got finished, checked and rechecked for detail, it was acceptable, I pushed the button to both save and print. It was as the very last page of a long document exited the printer that Father Mark knocked on my office door. Some times things work out so good ya just say “Thank you Jesus” and go on ‘bout you life.
At mass this weekend in both North Judson and San Pierre, Father Mark brought the message of the need for assistance in Southeastern Kentucky. The difficulty of life in the mountains, the struggle to maintain a family relationship, the frustration of chronic unemployment. Lack of money, lack of clothing, lack of food, lack of education, and in many instances lack of hope. Life is hard in the mountains for many people who call those mountains home.
Kind and gentle people, both saints and sinners mixed together right there in the mountains, much the same mix as any other place in the world. There’s always charitable need throughout the world. It’s something ya can’t dwell upon forever or you’ll become so depressed you’ll join the hopeless.
But ya just do your part, and the Family of Howard’s part to assist the Diocese of Lexington in their charitable efforts in Appalachia is to provide clothing. We don’t know how much or how it’ll get delivered. But it will. Those are details which will fill in as we go forward with the program.
It’s one thing to hear of a human need, kick in ten bucks and forget about it. It’s another thing to hear of a need close to home and decide to try to do something about it. It’s kinda like calling ourselves Catholic and not responding, why would we not respond? Pray that our efforts to provide clothing for those in need in Magoffin and Floyd County Kentucky will be successful, better yet join me in the effort.
Now ‘bout that calling ourselves Catholic statement, think about it. Calling ourselves Catholic no more makes us Christian than standing in our garage one hour a week makes us a car. Did ya ever wonder ‘bout the number of cars at mass?
And they’ll know we are Christian by our deeds.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Spike Doing Well, Sophia Moon Walking, Email Scams, Father Mark From the Mountains
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Thank you one and all for your concern for the Birthday Kitten, The Man Cat, Spike. Spike is doing well and is currently holding court in the East Wing. Now having joined the inside pets completing his special elective surgery, he’s truly one of the gang. They still look at his rear end hair cut and laugh, but oh well, things are like that in the East Wing. We some have hair and some don’t
While Spike has settled into his new role as house cat, Sophia on the other hand is yet to come down from the clouds of euphoria. Wow! Talk ‘bout a cat high, ya wouldn’t believe a cat could get so high till ya see Sophia walk on air. Remember Michael Jackson’s Moon Walk? She can. I’m telling ya, Sophia can Moon Walk with the best of ‘em. On her back legs, standing tall, Moon Walking Cat. And I thought she looked good doing the back flips, till I saw the Moon Walking.
Sophia says she’s glad the President is out of the country. 'Cause every time he leaves the country his approval rating goes up. She thinks it’s ‘cause people want him to get as far away as possible. Damn Republican Cat.
Was last week’s weather great or what? How many thought for sure that’s Indiana Summer? Wrong! Indian Summer don’t start till St. Martin’s Day. November 11, is considered the beginning of Indian summer, a period of warm weather following a cold spell or hard frost.
An old saying is “If All Saints’ (November 1) brings out winter, St. Martin’s brings out Indian summer.” Indian summer can occur between St. Martin’s Day and November 20. And if ya remember, last Thursday sure felt like summer, being 70° and all. But for the rest of the Indian Summer, it kinda cooled down, down toward winter, but that’s ok too, ‘cause winter’s kinda cool. At least two summer like days fall within the St. Martin to November 20th time frame this year. Some times it just don’t happen at all, so were blessed this year with a short Indian Summer. Sometimes it’s quality not quantity that counts.
Seems I remember hearing somewhere the origin of the term, Indian Summer, some say that it comes from the early Native Americans, who believed that the condition was caused by a warm wind sent from the court of their southwestern God, Cautantowwit. I wonder what those old Indians were smoking when they thought that one up. Pot’s old, and been ‘round a long time ya know.
Some times I think my email is like a pop quiz, ya never know what’s coming next. A fellow asked if I knew the name of the full moon of November. HELLO ! I’m a stargazer, have been so forever. Not really forever, but for a long time. Did ya ever wonder ‘bout things like how long is forever. I think it’s as long as it needs to be and then it’s some more.
Talking ‘bout forever, I had some people want to talk a while back ‘bout the “end of time”, did I think it was near, did I think it was far. I told ‘em right up, “if ya die today, then your end of time is near. I hope mine’s far”.
The answer is yes, I know. The Full Beaver Moon of November. I should’ve answered back and said do ya know why it’s called the Beaver Moon. I didn’t, but almost did. That would’ve been the wrong thing to say to a person who may not know. But I almost did. Smarty pants from guy Montana, trying to get me to sin by talking mean to a person I don’t even know, but I almost did.
Oh, and that Full Beaver Moon, well they called it that ‘cause that’s the time of the year to make sure ya set all the beaver traps before the creeks and rivers and everything freeze. That way you’re assured a goodly supply of warm Beaver Furs for the winter. And we all know how important that is today.
We don’t do much beaver trapping from the East Wing. I just rely on the hunting skills of the 2girldogs to keep me supplied with warm animal furs for the winter. It turns out that my warm furs pretty much amount to Pup Baby laying at the foot of my bed while I sleep. Oh well, at least it’s warm fur for the winter. Along with Sophia and Spike, I sometimes have more warm furs than I need, even in the winter.
Sometimes think the worst thing I could have ever done in my lifetime is to register with National Diabetic Association after being diagnosed with diabetes back in the spring. I now get lots of email related to diabetes. Today I received the ultimate email on diabetes.
It was from a law firm, that email letter on diabetes, they didn’t identify their location. Them folks wanted to know if I had ever taken ad drug called AVANDIA. I have not. They told me ‘bout lots of people having taken Avandia for their diabetes and having such bad things happen to them medically. They even went on and on ‘bout the Federal Government investigating the makers of Avandia.
Told me there was going to be a large sum of money set aside for people who’d taken this drug and had experienced a bad medical outcome, those email lawyers. All I had to do was just fill in the blank spaces on the form and I’m going to get some money, lots of money. Now the fact I never took Avandia didn’t seem to matter at all, just fill in the blanks and wait for the money.
Sounded like a democrat scheme to me so I decided to get Sophia’s input. Now for you that may not know the inter working of the East Wing, Sophia spends most all her time lying on the back of my chair when I'm in the East Wing. And for those who don’t know ‘bout the East Wing at all, it’s a 24x20 room built onto the original east end of my house. Three sides are all glass walls, floor to ceiling, the 4th side is the original outside of the house, with just enough walls to support the roof. The East Wing, where me and the 2girldogs, Sophia, Spike and the She call home. Although the She don’t stay in the East Wing as much as the rest of us do.
Sophia stays on the back of my chair for a simple reason. That way she can read the screen as I type, also so she can whisper into my ear, only on problem, Sophia don’t do whisper. Sophia knows I’m deaf without my hearing aids, so with her laying on the back of the chair, she can yell into my right ear with ease. And believe me she does, both loud and often.
When asked ‘bout the Avandia, Sophia said “there’s a sucker born every minute, you grape or orange?” Very few people like smart ass cats. But ya gota love the Calico Cat when she smiles. The Moon Walking part, well that’s just like gravy on biscuits, it’s just been made extra special.
Remember this time ‘bout a year ago or so, I was talking ‘bout a Catholic Priest from Kentucky coming to my church in North Judson. Well guess what, today we had another Catholic Priest from Kentucky come to my church in North Judson.
Father Mark Dreves from the Diocese of Lexington. Now when most folks think ‘bout Lexington, they tend to think one of three things, Blue Grass, Race Horses, or the University of Kentucky Wildcats. The Catholic Church’s not widely associated with the State of Kentucky, yet the Catholic Church puts forth extensive efforts in Southeastern Kentucky, both spiritual and charitable. Most all of this work goes unnoticed by the rest of the world, noticed only by those who’s lives are touched by the efforts. That alone is the reward for the effort.
Father Mark currently serves in the capacity of Vicar General in the Diocese of Lexington. Now for you non Catholic folks, the Vicar General is kinda like the Vice President, in the sense he’s the number two guy in charge. That’s where the similarity ends. The main job of the Vice President is to wait around for the President to die so he can be President.
Not the case with the Vicar General, this is the go to position that makes any diocese work, and Father Mark appears, from my too short a visit with him, to be just the right man for the job. He probably don’t think so, but I’ll bet ya his Bishop does.
Talk ‘bout Devine Intervention, last Saturday I had a certain amount of work that just had to be completed in my office. A deadline I had established two weeks prior. I was aware the Father Mark was on his way to my office and my concern was I’d have to ask him to cool his heels while I finished my work for the day. It was with that thought in my mind that I continued to process the stuff that had to be done.
The work got finished, checked and rechecked for detail, it was acceptable, I pushed the button to both save and print. It was as the very last page of a long document exited the printer that Father Mark knocked on my office door. Some times things work out so good ya just say “Thank you Jesus” and go on ‘bout you life.
At mass this weekend in both North Judson and San Pierre, Father Mark brought the message of the need for assistance in Southeastern Kentucky. The difficulty of life in the mountains, the struggle to maintain a family relationship, the frustration of chronic unemployment. Lack of money, lack of clothing, lack of food, lack of education, and in many instances lack of hope. Life is hard in the mountains for many people who call those mountains home.
Kind and gentle people, both saints and sinners mixed together right there in the mountains, much the same mix as any other place in the world. There’s always charitable need throughout the world. It’s something ya can’t dwell upon forever or you’ll become so depressed you’ll join the hopeless.
But ya just do your part, and the Family of Howard’s part to assist the Diocese of Lexington in their charitable efforts in Appalachia is to provide clothing. We don’t know how much or how it’ll get delivered. But it will. Those are details which will fill in as we go forward with the program.
It’s one thing to hear of a human need, kick in ten bucks and forget about it. It’s another thing to hear of a need close to home and decide to try to do something about it. It’s kinda like calling ourselves Catholic and not responding, why would we not respond? Pray that our efforts to provide clothing for those in need in Magoffin and Floyd County Kentucky will be successful, better yet join me in the effort.
Now ‘bout that calling ourselves Catholic statement, think about it. Calling ourselves Catholic no more makes us Christian than standing in our garage one hour a week makes us a car. Did ya ever wonder ‘bout the number of cars at mass?
And they’ll know we are Christian by our deeds.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Spike Doing Well, Sophia Moon Walking, Email Scams, Father Mark From the Mountains
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, November 7, 2010
From the East Wing, A Happy Cat, Part of History, November Holidays, Oklahoma Heroes, Spike & The Knife
Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
Now I’m not saying the Sophia’s happy, but did ya ever see a cat do a back flip? Twice? From Sophia’s point of view, things went just swell that election night, November 2nd 2010. Now that’s not the case for everyone involved, such is life, win some, lose some, life goes on. Right now Sophia’s so happy with the outcome of the election she’s not even bad mouthing the President. Although Sophia said she thinks everybody in the whole world got the message except Obama and Pelosi. But you know how those Republican Calico Cats can stretch the truth. I think he got the message. We’ll see about Pelosi, she’s from California ya know, it sometimes takes longer for the word to get that far.
It’s kinda interesting to note that just 24 months ago it seems the whole country just couldn’t get enough of then President Elect Obama and now we seem to have collectively said Uh Oh! Guess that just goes to show ya, a majority is not necessarily always right. Collectively we make mistakes and collectively we correct such mistakes. Some have been corrected, and some still remain.
It's amazing that the largest shift of one political party to the other since the 1940’s has occurred with our participation. Now that’s assuming ya voted. If ya didn’t --- shame on you. But one thing ya gota keep in mind, if ya don’t vote, ya can’t complain. And that’s why I always vote, just in case I need to complain. I voted.
One of the things which seem to be lost in the national media is the extent of the political swing to the concretive point of view. On a national basis this is the largest shift of political position in the history of this nation. At the state level, the change in political position is historic, at the local level, across the nation, the same political change in position tends to reflect the national view.
Never in the history of politics have so many changed so fast because of so few. But what’s so both amazing and gratifying ‘bout the American Electorate is the success of those most demonized of all, the Tea Party.
And to paraphrase “Larry The Cable Guy” when talking ‘bout the Tea Party. “They Got ‘er Done”. And so they did. The American political landscape has been changed forever. Like it or not, it just has, and a new national thought process has come to the forefront. They got ‘er done. Sophia the Republican Cat is all smiles, and I’m glad, ‘cause ya don’t have to live with a mad cat. I do.
Is summer turning to winter while going through fall a neat time of the year or what? Gotta love November. Such major holidays that few participate in, such as November 4th, Will Rogers Day. Now I have some friends who live in Oklahoma, and I’m telling ya, Will Rogers Day is a big deal in Oklahoma. ‘Course if ya ever been to Oklahoma then ya’d know why Will Rogers Day is a big deal in Oklahoma. Will Rogers once said “I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.” Wow, would he have a lot of “facts” to report now days. Will Rogers (1879–1935)
One thing ya can say ‘bout Oklahoma is, its north of Texas, and everybody knows ya don’t mess with Texas. But the really best thing I can say ‘bout Oklahoma is I’ve met Buddy Evans. For those of you who may not know Buddy Evans, well set back and enjoy the Buddy Evans story.
Buddy came into my life unexpected and uninvited and I’m so glad he did. Without fanfare or Gloria last Friday late afternoon, I found myself engaged in conversation with a fellow named Buddy Evans, He’s from Oklahoma, and he’s from Oklahoma, came to Indiana for a wedding to be held at Grand Central Station the next day. Well Buddy turns out to be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met in a long, a long time.
