Greeting to all, and welcome those first time visitors to the East Wing.
One of the things that always fascinates me are new words and how they come about. With the beginning of the personal computers in the 1980’s a whole new dictionary was created. Computer talk. Old words took on new meaning. New words were invented to describe things and actions taken.
Mouse is no longer a live creature. Typewriters morphed into keyboards. Lead pencils dried up on the vine when no one picked ‘um. Crayons gave way to color printers. Erasers are rubbed the wrong way as the delete key corrects mistakes of brain and fingers.
As the computer continues to evolve so does the language. With the opening of the internet, again we are introduced to still another set of new words like "htt & WWW" ((How did ya like figuring that one out) Most everyone by now knows that the www means world wide web. I’m not gona embarrass anybody by asking a show of hands on who knows the meaning of http:// While web no longer referrers to spiders and your address no longer referrers to your home.
Megabyte, Gigabyte, Terabyte are all units of measure of storage space. Did ya ever really think about these amounts of storage space available on your computer? Some examples can put these words into a different perspective. (now I don’t want the real technoids out there to get crazy and tell me my numbers are off, I know what you are talking about,, so let it be, it’s not 1000 it’s 1024, for simplicity of understanding the concept, go with me on my numbers)
Let the letter A = 1. One Megabyte would = 1 million A’s . One Gigabyte would = 1 thousand Megabytes (a billion letter A’s) One Terabyte would = 1 thousand Gigabytes (a trillion letter A’s)
I don’t care who ya are, you don’t know that many words to fill that much space in your lifetime. If you saved every word you ever spoke in your lifetime, ya still wouldn’t fill it up. But depending on what ya put into your computer, different stuff takes different amounts of space to store. Just like with all the rest of your stuff, shoes take more space to store that socks. Ya can even store your socks inside your shoes if ya want to save even more space. There are ways that ya can actually store computer stuff kinda like putting your socks inside your shoes, but ya gotta know how to do that just right, cause if ya don’t do it right,,, oh well.
Your need for computer storage is just like your basement or garage, no matter how much space ya got, ya got more junk than space. And so it is inside your computer, just like your other storage spaces ya tend to hold on to the junk too long. I’m sure I have stuff in some my old computers so far back originally made of wood.
I believe it was 1992 or 1993, in any event it was a year or so before Windows 95 came on the market, we were all using Windows 3.5xx or something like that. I decided I needed to get additional storage for my computer system. We were using a system called floppy disks to store our stuff, the reason for the name was simple, a 5 ¼ inch very thin disk made of an organic based material covered with something kinda kin to rust so that when in the presence of electricity electromagnetism was able to produce a standard pattern which could be read over and over and get the same results.
A product had just come on the market that seemed to be the answer to my prayers, a storage device that would fit inside my computer, it would hold all the stuff which could possibly be created in my life time. This would be a truly once in a life time purchase. And so I bought this life changing product that would forever take care of my need to store stuff on my computer. A device called a “hard card” it took up one of the internal slots inside my computer.
And by the way, this storage device, this “hard card” had the capacity of store 3 megabytes, it cost $3,000.00
The cost of storage devices have gone down since then. Now I carry an eight gigabyte pin drive in my shirt pocket most all the time, just in case I run across something somewhere that I want to bring home. Ya just never know when ya’ll see something ya want to keep. (adding to the junk) The pin drive in my shirt pocket, well that cost $19.95 at a one day on line sale at a Staples or Office Max type store.
Not all the new words surrounding the computer world are friendly and fun words to learn. I will never forget one of the very, very early words I had such a problem with, syntax. For those who remember computer before windows, and even before Microsoft, syntax popped up on your screen ever time ya made a mistake in typing. It took me forever to figure out why. I think that was back when I was blond or something.
Another word I had issue with was “blog”. Didn’t like the sound, didn’t like the looks of the word on my screen. Just didn’t like the word at all. It just seemed the more I heard the word, the more I didn’t like it. Don’t know why. That word never really done me any harm. But I could never get used to the word. I decided to find out where the word came from. One thing ya can do with a computer is find out everything about anything. Blog was no different.
Before I started to research the word, I already knew all about a combination of web and log, and all that stuff. Something just told me to keep digging, and so I did, until I found a lesser know story some 56 years old.
In a 1953 story entitled "Scrambled Eggs Super," Dr. Seuss wrote:
I went for the kind that were mellow and sweet
And the world's sweetest eggs are the eggs of the Kweet
Which is due to those very sweet trout which they eat
And those trout ... well, they're sweet 'cause they only eat Blogs
And Blogs, after all, are the world's sweetest frogs
And the reason they're sweet is, whenever they lunch
It's always the world's sweetest bees that they munch
And the reason no bees can be sweeter than these...
They only eat blossoms off Beezlenut Trees
And those Beezlenut Blossoms are sweeter than sweet
And that's why I nabbed several eggs from the Kweet.
In a 2009 story entitled “The Blogs of 1953,” BobbyRay wrote:
Now there’s a word I don’t like wherever I see
It’s a hard to word to say for people like me
I don’t like the sound, it’s not even a cog
The word that I hate is that ugly word blog
When you play with computers you see it all day
Wherever you look it’s just in the way
WWW is the start of the sound
And before you know it the blog comes around
“It’s just part of computers” is what they told me
But I didn’t believe, so I researched to see
Mixed in with blossoms from Beezlenut Trees I found
The number of years that blogs been around
And once I found out I will never turn loose
Of that beautiful word BLOG from my friend Dr. Seuss!
An evening can’t go by without saying something about my girls, 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife, 1 Angel. All are well. The girl dogs are enjoying the Dog Days of Summer. They seldom go outside, just lay on their couches and talk about how hot Dog Days used to be before air-conditioning came to the East Wing. (air-conditioning has always been in the East Wing. Girl dogs have such short memories)
Sophia the Republican Cat is having a field day with the President being unable to pass the health care bill, even though with a filibuster proof senate, he still can’t get the senate to vote. She thinks the real reason is too many people are asking the democrats if they have read the bill and they are ashamed to admit they can’t read. Damn Republican Cat. I just knew it was a mistake when I taught that cat to read. No wonder she turned out republican. But calicos’ do learn to read quick.
The 1wife is enjoying the company of the Angel. There are few thing in life more precious than watching a baby grow. Any kinda baby, from alley cats to zebras, with baby people somewhere in the “P” section on the God’s List of beautiful things to see in your lifetime.
Sixteen friends of mine came home last week. They washed the sand from their hair for the last time. A whole lot of prayers have been answered in West Texas. Sixteen mothers sleep better tonight while way too many continue to pray for the safe return of their child, as do I.
As always your presence has made this Sunday Evening the enjoyable experience it has turned out to be. Thank you for stopping by. The shades of evening are dissolving day light from the East Wing and the battle is almost over.
The nighttime has won.
Stay Safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, when Dr Seuss came to visit
I Wish you well
BobbyRay
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
When Barbara came to the little city
Greetings to all, and welcome my new visitors to the East Wing.
A few weeks ago I mentioned the importance of having friends. Not that ya need a lot, one or two, or three is plenty. Friendship is measured in quality not quantity. I have such a friend. It’s a girl friend. Not my wife, not my sisters, not my mother, not the girl dogs and not even Sophia the Cat, it’s the other Barbara in my life.
Everyone knows, about our relationship, my wife knows, my family knows, Barbara’s husband knows, Barbara’s family knows, and they all approve. We make no effort to hide our friendship from prying eyes and open ears, I have never slinked off in the dark of night to slip up to Green Bay WI for a quickie meeting with the Barbara like a South Carolina Governor.
I talk to her all the time, email, telephone any time I want, as does she to me, all the time, but we don’t text or twitter. (yet) To understand this strange and out of the ordinary behavior by what seems to be two fairly well adjusted adults ya just gotta go back in time to hear the rest of the story.
First laid eyes on Barbara at one of the most freighting moments of my life. It early on that first morning of the first day when for the first time ever I was to enter the North Judson High School.
Ye see back then there was no such thing as freshman orientation to acclimate the new students to the surroundings. Just throw em to the wolves. It was kinda sink or swim, now I can’t swim and I was sinking.
I'd been delivered to the front entrance of the North Judson High School by a vehicle which by today’s students is referred to as the Rolling Twinkly, Then we just called it the bus from California Township. The dis embankment from that bus was truly a life changing event. No sooner had the bus stopped when 47 kids all tried to get out the front door at the same time. One of the older boys opened the back emergency door and they started piling out the backside as well as the front, all the while the bus driver is yelling profanities to the big boys who opened the back door.
Fearing for my life, I stayed in my seat for a few minutes, cause I didn’t know what to do when I got off the bus anyway. As the human traffic jam dispersed, I got up walked to the front of the bus, walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk and property of the North Judson High School.
I had stepped into what could only be perceived as mass pandemonium. People running in every direction, big kids, little kids, adults, and everything in between. It seemed they were all carrying stuff and they all knew where they were going. They did, I did not. I had no idea in the whole world where to go, or what to do and I was not carrying any stuff.
Now being a kid raised in Downtown Toto and not being accustom to life in a big city, as it was being played out before my very eyes, I was soon conquered by an overwhelming desire to flee. To run, to run away, to run to anywhere just to get away from where I was, to run home, to run back to the safety and comfort of Downtown Toto, where everybody knew my name.
Spying and old school bell mounted on a three foot high concrete base, on the south side of the main entrance to the high school building, I walked over, touched the metal, and stood by the old bell, out of the traffic, out of danger. This old bell, which had been left as a commemorative symbol of a long forgotten class of students that had come this way in the mist of school days past, was my life raft that frightful day. Had I not found this place of refuge, my security blanket, outside the dangerous traffic jam swirling around me that early September morning, the day after Labor Day 1958, I would have never met the Barbara. I would have run back to Toto and would have continued to carry on the grand tradition of hillbillies quitting school in the 8th grade. For me, that option was not to be, but it came so, so close.
In bright sunshine that September Tuesday Morning, I felt as if I was standing fully within the shadow of the valley of death. I could feel the cold. Uncontrollable fear was winning the war within my mind.
Still contemplating what to do and trying to control my desire to run all at the same time, suddenly the only thing I can see is this little blond girl in my face saying “Are you a freshman?” I didn’t know if I was on not, but I said “Yes”. She said “Me Too, what’s your name?” “Bob” “My name’s Barbara” she said. “Are you afraid?” “Yes” I said. “Me too” she said as she put her hand in mine, squeezed and said “let’s go see what’s inside”.
As Barbara pulled on my hand I gave up my security blanket, the old bell, and any thoughts of running away. On a warm, sunny September Morning 1958, hand in hand Barbara and I walked toward the building and stepped into freshmanship as we went to high school that day. And I’ve loved her ever since.
In school, Barbara had girlfriends and boyfriends and so did I, but everybody knew that me and Barbara were different than girlfriends and boyfriends, we just were, we still are. And will forever be. I think I might've been the first real hillbilly she ever saw, but I’m not sure about that. She may have seen some half hillbillies but that wouldn’t count. One thing I do know, Barbara is definitely not a hillbilly. I still don’t know what she is, and I’m afraid to guess, but not hillbilly that’s for sure.
High School with Barbara was fun, always, after high school has been even more fun. We did a lot of crazy fun kid stuff in high school, and have done even more crazy fun kid stuff after high school.
Both Barbara and I were model students throughout high school. In fact both the teaching staff as well as the administration on more than one occasion pointed us out as examples for other students.
I recall one winter morning when we hastily arranged a full student body walkout at 10:30 that same morning. The walkout was 99% successful. It was kinda like a wildcat strike in a labor union, only it’s kids at high school. We negotiated with the Principal on some issues, boy was he ever mad! Started to yell and everything. Talked about expelling people from school for the rest of their life, and stuff like that, till I told him nobody would go back in the school till we said so. He stopped yelling and then we talked about some things that made us mad, and when that all got straightened out, everybody went back to school. Nobody got expelled but that principal sure looked at me mean for a long time. I think Barbara sucked up to the principal so he wouldn’t be mad at her, just me.
With Barbara there have been times of great fun as well as times of great sadness. We have laughed together and cried together. We have made fun of each other and of others. We took an oath a long time ago not to ever get old, and we have not, at least in the presence of each other.
Those that know us understand our friendship, and enjoy watching it play out like the Saturday Afternoon Serials shown at the Gable Theater when we were kids. Those that don’t know us think we are crazy, and maybe we are is a special way, but don’t you wish you had a friend like Barbara?
Thank you so much for stopping by the Sunday Evening. I’m so glad you could meet my friend.
Once again nighttime has come to yet another beautiful Sunday Evening. All is well in my world with the 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife, 1Angel as well as Angel’s mother, Mama Cass fast asleep. Visions of sugar plums, or is that just for Christmas sleeping?
This summer night is totally saturated with peace and tranquility. I look forward to such Sunday Nights, this beautiful sound of silence.
Stay Safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing when Barbara came to visit
I wish you well
BobbyRay
A few weeks ago I mentioned the importance of having friends. Not that ya need a lot, one or two, or three is plenty. Friendship is measured in quality not quantity. I have such a friend. It’s a girl friend. Not my wife, not my sisters, not my mother, not the girl dogs and not even Sophia the Cat, it’s the other Barbara in my life.
Everyone knows, about our relationship, my wife knows, my family knows, Barbara’s husband knows, Barbara’s family knows, and they all approve. We make no effort to hide our friendship from prying eyes and open ears, I have never slinked off in the dark of night to slip up to Green Bay WI for a quickie meeting with the Barbara like a South Carolina Governor.
I talk to her all the time, email, telephone any time I want, as does she to me, all the time, but we don’t text or twitter. (yet) To understand this strange and out of the ordinary behavior by what seems to be two fairly well adjusted adults ya just gotta go back in time to hear the rest of the story.
First laid eyes on Barbara at one of the most freighting moments of my life. It early on that first morning of the first day when for the first time ever I was to enter the North Judson High School.
Ye see back then there was no such thing as freshman orientation to acclimate the new students to the surroundings. Just throw em to the wolves. It was kinda sink or swim, now I can’t swim and I was sinking.
I'd been delivered to the front entrance of the North Judson High School by a vehicle which by today’s students is referred to as the Rolling Twinkly, Then we just called it the bus from California Township. The dis embankment from that bus was truly a life changing event. No sooner had the bus stopped when 47 kids all tried to get out the front door at the same time. One of the older boys opened the back emergency door and they started piling out the backside as well as the front, all the while the bus driver is yelling profanities to the big boys who opened the back door.
Fearing for my life, I stayed in my seat for a few minutes, cause I didn’t know what to do when I got off the bus anyway. As the human traffic jam dispersed, I got up walked to the front of the bus, walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk and property of the North Judson High School.
I had stepped into what could only be perceived as mass pandemonium. People running in every direction, big kids, little kids, adults, and everything in between. It seemed they were all carrying stuff and they all knew where they were going. They did, I did not. I had no idea in the whole world where to go, or what to do and I was not carrying any stuff.
Now being a kid raised in Downtown Toto and not being accustom to life in a big city, as it was being played out before my very eyes, I was soon conquered by an overwhelming desire to flee. To run, to run away, to run to anywhere just to get away from where I was, to run home, to run back to the safety and comfort of Downtown Toto, where everybody knew my name.
Spying and old school bell mounted on a three foot high concrete base, on the south side of the main entrance to the high school building, I walked over, touched the metal, and stood by the old bell, out of the traffic, out of danger. This old bell, which had been left as a commemorative symbol of a long forgotten class of students that had come this way in the mist of school days past, was my life raft that frightful day. Had I not found this place of refuge, my security blanket, outside the dangerous traffic jam swirling around me that early September morning, the day after Labor Day 1958, I would have never met the Barbara. I would have run back to Toto and would have continued to carry on the grand tradition of hillbillies quitting school in the 8th grade. For me, that option was not to be, but it came so, so close.
In bright sunshine that September Tuesday Morning, I felt as if I was standing fully within the shadow of the valley of death. I could feel the cold. Uncontrollable fear was winning the war within my mind.
Still contemplating what to do and trying to control my desire to run all at the same time, suddenly the only thing I can see is this little blond girl in my face saying “Are you a freshman?” I didn’t know if I was on not, but I said “Yes”. She said “Me Too, what’s your name?” “Bob” “My name’s Barbara” she said. “Are you afraid?” “Yes” I said. “Me too” she said as she put her hand in mine, squeezed and said “let’s go see what’s inside”.
As Barbara pulled on my hand I gave up my security blanket, the old bell, and any thoughts of running away. On a warm, sunny September Morning 1958, hand in hand Barbara and I walked toward the building and stepped into freshmanship as we went to high school that day. And I’ve loved her ever since.
In school, Barbara had girlfriends and boyfriends and so did I, but everybody knew that me and Barbara were different than girlfriends and boyfriends, we just were, we still are. And will forever be. I think I might've been the first real hillbilly she ever saw, but I’m not sure about that. She may have seen some half hillbillies but that wouldn’t count. One thing I do know, Barbara is definitely not a hillbilly. I still don’t know what she is, and I’m afraid to guess, but not hillbilly that’s for sure.
High School with Barbara was fun, always, after high school has been even more fun. We did a lot of crazy fun kid stuff in high school, and have done even more crazy fun kid stuff after high school.
Both Barbara and I were model students throughout high school. In fact both the teaching staff as well as the administration on more than one occasion pointed us out as examples for other students.
I recall one winter morning when we hastily arranged a full student body walkout at 10:30 that same morning. The walkout was 99% successful. It was kinda like a wildcat strike in a labor union, only it’s kids at high school. We negotiated with the Principal on some issues, boy was he ever mad! Started to yell and everything. Talked about expelling people from school for the rest of their life, and stuff like that, till I told him nobody would go back in the school till we said so. He stopped yelling and then we talked about some things that made us mad, and when that all got straightened out, everybody went back to school. Nobody got expelled but that principal sure looked at me mean for a long time. I think Barbara sucked up to the principal so he wouldn’t be mad at her, just me.
With Barbara there have been times of great fun as well as times of great sadness. We have laughed together and cried together. We have made fun of each other and of others. We took an oath a long time ago not to ever get old, and we have not, at least in the presence of each other.
Those that know us understand our friendship, and enjoy watching it play out like the Saturday Afternoon Serials shown at the Gable Theater when we were kids. Those that don’t know us think we are crazy, and maybe we are is a special way, but don’t you wish you had a friend like Barbara?
Thank you so much for stopping by the Sunday Evening. I’m so glad you could meet my friend.
Once again nighttime has come to yet another beautiful Sunday Evening. All is well in my world with the 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife, 1Angel as well as Angel’s mother, Mama Cass fast asleep. Visions of sugar plums, or is that just for Christmas sleeping?
This summer night is totally saturated with peace and tranquility. I look forward to such Sunday Nights, this beautiful sound of silence.
Stay Safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing when Barbara came to visit
I wish you well
BobbyRay
Scrapple, Bird Funerals, and The Red Rider BB Gun
Greeting to all and welcome first time visitors to the East Wing.
Remember last week I told ya about my little brown eyed girl, (the hummingbird), well she’s still here. Every day I see this hummingbird come to the feeder, before I go to work and every day when I get home from the office. She must eat all day and never gain weight. Wow ! Is that a deal or what? Such a pleasure and a joy to watch this little brown eyed girl.
The hummingbird feeder hangs from a shepherd’s hook and the little girl will sit on the top of the shepherd’s hook. The only time ever I’ve seen a hummingbird without its wings going two forty.
Now this little brown eyed friend of mine had only one problem, seems there is a much larger bird that always tries to dive bomb the little hummingbird. Someone should tell that bird I’ve a Red Rider BB Gun, and not afraid to use it.
As the week went by the hummingbird gained confidence in her security at the feeder. After a few days she not only sat on the shepherd’s hook, she also sat and ate from the suspended feeder. The only time I’ve ever seen a hummingbird sit and eat.
Oh, by the way, about that big bird harassing my little brown eyed girl, well I preached that bird’s funeral last Thursday. The mean bird met Mr. Red Rider. It was Red Rider 1, mean bird 0. The funeral was well attended, 2dogs, 1cat, 4garage cats, 1 hummingbird and the preacher.
It don’t take a big crowd to have a nice funeral for one of God’s creatures, even a mean bird, who I think was going to go to hell anyway for harassing the little brown eyed girl.
It was just one of those things, I didn’t really want to do harm to that big bird, but if she wanted to go to hell anyway for picking on the little brown eyed girl, well, I just wanted to accommodate her, and help her along in any way I could, and so I did.
Sophia tried her best to get me to shoot the garage cats while I had the Red Rider out, but to no avail. She even proposed I shoot Pup Baby just for the fun of it. Damn Republican Cat. She’d probably shoot me if I would give her the BB Gun.
I don’t remember if I told ya the names of the garage cats, “Mama Cass and the Castaways” just four more little creatures that God sent to BobbyRay along the way.
The girl dogs have pretty much settled into a routine with the new garage cats. The routine is rather simple. DON’T MESS WITH MAMA CASS! Now mother cats, in general, and Mama Cass in particular will defend their babies with their life when necessary. The Gray Lady found out the hard way when she walked too close to Mama Cass. The Lady took five direct strikes to the end of her nose before she could get out of range of the cat, and believe me she tried to get out of the range of the cat. When a cat attacks in earnest, most every creature on earth wants to get out of the range of the cat. The Lady then looked at me as if to say “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”. From that point on there has been little contact between bird dogs and garage cats. I expect this relationship to improve as time goes on.
The good thing about garage cats and dogs, garage cats are only defensive creatures, that is to say, they will not plot and plan an attack on a dog. Whereas a dog may plot and plan an attack on a cat unless they have suffered severe strikes to the nose at the paws of a Mama Cass, in which case the dog will conclude “I’m better off ignoring her”. And so it is with the Gray Lady, Mama Cass and the Castaways.
Pup Baby on the other hand has made such good friends with Mama Cass and the Castaways that she carries the kittens around in her mouth out in the yard and neither kitten or Mama Cass are alarmed. Like all good girls, when Pup Baby is done playing with the toys she puts the kittens back where she found em. Good girl, that Pup Baby. You will be pleased to know that in just one week I’m able to detect a considerable improvement in the overall appearance of Mama Cass. She still doesn’t too look good, but a lot better than when she came to the garage. She will be fine, just had a few tuff life experiences along the way, and don’t we all.
Did I tell ya I’m feeding my garage cats bologna , makes um fat and sassy, don’t believe me, just look at every hillbilly cat ya know, they all eat bologna whenever they can, as do I, and we’re all fat and sassy.
Did ya ever hear about Scrapple? Best I can figure it’s a Pennsylvania thing, at least that’s where I encountered it.
Now Scrapple is pork trimmings cooked with cornmeal and seasonings, formed into a loaf, and cooled. Then it’s sliced and fried before serving. I, along with my younger son, John encountered Scrapple one Breakfast Morning along the Interstate in Mid Pennsylvania.
I guess Scrapple in Pennsylvania is kinda like alligator on the menu in Florida. Now if you’re in Florida and alligator’s on the menu then ya gotta try it at least once in your life. And so it was with Scrapple, but make no mistake about it, unlike Alligator, Scrapple does not taste like chicken, nor does it taste like Spam. It’s an acquired taste to say the least. If I had to describe Scrapple, I’d call it somewhere between Grits and Guts.
It’s a Pennsylvania thing. As I recall some of those Pennsylvania People are Dutch. Maybe they had their fingers in the dike too long. I could see how things like that would make one want to eat Scrapple. That finger in the dike is truly a bad job and not for the faint of heart. Dike finger plugging is like so many jobs we do in our society, nobody knows or cares or gives a damn about the job until it’s not done right, then all hell breaks loose.
We can assume that when the next devastating hurricane strikes our Atlantic or Gulf Cost, all the political types will be pointing fingers and accusing each other of not learning from the Katrina Disaster, and we didn’t. In fact it’s much like the finger in the dike, we don’t care until after it happens then we really, really care, but not enough to change the way we plug dikes, or prepare cities for hurricanes. One thing for sure, the next disaster our nation suffers will not be George Bush’s fault. On the other hand it’s clear and very noticeably so far that President Obama is not going to take blame for anything no matter what, so he just may invoke the memory of Katrina and propose this current disaster is Gods way of continuing to punish George Bush.
But maybe not, President Obama don’t want to talk too much about God for fear too many people will go back to that Rev.Wright thing in Chicago. I still don’t think ya can sit in a Radical Baptist Church for 20 years and not have a clue that the preacher is damning this USA most every week with a continuing message of hate and damnation to the country.