Buddy graduated from high school in 1950’s and can’t wait to go see the world, but seeing the world in Oklahoma turns out to be a lineman for the county. Looking for a way to escape Oklahoma, Buddy turns to the military recruitment. The army tells him, “we can take you in six weeks”, the air force tells him “ we can take you in three weeks”, the navy tell him “we can take you in two weeks” the marines tell Buddy “we got a bus leaving Tulsa tomorrow” Buddy was on the bus. He spent six years in the Marines. Buddy got his wish to see the world.
Buddy was in southeast Asia, Vietnam, at a time when it was not the politically correct thing to do. He spent 30 days in the jungle, in the river, alone, just Buddy and God, he survived, ‘cause God wanted him to. Jungle food is somewhat limited to things that move, both in the day light and the darkness. Buddy ate ‘em both.
And then the sky angles, the Hueys, those Helicopters sent by God, plucked Buddy out of the midst of the Vietcong and delivered him into the arms of freedom. Buddy came home to a hostile American Public. He was spat upon and laughed at, ridiculed and assaulted as he blended into civilian life.
A hero walked among ‘em and they knew him not. Buddy had paid the price for their freedom and they never even knew. The real important thing ‘bout Oklahoma is not Will Rogers Day, it’s the Buddy Evans’s of Oklahoma. For those that never said it when it should have been said “Welcome home Buddy Evans, and thank you.” And that comes from BobbyRay.
Another big November Holiday is November 6th its Sadie Hawkins Day. Now not everybody remembers Sadie Hawkins Day ‘cause it was invented by a cartoon artist, fellow by the name of Al Capp, creator of the Li'l Abner comic strip. On this day, unmarried ladies could pursue (literally) their men; if caught, marriage was unavoidable. The idea took off in real-life. In 1938, the first ever "girls-ask-boys" Sadie Hawkins Dance was held. Sadie Hawkins Dances were still popular into the 1960’s. I think girls ask boys for more stuff than just dancing now days.
November 7th , not a holiday but important date for sure. Daylight Saving Time Ends at 2:00 A.M. Now if you’re reading this Monday Morning after showing up for church yesterday an hour early, oh well, don’t fret. Come spring time, ya can forget again and show up for church an hour late and everything will be back in balance in your world.
Seems that Ben Franklin first thought up the idea of Daylight Savings Time back in the 1780’s. Was first put into wide use in World War I and again in World War II. Ben Franklin was a kinda neat guy, flying kites and making stoves and all. Done a couple other things too, like opened a post office and proposed a system of public education. To this day some people think both those ideas failed.
They didn’t. Where else can ya send a letter across the whole country, misspell every word and it still costs less than a cup of coffee. I think Ben got his picture on some money too, but I seldom see those kinda dollar bills.
Of course the best for the last of November Holidays is always Thanksgiving, always the last Thursday of November. A special day, for a special nation, set aside to allow us, one and all, to reflect on these gifts we have received from his bounty.
Come Thanksgiving Day, the Family of Howard, will once again offer a Thanksgiving Dinner to all those near and far who choose to join us for the meal. It’s something we started six years ago. Our first year we had 64 guests, and many thought there was some kinda catch to it. There was not. The Thanksgiving Meal has grown in size every year. This year we will cook for 500. Welcome one and all to join the Howards for Thanksgiving at 301 Lane Street in North Judson IN. We even offer free rides and carry outs. Come join us, you’ll be happy.
Last Wednesday Purdue University put up a website called ''Impact: Earth!'' it’s a site that allows ya to calculate the potential damage a comet or asteroid would cause if it hit the Earth. It’s totally programmable. It’s a fun thing to play with. I programmed it to calculate the damage of a direct hit to the East Wing with an asteroid the size of a canned ham traveling at 1,200 miles per hour. When I pushed the button to calculate the damage, I thought I was reading a Soprano’s script, it simply said “Forget About It!” It’s worth the trip at http://www.purdue.edu/impactearth
I think I told ya ‘bout my cat Spike, a boy cat, Spike. A birthday present last May. A gray striped tiger cat, a walking birthday present with white boots. Like all Gods creatures, Spike grew up. He’s no longer the little birthday kitten, he not the little boy cat. He’s Spike the Man Cat, the Spikester in white boots.
Now there comes a time in the life of all Gods creatures, great and small, that a person makes a decision which will have a profound effect on their future. The decision may be as glorious as to pamper the animal for the rest of its life. A new family pet. Provide food for the birds of winter. To end the suffering, to end the life.
And so such a time had come for the Birthday Kitten who turned into the Man Cat, Spike. A decision was made which would have a profound, detrimental impact on the night life of the Man Cat. The date was set, the time agreed upon. The instructions were given me to not feed the Spike after 6:00 PM Friday. The only remaining unknown was how to convince the gray tiger in white boots to go along with the program.
Daylight Saturday Morning revealed the first snow of the season on the window of Mr. Lincoln and temperatures below freezing and a man cat that wanted only to sleep in for the morning. It took some doing, but I convinced Spike we were going shopping at Pet Mart for Sophia’s birthday present. Spike jumped into the cat carrier with glee. In the car Spike asked why I hadn’t fed him breakfast. Told me we would eat out later.
Our destination was Michigan City, a full hours drive from the East Wing. A scant 5 miles from home and Spike is complaining ‘bout his accommodations, too small, nothing to play with, no water, no food, and the list went on an on. Now Spike’s a good fellow but with all this complaining I started to think he’s sounding like Joe Biden jumping on the Tea Party. And we all know that didn’t work either.
Checking Spike into the system was straight forward and easy. They paw printed Spike right up, had me sign my approval for the procedure, and the Birthday Kitten, the Man Cat in white boots, the Spikester, was about to become number 12.
A lady dressed in green scrubs, a net over her hair, wearing glasses and carrying a roll of 1” cream color paper tape, that thin kind ya use when ya want to mask off something for painting. The kind that if ya don’t tear it just right, it splits and then ya have a terrible time getting the end from half way around the roll, that kind of tape. She tore off ‘bout 1” and pasted it to Spikes head, right between his ears. She was pretty good at tearing the tape, I think she’s had lots of practice. That didn’t look like a new roll she was using.
She had a magic marker, a Sharpie, she wrote the number 12 on Spikes little piece of paper tape, right there between his ears. She asked me if I wanted her to write the same number on the back of my hand so we could cross reference my cat when I came back to pick him up. I declined, told her I thought I could recognize Spike even without his number 12 and even after having work done his plumbing. I rubbed Spikes head just past that little paper square with his number 12 and held his paw and told him I’d be back later in the day to take him home. Spike acted leery of the whole deal.
It’s hard to read the green eyes of a birthday kitten, a Man Cat in white boots. Spike meowed as I turned and walked out the door. I don’t know if cats cry, but it sure sounded like Spike was trying to.
They told me I could pick up Spike at 7:00 – 7:30 PM. I arrived at 6:30, just in case. It was 5 minutes after 7 when the doors opened to release the cats of the day. I was in the front of the line. I grabbed the cat with the number 12 on his head and sure enough it looked just like the same fellow I brought up that morning. Don’t know who was most glad to see whom, but Spike sure had a lot to say on the way home.
South bound through Michigan City Indiana at night is a big deal for a country cat. Spike loved the twinkling of the lights. The Pet Mart Sign was lit. By the time we were five miles from town, Spike was out of cat carrier and lying on my shoulders. He whispered in my ear “we didn’t get Sophia’s birthday president” and after he bit my ear lobe, said “that wasn’t Pet Mart you took me to either.” We drove on into the night, me and Spike, going home. They all wanted to see his stitches when we got home, but he didn’t get any, they all liked his partial hair cut, but Spike can only see his hair cut from upside down.
All is well with Spike, the 2girldogs, Sophia, Bentley and the she, as this first Sunday of November comes to the end of the day with the approaching darkness showing up an hour earlier this day than the day before. Daylight Saving Time has gone away.
It’s the middle of Fall and most leaves have. Autumn will soon be gone and winter will bring the special beauty of what only winter can show us. We’ll then complain ‘bout too cold, too much snow, too dark, can’t wait for better weather, and a whole bunch other winter stuff we complain ‘bout every year. But ya gota remember what I said earlier, “if ya don’t vote, ya can’t complain”. Now ya know the rest of reason voting.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, A Happy Cat, Part of History, November Holidays, Oklahoma Heroes, Spike & The Knife
I Wish You Well,
BobbyRay
Now I’m not saying the Sophia’s happy, but did ya ever see a cat do a back flip? Twice? From Sophia’s point of view, things went just swell that election night, November 2nd 2010. Now that’s not the case for everyone involved, such is life, win some, lose some, life goes on. Right now Sophia’s so happy with the outcome of the election she’s not even bad mouthing the President. Although Sophia said she thinks everybody in the whole world got the message except Obama and Pelosi. But you know how those Republican Calico Cats can stretch the truth. I think he got the message. We’ll see about Pelosi, she’s from California ya know, it sometimes takes longer for the word to get that far.
It’s kinda interesting to note that just 24 months ago it seems the whole country just couldn’t get enough of then President Elect Obama and now we seem to have collectively said Uh Oh! Guess that just goes to show ya, a majority is not necessarily always right. Collectively we make mistakes and collectively we correct such mistakes. Some have been corrected, and some still remain.
It's amazing that the largest shift of one political party to the other since the 1940’s has occurred with our participation. Now that’s assuming ya voted. If ya didn’t --- shame on you. But one thing ya gota keep in mind, if ya don’t vote, ya can’t complain. And that’s why I always vote, just in case I need to complain. I voted.
One of the things which seem to be lost in the national media is the extent of the political swing to the concretive point of view. On a national basis this is the largest shift of political position in the history of this nation. At the state level, the change in political position is historic, at the local level, across the nation, the same political change in position tends to reflect the national view.
Never in the history of politics have so many changed so fast because of so few. But what’s so both amazing and gratifying ‘bout the American Electorate is the success of those most demonized of all, the Tea Party.
And to paraphrase “Larry The Cable Guy” when talking ‘bout the Tea Party. “They Got ‘er Done”. And so they did. The American political landscape has been changed forever. Like it or not, it just has, and a new national thought process has come to the forefront. They got ‘er done. Sophia the Republican Cat is all smiles, and I’m glad, ‘cause ya don’t have to live with a mad cat. I do.
Is summer turning to winter while going through fall a neat time of the year or what? Gotta love November. Such major holidays that few participate in, such as November 4th, Will Rogers Day. Now I have some friends who live in Oklahoma, and I’m telling ya, Will Rogers Day is a big deal in Oklahoma. ‘Course if ya ever been to Oklahoma then ya’d know why Will Rogers Day is a big deal in Oklahoma. Will Rogers once said “I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.” Wow, would he have a lot of “facts” to report now days. Will Rogers (1879–1935)
One thing ya can say ‘bout Oklahoma is, its north of Texas, and everybody knows ya don’t mess with Texas. But the really best thing I can say ‘bout Oklahoma is I’ve met Buddy Evans. For those of you who may not know Buddy Evans, well set back and enjoy the Buddy Evans story.
Buddy came into my life unexpected and uninvited and I’m so glad he did. Without fanfare or Gloria last Friday late afternoon, I found myself engaged in conversation with a fellow named Buddy Evans, He’s from Oklahoma, and he’s from Oklahoma, came to Indiana for a wedding to be held at Grand Central Station the next day. Well Buddy turns out to be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met in a long, a long time.
Buddy graduated from high school in 1950’s and can’t wait to go see the world, but seeing the world in Oklahoma turns out to be a lineman for the county. Looking for a way to escape Oklahoma, Buddy turns to the military recruitment. The army tells him, “we can take you in six weeks”, the air force tells him “ we can take you in three weeks”, the navy tell him “we can take you in two weeks” the marines tell Buddy “we got a bus leaving Tulsa tomorrow” Buddy was on the bus. He spent six years in the Marines. Buddy got his wish to see the world.
Buddy was in southeast Asia, Vietnam, at a time when it was not the politically correct thing to do. He spent 30 days in the jungle, in the river, alone, just Buddy and God, he survived, ‘cause God wanted him to. Jungle food is somewhat limited to things that move, both in the day light and the darkness. Buddy ate ‘em both.
And then the sky angles, the Hueys, those Helicopters sent by God, plucked Buddy out of the midst of the Vietcong and delivered him into the arms of freedom. Buddy came home to a hostile American Public. He was spat upon and laughed at, ridiculed and assaulted as he blended into civilian life.
A hero walked among ‘em and they knew him not. Buddy had paid the price for their freedom and they never even knew. The real important thing ‘bout Oklahoma is not Will Rogers Day, it’s the Buddy Evans’s of Oklahoma. For those that never said it when it should have been said “Welcome home Buddy Evans, and thank you.” And that comes from BobbyRay.
Another big November Holiday is November 6th its Sadie Hawkins Day. Now not everybody remembers Sadie Hawkins Day ‘cause it was invented by a cartoon artist, fellow by the name of Al Capp, creator of the Li'l Abner comic strip. On this day, unmarried ladies could pursue (literally) their men; if caught, marriage was unavoidable. The idea took off in real-life. In 1938, the first ever "girls-ask-boys" Sadie Hawkins Dance was held. Sadie Hawkins Dances were still popular into the 1960’s. I think girls ask boys for more stuff than just dancing now days.
November 7th , not a holiday but important date for sure. Daylight Saving Time Ends at 2:00 A.M. Now if you’re reading this Monday Morning after showing up for church yesterday an hour early, oh well, don’t fret. Come spring time, ya can forget again and show up for church an hour late and everything will be back in balance in your world.