The way I see it, only two options, Obama lied about his knowledge of the position of the preacher and his teachings, or he slept thru every sermon for twenty years. Even I don’t sleep that much in church. I think he lied, and the American Voters bought the lie. It turned out we the people would rather have a liar for President than John McCain. The more I think about that, yah, that’s about right. We’ll see what the next one will be.
One time at South Fork my Grandpa Bob picked from the tree a ripe peach the size of a softball, peeled it with his pocketknife gave me half and said “BobbyRay when ya eat fresh fruit always try to think about the person that planted the tree. That way it’ll remind ya how dependent ya are on the rest of the world for most everything ya do in life.”
I’ve thought about the peach story from Grandpa Bob often, it’s so, so true. Most everything we touch throughout our lives are a result of the efforts of other people we don’t even know. From out most basic human needs to all the magic toys we may have available to play with, someone else developed, produced and delivered it in such a way that it came into our life.
I don’t know if I told ya about my Grandpa Bob, he was a Baptist Preacher, came from a family of seven brothers they all were Baptist Preachers. Grandpa Bob had seven sons, they were all Baptist Preachers.
He was just number four of seven preachers, but he was a father to me, Rev. Wick Howard. All my uncles were Baptist Preachers. When I was a little kid, I thought everybody’s uncle was a Baptist Preacher.
Trying to figure out why the Grandpa Bob Peach Story is so true and accurate about life, tends to make one conclude that’s just another reason to believe in God. I know there are some of you reading the Gospel according to BobbyRay that don’t believe in God. But look at it this way, it’s free, will never cost you any more in the future than it does right now, the light is always left on for ya in the dark every night, you’ll always have a friend for life, it never wears out or goes out of style, you will never walk alone And this list could run forever.
Belief in God is kinda neat, it comes with an iron clad guarantee. Now if ya die while not believing, well there ya go! No guarantee. And to think all that time it was free for the asking.
Biggest no brainer in the history of earth, take the free guarantee!
If it makes ya feel better about it, look at it this way, if it turns out ya didn’t need the guarantee later, oh well it didn’t cost anything.
Once again we come to the peaceful evening of this beautiful Last Sunday of Spring, 2009. When we meet again, summer will have happened, Spring 2009 will have slipped into the history books forever, mostly to be forgotten, never again to see the light of memory, as this gentle glow of springtime dissolves into the sparkling sunshine of summer. I love Summer, the whole world’s a playground, and I’ll go out and play.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, saying goodbye to the Springtime 2009
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Remember last week I told ya about my little brown eyed girl, (the hummingbird), well she’s still here. Every day I see this hummingbird come to the feeder, before I go to work and every day when I get home from the office. She must eat all day and never gain weight. Wow ! Is that a deal or what? Such a pleasure and a joy to watch this little brown eyed girl.
The hummingbird feeder hangs from a shepherd’s hook and the little girl will sit on the top of the shepherd’s hook. The only time ever I’ve seen a hummingbird without its wings going two forty.
Now this little brown eyed friend of mine had only one problem, seems there is a much larger bird that always tries to dive bomb the little hummingbird. Someone should tell that bird I’ve a Red Rider BB Gun, and not afraid to use it.
As the week went by the hummingbird gained confidence in her security at the feeder. After a few days she not only sat on the shepherd’s hook, she also sat and ate from the suspended feeder. The only time I’ve ever seen a hummingbird sit and eat.
Oh, by the way, about that big bird harassing my little brown eyed girl, well I preached that bird’s funeral last Thursday. The mean bird met Mr. Red Rider. It was Red Rider 1, mean bird 0. The funeral was well attended, 2dogs, 1cat, 4garage cats, 1 hummingbird and the preacher.
It don’t take a big crowd to have a nice funeral for one of God’s creatures, even a mean bird, who I think was going to go to hell anyway for harassing the little brown eyed girl.
It was just one of those things, I didn’t really want to do harm to that big bird, but if she wanted to go to hell anyway for picking on the little brown eyed girl, well, I just wanted to accommodate her, and help her along in any way I could, and so I did.
Sophia tried her best to get me to shoot the garage cats while I had the Red Rider out, but to no avail. She even proposed I shoot Pup Baby just for the fun of it. Damn Republican Cat. She’d probably shoot me if I would give her the BB Gun.
I don’t remember if I told ya the names of the garage cats, “Mama Cass and the Castaways” just four more little creatures that God sent to BobbyRay along the way.
The girl dogs have pretty much settled into a routine with the new garage cats. The routine is rather simple. DON’T MESS WITH MAMA CASS! Now mother cats, in general, and Mama Cass in particular will defend their babies with their life when necessary. The Gray Lady found out the hard way when she walked too close to Mama Cass. The Lady took five direct strikes to the end of her nose before she could get out of range of the cat, and believe me she tried to get out of the range of the cat. When a cat attacks in earnest, most every creature on earth wants to get out of the range of the cat. The Lady then looked at me as if to say “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”. From that point on there has been little contact between bird dogs and garage cats. I expect this relationship to improve as time goes on.
The good thing about garage cats and dogs, garage cats are only defensive creatures, that is to say, they will not plot and plan an attack on a dog. Whereas a dog may plot and plan an attack on a cat unless they have suffered severe strikes to the nose at the paws of a Mama Cass, in which case the dog will conclude “I’m better off ignoring her”. And so it is with the Gray Lady, Mama Cass and the Castaways.
Pup Baby on the other hand has made such good friends with Mama Cass and the Castaways that she carries the kittens around in her mouth out in the yard and neither kitten or Mama Cass are alarmed. Like all good girls, when Pup Baby is done playing with the toys she puts the kittens back where she found em. Good girl, that Pup Baby. You will be pleased to know that in just one week I’m able to detect a considerable improvement in the overall appearance of Mama Cass. She still doesn’t too look good, but a lot better than when she came to the garage. She will be fine, just had a few tuff life experiences along the way, and don’t we all.
Did I tell ya I’m feeding my garage cats bologna , makes um fat and sassy, don’t believe me, just look at every hillbilly cat ya know, they all eat bologna whenever they can, as do I, and we’re all fat and sassy.
Did ya ever hear about Scrapple? Best I can figure it’s a Pennsylvania thing, at least that’s where I encountered it.
Now Scrapple is pork trimmings cooked with cornmeal and seasonings, formed into a loaf, and cooled. Then it’s sliced and fried before serving. I, along with my younger son, John encountered Scrapple one Breakfast Morning along the Interstate in Mid Pennsylvania.
I guess Scrapple in Pennsylvania is kinda like alligator on the menu in Florida. Now if you’re in Florida and alligator’s on the menu then ya gotta try it at least once in your life. And so it was with Scrapple, but make no mistake about it, unlike Alligator, Scrapple does not taste like chicken, nor does it taste like Spam. It’s an acquired taste to say the least. If I had to describe Scrapple, I’d call it somewhere between Grits and Guts.
It’s a Pennsylvania thing. As I recall some of those Pennsylvania People are Dutch. Maybe they had their fingers in the dike too long. I could see how things like that would make one want to eat Scrapple. That finger in the dike is truly a bad job and not for the faint of heart. Dike finger plugging is like so many jobs we do in our society, nobody knows or cares or gives a damn about the job until it’s not done right, then all hell breaks loose.
We can assume that when the next devastating hurricane strikes our Atlantic or Gulf Cost, all the political types will be pointing fingers and accusing each other of not learning from the Katrina Disaster, and we didn’t. In fact it’s much like the finger in the dike, we don’t care until after it happens then we really, really care, but not enough to change the way we plug dikes, or prepare cities for hurricanes. One thing for sure, the next disaster our nation suffers will not be George Bush’s fault. On the other hand it’s clear and very noticeably so far that President Obama is not going to take blame for anything no matter what, so he just may invoke the memory of Katrina and propose this current disaster is Gods way of continuing to punish George Bush.
But maybe not, President Obama don’t want to talk too much about God for fear too many people will go back to that Rev.Wright thing in Chicago. I still don’t think ya can sit in a Radical Baptist Church for 20 years and not have a clue that the preacher is damning this USA most every week with a continuing message of hate and damnation to the country.
The way I see it, only two options, Obama lied about his knowledge of the position of the preacher and his teachings, or he slept thru every sermon for twenty years. Even I don’t sleep that much in church. I think he lied, and the American Voters bought the lie. It turned out we the people would rather have a liar for President than John McCain. The more I think about that, yah, that’s about right. We’ll see what the next one will be.
One time at South Fork my Grandpa Bob picked from the tree a ripe peach the size of a softball, peeled it with his pocketknife gave me half and said “BobbyRay when ya eat fresh fruit always try to think about the person that planted the tree. That way it’ll remind ya how dependent ya are on the rest of the world for most everything ya do in life.”
I’ve thought about the peach story from Grandpa Bob often, it’s so, so true. Most everything we touch throughout our lives are a result of the efforts of other people we don’t even know. From out most basic human needs to all the magic toys we may have available to play with, someone else developed, produced and delivered it in such a way that it came into our life.
I don’t know if I told ya about my Grandpa Bob, he was a Baptist Preacher, came from a family of seven brothers they all were Baptist Preachers. Grandpa Bob had seven sons, they were all Baptist Preachers.
He was just number four of seven preachers, but he was a father to me, Rev. Wick Howard. All my uncles were Baptist Preachers. When I was a little kid, I thought everybody’s uncle was a Baptist Preacher.
Trying to figure out why the Grandpa Bob Peach Story is so true and accurate about life, tends to make one conclude that’s just another reason to believe in God. I know there are some of you reading the Gospel according to BobbyRay that don’t believe in God. But look at it this way, it’s free, will never cost you any more in the future than it does right now, the light is always left on for ya in the dark every night, you’ll always have a friend for life, it never wears out or goes out of style, you will never walk alone And this list could run forever.
Belief in God is kinda neat, it comes with an iron clad guarantee. Now if ya die while not believing, well there ya go! No guarantee. And to think all that time it was free for the asking.
Biggest no brainer in the history of earth, take the free guarantee!
If it makes ya feel better about it, look at it this way, if it turns out ya didn’t need the guarantee later, oh well it didn’t cost anything.
Once again we come to the peaceful evening of this beautiful Last Sunday of Spring, 2009. When we meet again, summer will have happened, Spring 2009 will have slipped into the history books forever, mostly to be forgotten, never again to see the light of memory, as this gentle glow of springtime dissolves into the sparkling sunshine of summer. I love Summer, the whole world’s a playground, and I’ll go out and play.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, saying goodbye to the Springtime 2009
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
The Garage Cats Came By
Greeting to all and welcome forever new friends to the East Wing
I love the Month of June, it’s warm every day, summer is about to happen, the world has turned green, the days are about to start to get shorter. Getting Shorter ! What the H.. .. Did ya know that? Just when ya get to start summer, the days start to get shorter. Like all this time from March till now, these days all leading up to summer, the days just seem to be forever longer, and they are, till summer starts.
Summer starts and ya want it to go on forever, and the very next day, the very next day, the days start to get shorter again. Damn! But Summer doesn’t know the days are getting shorter, so Summer just keeps on heating into June, July, August and almost thru September. It has to do with the angle of the sun, distance and stuff like that, but we’re not gona talk about that stuff, cause that’s too boring. Why it seems that before ya know it, summer has melted into fall and we all know about the fall thing.
A first hint of cold morning air, the kick off of a psychedelic light show deep inside the leaves of trees, just straining to burst into the living color of fall, the end of grass cutting days, migrating birds, pumpkins to both carve and eat. Early morning sun beams on silver ice crystals of frost, squirrels getting ready, just getting ready, they don’t even know why, they just know it’s time to get ready, so they do.
Pop Corn Ball Season is here before ya know it. Ever notice how ya never see Pop Corn Balls at 4th of July Picnics but hot dogs and hamburgers all year round. I’m not sure if that speaks well for Pop Corn Balls or not.
There was a lady in Toto when I was a kid that always gave Pop Corn Balls for Trick or Treat Night at Toto. Ya could count on it just as sure as the sun came up in the east. Every night when ya got home from Trick or Treating in Toto, one big ole Pop Corn Ball right in the middle of the bag with tootsie rolls and those little heart shaped pink hard candies with that little writing on it, and single sticks of gum and stuff like that sticking to it. Damn Pop Corn Balls, I think that lady was a Republican, giving little hillbilly boys Pop Corn Balls and all. She’d probably like my Sophia Cat, she too is republican ya know.