Seems that Ben Franklin first thought up the idea of Daylight Savings Time back in the 1780’s. Was first put into wide use in World War I and again in World War II. Ben Franklin was a kinda neat guy, flying kites and making stoves and all. Done a couple other things too, like opened a post office and proposed a system of public education. To this day some people think both those ideas failed.
They didn’t. Where else can ya send a letter across the whole country, misspell every word and it still costs less than a cup of coffee. I think Ben got his picture on some money too, but I seldom see those kinda dollar bills.
Of course the best for the last of November Holidays is always Thanksgiving, always the last Thursday of November. A special day, for a special nation, set aside to allow us, one and all, to reflect on these gifts we have received from his bounty.
Come Thanksgiving Day, the Family of Howard, will once again offer a Thanksgiving Dinner to all those near and far who choose to join us for the meal. It’s something we started six years ago. Our first year we had 64 guests, and many thought there was some kinda catch to it. There was not. The Thanksgiving Meal has grown in size every year. This year we will cook for 500. Welcome one and all to join the Howards for Thanksgiving at 301 Lane Street in North Judson IN. We even offer free rides and carry outs. Come join us, you’ll be happy.
Last Wednesday Purdue University put up a website called ''Impact: Earth!'' it’s a site that allows ya to calculate the potential damage a comet or asteroid would cause if it hit the Earth. It’s totally programmable. It’s a fun thing to play with. I programmed it to calculate the damage of a direct hit to the East Wing with an asteroid the size of a canned ham traveling at 1,200 miles per hour. When I pushed the button to calculate the damage, I thought I was reading a Soprano’s script, it simply said “Forget About It!” It’s worth the trip at http://www.purdue.edu/impactearth
I think I told ya ‘bout my cat Spike, a boy cat, Spike. A birthday present last May. A gray striped tiger cat, a walking birthday present with white boots. Like all Gods creatures, Spike grew up. He’s no longer the little birthday kitten, he not the little boy cat. He’s Spike the Man Cat, the Spikester in white boots.
Now there comes a time in the life of all Gods creatures, great and small, that a person makes a decision which will have a profound effect on their future. The decision may be as glorious as to pamper the animal for the rest of its life. A new family pet. Provide food for the birds of winter. To end the suffering, to end the life.
And so such a time had come for the Birthday Kitten who turned into the Man Cat, Spike. A decision was made which would have a profound, detrimental impact on the night life of the Man Cat. The date was set, the time agreed upon. The instructions were given me to not feed the Spike after 6:00 PM Friday. The only remaining unknown was how to convince the gray tiger in white boots to go along with the program.
Daylight Saturday Morning revealed the first snow of the season on the window of Mr. Lincoln and temperatures below freezing and a man cat that wanted only to sleep in for the morning. It took some doing, but I convinced Spike we were going shopping at Pet Mart for Sophia’s birthday present. Spike jumped into the cat carrier with glee. In the car Spike asked why I hadn’t fed him breakfast. Told me we would eat out later.
Our destination was Michigan City, a full hours drive from the East Wing. A scant 5 miles from home and Spike is complaining ‘bout his accommodations, too small, nothing to play with, no water, no food, and the list went on an on. Now Spike’s a good fellow but with all this complaining I started to think he’s sounding like Joe Biden jumping on the Tea Party. And we all know that didn’t work either.
Checking Spike into the system was straight forward and easy. They paw printed Spike right up, had me sign my approval for the procedure, and the Birthday Kitten, the Man Cat in white boots, the Spikester, was about to become number 12.
A lady dressed in green scrubs, a net over her hair, wearing glasses and carrying a roll of 1” cream color paper tape, that thin kind ya use when ya want to mask off something for painting. The kind that if ya don’t tear it just right, it splits and then ya have a terrible time getting the end from half way around the roll, that kind of tape. She tore off ‘bout 1” and pasted it to Spikes head, right between his ears. She was pretty good at tearing the tape, I think she’s had lots of practice. That didn’t look like a new roll she was using.
She had a magic marker, a Sharpie, she wrote the number 12 on Spikes little piece of paper tape, right there between his ears. She asked me if I wanted her to write the same number on the back of my hand so we could cross reference my cat when I came back to pick him up. I declined, told her I thought I could recognize Spike even without his number 12 and even after having work done his plumbing. I rubbed Spikes head just past that little paper square with his number 12 and held his paw and told him I’d be back later in the day to take him home. Spike acted leery of the whole deal.
It’s hard to read the green eyes of a birthday kitten, a Man Cat in white boots. Spike meowed as I turned and walked out the door. I don’t know if cats cry, but it sure sounded like Spike was trying to.
They told me I could pick up Spike at 7:00 – 7:30 PM. I arrived at 6:30, just in case. It was 5 minutes after 7 when the doors opened to release the cats of the day. I was in the front of the line. I grabbed the cat with the number 12 on his head and sure enough it looked just like the same fellow I brought up that morning. Don’t know who was most glad to see whom, but Spike sure had a lot to say on the way home.
South bound through Michigan City Indiana at night is a big deal for a country cat. Spike loved the twinkling of the lights. The Pet Mart Sign was lit. By the time we were five miles from town, Spike was out of cat carrier and lying on my shoulders. He whispered in my ear “we didn’t get Sophia’s birthday president” and after he bit my ear lobe, said “that wasn’t Pet Mart you took me to either.” We drove on into the night, me and Spike, going home. They all wanted to see his stitches when we got home, but he didn’t get any, they all liked his partial hair cut, but Spike can only see his hair cut from upside down.
All is well with Spike, the 2girldogs, Sophia, Bentley and the she, as this first Sunday of November comes to the end of the day with the approaching darkness showing up an hour earlier this day than the day before. Daylight Saving Time has gone away.
It’s the middle of Fall and most leaves have. Autumn will soon be gone and winter will bring the special beauty of what only winter can show us. We’ll then complain ‘bout too cold, too much snow, too dark, can’t wait for better weather, and a whole bunch other winter stuff we complain ‘bout every year. But ya gota remember what I said earlier, “if ya don’t vote, ya can’t complain”. Now ya know the rest of reason voting.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, A Happy Cat, Part of History, November Holidays, Oklahoma Heroes, Spike & The Knife
I Wish You Well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 31, 2010
From the East Wing Trick or Treating with the Toto Volunteers back in the day, The Cat & The Costume
Greetings to all and welcome new visitors to the East Wing.
Gingerbread, now that’s something special if there ever was something special. As a kid we didn’t get a lot of sweets. Gingerbread was special, rare but sooo special. Warm Gingerbread with apple butter and cold sweet milk. It don’t get any better than that. I don’t care who ya are, if ya don’t like Gingerbread, apple butter and sweet milk, ya just weren’t brought up right, or you aren’t a hillbilly.
Last weeks email brought a request from an old friend and one of the original members of the Toto Volunteers, asking if I still had a copy of last year’s Halloween Story from the East Wing. I did. And as such, please rewind Halloween 2009. It was a fun story to tell, and today I found it fun to reread.
The biggest holiday, hands down, in Downtown Toto when I was a kid was Halloween. Now ya had the other important stuff like Easter, 4th of July, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, Jefferson Davis’s Birthday (some habits were hard to turn loose) but none of those holidays could compare with Halloween. It was a holiday built just for hillbilly boys in their middle tens and elevens.
It was the time that tried boys souls, a time to test the courage, to face the fears of the nighttime knowing things were out there and not knowing what or where. A time to see if the testosterone had started working yet. A time to be both horror-struck and happy all in the same heartbeat. A time to scare little sisters. A time to say boo, and mean it. A time to step into the shadow of the valley. A time to march, to prowl the darkness in the company of your band of brothers, we were the Toto Volunteers. We still are.
The Halloween Bounty seemed unlimited, so much so that we, the Toto Volunteers, never made any attempt to control its access. We could have, we chose not to. Toto could have become the model Trick or Treat Community for the National Standard of Trick or Treat, had we choose to make it so. We could have, we chose not to.
The reason for such actions on the part of the Volunteers is as valid today as when the War Council deliberated on that very issue. There was a fraction within the ranks who wanted to do to Halloween what we had been so successful in our summer campaign. Just the summer past, we had collected more pop bottles then most of the army thought existed in the world. We’d won the Pop Bottle Wars of Toto.
The issue of the Halloween Candy was brought to the War Council not by inexperienced people with no knowledge of war, but from people seasoned by fire on the front lines of the Pop Bottle Wars. People who were even as old as 11 and one even held the rank of sergeant.
Now in the Toto Volunteers we had a little different ranking system than the regular army. Ours was more simple. I got to be the General, there were two sergeants, and everybody else got to be a privates. That way we didn’t have to spend a lot of time trying to figure out who was in charge. Besides, we didn’t have different uniforms so it was a lot easier to just remember a few to salute, otherwise everybody would be saluting each other all day long for nothing.
The Halloween Options as they would become know to the Volunteers were quite simple, two different options. The first option being the Toto Volunteers go Trick or Treating the night before the real Halloween and then go again the next night, that way everybody gets twice as much stuff. The second option would be for the Volunteers to just charge everybody Trick or Treating in Toto, and not a member of the Volunteers, a nickel. It was just two weeks till Halloween and the council wanted to make a decision right there, but I told ‘em the decision was too important, it’d have to wait for a while. I had to think this one out.
One of the things I learned by being the General of the Toto Volunteers was when I didn’t know what to do, I could always ask my dad. I’d act like I was just a little kid asking a dumb question, not like the general seeking consultation on an issue of possible war. When I talked to my dad about such important matters we usually done our man to boy talks on the porch swing, even in late October man to boy talks worked better in the swing on Sunday Evenings just ‘bout dark.
As we sat swinging I said “Did ya ever go trick or treating?” My dad said “Yep” “Did ya ever go trick or treating the day before Halloween?” My dad said “Nope” I said “why not?” My dad said “Did ya ever have a birthday party a day before your birthday? Could ya have the 4th of July Picnic the day before? What would happen to Christmas if ya didn’t have the 25th of December, not the 24th but the 25th?” I was starting to see my dad’s point of view on this issue of trick or treating one day early as we swung together on the front porch in the crisp autumn air just nine days before Halloween.
I said “Ya think a person could make somebody pay to go trick or treating” My dad said “Not in Toto, cause everybody that tricks or treats in Toto don’t have any money to start with, and besides who would be dumb enough to even try to get somebody to pay to go trick or treating?” I didn’t say nothing. One of the good things about talking with my dad in that swing was he didn’t make me say anything if I didn’t want to, and right then I didn’t want to.
So there is was. Ya can’t go the night before ‘cause that’s dumb, and nobody’s got any money and if ya even ask someone to pay that’s dumb too. My dad imparted a great deal of wisdom from the confines of that swing on the front porch in Downtown Toto. He made my job of generaling a lot easier on more than one occasion.
Well, I had my answers now I only had to deal with the Toto Volunteers. I spent most of that night trying to figure out a way to get the War Council on my side. I knew what I had to do but wanted the them to tell me, not me tell them. Somewhere in the darkness, about the time today turned into tomorrow and became yesterday I finally figured a way to present my views to the Council. The next day I called an after school meeting of the War Council of the Toto Volunteers. We met on my front porch.
Now one of the downside products of victory on the battle field is the overwhelming desire to repeat the same feat over and over again. I was not about to let that happen to the Toto Volunteers. As soon as everybody was present I presented my plan. The plan was simple. I couldn’t choose which one I liked best so we would do ‘em both.
But for the trick or treat the night before Halloween we’d all have to have get our moms to sign a letter saying we could go out after dark just in case someone wanted to know why we were there at their house a night early for trick or treat, so we could tell ‘em our moms said we could come trick or treating early. Also everyone had to ask their mom if she thought it would be ok to charge people for trick or treating in Toto.
I had printed out a letter to give every volunteer. Because I ran the mimeograph machine at California Township School I ran off 14 copies of the letter. I had printed it on a stencil and it looked really professional, and most every word was spelled ok. As the volunteers read the letter, ya could still smell the mimeograph ink, it was that blue kind and it had its own smell, ya couldn’t describe it, ya could just smell it. I could tell by their looks that they were gona have a hard time getting their mom to sign that letter. I knew I sure wouldn’t ask my mom to sign the letter.
One kid said “my mom’ll kill me if she sees this letter, I’m not gona take it home”. He brought his letter back and reached it to me saying “let’s just go regular trick or treating”. Some of the others thought we could still do both options. My faith was in the letter.
The next morning at the bus stop not a single volunteer who took the letter home wanted to talk about it. One kid said “I might not even want to go trick or treating this year, I don’t know if I do or not. I’ll just have to wait till Halloween an see”. The plan was working. Two days later the War Council of the Toto Volunteers made a decision to do regular trick or treating in Toto and to make sure nobody would ever do anything except regular trick or treating in Toto forever in the future.
We, the Toto Volunteers, took a solemn oath to forever protect the unbridled right to trick or treat in Toto Indiana on Halloween without interference from anybody forever and ever. That right to trick or treat in Toto has been protected to this day.
And then came the politicians, regulating trick or treat hours. I think it was a republican thing first, probably too damn tight to buy candy for little kids. Then the democrats jumped on the band wagon, probably with a bribe of some sort from the republicans. A pox on both their houses, to even think ya can regulate Halloween.
Next thing ya gona hear is some smart ass in Washington will propose to make Halloween a federal holiday and place on the last Monday in October, in order to bring it in line with the other fake Monday Federal Holidays. It wouldn’t surprise me if Obama tries to move Easter to the day after. Easter Monday doesn’t have a good sound to it, but one less work day for the democrats.
Now towns announce the time to go trick or treating. Trick or treating at 3:00PM is like kissing your sister at high noon in a public park, it’s just not that much fun. The question that comes to mind is what ya gona do if some little monster tricks or treats before or after the set deadlines?
Now if ya shoot ‘em all ya get the guilty. I think we need a Halloween Czar. Hey Sophia!!! OH MY GOD ! Sophia’s dressed up like a democrat!
Now the fall season kicks in to high gear on this last Sunday of October, 2010, it’s Halloween. We have all enjoyed you company as usual. As the shades of nighttime are closing around us, goblins, large and small, are marching into the East Wing demanding stuff like Candy Corn, Milk Duds in those little yellow boxes, Pop Corn Balls rolled up in Saran Wrap, Jelly Beans and Milky Ways, not the regular ones, the little kind, ‘bout half the size of your index finger. Halloween, gota love it. Dressed up like a democrat!!!
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing Trick or Treating with the Toto Volunteers back in the day, The Cat & The Costume
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Gingerbread, now that’s something special if there ever was something special. As a kid we didn’t get a lot of sweets. Gingerbread was special, rare but sooo special. Warm Gingerbread with apple butter and cold sweet milk. It don’t get any better than that. I don’t care who ya are, if ya don’t like Gingerbread, apple butter and sweet milk, ya just weren’t brought up right, or you aren’t a hillbilly.
Last weeks email brought a request from an old friend and one of the original members of the Toto Volunteers, asking if I still had a copy of last year’s Halloween Story from the East Wing. I did. And as such, please rewind Halloween 2009. It was a fun story to tell, and today I found it fun to reread.
The biggest holiday, hands down, in Downtown Toto when I was a kid was Halloween. Now ya had the other important stuff like Easter, 4th of July, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, Jefferson Davis’s Birthday (some habits were hard to turn loose) but none of those holidays could compare with Halloween. It was a holiday built just for hillbilly boys in their middle tens and elevens.
It was the time that tried boys souls, a time to test the courage, to face the fears of the nighttime knowing things were out there and not knowing what or where. A time to see if the testosterone had started working yet. A time to be both horror-struck and happy all in the same heartbeat. A time to scare little sisters. A time to say boo, and mean it. A time to step into the shadow of the valley. A time to march, to prowl the darkness in the company of your band of brothers, we were the Toto Volunteers. We still are.
The Halloween Bounty seemed unlimited, so much so that we, the Toto Volunteers, never made any attempt to control its access. We could have, we chose not to. Toto could have become the model Trick or Treat Community for the National Standard of Trick or Treat, had we choose to make it so. We could have, we chose not to.
The reason for such actions on the part of the Volunteers is as valid today as when the War Council deliberated on that very issue. There was a fraction within the ranks who wanted to do to Halloween what we had been so successful in our summer campaign. Just the summer past, we had collected more pop bottles then most of the army thought existed in the world. We’d won the Pop Bottle Wars of Toto.
The issue of the Halloween Candy was brought to the War Council not by inexperienced people with no knowledge of war, but from people seasoned by fire on the front lines of the Pop Bottle Wars. People who were even as old as 11 and one even held the rank of sergeant.
Now in the Toto Volunteers we had a little different ranking system than the regular army. Ours was more simple. I got to be the General, there were two sergeants, and everybody else got to be a privates. That way we didn’t have to spend a lot of time trying to figure out who was in charge. Besides, we didn’t have different uniforms so it was a lot easier to just remember a few to salute, otherwise everybody would be saluting each other all day long for nothing.
The Halloween Options as they would become know to the Volunteers were quite simple, two different options. The first option being the Toto Volunteers go Trick or Treating the night before the real Halloween and then go again the next night, that way everybody gets twice as much stuff. The second option would be for the Volunteers to just charge everybody Trick or Treating in Toto, and not a member of the Volunteers, a nickel. It was just two weeks till Halloween and the council wanted to make a decision right there, but I told ‘em the decision was too important, it’d have to wait for a while. I had to think this one out.
One of the things I learned by being the General of the Toto Volunteers was when I didn’t know what to do, I could always ask my dad. I’d act like I was just a little kid asking a dumb question, not like the general seeking consultation on an issue of possible war. When I talked to my dad about such important matters we usually done our man to boy talks on the porch swing, even in late October man to boy talks worked better in the swing on Sunday Evenings just ‘bout dark.
As we sat swinging I said “Did ya ever go trick or treating?” My dad said “Yep” “Did ya ever go trick or treating the day before Halloween?” My dad said “Nope” I said “why not?” My dad said “Did ya ever have a birthday party a day before your birthday? Could ya have the 4th of July Picnic the day before? What would happen to Christmas if ya didn’t have the 25th of December, not the 24th but the 25th?” I was starting to see my dad’s point of view on this issue of trick or treating one day early as we swung together on the front porch in the crisp autumn air just nine days before Halloween.
I said “Ya think a person could make somebody pay to go trick or treating” My dad said “Not in Toto, cause everybody that tricks or treats in Toto don’t have any money to start with, and besides who would be dumb enough to even try to get somebody to pay to go trick or treating?” I didn’t say nothing. One of the good things about talking with my dad in that swing was he didn’t make me say anything if I didn’t want to, and right then I didn’t want to.
So there is was. Ya can’t go the night before ‘cause that’s dumb, and nobody’s got any money and if ya even ask someone to pay that’s dumb too. My dad imparted a great deal of wisdom from the confines of that swing on the front porch in Downtown Toto. He made my job of generaling a lot easier on more than one occasion.
Well, I had my answers now I only had to deal with the Toto Volunteers. I spent most of that night trying to figure out a way to get the War Council on my side. I knew what I had to do but wanted the them to tell me, not me tell them. Somewhere in the darkness, about the time today turned into tomorrow and became yesterday I finally figured a way to present my views to the Council. The next day I called an after school meeting of the War Council of the Toto Volunteers. We met on my front porch.
Now one of the downside products of victory on the battle field is the overwhelming desire to repeat the same feat over and over again. I was not about to let that happen to the Toto Volunteers. As soon as everybody was present I presented my plan. The plan was simple. I couldn’t choose which one I liked best so we would do ‘em both.
But for the trick or treat the night before Halloween we’d all have to have get our moms to sign a letter saying we could go out after dark just in case someone wanted to know why we were there at their house a night early for trick or treat, so we could tell ‘em our moms said we could come trick or treating early. Also everyone had to ask their mom if she thought it would be ok to charge people for trick or treating in Toto.
I had printed out a letter to give every volunteer. Because I ran the mimeograph machine at California Township School I ran off 14 copies of the letter. I had printed it on a stencil and it looked really professional, and most every word was spelled ok. As the volunteers read the letter, ya could still smell the mimeograph ink, it was that blue kind and it had its own smell, ya couldn’t describe it, ya could just smell it. I could tell by their looks that they were gona have a hard time getting their mom to sign that letter. I knew I sure wouldn’t ask my mom to sign the letter.
One kid said “my mom’ll kill me if she sees this letter, I’m not gona take it home”. He brought his letter back and reached it to me saying “let’s just go regular trick or treating”. Some of the others thought we could still do both options. My faith was in the letter.
The next morning at the bus stop not a single volunteer who took the letter home wanted to talk about it. One kid said “I might not even want to go trick or treating this year, I don’t know if I do or not. I’ll just have to wait till Halloween an see”. The plan was working. Two days later the War Council of the Toto Volunteers made a decision to do regular trick or treating in Toto and to make sure nobody would ever do anything except regular trick or treating in Toto forever in the future.
We, the Toto Volunteers, took a solemn oath to forever protect the unbridled right to trick or treat in Toto Indiana on Halloween without interference from anybody forever and ever. That right to trick or treat in Toto has been protected to this day.
And then came the politicians, regulating trick or treat hours. I think it was a republican thing first, probably too damn tight to buy candy for little kids. Then the democrats jumped on the band wagon, probably with a bribe of some sort from the republicans. A pox on both their houses, to even think ya can regulate Halloween.
Next thing ya gona hear is some smart ass in Washington will propose to make Halloween a federal holiday and place on the last Monday in October, in order to bring it in line with the other fake Monday Federal Holidays. It wouldn’t surprise me if Obama tries to move Easter to the day after. Easter Monday doesn’t have a good sound to it, but one less work day for the democrats.
Now towns announce the time to go trick or treating. Trick or treating at 3:00PM is like kissing your sister at high noon in a public park, it’s just not that much fun. The question that comes to mind is what ya gona do if some little monster tricks or treats before or after the set deadlines?
Now if ya shoot ‘em all ya get the guilty. I think we need a Halloween Czar. Hey Sophia!!! OH MY GOD ! Sophia’s dressed up like a democrat!
Now the fall season kicks in to high gear on this last Sunday of October, 2010, it’s Halloween. We have all enjoyed you company as usual. As the shades of nighttime are closing around us, goblins, large and small, are marching into the East Wing demanding stuff like Candy Corn, Milk Duds in those little yellow boxes, Pop Corn Balls rolled up in Saran Wrap, Jelly Beans and Milky Ways, not the regular ones, the little kind, ‘bout half the size of your index finger. Halloween, gota love it. Dressed up like a democrat!!!
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing Trick or Treating with the Toto Volunteers back in the day, The Cat & The Costume
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 24, 2010
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
Greeting to all and welcome to all new visitors to the East Wing.
Seems like I can say pretty much whatever I want to say, just as long as everybody’s informed ‘bout Sophia The Republican Cat. A couple weeks go by and I go to Roswell and tell the story. I get some emails telling me nice things ‘bout my writing style. A friend of mind said “ I felt I was riding with ya as the road fell away and you drove down into Magoffin County”.
I get lots more emails asking ‘bout Sophia, wanting to know is she ok, is she ill, have the 2girldogs chased her away, has she died, did she run away, am I ever going to talk ‘bout Sophia again and if so when.
So now for all you Sophia Fans near and far I’m please to say the cat’s well and continues to hold court in the East Wing. She’s been most busy with the midterm elections and I don’t see her nearly as much as before Labor Day. We all know the real campaigning starts after Labor Day. Even though the political types want to campaign all year long, every year, every day.
In typical Sophia fashion, and with her persistence of goal, the cat’s now become the official Spokes Cat for the National Tea Party Movement. Sophia considers this to be her most cherished honor. She travels far and wide speaking in support of the Tea Party Agenda, all the while translating into nine different dialects of catenese. Did ya ever notice how seems everything cats do tends to be in units of nine, like languages spoken, lives and stuff like that. Even cat food, 9 Lives.
Sophia’s made both friends and foes along the way. She’s endured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And ya know what, as this election draws near the cat’s digging in and seems ready to make a final push to ensure her point of view prevails.
I expect that by next week she’ll have a whole lot to say just before we all vote on our collective future. I just know Sophia’s in full campaign mode when I check in on her after she’s fallen asleep at night and she’s snuggled up to her autographed photograph of Herbert Hoover. It’s easy to see Sophia’s confidence building every day, as she continues to do her part for her party. As all indicators point toward an overwhelming republican victory on November 2nd , Sophia now struts around the East Wing like the queen she really is. I’m telling ya, the cat struts like one of the wrestlers from the old WWF. Damn Republican Cat.
Awhile back I said I don’t do Waffles and for sure don’t stop at the Waffle House. Well it seems a Waffle House Owner wanted to know why. And I’m so glad I’ve been asked the question, ‘cause that’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.
Now if ya own stock in Waffle House, or ya own one of those businesses, I’m sorry, but here’s just the way it happened along the way when February had arrived right on time at midnight but had yet to see the first light of a new February morning.
Johnny and I had driven all night to get to Georgia, and somewhere in the darkness, well past midnight I started to get hungry and didn’t want to take the time to stop. We needed to be in Georgia as soon as possible, me and Johnny, we just needed to be there as soon as possible. As the miles rolled by so did the signs along the way promoting the virtues of a business called “The Waffle House” After many hours of travel and no food, the Waffle House started looking so much better. But the real deciding factor, Johnny too started thinking the Waffle House..
It was cold that first morning of February when daylight had not yet come to Resaca GA as we, Johnny and I, walked into the Waffle House from Hell. Looking back, several things should’ve told us to get back in the car and go away, but we didn’t.
The empty pickup trucks with motors running and gun racks loaded should have told us to go away, but we didn’t ‘cause those damn signs alone I-75 had lulled us into believing culinary treats beyond our wildest dreams were ‘bout to be bestowed upon us. And we were ready to be bestowed upon, so we crossed the threshold.
It was a little surprising that so many people were in a Waffle House so early in the morning before daylight, but it’s Georgia, maybe the locals get up real early and go out for waffles. What was even more surprising was the fact that Bubba & Earl didn’t have on any shirts, just bibbed overalls and shoes with no socks. Just setting there, drinking coffee and looking at us. Earl had a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth and Bubba did too. They didn’t even take the toothpick out to drink coffee.
As we entered to door all eyes turned to greet us, no, not to greet, to inspect us. Being on public display so early in the morning inside a Waffle House in north Georgia after driving eleven hours in the darkness of night goes a long ways toward building one’s self esteem and confidence in your ability to face the other challenges the day will bring. We were ready for the challenges, it’d been a long night.
As we walked the full length of that Waffle House all heads turned and eyes followed as we seated ourselves on the last two empty seats at the counter bar. She came over and said “yallwantcoffee” I said yes, she said “regularerhouse” I said house, she said “wantaspoon” I said “do I need one’ she said “suredo”.
When the coffee arrived I discovered the purpose of the spoon, the house blend is consumed only when it’s strong enough to hold the spoon in an upright position . It was the first time I’d ever had lumpy coffee, it took some getting used to, but the spoon stood up nice. Placing the food order seemed to go well. Two eggs over easy with bacon and toast for me along with a glass of milk, and waffles for Johnny didn’t seem too complicated for a business that specializes in breakfast food.