Why it’s not even summer yet and I’m talking fall, you’d think I worked for Wal-Mart or something, the way those people push the seasons. I bet by the 21st of June Wal-Mart will be putting out their Thanksgiving Merchandise in anticipation of replacing it on the 4th of July with all the Christmas stuff. I hate when that happens. I don’t know if I hate Wal-Mart or not, but one thing ya have to say no matter what. Wal-Mart and China seem to be one and the same. Wal-Mart has gotten so big it’s hard to remember who came first Wal-Mart or China.
We as a people surrendered quality for price. It’s our own damn fault when we accept crap in place of quality based solely on price. We deserve what we get. I’ve made up my mind, I hate what Wal-Mart has done to my society. I choose quality.
A hummingbird came by and looked into the East Wing Window within three foot of where I was setting . We made eye contact, me and that hummingbird. Its kinda hard to make eye contact with a hummingbird, with those little wings flapping so fast, that’s what ya wanta look at. Not me, I looked that little hummingbird straight in the eye. It was a girl hummingbird, had brown eyes. I now call that hummingbird my little brown eyed girl.
I stopped what I was doing that day and got out the hummingbird feeder, washed it all up, mixed up the special sauce, filled it up and the most amazing thing, within thirty minutes, my little brown eyed girl came back for lunch. I think me and that brown eyed girl, well we’re just buds, me and that hummingbird, and will probably hang out all summer or at least as long as the hummingbird feeder has that special sauce. It’s red.
Got four outside cats last week, rather Regina got four outside cats last week. A mother and three babies. It seems she knew someone who had these cats and was just able to give the 1wife a really sad cat story. “Can’t afford to feed them, can’t afford to take them to the humane shelter, even if I could afford, they’d just kill them.”
So a homeless, unwed mother with three babies moved into my garage, cardboard cat box and all. Regina found a nice blanket and folded it up to fit the box. I had some concern that the 2dogs, Gray Lady James and Mustina James,(mother and daughter bird dog team, German Short Hair Pointers all) would not allow cats in the garage so I took special care to introduce them to each other. It takes some doing to introduce cats and dogs. The most difficult part is deciding which to introduce first, the dog or the cat, that’s important ya know. Not wanting to offend the Gray Lady, I chose to go with the Mother Superior of the Bird Dogs. I first introduced Gray Lady James.
The Gray Lady was pleased to make the acquaintance of this motley family of cast off cats and seemed to welcome these castaways to the garage.(at least she didn’t try to kill um on the spot) while Mustina James (Pup Baby James) God love her, as usual she welcomed these cats with all the excitement that she has for every living thing in God’s Paradise.
Pup Baby is such a special part of my life. I have more invested in that little dog than in my car, and she’s more important in my life than my car. I can always get another Lincoln, but Pup Baby James is so one of a kind. Someday I’ll the story of the badger that killed Pup Baby James and why I brought her back from the brink of death and how glad I am that I did. Hopefully the 2dogs will become friends with the new cats, so far so good. I named my new cats, Mamma Cass and the Castaways.
Now with Sophia, the Calico Girl, that’s a cat of a different color indeed. When Sophia got wind of the new cat family in the garage, she checked it out herself, came right back inside, went straight to her cell phone and called the Federal Department of Immigration reporting illegal aliens in the garage, said she thought they were from Guantanamo Bay. That they were all terrorist, and the small ones were really midgets acting like babies. Said they had belly bombs strapped to um. She also asked if there was any kinda reward program for turning in terrorist, if so there were a couple of bird dogs here which she has suspensions about.
When Sophia was confronted about how she thought these cats were terrorist, she said they meowed in Arabic. I didn’t even know Sophia could speak a foreign language. She is truly a multilingual cat. She also said the East Wing isn’t big enough for more cats. And she, just like the majority of American Cats, didn’t want those terrorist cats from Guantanamo Bay living in her garage. After all Indiana does have a Cats Rights Law. (I didn’t know that, did you?)
Sophia also said with a rather large smirk on her face said she sold all her GM Stock before it tanked, cause she knew it was being run by democrats and was doomed from the start, it was just a matter of time. Damn Republican Cat, wish I had listened to her earlier.
Good Bye General Motors. Chevrolet made some of the best cars ever at one time. Never again will American automobile manufacturing dominate the world market like General Motors of the past, at one time having over 45% of the world market in automobile sales. Now you and I own 60% of an absolute disaster at a price tag of 50 billion dollars. (I was gona write that out in numbers, but zeros took too much of the line) I propose the 50 billion is just buying a car, that’s only the down payment.
Remember that the Federal Governments earlier venture in operating American Businesses’ “too big to fail” was the railroads. Amtrak was born with an initial Federal Investment of some 300 million dollars back in the 70’s . The Federal Government continues to invest in Amtrak to this day, over 3 billion so far. Do the math. Our Federal Government doesn’t have a good track record in operation of private enterprises in our society. Do you think the railroads have failed in our country? To make matters worse, Sophia, the Republican Cat, is keeping track of all this. She’ll have her say again, I’m sure.
Did ya ever stop and think that arrogance may be the biggest killer of success in the history of mankind? I can’t help but wonder did the people who controlled General Motors in the 1960’s ever harbor the thought, “nothing like us ever was”. The Romans did. The Nazis did. Enron did. AIG did. The Railroads did. And I suspect General Motors may have also……….They were all so wrong.
I’ve always wondered about the Egyptians, if they did. But they may have come from outer space, so that’s another story. I just don’t buy into that deal about pulling those big ass rocks in place using slaves and incline planes for forty years to build a pyramid. It just don’t seem right.
Those people didn’t live long lives even if ya were the Pharaoh, 25 – 30 years tops. Given the top end of 30 years, it took ya at least 15 years to grow up enough to pull rocks and now ya have only 15 years to go, I’m sure they must have had some kinda retirement program in place that allowed ya to retire at 25. That means ya only pulled those big rocks for 10 years, and they say it took 40 years to build a pyramid. BULL ! But of course I do know some people who have never done 10 years worth of work in their whole life. And they’re way past 30.
One thing for sure, if I’d gotten that Pharaoh Job and them slaves were still working on somebody else’s pyramid, well I’m telling ya right here and now, that’s gotta stop. Starting first thing tomorrow morning them ole slaves are going to stop work on that pyramid and start on the brand new BOBBYRAY PYRAMID as soon as possible, hopefully by noon.
As I sit in the East Wing surrounded with the growing green of the approaching summer time, darkness, along with silence embraces me this evening. I love this sound of silence. All my girls,(2dogs,1cat,1wife) as usual, at peace with the world this time of the day. Even in a time of tribulation, at peace with the world this time of the day.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing saying good bye to General Motors as we knew it, and a 1957 Chevy Convertible, such a car, but the 1956 Ford Convertible was pretty cool too….
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
I love the Month of June, it’s warm every day, summer is about to happen, the world has turned green, the days are about to start to get shorter. Getting Shorter ! What the H.. .. Did ya know that? Just when ya get to start summer, the days start to get shorter. Like all this time from March till now, these days all leading up to summer, the days just seem to be forever longer, and they are, till summer starts.
Summer starts and ya want it to go on forever, and the very next day, the very next day, the days start to get shorter again. Damn! But Summer doesn’t know the days are getting shorter, so Summer just keeps on heating into June, July, August and almost thru September. It has to do with the angle of the sun, distance and stuff like that, but we’re not gona talk about that stuff, cause that’s too boring. Why it seems that before ya know it, summer has melted into fall and we all know about the fall thing.
A first hint of cold morning air, the kick off of a psychedelic light show deep inside the leaves of trees, just straining to burst into the living color of fall, the end of grass cutting days, migrating birds, pumpkins to both carve and eat. Early morning sun beams on silver ice crystals of frost, squirrels getting ready, just getting ready, they don’t even know why, they just know it’s time to get ready, so they do.
Pop Corn Ball Season is here before ya know it. Ever notice how ya never see Pop Corn Balls at 4th of July Picnics but hot dogs and hamburgers all year round. I’m not sure if that speaks well for Pop Corn Balls or not.
There was a lady in Toto when I was a kid that always gave Pop Corn Balls for Trick or Treat Night at Toto. Ya could count on it just as sure as the sun came up in the east. Every night when ya got home from Trick or Treating in Toto, one big ole Pop Corn Ball right in the middle of the bag with tootsie rolls and those little heart shaped pink hard candies with that little writing on it, and single sticks of gum and stuff like that sticking to it. Damn Pop Corn Balls, I think that lady was a Republican, giving little hillbilly boys Pop Corn Balls and all. She’d probably like my Sophia Cat, she too is republican ya know.
Why it’s not even summer yet and I’m talking fall, you’d think I worked for Wal-Mart or something, the way those people push the seasons. I bet by the 21st of June Wal-Mart will be putting out their Thanksgiving Merchandise in anticipation of replacing it on the 4th of July with all the Christmas stuff. I hate when that happens. I don’t know if I hate Wal-Mart or not, but one thing ya have to say no matter what. Wal-Mart and China seem to be one and the same. Wal-Mart has gotten so big it’s hard to remember who came first Wal-Mart or China.
We as a people surrendered quality for price. It’s our own damn fault when we accept crap in place of quality based solely on price. We deserve what we get. I’ve made up my mind, I hate what Wal-Mart has done to my society. I choose quality.
A hummingbird came by and looked into the East Wing Window within three foot of where I was setting . We made eye contact, me and that hummingbird. Its kinda hard to make eye contact with a hummingbird, with those little wings flapping so fast, that’s what ya wanta look at. Not me, I looked that little hummingbird straight in the eye. It was a girl hummingbird, had brown eyes. I now call that hummingbird my little brown eyed girl.
I stopped what I was doing that day and got out the hummingbird feeder, washed it all up, mixed up the special sauce, filled it up and the most amazing thing, within thirty minutes, my little brown eyed girl came back for lunch. I think me and that brown eyed girl, well we’re just buds, me and that hummingbird, and will probably hang out all summer or at least as long as the hummingbird feeder has that special sauce. It’s red.
Got four outside cats last week, rather Regina got four outside cats last week. A mother and three babies. It seems she knew someone who had these cats and was just able to give the 1wife a really sad cat story. “Can’t afford to feed them, can’t afford to take them to the humane shelter, even if I could afford, they’d just kill them.”
So a homeless, unwed mother with three babies moved into my garage, cardboard cat box and all. Regina found a nice blanket and folded it up to fit the box. I had some concern that the 2dogs, Gray Lady James and Mustina James,(mother and daughter bird dog team, German Short Hair Pointers all) would not allow cats in the garage so I took special care to introduce them to each other. It takes some doing to introduce cats and dogs. The most difficult part is deciding which to introduce first, the dog or the cat, that’s important ya know. Not wanting to offend the Gray Lady, I chose to go with the Mother Superior of the Bird Dogs. I first introduced Gray Lady James.
The Gray Lady was pleased to make the acquaintance of this motley family of cast off cats and seemed to welcome these castaways to the garage.(at least she didn’t try to kill um on the spot) while Mustina James (Pup Baby James) God love her, as usual she welcomed these cats with all the excitement that she has for every living thing in God’s Paradise.
Pup Baby is such a special part of my life. I have more invested in that little dog than in my car, and she’s more important in my life than my car. I can always get another Lincoln, but Pup Baby James is so one of a kind. Someday I’ll the story of the badger that killed Pup Baby James and why I brought her back from the brink of death and how glad I am that I did. Hopefully the 2dogs will become friends with the new cats, so far so good. I named my new cats, Mamma Cass and the Castaways.
Now with Sophia, the Calico Girl, that’s a cat of a different color indeed. When Sophia got wind of the new cat family in the garage, she checked it out herself, came right back inside, went straight to her cell phone and called the Federal Department of Immigration reporting illegal aliens in the garage, said she thought they were from Guantanamo Bay. That they were all terrorist, and the small ones were really midgets acting like babies. Said they had belly bombs strapped to um. She also asked if there was any kinda reward program for turning in terrorist, if so there were a couple of bird dogs here which she has suspensions about.
When Sophia was confronted about how she thought these cats were terrorist, she said they meowed in Arabic. I didn’t even know Sophia could speak a foreign language. She is truly a multilingual cat. She also said the East Wing isn’t big enough for more cats. And she, just like the majority of American Cats, didn’t want those terrorist cats from Guantanamo Bay living in her garage. After all Indiana does have a Cats Rights Law. (I didn’t know that, did you?)