The real surprise was what was brought to the counter. The eggs were not over easy, they were not well done, they were not scrambled, they were roasted, roasted to the max. The bacon was not medium, not medium well, not well done, it was not crisp, the bacon was black. The bacon was carbon on a plate. The coffee and the bacon were of the same color. The toast seemed unusually light, but then again I’m comparing it to the bacon.
The milk was the right color, however, with my first taste I was shocked by the realization that this milk was very close to the temperature as when the original manufacturer produced it. I dared not let my imagination wander down those lanes, knowing full well this glass in my hand could be a whole new meaning to the term “Fresh Diary”.
When the server came over and asked “howseverythinggonigfya” I commented ‘bout the light color of the toast, she took one look and said Ithinkheforgorettotoastthebread,I’lltakeitbackandmakeemtoastit” I said the toast was ok, but the eggs were not right, she said “themsernotovereasyarethey? I said they were the same color as the bacon she said “yourright,yessirrie,they’rethesamecolorforsure,youlikeemthatwayornot? I said not, as I started to eat my breakfast form hell, too hungry to complain any further. I never saw an egg bend before.
Johnny’s order was less complex and as such much less chance to get it wrong. It’s hard to mess up a waffle order unless ya cook it too long. Johnny’s waffle was cooked too long. I think they must’ve cooked Johnny’s waffle and my bacon the same amount of time, maybe in the same device. Don’t know if my bacon had little squares on it or not, it’s hard to see black on black. Under normal circumstances ya’d expect to be able to eat a waffle with only a fork. Johnny’s waffle was served with a fork, butter, syrup, a steak knife. This was not normal circumstances, Johnny needed the steak knife. When we went to the cashier to pay our bill, a most pleasant surprise, she said
“Idon’tthinkweservedyouboysgood. I'mgonatake25%offyourbillrightnow”. And she did. The background music was dueling banjos as we walked into the dark cold early morning, that first day of February, 2010. As we walked to the car, I’ll swear I though I saw a cow tied to a utility pole behind that Waffle House.
When Johnny drove back onto the interstate, he wondered what kind of discount we would’ve received if we’d complained ‘bout our food. We still laugh ‘bout the waffle house from hell, Johnny and me. The more I think ‘bout it, I’m almost sure the cow was tied up to that utility pole, back there behind the Waffle House.
Ever hear of the “Bride of the Sun”? Why it’s none other than the Marigold. It’s October’s flower. Those yellow, rust, and gold colors of the marigold just seem to yell OCTOBER ! loud and clear to me.
I like marigolds, I think they’re pretty. Some don’t like ‘em because of their smell, and they do, but oh well, most everything smells, even people, and some times that’s a problem too. I remember my dad used to always plant marigolds with his tomato plants, kept those big green tomato worms away.
That reminds me, ya know that thing on a tomato worms butt that looks like a stinger. It’s not, but the ole tomato worm hopes ya think it is so ya’ll leave him alone and let ‘em eat all your tomatoes. Damn worm, tricking people like that, must be a republican like the cat.
Seems I remember when I was a kid there was some kinda remedy for toothache using marigolds, but I don’t remember if ya ate ‘em or just smelled ‘em. Either way it probably didn’t work, or else we wouldn’t have so many dentists around. I read somewhere if ya dream of marigolds that indicates happiness in marriage, prosperity, and success. Now I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve yet to have my first dream ‘bout marigolds or any other flower for that matter. But if I do, I'm sure I'll let ya know.
The October Full Moon is called “The Full Hunter’s Moon”, it was last Friday night the 22nd , and is always the first full Moon following autumn’s Harvest Moon. I thought ‘bought stargazing Friday night, but the moon was too bright and there were lots of high clouds. So I just watched the moon go in and out of the clouds for a while and enjoyed the cool crisp air of October.
Ever notice how every once in a while how something just grabs your attention and won’t turn loose. Well several days ago I was reading emails and that’s what happened.
A friend wrote “BobbyRay, now that you and Johnny have been out west and almost rode a horse, I thought you might enjoy reading something I find very special.”
This is “A Cowboy’s Prayer” by Jeril Morton from Gans, Oklahoma
Lord, I know grown men don’t cry. But Lord, when I pulled the saddle off Ole Bill and saw that the girth had left a print deep in his side, I had to fight hard to keep the tears from falling.
Then I knelt down to rub Bill’s leg and found d mesquite thorn deep in the muscle. There was a cactus thorn too. But Lord, I didn’t feel Bill flinch, not once. He carried me 50 miles today, and took those yearlings back without me giving him a single command.
But Lord, when I saw the hole in his leg and the dried blood where a yucca plant had jabbed him, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Lord, I ask you to bless Bill and me, and take the pain away from Bill’s leg. But Lord, if you have only one blessing left for today, give it to Bill. He means more to me than anything I own on earth, and I love him.
Thanks, Lord, and amen.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Seems like I can say pretty much whatever I want to say, just as long as everybody’s informed ‘bout Sophia The Republican Cat. A couple weeks go by and I go to Roswell and tell the story. I get some emails telling me nice things ‘bout my writing style. A friend of mind said “ I felt I was riding with ya as the road fell away and you drove down into Magoffin County”.
I get lots more emails asking ‘bout Sophia, wanting to know is she ok, is she ill, have the 2girldogs chased her away, has she died, did she run away, am I ever going to talk ‘bout Sophia again and if so when.
So now for all you Sophia Fans near and far I’m please to say the cat’s well and continues to hold court in the East Wing. She’s been most busy with the midterm elections and I don’t see her nearly as much as before Labor Day. We all know the real campaigning starts after Labor Day. Even though the political types want to campaign all year long, every year, every day.
In typical Sophia fashion, and with her persistence of goal, the cat’s now become the official Spokes Cat for the National Tea Party Movement. Sophia considers this to be her most cherished honor. She travels far and wide speaking in support of the Tea Party Agenda, all the while translating into nine different dialects of catenese. Did ya ever notice how seems everything cats do tends to be in units of nine, like languages spoken, lives and stuff like that. Even cat food, 9 Lives.
Sophia’s made both friends and foes along the way. She’s endured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And ya know what, as this election draws near the cat’s digging in and seems ready to make a final push to ensure her point of view prevails.
I expect that by next week she’ll have a whole lot to say just before we all vote on our collective future. I just know Sophia’s in full campaign mode when I check in on her after she’s fallen asleep at night and she’s snuggled up to her autographed photograph of Herbert Hoover. It’s easy to see Sophia’s confidence building every day, as she continues to do her part for her party. As all indicators point toward an overwhelming republican victory on November 2nd , Sophia now struts around the East Wing like the queen she really is. I’m telling ya, the cat struts like one of the wrestlers from the old WWF. Damn Republican Cat.
Awhile back I said I don’t do Waffles and for sure don’t stop at the Waffle House. Well it seems a Waffle House Owner wanted to know why. And I’m so glad I’ve been asked the question, ‘cause that’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.
Now if ya own stock in Waffle House, or ya own one of those businesses, I’m sorry, but here’s just the way it happened along the way when February had arrived right on time at midnight but had yet to see the first light of a new February morning.
Johnny and I had driven all night to get to Georgia, and somewhere in the darkness, well past midnight I started to get hungry and didn’t want to take the time to stop. We needed to be in Georgia as soon as possible, me and Johnny, we just needed to be there as soon as possible. As the miles rolled by so did the signs along the way promoting the virtues of a business called “The Waffle House” After many hours of travel and no food, the Waffle House started looking so much better. But the real deciding factor, Johnny too started thinking the Waffle House..
It was cold that first morning of February when daylight had not yet come to Resaca GA as we, Johnny and I, walked into the Waffle House from Hell. Looking back, several things should’ve told us to get back in the car and go away, but we didn’t.
The empty pickup trucks with motors running and gun racks loaded should have told us to go away, but we didn’t ‘cause those damn signs alone I-75 had lulled us into believing culinary treats beyond our wildest dreams were ‘bout to be bestowed upon us. And we were ready to be bestowed upon, so we crossed the threshold.
It was a little surprising that so many people were in a Waffle House so early in the morning before daylight, but it’s Georgia, maybe the locals get up real early and go out for waffles. What was even more surprising was the fact that Bubba & Earl didn’t have on any shirts, just bibbed overalls and shoes with no socks. Just setting there, drinking coffee and looking at us. Earl had a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth and Bubba did too. They didn’t even take the toothpick out to drink coffee.
As we entered to door all eyes turned to greet us, no, not to greet, to inspect us. Being on public display so early in the morning inside a Waffle House in north Georgia after driving eleven hours in the darkness of night goes a long ways toward building one’s self esteem and confidence in your ability to face the other challenges the day will bring. We were ready for the challenges, it’d been a long night.
As we walked the full length of that Waffle House all heads turned and eyes followed as we seated ourselves on the last two empty seats at the counter bar. She came over and said “yallwantcoffee” I said yes, she said “regularerhouse” I said house, she said “wantaspoon” I said “do I need one’ she said “suredo”.
When the coffee arrived I discovered the purpose of the spoon, the house blend is consumed only when it’s strong enough to hold the spoon in an upright position . It was the first time I’d ever had lumpy coffee, it took some getting used to, but the spoon stood up nice. Placing the food order seemed to go well. Two eggs over easy with bacon and toast for me along with a glass of milk, and waffles for Johnny didn’t seem too complicated for a business that specializes in breakfast food.
The real surprise was what was brought to the counter. The eggs were not over easy, they were not well done, they were not scrambled, they were roasted, roasted to the max. The bacon was not medium, not medium well, not well done, it was not crisp, the bacon was black. The bacon was carbon on a plate. The coffee and the bacon were of the same color. The toast seemed unusually light, but then again I’m comparing it to the bacon.
The milk was the right color, however, with my first taste I was shocked by the realization that this milk was very close to the temperature as when the original manufacturer produced it. I dared not let my imagination wander down those lanes, knowing full well this glass in my hand could be a whole new meaning to the term “Fresh Diary”.
When the server came over and asked “howseverythinggonigfya” I commented ‘bout the light color of the toast, she took one look and said Ithinkheforgorettotoastthebread,I’lltakeitbackandmakeemtoastit” I said the toast was ok, but the eggs were not right, she said “themsernotovereasyarethey? I said they were the same color as the bacon she said “yourright,yessirrie,they’rethesamecolorforsure,youlikeemthatwayornot? I said not, as I started to eat my breakfast form hell, too hungry to complain any further. I never saw an egg bend before.
Johnny’s order was less complex and as such much less chance to get it wrong. It’s hard to mess up a waffle order unless ya cook it too long. Johnny’s waffle was cooked too long. I think they must’ve cooked Johnny’s waffle and my bacon the same amount of time, maybe in the same device. Don’t know if my bacon had little squares on it or not, it’s hard to see black on black. Under normal circumstances ya’d expect to be able to eat a waffle with only a fork. Johnny’s waffle was served with a fork, butter, syrup, a steak knife. This was not normal circumstances, Johnny needed the steak knife. When we went to the cashier to pay our bill, a most pleasant surprise, she said
“Idon’tthinkweservedyouboysgood. I'mgonatake25%offyourbillrightnow”. And she did. The background music was dueling banjos as we walked into the dark cold early morning, that first day of February, 2010. As we walked to the car, I’ll swear I though I saw a cow tied to a utility pole behind that Waffle House.
When Johnny drove back onto the interstate, he wondered what kind of discount we would’ve received if we’d complained ‘bout our food. We still laugh ‘bout the waffle house from hell, Johnny and me. The more I think ‘bout it, I’m almost sure the cow was tied up to that utility pole, back there behind the Waffle House.
Ever hear of the “Bride of the Sun”? Why it’s none other than the Marigold. It’s October’s flower. Those yellow, rust, and gold colors of the marigold just seem to yell OCTOBER ! loud and clear to me.
I like marigolds, I think they’re pretty. Some don’t like ‘em because of their smell, and they do, but oh well, most everything smells, even people, and some times that’s a problem too. I remember my dad used to always plant marigolds with his tomato plants, kept those big green tomato worms away.
That reminds me, ya know that thing on a tomato worms butt that looks like a stinger. It’s not, but the ole tomato worm hopes ya think it is so ya’ll leave him alone and let ‘em eat all your tomatoes. Damn worm, tricking people like that, must be a republican like the cat.
Seems I remember when I was a kid there was some kinda remedy for toothache using marigolds, but I don’t remember if ya ate ‘em or just smelled ‘em. Either way it probably didn’t work, or else we wouldn’t have so many dentists around. I read somewhere if ya dream of marigolds that indicates happiness in marriage, prosperity, and success. Now I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve yet to have my first dream ‘bout marigolds or any other flower for that matter. But if I do, I'm sure I'll let ya know.
The October Full Moon is called “The Full Hunter’s Moon”, it was last Friday night the 22nd , and is always the first full Moon following autumn’s Harvest Moon. I thought ‘bought stargazing Friday night, but the moon was too bright and there were lots of high clouds. So I just watched the moon go in and out of the clouds for a while and enjoyed the cool crisp air of October.
Ever notice how every once in a while how something just grabs your attention and won’t turn loose. Well several days ago I was reading emails and that’s what happened.
A friend wrote “BobbyRay, now that you and Johnny have been out west and almost rode a horse, I thought you might enjoy reading something I find very special.”
This is “A Cowboy’s Prayer” by Jeril Morton from Gans, Oklahoma
Lord, I know grown men don’t cry. But Lord, when I pulled the saddle off Ole Bill and saw that the girth had left a print deep in his side, I had to fight hard to keep the tears from falling.
Then I knelt down to rub Bill’s leg and found d mesquite thorn deep in the muscle. There was a cactus thorn too. But Lord, I didn’t feel Bill flinch, not once. He carried me 50 miles today, and took those yearlings back without me giving him a single command.
But Lord, when I saw the hole in his leg and the dried blood where a yucca plant had jabbed him, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Lord, I ask you to bless Bill and me, and take the pain away from Bill’s leg. But Lord, if you have only one blessing left for today, give it to Bill. He means more to me than anything I own on earth, and I love him.
Thanks, Lord, and amen.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, Tech and Twinkies
Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
As Johnny and I drove past the County Line Sign and descended into Magoffin County the road fell away quick, real quick. Now for those who may not be fully versed in the fine art of Hillbilly Conversation, “the road fell away quick” is simply a very graphic description of an extremely steep declining road in front of you.
And so it did fall away quick, that road leading into Magoffin County. Traveling in the mountains and having an aversion to height makes for an interesting time indeed. When ya traverse the mountains by road beds cut into the side of the rock, ya have two choices, you’re either on the inside of the road next to the mountain, or on the outside next to God, depending on how the road bed is cut in the side of the mountain and which side you’re setting.
As the road fell away quick, I was next to God. Very few rail guards exist on the lesser traveled roads in Kentucky. Ya just learn how to travel or they miss ya when you’re gone. It didn’t take Johnny long to learn how to drive the Kentucky Country Roads. His phone conversation with Bob Allen when we were in Jackson an hour ago had served him well. Johnny’s a quick learner, Bob Allen, knowing that we were not accustom to mountain driving had told Johnny “just watch the signs, they’ll tell ya how to travel”.
And so they did, in graphics and text. Those diamond information signs we all learned ‘bout when we first applied for our drivers licenses take on a whole new meaning when ya see a black curve painted on a yellow diamond more than 180° and a posted speed limit of 10 MPH, and all the while the road is falling away quick. In ‘bout two miles of downhill racing we’re off the mountain and we’re by the creek.
In Kentucky when you’re by the creek, well, that’s ‘bout as low as you’re gona go, ‘cause nothing’s flat, it’s either going up or going down. Now if ya can’t tell up or down where you’re at, just watch the water. The water is always going down. Even from Tiptop the water always flows toward the sea.
There was never a question as where we were going in the mountains, with my GPS on the laptop computer I always knew exactly where we were at all times. It seems sometimes technology gives ya too much information, the darn thing was also showing me how fast the road was falling away. It looked like a clock running backwards.
You’ve all heard the story ‘bout so far in the mountains, they have to pump in sunshine. Well, Bob Allen lives at the end of the pipe. The road’s ‘bout a hundred feet above the house and the descending lane is an adventure unto it’s self. The culvert to cross the creek is almost large enough to drive thru. Rain water runs fast off the hills in a downpour.
It was hard to tell who was most excited to see each other, us or Bob Allen. He was standing on this back porch before we were able to get out of the truck. We shook hands and hugged and shook hands and hugged again. Hillbillies are like that, that shaking hands and hugging stuff, we do that a lot.
We go inside and say hello to Bob’s wife, Toot, don’t know her real name just always called her Toot. Toot offers to feed us, we decline. That is so hillbilly, that offer to feed ya, no sooner do ya walk thru the door and someone’s trying to feed ya or get ya to drink their coffee. We passed on both, with gratitude for the offer.
Bob Allen has lived at this location for many years. One time he told Johnny that when he finally found the place of his dreams, all he had to do was just move Toot in have her start cooking gravy. This family of mountain people truly love where they live, the surroundings, and the friends around ‘em and it all shows on their faces and in their voices and even in the way they shake hands and hug. Happy people, Bob Allen and Toot, they make ya feel at home.
If we’re gona see our real estate holding in Magoffin County this day we need to hit the road right now, and so we’re off to the mouth of Bee Tree, ‘cause that the legal description, “43-39, Mouth of Bee Tree”. I had obtained an aerial map of the section 43 which identified the 39 portion of the map.
Bob Allen took one look at the aerial map, laughed and said the best he could do today was get us in some proximity of our land holdings and point to the side of a mountain. It’d be up there somewhere. Unlike Indiana where most all land is easily identified, land in some parts of Kentucky are not as well defined, in fact extremely difficult to identify in some cases. Bob thought we could locate our land on the side of the mountain, it’s just gona take some doing.
Contact some adjoining land owners, get permission to cross other people’s land, ‘cause our land doesn’t have any road access. That in its self is not unusual or an issue, cause much of the land in the mountains doesn’t have road access. Ya just work that stuff with the neighbor according to Bob Allen. The problem we are facing today is darkness.
Bob didn’t feel we had enough daylight to travel to where we needed to be to allow him to point to the side of mountain to show us almost our little part of paradise. So Bob proposed and alternate plan to use the remaining daylight. That plan was to go see his horses upon the top of the mountain. Then Johnny turned the truck around and we’re off to the races.
We backtracked all the way up the road that fell away quick. All the way back up to the Magoffin County Sign. It was at the very top of this mountain, we took a dirt road leading, not down the other side, rather along the top of the ridge. And so we drove maybe a mile or more, staying all the while on the ridge line, then we came to an area maybe 20 acres or so and almost flat.
Here on the top of the mountain we found many horses, most of the horses belonged to Bob Allen, but some he didn’t recognize, ‘cause in the fall of the year, some people bring their horses up to the top of the mountains and just turn ‘em loose. Both food and water are abundant on the top of the mountain, and it would seen an ideal spot to spend the winter. That way ya don’t have to feed your horse for the winter. I guess ya just leave ‘em up there on the mountain and God takes care of ‘em till you’re ready to ride ‘em again in the springtime. Bob was excited, one his girl horses had a new baby in the last 24 hours. The little baby was running ‘round and having a good time with his mama his first day of being a mountain horse.
We get out to enjoy the view from the top of the hill. Looking to the west is Breathitt County and looking east is into Magoffin County. Such a very special sight, not a house or soul to be seen, just Bob Allen, Johnny, me and the horses. We stood in silence for a while. Ya don’t have to say much in the presence of majestic splendor.
At Bob Allen’s yard, I’d locked in his house location in the GPS on the laptop. On top of the mountain, in the presence of the horses, I checked our current location in reference to Bob’s house and was amazed find were within less than 2 miles from his house. It was ‘bout 25 miles driving to where we were standing.
As darkness closed around us, we had the pleasure of viewing a most beautiful sunset from the vantage point of the top of the mountain. And then the road fell away real quick.
With Bob Allen delivered safely home and us agreeing on how he’d handle the paperwork for our mountain real estate investment, Johnny and I followed that Sunshine Pipeline back to the big road. It was well after dark when Johnny drove onto the Mountain Parkway and turned to the northwest toward Winchester.
The Mountain Parkway, my favorite stretch of Interstate Road in the whole country, runs from Winchester to Salyersville. When ya get onto the parkway at Winchester, you’re still in the Kentucky Bluegrass Country, horses and white fences can be seen for miles. In an hour or so you’re in the high mountains of southeastern Kentucky. The Mountain Parkway ends as Salyersville.
On this night, like all nights, the Mountain Parkway is just another road in the darkness, viewed only to the reach of your head lights. I don’t like traveling this pretty road in the nighttime, but we do. At Winchester we stop for supper. Having had so much for the last 12 hours or so we almost forgot to eat, and for Johnny and me, that’s saying something.
We started the day early, this Tuesday Morning, leaving Roswell GA shortly after sunrise, with Johnny stealing a frog on the way out of town, and now here we sit in Winchester KY at Chili’s waiting for our supper, what else, Chili. With a football game on the flat screens all over the place, I call the she and tell her all’s well in our world and we’ll be home before the sun set across the valley.
I give the she a long distance hug and kiss by cell phone. I love technology and the gadgets that come along. Cell phones, laptop computers, GPS, digital watches, laser lights, pumpkin cannons and twinkies. Yes twinkies. Now these little fellers are marketed as a "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". In reality they’re mystery wrapped in cellophane. And I say that ‘bout twinkies ‘cause if ya take one out and just lay it somewhere out of the way, where nothing can get to it. It’ll stay there forever, it’ll not mold, it’ll rot, it’ll not get hard and dry up. It’ll just stay a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". Twinkies are just plain magic wrapped in a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling"
By the time we finished supper, Johnny was done driving for the day. With me at the wheel, I’m looking toward Louisville and before two hours had passed so had Louisville. With the bright city lights behind me, I crossed the big bridge. Back Home Again In Indiana. Ya get sleepily late at night driving with a full belly. Just north of Louisville the DAYS INN sign welcomed me home. And so we slept.
One of the true great things ‘bout Indiana is a Cracker Barrel Breakfast when you’re hungry. Johnny had a meeting at 12:30PM in Indianapolis so we made our way up that dreaded strip of I-65 to capital city. Johnny went to his meeting and I sat in the truck and told stories with my fingers to the laptop. And as I told the stories, it dawned on me that I know sign language, but only to computers, not to people. That’s pretty cool, knowing sign language and all.
After his meeting Johnny said he knew a place in Carmel, just north of Indianapolis, that had the world’s best hamburger, but a little pricey. It was the world’s best hamburger. It was a little pricey, and it was worth every pricey cent. I hope to go back and have another hamburger someday, pricey or not. And after the big hamburger I drove home while Johnny slept some more.
As I sit in my beloved East Wing this 17th day of October and watch the leaves falling from the west maple tree in the front garden, which by now has lost most all its leaves, while the east maple tree has yet to lose a single leaf or even start to turn color in the green leaves, I wonder who controls that leaf falling and color changing stuff.
Maybe it’s the same one who plays the wind chimes, that sways the tree branches, that rustles the leaves, who rolls the tumble weeds, the leader of the band.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, technology and Twinkies
I wish you well
BobbyRay
As Johnny and I drove past the County Line Sign and descended into Magoffin County the road fell away quick, real quick. Now for those who may not be fully versed in the fine art of Hillbilly Conversation, “the road fell away quick” is simply a very graphic description of an extremely steep declining road in front of you.
And so it did fall away quick, that road leading into Magoffin County. Traveling in the mountains and having an aversion to height makes for an interesting time indeed. When ya traverse the mountains by road beds cut into the side of the rock, ya have two choices, you’re either on the inside of the road next to the mountain, or on the outside next to God, depending on how the road bed is cut in the side of the mountain and which side you’re setting.
As the road fell away quick, I was next to God. Very few rail guards exist on the lesser traveled roads in Kentucky. Ya just learn how to travel or they miss ya when you’re gone. It didn’t take Johnny long to learn how to drive the Kentucky Country Roads. His phone conversation with Bob Allen when we were in Jackson an hour ago had served him well. Johnny’s a quick learner, Bob Allen, knowing that we were not accustom to mountain driving had told Johnny “just watch the signs, they’ll tell ya how to travel”.
And so they did, in graphics and text. Those diamond information signs we all learned ‘bout when we first applied for our drivers licenses take on a whole new meaning when ya see a black curve painted on a yellow diamond more than 180° and a posted speed limit of 10 MPH, and all the while the road is falling away quick. In ‘bout two miles of downhill racing we’re off the mountain and we’re by the creek.
In Kentucky when you’re by the creek, well, that’s ‘bout as low as you’re gona go, ‘cause nothing’s flat, it’s either going up or going down. Now if ya can’t tell up or down where you’re at, just watch the water. The water is always going down. Even from Tiptop the water always flows toward the sea.
There was never a question as where we were going in the mountains, with my GPS on the laptop computer I always knew exactly where we were at all times. It seems sometimes technology gives ya too much information, the darn thing was also showing me how fast the road was falling away. It looked like a clock running backwards.
You’ve all heard the story ‘bout so far in the mountains, they have to pump in sunshine. Well, Bob Allen lives at the end of the pipe. The road’s ‘bout a hundred feet above the house and the descending lane is an adventure unto it’s self. The culvert to cross the creek is almost large enough to drive thru. Rain water runs fast off the hills in a downpour.
It was hard to tell who was most excited to see each other, us or Bob Allen. He was standing on this back porch before we were able to get out of the truck. We shook hands and hugged and shook hands and hugged again. Hillbillies are like that, that shaking hands and hugging stuff, we do that a lot.
We go inside and say hello to Bob’s wife, Toot, don’t know her real name just always called her Toot. Toot offers to feed us, we decline. That is so hillbilly, that offer to feed ya, no sooner do ya walk thru the door and someone’s trying to feed ya or get ya to drink their coffee. We passed on both, with gratitude for the offer.
Bob Allen has lived at this location for many years. One time he told Johnny that when he finally found the place of his dreams, all he had to do was just move Toot in have her start cooking gravy. This family of mountain people truly love where they live, the surroundings, and the friends around ‘em and it all shows on their faces and in their voices and even in the way they shake hands and hug. Happy people, Bob Allen and Toot, they make ya feel at home.
If we’re gona see our real estate holding in Magoffin County this day we need to hit the road right now, and so we’re off to the mouth of Bee Tree, ‘cause that the legal description, “43-39, Mouth of Bee Tree”. I had obtained an aerial map of the section 43 which identified the 39 portion of the map.
Bob Allen took one look at the aerial map, laughed and said the best he could do today was get us in some proximity of our land holdings and point to the side of a mountain. It’d be up there somewhere. Unlike Indiana where most all land is easily identified, land in some parts of Kentucky are not as well defined, in fact extremely difficult to identify in some cases. Bob thought we could locate our land on the side of the mountain, it’s just gona take some doing.