Sophia also said with a rather large smirk on her face said she sold all her GM Stock before it tanked, cause she knew it was being run by democrats and was doomed from the start, it was just a matter of time. Damn Republican Cat, wish I had listened to her earlier.
Good Bye General Motors. Chevrolet made some of the best cars ever at one time. Never again will American automobile manufacturing dominate the world market like General Motors of the past, at one time having over 45% of the world market in automobile sales. Now you and I own 60% of an absolute disaster at a price tag of 50 billion dollars. (I was gona write that out in numbers, but zeros took too much of the line) I propose the 50 billion is just buying a car, that’s only the down payment.
Remember that the Federal Governments earlier venture in operating American Businesses’ “too big to fail” was the railroads. Amtrak was born with an initial Federal Investment of some 300 million dollars back in the 70’s . The Federal Government continues to invest in Amtrak to this day, over 3 billion so far. Do the math. Our Federal Government doesn’t have a good track record in operation of private enterprises in our society. Do you think the railroads have failed in our country? To make matters worse, Sophia, the Republican Cat, is keeping track of all this. She’ll have her say again, I’m sure.
Did ya ever stop and think that arrogance may be the biggest killer of success in the history of mankind? I can’t help but wonder did the people who controlled General Motors in the 1960’s ever harbor the thought, “nothing like us ever was”. The Romans did. The Nazis did. Enron did. AIG did. The Railroads did. And I suspect General Motors may have also……….They were all so wrong.
I’ve always wondered about the Egyptians, if they did. But they may have come from outer space, so that’s another story. I just don’t buy into that deal about pulling those big ass rocks in place using slaves and incline planes for forty years to build a pyramid. It just don’t seem right.
Those people didn’t live long lives even if ya were the Pharaoh, 25 – 30 years tops. Given the top end of 30 years, it took ya at least 15 years to grow up enough to pull rocks and now ya have only 15 years to go, I’m sure they must have had some kinda retirement program in place that allowed ya to retire at 25. That means ya only pulled those big rocks for 10 years, and they say it took 40 years to build a pyramid. BULL ! But of course I do know some people who have never done 10 years worth of work in their whole life. And they’re way past 30.
One thing for sure, if I’d gotten that Pharaoh Job and them slaves were still working on somebody else’s pyramid, well I’m telling ya right here and now, that’s gotta stop. Starting first thing tomorrow morning them ole slaves are going to stop work on that pyramid and start on the brand new BOBBYRAY PYRAMID as soon as possible, hopefully by noon.
As I sit in the East Wing surrounded with the growing green of the approaching summer time, darkness, along with silence embraces me this evening. I love this sound of silence. All my girls,(2dogs,1cat,1wife) as usual, at peace with the world this time of the day. Even in a time of tribulation, at peace with the world this time of the day.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing saying good bye to General Motors as we knew it, and a 1957 Chevy Convertible, such a car, but the 1956 Ford Convertible was pretty cool too….
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Tommy Tucker and the Ice Cream Factory at Weeksbury KY
Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
Most every week I answer all the email I receive. Not the case last week, Just too much volume about those garage cats and the manner in which their population was reduced by 50%.
Lasts weeks email was much the same as any time I touch a nerve of my friend’s of the East Wing. About half say “BobbyRay, you made me cry with your story about the garage cats” and the other half say “why you *&^%$$))@#$%$-- why do you even write crappy stuff like that”? For those naysayers I’ve offered to remove their email address and in every case I’ve been told NO! Just write happy stuff, don’t write sad stuff.
Happy stuff is a reflection of life. Sad stuff is also a reflection of life. And so I write stuff.
The things which occurred inside my garage with a family of cats was truly nature in violence, according to we the people. But we as people always want to stamp our feeling, morals and human values into nature playing out in rhythm, and we can’t, no matter how much we may want to, we just can’t.
When I get such feelings that I want to influence the outcome of nature, I watch the wind. I can’t see the wind. I can only see the consequence of the wind. My South Window of the East Wing is full of the Maple Tree, I see the leaves moving in the wind, I don’t see the leader of the band, nor can I manage the outcome of the wind song. The music of the wind starts and stops beyond my control, as does everything else in nature, and well it should.
Watching the 2girl dogs and Sophia the Republican Cat adapt to the presence of an Angel is a story onto itself. I’ll tell that one sometime for sure. Oh by the way the official name of the baby white cat is Sara Angel James Howard. Lota name for a little cat, lota of cat for a little kitten. Her hard life started early.
Did ya know that all the really good stories in the whole world start out with “Once upon a time”? I’ve always searched for just the right time to put that line into a story. So far I’ve not found such a time, but will, and you’ll be the first to know.
When I lived at Weeksbury, a racially segregated community in Southeastern Kentucky, Weeksbury was a company town. All those who lived there worked for the company, shopped in the company story, went to the company theater and attended the company school system. The black people lived on one side of the town and the white people lived on the other side of town. I lived real close to where the two communities came together. There was a black school and a white school, a black church and a white church. That was just the way it was, it never seemed to be raciest it just seemed to be that way,,,, the way it was.
One of my best friends in the whole world was Tommy Tucker, he was black, I was white. I didn’t even know Tommy Tucker was black, he was just a friend of mine. I didn’t even know I was white, it didn’t matter, cause Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine. We played together most every day, me and Tommy Tucker. We walked to school together in the mornings but went into different buildings. We went to different churches, it didn’t matter, Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine. We sat in different seats in the theater. But that didn’t matter either, cause Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine.
Me and Tommy Tucker would walk down the streets of Weeksbury KY and people would get out of our way, they didn’t know how to deal with us, a little black boy and a little white boy walking side by side. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed do such things, so we just walked wherever we wanted to go. Me and Tommy Tucker sometimes even whistled as we walked. I couldn’t whistle very good, but Tommy Tucker sure could. Boy ! Tommy Tucker could make music just by whistling. I couldn’t even make music by singing.
Now my dad was the president of the Local United Mine Workers Union at Weeksbury KY, and as such had a small position of authority in the community. My dad spoke on behalf of the miners in Weeksbury, both black and white. When ya dig coal from inside a mountain, nobody cares who’s black or who’s white. My dad spoke for em all.
The reason I got away with such friendship with black people in a separated town in Southeastern Kentucky was my dad’s position within the community. Some white folks didn’t quite know how to take this little white boy walking around with this little black boy. Well me and Tommy Tucker sure didn’t know about all that stuff, about segregation and white people not associating with black people and all those such things, so we played….. I don’t think anybody had the courage to approach me dad on the issue of me playing with Tommy Tucker all the time.
I wish someone would’ve had the nerve to ask my dad bout me playing with Tommy Tucker all the time. The Civil Rights Movement would’ve started a lot earlier. Cause Tommy Tucker was friends with my dad too. I think my dad liked Tommy Tucker as much as I did, cause he sure acted like he did. My dad was the one who most of the time insisted that Tommy Tucker stay and eat supper before he went home for the night. Me and Tommy Tucker sat on the same side of the table when we ate supper. We ate supper together a lot. We drank milk.
Now Tommy Tucker’s Grandma, Miss Louise, made ice cream, homemade ice cream, and Miss Louise sold her ice cream to the little black kids in her neighborhood. Until one day a little white boy came to her neighborhood to play with Tommy Tucker. Miss Louise didn’t want to talk to me at first, she almost acted like she was afraid of me, not looking my way very much, and I didn’t know why.
Well, when Tommy Tucker told Miss Louise who my dad was, ya would’ve thought I was Tommy Tucker’s long lost brother, Miss Louise hugged me like my own grandma would hug me, only my grandma didn’t make ice cream like Miss Louise.
Miss Louise asked if we wanted ice cream, I told her I didn’t have any money. “Child, did I ask ya if ya had money? I asked if ya wanted some Ice Cream.” Said Miss Louise as she was walking over to the freezer where she kept her Ice Cream. I said “Miss Louise I want Ice Cream”.
“I got chocolate for little chocolate boys and vanilla for little vanilla boys, and I’m gona give you two one scoop of each, cause you two are a site,,, a site,,, oh Lordly such a joyful site” said Miss Louise as she scooped the Ice Cream onto those little tan ice-cream cones. Tommy Tucker’s cone had the vanilla on top, mine had the chocolate on top. I think Miss Louise stacked those Ice Creams Cones just like that on purpose.
When I went home that evening and told my mom and dad about Miss Louise, they weren’t surprised at all. It turned out they knew Miss Louise all the time. My dad said to make sure that I had a nickel every time I wanted Ice Cream form Miss Louise cause that’s the way she made money to live on after her husband was killed in a mine accident a some years back. My dad said he would give me a quarter a week so I could buy Ice Cream from Miss Louise. But I would have to share with my two older sisters, Sharlotte and Barbara. Which I did, each week they got one Ice Cream Cone and I got three. It worked well for us all, cause I needed more Ice Cream than they did, me being a growing boy and all.
Now me and Tommy Tucker went to Miss Louise’s a lot. Not only for Ice Cream, we went there cause Miss Louise was Tommy Tucker’s Grandma, and she was almost like my Grandma too. She hugged us both every time we came to see her. So we went and visited Miss Louise almost every day. She told us stories about stuff, lots of stuff. Miss Louise was born in Mississippi. I didn’t even know about Mississippi till I met Miss Louise, she was the first person I ever knew that was born in Mississippi. Miss Louise taught me and Tommy Tucker how to spell “MISSISSIPPI”. Miss Louise said she didn’t get to go to school much, but she sure taught me to Spell Mississippi. For a long time that was the biggest word I could spell.
One really neat thing that happened shortly after me and my sisters started using Miss Louise as our single source Ice Cream Supplier, soon other white kids started coming to Miss Louise’s house to buy her Ice Cream. And they came with nickels in hand. Why, it wasn’t too long and Miss Louise had to get a girl to help her keep up with her Ice Cream Business. With the making and selling and talking, Miss Louise loved to talk to everybody that came for Ice Cream, she just had to get help so she could keep talking and making Ice Cream.
I never saw Tommy Tucker or Miss Louise after I moved away from Weeksbury KY, but I remember them both with such fond memories. Along with Miss Louise’s “chocolate for little chocolate boys and vanilla for little vanilla boys”, as she scooped the Ice Cream for both us.
As always, we have enjoy your company so much this day and are forever grateful that you share some of your time with us.
As the evening shades of darkness embrace the East Wing this Summer Sunday, it don’t get much better than this. 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife, 1 Sara Angel are all asleep, and I too expect to join the sleep-in soon.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, remembering Tommy Tucker, Miss Louise and her Ice Cream Factory
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Most every week I answer all the email I receive. Not the case last week, Just too much volume about those garage cats and the manner in which their population was reduced by 50%.
Lasts weeks email was much the same as any time I touch a nerve of my friend’s of the East Wing. About half say “BobbyRay, you made me cry with your story about the garage cats” and the other half say “why you *&^%$$))@#$%$-- why do you even write crappy stuff like that”? For those naysayers I’ve offered to remove their email address and in every case I’ve been told NO! Just write happy stuff, don’t write sad stuff.
Happy stuff is a reflection of life. Sad stuff is also a reflection of life. And so I write stuff.
The things which occurred inside my garage with a family of cats was truly nature in violence, according to we the people. But we as people always want to stamp our feeling, morals and human values into nature playing out in rhythm, and we can’t, no matter how much we may want to, we just can’t.
When I get such feelings that I want to influence the outcome of nature, I watch the wind. I can’t see the wind. I can only see the consequence of the wind. My South Window of the East Wing is full of the Maple Tree, I see the leaves moving in the wind, I don’t see the leader of the band, nor can I manage the outcome of the wind song. The music of the wind starts and stops beyond my control, as does everything else in nature, and well it should.
Watching the 2girl dogs and Sophia the Republican Cat adapt to the presence of an Angel is a story onto itself. I’ll tell that one sometime for sure. Oh by the way the official name of the baby white cat is Sara Angel James Howard. Lota name for a little cat, lota of cat for a little kitten. Her hard life started early.
Did ya know that all the really good stories in the whole world start out with “Once upon a time”? I’ve always searched for just the right time to put that line into a story. So far I’ve not found such a time, but will, and you’ll be the first to know.
When I lived at Weeksbury, a racially segregated community in Southeastern Kentucky, Weeksbury was a company town. All those who lived there worked for the company, shopped in the company story, went to the company theater and attended the company school system. The black people lived on one side of the town and the white people lived on the other side of town. I lived real close to where the two communities came together. There was a black school and a white school, a black church and a white church. That was just the way it was, it never seemed to be raciest it just seemed to be that way,,,, the way it was.