Contact some adjoining land owners, get permission to cross other people’s land, ‘cause our land doesn’t have any road access. That in its self is not unusual or an issue, cause much of the land in the mountains doesn’t have road access. Ya just work that stuff with the neighbor according to Bob Allen. The problem we are facing today is darkness.
Bob didn’t feel we had enough daylight to travel to where we needed to be to allow him to point to the side of mountain to show us almost our little part of paradise. So Bob proposed and alternate plan to use the remaining daylight. That plan was to go see his horses upon the top of the mountain. Then Johnny turned the truck around and we’re off to the races.
We backtracked all the way up the road that fell away quick. All the way back up to the Magoffin County Sign. It was at the very top of this mountain, we took a dirt road leading, not down the other side, rather along the top of the ridge. And so we drove maybe a mile or more, staying all the while on the ridge line, then we came to an area maybe 20 acres or so and almost flat.
Here on the top of the mountain we found many horses, most of the horses belonged to Bob Allen, but some he didn’t recognize, ‘cause in the fall of the year, some people bring their horses up to the top of the mountains and just turn ‘em loose. Both food and water are abundant on the top of the mountain, and it would seen an ideal spot to spend the winter. That way ya don’t have to feed your horse for the winter. I guess ya just leave ‘em up there on the mountain and God takes care of ‘em till you’re ready to ride ‘em again in the springtime. Bob was excited, one his girl horses had a new baby in the last 24 hours. The little baby was running ‘round and having a good time with his mama his first day of being a mountain horse.
We get out to enjoy the view from the top of the hill. Looking to the west is Breathitt County and looking east is into Magoffin County. Such a very special sight, not a house or soul to be seen, just Bob Allen, Johnny, me and the horses. We stood in silence for a while. Ya don’t have to say much in the presence of majestic splendor.
At Bob Allen’s yard, I’d locked in his house location in the GPS on the laptop. On top of the mountain, in the presence of the horses, I checked our current location in reference to Bob’s house and was amazed find were within less than 2 miles from his house. It was ‘bout 25 miles driving to where we were standing.
As darkness closed around us, we had the pleasure of viewing a most beautiful sunset from the vantage point of the top of the mountain. And then the road fell away real quick.
With Bob Allen delivered safely home and us agreeing on how he’d handle the paperwork for our mountain real estate investment, Johnny and I followed that Sunshine Pipeline back to the big road. It was well after dark when Johnny drove onto the Mountain Parkway and turned to the northwest toward Winchester.
The Mountain Parkway, my favorite stretch of Interstate Road in the whole country, runs from Winchester to Salyersville. When ya get onto the parkway at Winchester, you’re still in the Kentucky Bluegrass Country, horses and white fences can be seen for miles. In an hour or so you’re in the high mountains of southeastern Kentucky. The Mountain Parkway ends as Salyersville.
On this night, like all nights, the Mountain Parkway is just another road in the darkness, viewed only to the reach of your head lights. I don’t like traveling this pretty road in the nighttime, but we do. At Winchester we stop for supper. Having had so much for the last 12 hours or so we almost forgot to eat, and for Johnny and me, that’s saying something.
We started the day early, this Tuesday Morning, leaving Roswell GA shortly after sunrise, with Johnny stealing a frog on the way out of town, and now here we sit in Winchester KY at Chili’s waiting for our supper, what else, Chili. With a football game on the flat screens all over the place, I call the she and tell her all’s well in our world and we’ll be home before the sun set across the valley.
I give the she a long distance hug and kiss by cell phone. I love technology and the gadgets that come along. Cell phones, laptop computers, GPS, digital watches, laser lights, pumpkin cannons and twinkies. Yes twinkies. Now these little fellers are marketed as a "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". In reality they’re mystery wrapped in cellophane. And I say that ‘bout twinkies ‘cause if ya take one out and just lay it somewhere out of the way, where nothing can get to it. It’ll stay there forever, it’ll not mold, it’ll rot, it’ll not get hard and dry up. It’ll just stay a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". Twinkies are just plain magic wrapped in a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling"
By the time we finished supper, Johnny was done driving for the day. With me at the wheel, I’m looking toward Louisville and before two hours had passed so had Louisville. With the bright city lights behind me, I crossed the big bridge. Back Home Again In Indiana. Ya get sleepily late at night driving with a full belly. Just north of Louisville the DAYS INN sign welcomed me home. And so we slept.
One of the true great things ‘bout Indiana is a Cracker Barrel Breakfast when you’re hungry. Johnny had a meeting at 12:30PM in Indianapolis so we made our way up that dreaded strip of I-65 to capital city. Johnny went to his meeting and I sat in the truck and told stories with my fingers to the laptop. And as I told the stories, it dawned on me that I know sign language, but only to computers, not to people. That’s pretty cool, knowing sign language and all.
After his meeting Johnny said he knew a place in Carmel, just north of Indianapolis, that had the world’s best hamburger, but a little pricey. It was the world’s best hamburger. It was a little pricey, and it was worth every pricey cent. I hope to go back and have another hamburger someday, pricey or not. And after the big hamburger I drove home while Johnny slept some more.
As I sit in my beloved East Wing this 17th day of October and watch the leaves falling from the west maple tree in the front garden, which by now has lost most all its leaves, while the east maple tree has yet to lose a single leaf or even start to turn color in the green leaves, I wonder who controls that leaf falling and color changing stuff.
Maybe it’s the same one who plays the wind chimes, that sways the tree branches, that rustles the leaves, who rolls the tumble weeds, the leader of the band.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, technology and Twinkies
I wish you well
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 10, 2010
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Chicken With The Colonel
Greetings To All and Welcome New Friends to The East Wing,
Me and Johnny, on the road again. Not gona be cowboys this time, gona be cotton pickers, if we find some cotton. We’re on our way to Georgia, Roswell GA that is. Roswell is a northern suburb of Atlanta. We’re taking my Sister Barbara home from an extended visit to Indiana. And don’t really expect to see any cotton, but will pick some if the opportunity presents itself. Ya gota remember some hillbillies from Starke County have been known to pick stuff from time to time.
Barbara lives in a really neat community in Roswell, it’s not a gated community. But one house does have some real nice goats in the yard. Back in January, I had Johnny take my pictures with the goats. They’re pretty classy goats, some black, some white and some just plain goat colored. One of Barbara’s neighbors is the current president of UPS. Barbara’s late husband, Ed Lopez spent his whole working career doing computer research type work at UPS. Ed died much too soon last January. Me and Ed, we stargazed. My stargazing is not nearly as much fun with Ed gone, but I still do, some.
It’s Sunday early afternoon as we leave the East Wing in bright sunshine, turn south and look forward to a fun four day adventure, me and Johnny and Sister Barbara. With the trip only being in relatively sort segments, I don’t expect to do much if any driving ‘cause Johnny likes to drive and I like to gawk a lot, in fact that is one of my better skills, I’ve honed that skill over years of practice. And now I can gawk with the best of ‘em.
I wonder if I could go back over to that little college in central Ohio and get my PhD in gawking. I already know the paper I’d write. “Gawking in a Foreign Language” by BobbyRay. That would be so cool, I’d learn to gawk in Spanish or maybe Russian or even Chinese . Now I can only gawk in Hillbilly, but am truly good at it. It must be really easy to learn a foreign language, ‘cause just this past Sunday morning at the 11 o’clock mass there was a little baby crying in Spanish. It’s so amazing to think that pretty little baby girl learned to cry in Spanish and she’s not even 6 months old. Now if ya don’t believe in miracles, then you’ve just never seen a pretty little Spanish Angel crying in church. A miracle before your eyes, if there ever was one, that little Spanish Angel.
What’s really cool ‘bout gawking is acting like a tourist and being obnoxious and acting stupid and everybody cuts ya some slack ‘cause they know you’re from out of town, and when they go out of town, they too act stupid. Gawking sure is fun.
The speed at which the corn and soy bean crops have disappeared from the flat lands of northern Indiana ya’d think a magician was at work. Not so, just a combination of early planting, early rain, August drought and September heat make for early picking, and unusual early drying of the crops.
Interestingly enough, ya’d think being able to harvest the crop early makes for happy farmers. That’s not always the case, there are several issues the farmers are dealing with this harvest season. A few days ago I had a farmer in my office who produces seed corn. Now for you non-farmers, that’s the stuff that is used to plant next year’s corn crop. (really it’s more than a year down the road, but to illustrate the point, it easier to just say next year’s crop)
Producing seed corn is a highly specialized type of farming. Without getting into too much detail, suffice to say it takes extra effort to produce seed corn. I first became aware of seed corn farming when I was a little hillbilly boy pulling the tassels from the top of corn stalks.
The problem my farmer client has to deal with this year is the seed corn has dried too much in the field. Regular corn is picked at an ideal moister content of 15%. Seed corn needs to be picked at 20%. Then a very slow dry down process to control the quality of the seed, and to allow the seed to germinate when placed back into the ground.
The test plot to determine if the seed corn was ready to harvest, tested out at 14% moisture it needed to be at least 20%. Samples of the crop have been sent to the Ag Research Labs at Purdue University to determine how best to handle the situation.
The windmill farms north of Lafayette IN now seem pale compared to those seen a few weeks ago when Johnny and I were cowboys. Now that’s not to say that the Brookston Windmills are not impressive, they are. But the sheer volume of the windmills out west is staggering.
As the windmills of northern Indiana blend into the background behind us, we blend into the Federal Interstate Highway System, I-65, southbound toward Indianapolis. Not even 10 miles on I-65 and guess what pops up? Right! A Cracker Barrel. Right there in front of God and everybody, on the east side of I-65. Happy Days Are Here Again!
Ya don’t eat fast at Cracker Barrels, and that’s the way God intended people to eat, slow and enjoying the taste of Cracker Barrel. I’ve even heard that the Cracker Barrel may have catered the Last Supper, but I don’t know that for a fact. I do know they have some really old recipes there.
From the Cracker Barrel to downtown Indianapolis in an hour, with Lebanon thrown in there just to break up the flat land Indiana corn fields with no corn left, only memories of corn gone by this October Sunday. Indianapolis is such a pretty big town. One of my favorite things ‘bout Indianapolis, it don’t smell. Can’t say that ‘bout many cities in the world. And the sad thing ‘bout many of the people who live in those cities that smell, they don’t even know it smells.
Had a conversation the other day with a lady who has just moved to North Judson a few years ago, and dearly loves to live here. She was telling me ‘bout a conversation she overheard when some friends she had invited to her new home in the country were talking with one of her neighbors. The city fellow asked “how’s them outside toilets working for ya?” and the neighbor says “works ok, and oh, by the way, how’s them drive by shooting working out for ya in your neighborhood?” City people AGGH!
One good thing ‘bout traveling with Sister Barbara, she wants to stop a lot, and so we do whatever catches somebody’s eye along the way, we all get to see it when we stop. If I had to pick my least favorite part of the Indiana interstate system, it’s Indianapolis to Louisville I-65 South. Don’t know why, maybe I’ve just rode this concrete ribbon of steel too many times. We stopped twice between Indianapolis and Louisville, once to pee and once to gawk.
Louisville KY at the very edge of the start of the nighttime, a pretty town to behold, tall buildings with pretty lights. Twinkling lights dancing on the waters of the Ohio River makes for a pretty crossing on the big bridge. Traffic delays don’t exist in Louisville on Sunday evening. The same can’t be said for tomorrow morning when the world wakes up to go to work. And tomorrow we’ll still be playing, Johnny and me. For us, tomorrow is the day no work will be done.
Franklin KY is two miles north of Tennessee and a good place to sleep after a fun seven hours of jerking ‘round thru both Indiana and Kentucky. Up with the sun on Monday and off to Georgia, not quite so fast, I’m up with the sun, Sister Barbara don’t do early sun. In fact Sister Barbara don’t do early anything, so Johnny and I go for the free breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A most pleasant surprise, that breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A real breakfast, not one of those coffee and roll deals with old brown bananas and other fruit past its prime. Ya could even make your own waffle, and Johnny did so. I don’t do waffle any more, but that’s another story for another time.
A quick 4 hour run down I-65 to I-24 to I-75 and just like that, we find ourselves in Roswell GA. The goats are inside their goat house when I go by, but I waved just to let ‘em know I’m back. We kick back and relax for a few hours visit with family, sleep a little and up and at ‘em early Tuesday morning, really running early Tuesday morning. Leaving Sister Barbara in Roswell still asleep, means Johnny and I can get started before noon, and we did.
The last time I was at Sister Barbara’s house, back in January, on the way leaving, I stole a stone chicken from one of her gardens. This morning as Johnny drove out the courtyard I asked him to stop and steal one of the stone frogs. I don’t know if that Georgia Frog can stand the cold of Indiana winters, if not guess he’ll have to live in the East Wing. Come to think ‘bout it I’m just gona put him in the East Wing right up, ‘cause Pup Baby sure likes frogs anyways. And besides of all the East Wing stuff, I don’t have a frog, or at least a Georgia Frog, until now.
Did ya ever eat frog legs? I don’t do that, eat frog legs, but the she does. Regina eats every frog leg she comes across. Me, well, I’ve just handled to many frogs in my life to eat ‘em. But I’ve seen some big ones from time to time.
It’s noon on Tuesday and Johnny and I find ourselves in Lake City Tennessee just get gas, pee and go. We’re on a mission this Tuesday as we find our way back home from way down upon the Suwannee River, and the mission is to locate some land I purchased a while back. The land is located somewhere in Magoffin County Kentucky, we just don’t know where yet. But expect to know before the sun sets on this beautiful early fall day in Appalachia. We’re on our way to meet a fellow by the name of Bob Allen, and Bob’s gona show us, what my Mama told me was my “ personal pig in a poke” when I told her I’d bought land sight unseen in Magoffin County KY. But we’ll see.