One of my best friends in the whole world was Tommy Tucker, he was black, I was white. I didn’t even know Tommy Tucker was black, he was just a friend of mine. I didn’t even know I was white, it didn’t matter, cause Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine. We played together most every day, me and Tommy Tucker. We walked to school together in the mornings but went into different buildings. We went to different churches, it didn’t matter, Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine. We sat in different seats in the theater. But that didn’t matter either, cause Tommy Tucker was a friend of mine.
Me and Tommy Tucker would walk down the streets of Weeksbury KY and people would get out of our way, they didn’t know how to deal with us, a little black boy and a little white boy walking side by side. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed do such things, so we just walked wherever we wanted to go. Me and Tommy Tucker sometimes even whistled as we walked. I couldn’t whistle very good, but Tommy Tucker sure could. Boy ! Tommy Tucker could make music just by whistling. I couldn’t even make music by singing.
Now my dad was the president of the Local United Mine Workers Union at Weeksbury KY, and as such had a small position of authority in the community. My dad spoke on behalf of the miners in Weeksbury, both black and white. When ya dig coal from inside a mountain, nobody cares who’s black or who’s white. My dad spoke for em all.
The reason I got away with such friendship with black people in a separated town in Southeastern Kentucky was my dad’s position within the community. Some white folks didn’t quite know how to take this little white boy walking around with this little black boy. Well me and Tommy Tucker sure didn’t know about all that stuff, about segregation and white people not associating with black people and all those such things, so we played….. I don’t think anybody had the courage to approach me dad on the issue of me playing with Tommy Tucker all the time.
I wish someone would’ve had the nerve to ask my dad bout me playing with Tommy Tucker all the time. The Civil Rights Movement would’ve started a lot earlier. Cause Tommy Tucker was friends with my dad too. I think my dad liked Tommy Tucker as much as I did, cause he sure acted like he did. My dad was the one who most of the time insisted that Tommy Tucker stay and eat supper before he went home for the night. Me and Tommy Tucker sat on the same side of the table when we ate supper. We ate supper together a lot. We drank milk.
Now Tommy Tucker’s Grandma, Miss Louise, made ice cream, homemade ice cream, and Miss Louise sold her ice cream to the little black kids in her neighborhood. Until one day a little white boy came to her neighborhood to play with Tommy Tucker. Miss Louise didn’t want to talk to me at first, she almost acted like she was afraid of me, not looking my way very much, and I didn’t know why.
Well, when Tommy Tucker told Miss Louise who my dad was, ya would’ve thought I was Tommy Tucker’s long lost brother, Miss Louise hugged me like my own grandma would hug me, only my grandma didn’t make ice cream like Miss Louise.
Miss Louise asked if we wanted ice cream, I told her I didn’t have any money. “Child, did I ask ya if ya had money? I asked if ya wanted some Ice Cream.” Said Miss Louise as she was walking over to the freezer where she kept her Ice Cream. I said “Miss Louise I want Ice Cream”.
“I got chocolate for little chocolate boys and vanilla for little vanilla boys, and I’m gona give you two one scoop of each, cause you two are a site,,, a site,,, oh Lordly such a joyful site” said Miss Louise as she scooped the Ice Cream onto those little tan ice-cream cones. Tommy Tucker’s cone had the vanilla on top, mine had the chocolate on top. I think Miss Louise stacked those Ice Creams Cones just like that on purpose.
When I went home that evening and told my mom and dad about Miss Louise, they weren’t surprised at all. It turned out they knew Miss Louise all the time. My dad said to make sure that I had a nickel every time I wanted Ice Cream form Miss Louise cause that’s the way she made money to live on after her husband was killed in a mine accident a some years back. My dad said he would give me a quarter a week so I could buy Ice Cream from Miss Louise. But I would have to share with my two older sisters, Sharlotte and Barbara. Which I did, each week they got one Ice Cream Cone and I got three. It worked well for us all, cause I needed more Ice Cream than they did, me being a growing boy and all.
Now me and Tommy Tucker went to Miss Louise’s a lot. Not only for Ice Cream, we went there cause Miss Louise was Tommy Tucker’s Grandma, and she was almost like my Grandma too. She hugged us both every time we came to see her. So we went and visited Miss Louise almost every day. She told us stories about stuff, lots of stuff. Miss Louise was born in Mississippi. I didn’t even know about Mississippi till I met Miss Louise, she was the first person I ever knew that was born in Mississippi. Miss Louise taught me and Tommy Tucker how to spell “MISSISSIPPI”. Miss Louise said she didn’t get to go to school much, but she sure taught me to Spell Mississippi. For a long time that was the biggest word I could spell.
One really neat thing that happened shortly after me and my sisters started using Miss Louise as our single source Ice Cream Supplier, soon other white kids started coming to Miss Louise’s house to buy her Ice Cream. And they came with nickels in hand. Why, it wasn’t too long and Miss Louise had to get a girl to help her keep up with her Ice Cream Business. With the making and selling and talking, Miss Louise loved to talk to everybody that came for Ice Cream, she just had to get help so she could keep talking and making Ice Cream.
I never saw Tommy Tucker or Miss Louise after I moved away from Weeksbury KY, but I remember them both with such fond memories. Along with Miss Louise’s “chocolate for little chocolate boys and vanilla for little vanilla boys”, as she scooped the Ice Cream for both us.
As always, we have enjoy your company so much this day and are forever grateful that you share some of your time with us.
As the evening shades of darkness embrace the East Wing this Summer Sunday, it don’t get much better than this. 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife, 1 Sara Angel are all asleep, and I too expect to join the sleep-in soon.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, remembering Tommy Tucker, Miss Louise and her Ice Cream Factory
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Easter 2009 in The East Wing
Greetings to all and Happy Easter from the East Wing.
Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox.
As I greet this Easter Sunrise from the East Wing on this most Holy Day in the Christian Calendar, in fact, this day, Easter, is the very bedrock of Christianity itself, I wonder how that rabbit got into the big show.
It turns out Easter is kinda two things blended into one like Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups. The Christian side of Easter is well documented in the bible, now I’m not getting picky as to who’s bible I’m talking about, there are several different ones and they all tell the same story of the crucifixion and resurrection.
It’s important that we Christians don’t get too critical of someone using a different bible than us, a little research into the origin of bibles may both enlighten and embarrass or even resurrect deep dark questions on the back roads of your memories. Bibles are Bibles.
It’s easy to see how the word Christmas is identified with Christianity, not so with Easter.
Easter got its name from Eastre or Eostre the Anglo-Saxon goddess of fertility and rebirth. Along time ago people celebrated the beginning of spring at the vernal equinox, when day and night are equal in length, by blessing seeds before planting them and at the same time placing colored eggs on an altar. They believed that this ceremony would bring them fertility for the upcoming year.
When the early Christian missionaries noticed that this pagan party took place around the time of the resurrection of Christ, they adopted Easter as a Christian holiday to help attract the pagans to Christianity. This may explain why some of the TV preachers are such crooks instead of Christians, such crooks may well end up in the seventh layer of hell. Now I don’t know if Jim and Tammy Baker are/were saints or sinners, but I sure wouldn’t want my final place by their side, just in case.
As Christians adopted Easter, they matched the festival of the springtime with a sermon. Following the tradition of dressing up for church, Easter Sunday became a special occasion to wear your very best clothes. In fact, many regarded Easter as the first time to wear a new dress and "Easter bonnet". In the early 1900's families would to stroll to church and home again on Easter to show off their "Sunday best." At Toto we simply called um “Church Clothes”.
The Easter basket evolved from a Catholic tradition, where families brought a basket of food to mass on Easter Sunday to have it blessed for the evening meal. Later, children would use Easter baskets to gather colored eggs and candy.
Now the Easter Bunny is a whole different deal. I don’t know a single person that didn’t at one time believe in both Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. I did. Still do, just a little different view now.
Where does a rabbit handing out eggs come from? Not from Toto Indiana that’s for sure. I believe I heard when I was a kid that the Easter Bunny originated from Germany around the mid 1500’s or so and came to our country in the 1600’s thru the Pennsylvania Dutch. I knew a Dutch guy one time, I think his name was Moray.
Well that’s’ enough about the technical side of Easter, how about the fun side. Saturday afternoon me and Sophia the Cat colored Easter Eggs, her first time, not mine. I have colored Easter Eggs every year of my life and I can remember when I was three. It seemed eggs were much bigger back then.
Now coloring Easter Eggs is not rocket science but it does require attention to detail such as don’t make a mess on the table or the 1wife will yell at ya. Be sure to clean up after you are done or the 1wife will yell at ya again.
With vinegar, water, and magic pill all in a cup the only missing ingredient was the egg. We were limited to coloring one dozen eggs by you know who, but as I bent the little wire egg holder into its proper shape for egg dipping, Sophia couldn’t wait. She started adding eggs to cups with both paws. Having never seen a cat color Easter Eggs before, I chose to just set back, watch, and let Jesse rob that train.
Well I’m telling ya that cat was having more fun than may have been legal for a cat to have. She got the first 5 eggs in and soaking up color quite easy, but the first hint of future problems came when it’s time to take um out. That little wire egg dipper thing I had bent into shape didn’t work well with cat paws. It turns out that Sophia did not possess an opposing digit to control the wire.
However I must admire her resourcefulness, she just reached right in there and rolled the egg up the side of the cup onto the table. Good thing I had put down a good supply of towels prior to our starting this project. That was the safety net on getting yelled at for messing up things. Before I could say scat she had the second batch in the cups. This time she did not even try to use the wire dipper, just up to her elbow and plop um out. For the last two I blended the colors and she finished our dozen colored Easter Eggs.
As I put the colored eggs in the Easter Basket I realized that Sophia had brought a whole new height to the Calico Cat world. All Calico Cats are multicolor, but my Sophia The Cat is the first ever to have one front leg blue and the other green.
For a change of pace today I started our visit as the sun was coming up, it is now well into the night and this Easter Day of 2009 will soon slip into history where a few will remember and most will soon forget.
If you have read or seen any news at all on this Easter Day you are aware of the events which played out early this morning in the Indian Ocean where the Navy Seals demonstrated the resolve of the United States Military to protect me and you from harm.
Forever keep these brave men and women in your prayers this Easter Evening and every evening. It is just that resolve that affords me the luxury and comfort of my beloved East Wing.
Stay safe in Baghdad.
From the East Wing, as Easter 2009 silently slips away
I wish you well.
BobbyRay
Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox.
As I greet this Easter Sunrise from the East Wing on this most Holy Day in the Christian Calendar, in fact, this day, Easter, is the very bedrock of Christianity itself, I wonder how that rabbit got into the big show.
It turns out Easter is kinda two things blended into one like Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups. The Christian side of Easter is well documented in the bible, now I’m not getting picky as to who’s bible I’m talking about, there are several different ones and they all tell the same story of the crucifixion and resurrection.
It’s important that we Christians don’t get too critical of someone using a different bible than us, a little research into the origin of bibles may both enlighten and embarrass or even resurrect deep dark questions on the back roads of your memories. Bibles are Bibles.
It’s easy to see how the word Christmas is identified with Christianity, not so with Easter.
Easter got its name from Eastre or Eostre the Anglo-Saxon goddess of fertility and rebirth. Along time ago people celebrated the beginning of spring at the vernal equinox, when day and night are equal in length, by blessing seeds before planting them and at the same time placing colored eggs on an altar. They believed that this ceremony would bring them fertility for the upcoming year.
When the early Christian missionaries noticed that this pagan party took place around the time of the resurrection of Christ, they adopted Easter as a Christian holiday to help attract the pagans to Christianity. This may explain why some of the TV preachers are such crooks instead of Christians, such crooks may well end up in the seventh layer of hell. Now I don’t know if Jim and Tammy Baker are/were saints or sinners, but I sure wouldn’t want my final place by their side, just in case.
As Christians adopted Easter, they matched the festival of the springtime with a sermon. Following the tradition of dressing up for church, Easter Sunday became a special occasion to wear your very best clothes. In fact, many regarded Easter as the first time to wear a new dress and "Easter bonnet". In the early 1900's families would to stroll to church and home again on Easter to show off their "Sunday best." At Toto we simply called um “Church Clothes”.
The Easter basket evolved from a Catholic tradition, where families brought a basket of food to mass on Easter Sunday to have it blessed for the evening meal. Later, children would use Easter baskets to gather colored eggs and candy.
Now the Easter Bunny is a whole different deal. I don’t know a single person that didn’t at one time believe in both Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. I did. Still do, just a little different view now.
Where does a rabbit handing out eggs come from? Not from Toto Indiana that’s for sure. I believe I heard when I was a kid that the Easter Bunny originated from Germany around the mid 1500’s or so and came to our country in the 1600’s thru the Pennsylvania Dutch. I knew a Dutch guy one time, I think his name was Moray.
Well that’s’ enough about the technical side of Easter, how about the fun side. Saturday afternoon me and Sophia the Cat colored Easter Eggs, her first time, not mine. I have colored Easter Eggs every year of my life and I can remember when I was three. It seemed eggs were much bigger back then.
Now coloring Easter Eggs is not rocket science but it does require attention to detail such as don’t make a mess on the table or the 1wife will yell at ya. Be sure to clean up after you are done or the 1wife will yell at ya again.
With vinegar, water, and magic pill all in a cup the only missing ingredient was the egg. We were limited to coloring one dozen eggs by you know who, but as I bent the little wire egg holder into its proper shape for egg dipping, Sophia couldn’t wait. She started adding eggs to cups with both paws. Having never seen a cat color Easter Eggs before, I chose to just set back, watch, and let Jesse rob that train.
Well I’m telling ya that cat was having more fun than may have been legal for a cat to have. She got the first 5 eggs in and soaking up color quite easy, but the first hint of future problems came when it’s time to take um out. That little wire egg dipper thing I had bent into shape didn’t work well with cat paws. It turns out that Sophia did not possess an opposing digit to control the wire.
However I must admire her resourcefulness, she just reached right in there and rolled the egg up the side of the cup onto the table. Good thing I had put down a good supply of towels prior to our starting this project. That was the safety net on getting yelled at for messing up things. Before I could say scat she had the second batch in the cups. This time she did not even try to use the wire dipper, just up to her elbow and plop um out. For the last two I blended the colors and she finished our dozen colored Easter Eggs.
As I put the colored eggs in the Easter Basket I realized that Sophia had brought a whole new height to the Calico Cat world. All Calico Cats are multicolor, but my Sophia The Cat is the first ever to have one front leg blue and the other green.
For a change of pace today I started our visit as the sun was coming up, it is now well into the night and this Easter Day of 2009 will soon slip into history where a few will remember and most will soon forget.
If you have read or seen any news at all on this Easter Day you are aware of the events which played out early this morning in the Indian Ocean where the Navy Seals demonstrated the resolve of the United States Military to protect me and you from harm.
Forever keep these brave men and women in your prayers this Easter Evening and every evening. It is just that resolve that affords me the luxury and comfort of my beloved East Wing.
Stay safe in Baghdad.
From the East Wing, as Easter 2009 silently slips away
I wish you well.
BobbyRay
Sophia The Republican Cat Talks Politics
Greeting to all, and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
A most interesting flag pole stands outside the south windows of the East Wing, out by the mailbox, on 800 South.
What makes it so special is the material of which the flag pole is made. Now most all flagpoles are made out of some kinda pipe material, but my flagpole is the same tubular steel used to construct the roll cages inside the NASCAR Race Cars. Now is that cool or what? How did you get such a flag pole you may ask, I’m proud to say it’s made in America. Not only made in America. It’s made in Indiana, Not only Indiana, it’s just down the road a bit from the East Wing, made in Winamac Indiana.
Plymouth Tube, in Winamac, makes this special steel pipe to very explicit specifications. This cylinder steel is designed to bend and flex back, to absorb an extraordinary amount of stress and not break. My flag pole is made from cut off pieces of specific length orders welded together, larger on the bottom, smaller on the top. They even have a special type weld to put to these pipes together.
Got a special deal on my flag pole, ordered a 24 footer, go a 30 footer no extra charge. The fellow building my flag pole had a 6 ft. piece of pipe, the correct size to sit on the top of a 24 ft pole but not anywhere else, seems he had had this pipe for a long time and never ran across an occasion to use it. He decided to stick it on the top of my flag pole just to get rid of it and get it out of his way. It was a win win situation, he got his wish and Old Glory flies 6 ft higher south the East Wing.
Had a spot light on my flag last year. It burned out or something, cause it don’t work anymore. Think I’ll get one of those solar spot lights and try that. I’m sure NIPSCO will fill bad hearing I’m going solar with my flag spot light, lord knows they get enough of my money the way it is, so I guess one little solar spot light to illuminate Old Glory at night is not too bad.
Even though we start the spring time here in the East Wing on March 1st, we don’t have any say on when the blossoms come to the gardens. Two weeks ago I felt so bad, went past other places that had blooms on trees in yards, I had none. I felt like little boy lost, God don't love me anymore, my trees don’t bloom this year. And then last week……
BOY WAS I WRONG ! JESUS LOVES ME YES I KNOW FOR THE BLOSSOMS TELL ME SO !
Everywhere I look, it’s spring time in living color. Lilacs, Crab Apples, Peach, Pears, Apples, Grapes, even inside the East Wing, a blooming Christmas Cactus, while African Violets bloom in the Kitchen Window. Plus that pretty little spring time friend of mine, that pretty little spring time dandelion came back to play in the yard where just a few day ago the girl dogs had so much fun exploring the abode of the ground moles.
They still talk about that, Ya’d think they’re fisherman, those girl dogs, the more stories they tell about the ground moles, the bigger the moles get. I’ve never seen a six pound ground mole, but Pup Baby, with her paw on a stack of Milk Bones, swears that the last ground mole she caught was a six pounder. Now if you remember, Pup Baby only caught one during the whole ground mole hunting season, and I didn’t think it was that big. Guess we’ll have to get some kinda ground mole weighing apparatus for next year and see if we can get Pup Baby into the Guinness Book of Records.
I just hope they have a category for “Largest ground mole caught by a half German Short Hair Pointer and half just good for nothing except being your dog, dog”. If they do, well Pup Baby will be so proud to be in that book.
I’m sure she’ll make it, cause if she caught one last year she’ll catch one next year. Come to think of it, we do have some pretty big ground moles between the East Wing and my NASCAR Flag Pole. The more I think of it, maybe it was six lbs. cause Pup Baby never tells me lies. She’s a good dog, that Pup Baby James.
Can’t always say the same about that Calico Cat. Sometimes I think Sophia would lie even if the truth was the best joke. Like when asked about that autographed picture of Herbert Hoover in the cat house, said she thought it was FDR, that Calico Cats had only been republican since the Nixon Administration. Now everybody knows those Calicos have been republican for a long time. One of the more famous pictures of President Lincoln is the one with him seated in the Oval Office holding Sophia’s great great great great grandcat. Calicos go back a long way in that party.
I just knew it was going to happen sooner or later, the cat insist I listen to her complaints. She said “I cut the guy some slack for that 100 day thing, it’s over, now it’s my turn.” She has been saving up and writing down for 100 days. Writes pretty good for a cat.
Ya just gotta know how to deal with cats of a different party. I told her to “put it in writing” She did, as questions with the understanding that if I can give her an explanation for her questions she will be satisfied. Her questions are:
Why is the Federal Government now the largest stock holder in the top 10 largest banks in the United States, holding preferred stock which is in preference to common stock held by ordinary people like me forever? Why are we a minority stock holder no matter how many shares we hold? Do we the people want the Federal Government to run the banking system of our society with the same level of efficiency the Federal Government has run everything else it touches? Can you sleep good at night knowing Barney Frank is the decision maker in the banking industry in the United States of America? Is Barney Frank a queer or what? If the US Mint ever puts out a $3 Dollar Bill,,, would you vote to put Barney Frank’s picture on the new currency?
Why is the Federal Government and the United Auto Workers the major stockholder of General Motors? Can a union own the company it works for? Do we want the Federal Government of manufacture cars? If the Government makes um will they require ya to buy um if ya want to stay on the handout roles or will the cars be used in place of the welfare checks? If the government is in the car business will the government not allow any other outside cars to come to our country? If ya don’t drive an American car will ya be put in jail?
Why is the Federal Government the largest stock holder in the largest Insurance Company in the World? Why does AIG control the federal pension fund of the congress of the United States? Do we want the Federal Government of operate our insurance companies?
What’s a billion? What’s 782 billion? Is there that much money in the world?
Have we created change or ignited disaster? Why the hell did they get a dog and not a cat?
Why don’t we get our investment dividends at the same time as the Federal Government instead of behind the Federal Government, if there’s any left? After all the government bought into these companies with our tax dollars. Which we had already paid federal income tax on to begin with.
Have we forgot the wisdom of Thomas Jefferson? Whatever happened to Randolph Scott?
How much assistance did the federal government provide Minnesota when it encountered the largest winter storm ever? Katrina, hello! Where was Al Sharpton after all the snow fell? Or Jessie Jackson for that matter? Or any other national figure to assist in that national disaster? Why do they put Red Dye #2 in hotdogs?
Who wants the Guantanamo detainees to live next door? Do you? Do you volunteer to have a neighbor who’s last address was Guantanamo, Cuba? Would you rent them a bedroom in your home?
Do you want the President to be able to tell the company you work for how much money you can be paid?
Interesting questions Sophia, the Republican Cat raises. She’s looking for answers, which I don’t have right at the moment. Anyone who would like to respond to the cat’s questions feel free, after all she does read my email when I’m not home.
Damn cat, why can’t she be like the 2dogs and be democrats and never ask questions, just leave well enough alone? After all they did lose the election, those republicans. Or did we the people lose sight of what this great nation is suppose to be and just not yet know it? Do only the cats know, so far?
As always, your company has been my pleasure. With the 2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife all asleep in peaceful harmony this beautiful cool spring evening in May, I’m so glad you shared you evening with me in the East Wing. Your company is so much appreciated by both me and those whom I share my life and hold so dear. (2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife)
You people stay safe in both Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing when Sophia brought the questions, damn Republican Cat.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
A most interesting flag pole stands outside the south windows of the East Wing, out by the mailbox, on 800 South.
What makes it so special is the material of which the flag pole is made. Now most all flagpoles are made out of some kinda pipe material, but my flagpole is the same tubular steel used to construct the roll cages inside the NASCAR Race Cars. Now is that cool or what? How did you get such a flag pole you may ask, I’m proud to say it’s made in America. Not only made in America. It’s made in Indiana, Not only Indiana, it’s just down the road a bit from the East Wing, made in Winamac Indiana.
Plymouth Tube, in Winamac, makes this special steel pipe to very explicit specifications. This cylinder steel is designed to bend and flex back, to absorb an extraordinary amount of stress and not break. My flag pole is made from cut off pieces of specific length orders welded together, larger on the bottom, smaller on the top. They even have a special type weld to put to these pipes together.
Got a special deal on my flag pole, ordered a 24 footer, go a 30 footer no extra charge. The fellow building my flag pole had a 6 ft. piece of pipe, the correct size to sit on the top of a 24 ft pole but not anywhere else, seems he had had this pipe for a long time and never ran across an occasion to use it. He decided to stick it on the top of my flag pole just to get rid of it and get it out of his way. It was a win win situation, he got his wish and Old Glory flies 6 ft higher south the East Wing.
Had a spot light on my flag last year. It burned out or something, cause it don’t work anymore. Think I’ll get one of those solar spot lights and try that. I’m sure NIPSCO will fill bad hearing I’m going solar with my flag spot light, lord knows they get enough of my money the way it is, so I guess one little solar spot light to illuminate Old Glory at night is not too bad.
Even though we start the spring time here in the East Wing on March 1st, we don’t have any say on when the blossoms come to the gardens. Two weeks ago I felt so bad, went past other places that had blooms on trees in yards, I had none. I felt like little boy lost, God don't love me anymore, my trees don’t bloom this year. And then last week……
BOY WAS I WRONG ! JESUS LOVES ME YES I KNOW FOR THE BLOSSOMS TELL ME SO !
Everywhere I look, it’s spring time in living color. Lilacs, Crab Apples, Peach, Pears, Apples, Grapes, even inside the East Wing, a blooming Christmas Cactus, while African Violets bloom in the Kitchen Window. Plus that pretty little spring time friend of mine, that pretty little spring time dandelion came back to play in the yard where just a few day ago the girl dogs had so much fun exploring the abode of the ground moles.