By 1:30 this afternoon we are looking for somewhere to eat lunch when Johnny spots a sign advertising the original home of Col. Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken. This house of chicken is on the list of historical landmarks identified by the Federal Department of the Interior. Located in Corbin KY a little town with no other special interests to anyone other than the locals. A little town much like a million others except that Col. Sanders happened to live there. We gawked, ate the chicken, gawked some more, took our pictures with the Col. Sanders statue and it’s back on the road again looking for our land that time forgot somewhere in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky.
We’re two - three weeks too early to see the best of the pretty mountains is all the fall colors, the idea of changing colors has just started to be thought of by the trees here, ya can just tell by the way they hold their leaves. But the green, green mountains of southeastern Kentucky are pretty all the time, year ‘round, just sometimes they’re more spectacular than others. Now when the earth tone colors paint the mountain sides, well, that’s one of the “others” I’s talking ‘bout.
As we drive thru these beautiful mountains, Johnny and I develop a plan to allow us to return in three weeks to see the Annual Fall Color Show of Appalachia, starring in the lead role, Mother Nature herself and co-starring various creatures of the forest including, but not limited to, Bambi, Yoga Bear, Woody Woodpecker, Old Yeller, Pinto the Wonder Horse, and a cast of thousands. It’s always a sellout performance, that Fall Color Show of Appalachia. And everybody that comes to the show gets a front row seat. There are no bad seats in the Kentucky Mountains in the Autumn time of the year .
5:00 PM finds us setting in Jackson KY talking with Bob Allen by cell phone. Yes he knows where our real estate is located, yes he can take us to it, if we can make it before dark. Turns out Bob Allen is 40 miles away and in a part of Kentucky not adjacent to or easily accessible by the interstate highway system. Now when ya got 40 miles to go in the mountains and you’re a flat land driver like Johnny, well, it’s gona take time, ya just know it’s gona take lots of time. Bob Allen tells us we need to take State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville, and turn on road 1392, ‘bout 25 miles or so from Jackson.
Now I’ve been on that road before, that State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville. On that 30+ miles of road from Jackson to Salyersville there’s not a single stretch of road in a straight line ¼ mile long. The road has curves, lots and lots of curves, and many are more than 180° Now for us non engineers, if a whole circle is 360° that means those curves on State Road 30 are tight, they’re not only tight but often, seems every time ya see the end of the curve ya see the start of the next curve. And so it went as we slowly traversed Road 30, forever climbing to altitude and finally reaching the mountain peak at the Magoffin / Breathitt County Line. We pull over to take our pictures beside the Magoffin County Sign, think better of the idea and just take a picture of the sign, before we start down the other side of the mountain.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Eating Chicken With The Colonel
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Me and Johnny, on the road again. Not gona be cowboys this time, gona be cotton pickers, if we find some cotton. We’re on our way to Georgia, Roswell GA that is. Roswell is a northern suburb of Atlanta. We’re taking my Sister Barbara home from an extended visit to Indiana. And don’t really expect to see any cotton, but will pick some if the opportunity presents itself. Ya gota remember some hillbillies from Starke County have been known to pick stuff from time to time.
Barbara lives in a really neat community in Roswell, it’s not a gated community. But one house does have some real nice goats in the yard. Back in January, I had Johnny take my pictures with the goats. They’re pretty classy goats, some black, some white and some just plain goat colored. One of Barbara’s neighbors is the current president of UPS. Barbara’s late husband, Ed Lopez spent his whole working career doing computer research type work at UPS. Ed died much too soon last January. Me and Ed, we stargazed. My stargazing is not nearly as much fun with Ed gone, but I still do, some.
It’s Sunday early afternoon as we leave the East Wing in bright sunshine, turn south and look forward to a fun four day adventure, me and Johnny and Sister Barbara. With the trip only being in relatively sort segments, I don’t expect to do much if any driving ‘cause Johnny likes to drive and I like to gawk a lot, in fact that is one of my better skills, I’ve honed that skill over years of practice. And now I can gawk with the best of ‘em.
I wonder if I could go back over to that little college in central Ohio and get my PhD in gawking. I already know the paper I’d write. “Gawking in a Foreign Language” by BobbyRay. That would be so cool, I’d learn to gawk in Spanish or maybe Russian or even Chinese . Now I can only gawk in Hillbilly, but am truly good at it. It must be really easy to learn a foreign language, ‘cause just this past Sunday morning at the 11 o’clock mass there was a little baby crying in Spanish. It’s so amazing to think that pretty little baby girl learned to cry in Spanish and she’s not even 6 months old. Now if ya don’t believe in miracles, then you’ve just never seen a pretty little Spanish Angel crying in church. A miracle before your eyes, if there ever was one, that little Spanish Angel.
What’s really cool ‘bout gawking is acting like a tourist and being obnoxious and acting stupid and everybody cuts ya some slack ‘cause they know you’re from out of town, and when they go out of town, they too act stupid. Gawking sure is fun.
The speed at which the corn and soy bean crops have disappeared from the flat lands of northern Indiana ya’d think a magician was at work. Not so, just a combination of early planting, early rain, August drought and September heat make for early picking, and unusual early drying of the crops.
Interestingly enough, ya’d think being able to harvest the crop early makes for happy farmers. That’s not always the case, there are several issues the farmers are dealing with this harvest season. A few days ago I had a farmer in my office who produces seed corn. Now for you non-farmers, that’s the stuff that is used to plant next year’s corn crop. (really it’s more than a year down the road, but to illustrate the point, it easier to just say next year’s crop)
Producing seed corn is a highly specialized type of farming. Without getting into too much detail, suffice to say it takes extra effort to produce seed corn. I first became aware of seed corn farming when I was a little hillbilly boy pulling the tassels from the top of corn stalks.
The problem my farmer client has to deal with this year is the seed corn has dried too much in the field. Regular corn is picked at an ideal moister content of 15%. Seed corn needs to be picked at 20%. Then a very slow dry down process to control the quality of the seed, and to allow the seed to germinate when placed back into the ground.
The test plot to determine if the seed corn was ready to harvest, tested out at 14% moisture it needed to be at least 20%. Samples of the crop have been sent to the Ag Research Labs at Purdue University to determine how best to handle the situation.
The windmill farms north of Lafayette IN now seem pale compared to those seen a few weeks ago when Johnny and I were cowboys. Now that’s not to say that the Brookston Windmills are not impressive, they are. But the sheer volume of the windmills out west is staggering.
As the windmills of northern Indiana blend into the background behind us, we blend into the Federal Interstate Highway System, I-65, southbound toward Indianapolis. Not even 10 miles on I-65 and guess what pops up? Right! A Cracker Barrel. Right there in front of God and everybody, on the east side of I-65. Happy Days Are Here Again!
Ya don’t eat fast at Cracker Barrels, and that’s the way God intended people to eat, slow and enjoying the taste of Cracker Barrel. I’ve even heard that the Cracker Barrel may have catered the Last Supper, but I don’t know that for a fact. I do know they have some really old recipes there.
From the Cracker Barrel to downtown Indianapolis in an hour, with Lebanon thrown in there just to break up the flat land Indiana corn fields with no corn left, only memories of corn gone by this October Sunday. Indianapolis is such a pretty big town. One of my favorite things ‘bout Indianapolis, it don’t smell. Can’t say that ‘bout many cities in the world. And the sad thing ‘bout many of the people who live in those cities that smell, they don’t even know it smells.
Had a conversation the other day with a lady who has just moved to North Judson a few years ago, and dearly loves to live here. She was telling me ‘bout a conversation she overheard when some friends she had invited to her new home in the country were talking with one of her neighbors. The city fellow asked “how’s them outside toilets working for ya?” and the neighbor says “works ok, and oh, by the way, how’s them drive by shooting working out for ya in your neighborhood?” City people AGGH!
One good thing ‘bout traveling with Sister Barbara, she wants to stop a lot, and so we do whatever catches somebody’s eye along the way, we all get to see it when we stop. If I had to pick my least favorite part of the Indiana interstate system, it’s Indianapolis to Louisville I-65 South. Don’t know why, maybe I’ve just rode this concrete ribbon of steel too many times. We stopped twice between Indianapolis and Louisville, once to pee and once to gawk.
Louisville KY at the very edge of the start of the nighttime, a pretty town to behold, tall buildings with pretty lights. Twinkling lights dancing on the waters of the Ohio River makes for a pretty crossing on the big bridge. Traffic delays don’t exist in Louisville on Sunday evening. The same can’t be said for tomorrow morning when the world wakes up to go to work. And tomorrow we’ll still be playing, Johnny and me. For us, tomorrow is the day no work will be done.
Franklin KY is two miles north of Tennessee and a good place to sleep after a fun seven hours of jerking ‘round thru both Indiana and Kentucky. Up with the sun on Monday and off to Georgia, not quite so fast, I’m up with the sun, Sister Barbara don’t do early sun. In fact Sister Barbara don’t do early anything, so Johnny and I go for the free breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A most pleasant surprise, that breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A real breakfast, not one of those coffee and roll deals with old brown bananas and other fruit past its prime. Ya could even make your own waffle, and Johnny did so. I don’t do waffle any more, but that’s another story for another time.
A quick 4 hour run down I-65 to I-24 to I-75 and just like that, we find ourselves in Roswell GA. The goats are inside their goat house when I go by, but I waved just to let ‘em know I’m back. We kick back and relax for a few hours visit with family, sleep a little and up and at ‘em early Tuesday morning, really running early Tuesday morning. Leaving Sister Barbara in Roswell still asleep, means Johnny and I can get started before noon, and we did.
The last time I was at Sister Barbara’s house, back in January, on the way leaving, I stole a stone chicken from one of her gardens. This morning as Johnny drove out the courtyard I asked him to stop and steal one of the stone frogs. I don’t know if that Georgia Frog can stand the cold of Indiana winters, if not guess he’ll have to live in the East Wing. Come to think ‘bout it I’m just gona put him in the East Wing right up, ‘cause Pup Baby sure likes frogs anyways. And besides of all the East Wing stuff, I don’t have a frog, or at least a Georgia Frog, until now.
Did ya ever eat frog legs? I don’t do that, eat frog legs, but the she does. Regina eats every frog leg she comes across. Me, well, I’ve just handled to many frogs in my life to eat ‘em. But I’ve seen some big ones from time to time.
It’s noon on Tuesday and Johnny and I find ourselves in Lake City Tennessee just get gas, pee and go. We’re on a mission this Tuesday as we find our way back home from way down upon the Suwannee River, and the mission is to locate some land I purchased a while back. The land is located somewhere in Magoffin County Kentucky, we just don’t know where yet. But expect to know before the sun sets on this beautiful early fall day in Appalachia. We’re on our way to meet a fellow by the name of Bob Allen, and Bob’s gona show us, what my Mama told me was my “ personal pig in a poke” when I told her I’d bought land sight unseen in Magoffin County KY. But we’ll see.
By 1:30 this afternoon we are looking for somewhere to eat lunch when Johnny spots a sign advertising the original home of Col. Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken. This house of chicken is on the list of historical landmarks identified by the Federal Department of the Interior. Located in Corbin KY a little town with no other special interests to anyone other than the locals. A little town much like a million others except that Col. Sanders happened to live there. We gawked, ate the chicken, gawked some more, took our pictures with the Col. Sanders statue and it’s back on the road again looking for our land that time forgot somewhere in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky.
We’re two - three weeks too early to see the best of the pretty mountains is all the fall colors, the idea of changing colors has just started to be thought of by the trees here, ya can just tell by the way they hold their leaves. But the green, green mountains of southeastern Kentucky are pretty all the time, year ‘round, just sometimes they’re more spectacular than others. Now when the earth tone colors paint the mountain sides, well, that’s one of the “others” I’s talking ‘bout.
As we drive thru these beautiful mountains, Johnny and I develop a plan to allow us to return in three weeks to see the Annual Fall Color Show of Appalachia, starring in the lead role, Mother Nature herself and co-starring various creatures of the forest including, but not limited to, Bambi, Yoga Bear, Woody Woodpecker, Old Yeller, Pinto the Wonder Horse, and a cast of thousands. It’s always a sellout performance, that Fall Color Show of Appalachia. And everybody that comes to the show gets a front row seat. There are no bad seats in the Kentucky Mountains in the Autumn time of the year .
5:00 PM finds us setting in Jackson KY talking with Bob Allen by cell phone. Yes he knows where our real estate is located, yes he can take us to it, if we can make it before dark. Turns out Bob Allen is 40 miles away and in a part of Kentucky not adjacent to or easily accessible by the interstate highway system. Now when ya got 40 miles to go in the mountains and you’re a flat land driver like Johnny, well, it’s gona take time, ya just know it’s gona take lots of time. Bob Allen tells us we need to take State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville, and turn on road 1392, ‘bout 25 miles or so from Jackson.
Now I’ve been on that road before, that State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville. On that 30+ miles of road from Jackson to Salyersville there’s not a single stretch of road in a straight line ¼ mile long. The road has curves, lots and lots of curves, and many are more than 180° Now for us non engineers, if a whole circle is 360° that means those curves on State Road 30 are tight, they’re not only tight but often, seems every time ya see the end of the curve ya see the start of the next curve. And so it went as we slowly traversed Road 30, forever climbing to altitude and finally reaching the mountain peak at the Magoffin / Breathitt County Line. We pull over to take our pictures beside the Magoffin County Sign, think better of the idea and just take a picture of the sign, before we start down the other side of the mountain.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Eating Chicken With The Colonel
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
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