They still talk about that, Ya’d think they’re fisherman, those girl dogs, the more stories they tell about the ground moles, the bigger the moles get. I’ve never seen a six pound ground mole, but Pup Baby, with her paw on a stack of Milk Bones, swears that the last ground mole she caught was a six pounder. Now if you remember, Pup Baby only caught one during the whole ground mole hunting season, and I didn’t think it was that big. Guess we’ll have to get some kinda ground mole weighing apparatus for next year and see if we can get Pup Baby into the Guinness Book of Records.
I just hope they have a category for “Largest ground mole caught by a half German Short Hair Pointer and half just good for nothing except being your dog, dog”. If they do, well Pup Baby will be so proud to be in that book.
I’m sure she’ll make it, cause if she caught one last year she’ll catch one next year. Come to think of it, we do have some pretty big ground moles between the East Wing and my NASCAR Flag Pole. The more I think of it, maybe it was six lbs. cause Pup Baby never tells me lies. She’s a good dog, that Pup Baby James.
Can’t always say the same about that Calico Cat. Sometimes I think Sophia would lie even if the truth was the best joke. Like when asked about that autographed picture of Herbert Hoover in the cat house, said she thought it was FDR, that Calico Cats had only been republican since the Nixon Administration. Now everybody knows those Calicos have been republican for a long time. One of the more famous pictures of President Lincoln is the one with him seated in the Oval Office holding Sophia’s great great great great grandcat. Calicos go back a long way in that party.
I just knew it was going to happen sooner or later, the cat insist I listen to her complaints. She said “I cut the guy some slack for that 100 day thing, it’s over, now it’s my turn.” She has been saving up and writing down for 100 days. Writes pretty good for a cat.
Ya just gotta know how to deal with cats of a different party. I told her to “put it in writing” She did, as questions with the understanding that if I can give her an explanation for her questions she will be satisfied. Her questions are:
Why is the Federal Government now the largest stock holder in the top 10 largest banks in the United States, holding preferred stock which is in preference to common stock held by ordinary people like me forever? Why are we a minority stock holder no matter how many shares we hold? Do we the people want the Federal Government to run the banking system of our society with the same level of efficiency the Federal Government has run everything else it touches? Can you sleep good at night knowing Barney Frank is the decision maker in the banking industry in the United States of America? Is Barney Frank a queer or what? If the US Mint ever puts out a $3 Dollar Bill,,, would you vote to put Barney Frank’s picture on the new currency?
Why is the Federal Government and the United Auto Workers the major stockholder of General Motors? Can a union own the company it works for? Do we want the Federal Government of manufacture cars? If the Government makes um will they require ya to buy um if ya want to stay on the handout roles or will the cars be used in place of the welfare checks? If the government is in the car business will the government not allow any other outside cars to come to our country? If ya don’t drive an American car will ya be put in jail?
Why is the Federal Government the largest stock holder in the largest Insurance Company in the World? Why does AIG control the federal pension fund of the congress of the United States? Do we want the Federal Government of operate our insurance companies?
What’s a billion? What’s 782 billion? Is there that much money in the world?
Have we created change or ignited disaster? Why the hell did they get a dog and not a cat?
Why don’t we get our investment dividends at the same time as the Federal Government instead of behind the Federal Government, if there’s any left? After all the government bought into these companies with our tax dollars. Which we had already paid federal income tax on to begin with.
Have we forgot the wisdom of Thomas Jefferson? Whatever happened to Randolph Scott?
How much assistance did the federal government provide Minnesota when it encountered the largest winter storm ever? Katrina, hello! Where was Al Sharpton after all the snow fell? Or Jessie Jackson for that matter? Or any other national figure to assist in that national disaster? Why do they put Red Dye #2 in hotdogs?
Who wants the Guantanamo detainees to live next door? Do you? Do you volunteer to have a neighbor who’s last address was Guantanamo, Cuba? Would you rent them a bedroom in your home?
Do you want the President to be able to tell the company you work for how much money you can be paid?
Interesting questions Sophia, the Republican Cat raises. She’s looking for answers, which I don’t have right at the moment. Anyone who would like to respond to the cat’s questions feel free, after all she does read my email when I’m not home.
Damn cat, why can’t she be like the 2dogs and be democrats and never ask questions, just leave well enough alone? After all they did lose the election, those republicans. Or did we the people lose sight of what this great nation is suppose to be and just not yet know it? Do only the cats know, so far?
As always, your company has been my pleasure. With the 2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife all asleep in peaceful harmony this beautiful cool spring evening in May, I’m so glad you shared you evening with me in the East Wing. Your company is so much appreciated by both me and those whom I share my life and hold so dear. (2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife)
You people stay safe in both Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing when Sophia brought the questions, damn Republican Cat.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
When They Ran For The Roses
Greeting to all this first Sunday in May 2009.
Did ya watch the Kentucky Derby yesterday? I’m not really a big fan of horse racing, but the Kentucky Derby’s something special. It’s more than a hose race, it’s one of the premier social events in our country. The Kentucky Derby has been run continually since 1875, not bad marketing considering the race runs just a tick or so past two minutes. It’s the persona of the Blue Grass Section of Kentucky. Fast horses and pretty women, or was it pretty horses and fast …., I’m not gona go there. In the eyes of many, it’s the single most important thing Kentucky has going for it. It certainly the most recognized. Any time anything beats 50:1 odds it’s kinda exciting. Say what you may about horse racing, but Mine the Bird did Run For The Roses.
However, those who drink Bourbon Whisky may well support a different point of view on what’s the most important thing in Kentucky.
Now in Kentucky and elsewhere in our country, the production of whisky is a very highly regulated and taxed industry. An example being the federal tax on whisky is somewhere in the neighborhood of $13.50 per gallon, and a lot of gallons are produced and that’s just the Federal Tax, each state has additional tax.
Despite the fact that Bourbon may be the whisky of choice for many, Corn whisky is the one that gets all the attention when it comes to stories about the south and the production of alcohol.
Truly an American whiskey, and in fact the predecessor to Bourbon. An unaged, clear alcohol, it’s the whiskey the Scotch-Irish people (like the Howards) produced in their homemade stills for family use or to trade for store merchandise. When state and federal excise taxes were put on homemade whisky during the Civil War, most of the production of Corn whiskey went underground to become moonshine. Where it remains to this day.
Unlike all other whiskeys that are highly regulated and controlled by the federal government, Moonshine Whiskey (a.k.a. white lightning, Corn likker, or white dog) is self regulated by the manufactures, it’s not necessarily made from the same recipe every time either.
Moonshine is cooked from a mixture of ground up corn and sugar and whatever else the moonshiner may have available to kick it up a notch to extend the volume. The rule of thumb being “if ya can eat it, ya can cook it, if ya can cook it, ya can drink it, if ya can drink it, ya can sell it.”
Like all other manufactured products, quality control is paramount in ensuring an excellent product for the market place. And so it is with Moonshine.
There are three steps in quality control. The first quality control being smell, mix all ingredients, stir each day unit it smells right. If it don’t smell right, it just aint right, don’t cook it till it smells just right.
The second quality control check being, after ya cook it, light it. When ya light the moon, it don’t turn blue. (the higher the alcohol content, the less blue appearance of the flame, 100% alcohol burns without any visible blue flame)
The third section of quality control being taste. If ya can speak within 15 seconds after a mouthful of moon, ya made it wrong.
A great deal of care and planning also goes into the ageing process of Moonshine Whisky. In fact, it’s this care and planning of the ageing process that gives Moonshine Whisky it one of its kind taste and bouquet.
As a matter of routine, Moonshine Whisky is aged in Mason Jars for the length of time it takes the purchaser to get home from the Moonshiner’s house, or the Duke Boys to make a delivery in the General Lee. Whichever is shorter.
There have been rumors of Moonshine whisky having been aged as long as two weeks, but such rumors are mostly discredited due to lack of documentation along with creditable eye witness reports or physical evidence.
I almost forgot to tell ya, ya gotta bring your own Mason Jars. And no, there’re no tours of the factory, no free samples, or those little cheese and crackers plates like ya find at those griley-man wineries .
If I had to describe the taste of Moonshine whisky, I’d say it’s kinda like walking through the fires of hell while snorting Wasabi Mayonnaise up your nose.
The devils drink, that Moonshine Whisky.
Yesterday the folks at the Kentucky Derby, they forgot the original Kentucky whisky and drank Mint Juleps. Wimps.
Sophia, the Republican cat, just walked by with her list and informed me the 100 days are up and she’s ready to take on the new President for having the nerve to get a stupid dog named Bo and not a Republican Cat. She said actually that was complaint number 101. Said I get to see the rest of her list Tuesday. Why Tuesday, I don’t have a clue nor did she offer. Will just have to wait and see. Even though she’s a republican I love the way that cat smiles.
Did ya ever wonder where old sayings come from? Things like “ It’s raining cats and dogs”. “A Complete Collection of Polite and Ingenious Conversation” by Jonathan Swift in 1738 Seems to be the earliest written reference to raining cats and dogs that I could find anywhere.
Now this Jonathan Swift fellow is an interesting author to say the least, a story teller in rhyme, he wrote of the things he saw in life. Our lives today are so removed for the early 1740’s it’s hard to even comprehend the world of Jonathan Swift.
Imagine if you can, a city the size of Indianapolis Indiana without a sanitary sewer system, no paved streets or sidewalks, no garbage pickup, no water distribution system, no organized food distribution system, a part of the city is built on a hill, and when it rains gravity takes control of the water………….
Jonathan Swift wrote of just such conditions some thirty years before he wrote about “it’s raining cats and dogs” when he wrote “A Description of A City Shower” in 1710. Life in London England was not a pretty site when it rained.
“Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down, Threat'ning with Deluge this devoted Town.Now from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow, And bear their Trophies with them as they go:Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell. What Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell.They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force, From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their Course,And in huge Confluent join'd at Snow-Hill Ridge, Fall from the Conduit, prone to Holbourn-Bridge.Sweeping from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood, Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud, Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood.”
Now that don’t paint a pretty picture of city life. Did ya notice that they kinda talked funny back then? I’m sure if Jonathan Swift could see the ramblings from the East Wing, he wouldn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. Course ya don’t have to be Jonathan Swift to not have a clue what I’m talking about, I’m sure lots of people think that about me all the time. I even think that about me half the time.
For all those who may wish to return to the “old fashion way” of life, may I suggest you go back and re-read “A Description of A City Shower” , just two paragraphs up, one more time, and if that don’t work, re-read again, sooner or later ya’ll start to see the real meaning of the poem. All cities of the time were hell on earth when it came to rain, or even snow, but especially rain.
From the people I know, I’m sure there are some who would still say life was simple and easy back then. It may well have been, but I bet it smelled.
With all my girls now asleep (2dogs, 1cat, 1wife) I take pleasure in the silence of the darkness in this the late part of the spring day.
I thank you so much for visiting with me this evening, I look forward to my fingers talking to your eyes once again from the keyboard.
Stay safe in Baghdad.
From the East Wing the day after they ran for the roses, and drank the Mint Juleps. Wimps.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Did ya watch the Kentucky Derby yesterday? I’m not really a big fan of horse racing, but the Kentucky Derby’s something special. It’s more than a hose race, it’s one of the premier social events in our country. The Kentucky Derby has been run continually since 1875, not bad marketing considering the race runs just a tick or so past two minutes. It’s the persona of the Blue Grass Section of Kentucky. Fast horses and pretty women, or was it pretty horses and fast …., I’m not gona go there. In the eyes of many, it’s the single most important thing Kentucky has going for it. It certainly the most recognized. Any time anything beats 50:1 odds it’s kinda exciting. Say what you may about horse racing, but Mine the Bird did Run For The Roses.
However, those who drink Bourbon Whisky may well support a different point of view on what’s the most important thing in Kentucky.
Now in Kentucky and elsewhere in our country, the production of whisky is a very highly regulated and taxed industry. An example being the federal tax on whisky is somewhere in the neighborhood of $13.50 per gallon, and a lot of gallons are produced and that’s just the Federal Tax, each state has additional tax.
Despite the fact that Bourbon may be the whisky of choice for many, Corn whisky is the one that gets all the attention when it comes to stories about the south and the production of alcohol.
Truly an American whiskey, and in fact the predecessor to Bourbon. An unaged, clear alcohol, it’s the whiskey the Scotch-Irish people (like the Howards) produced in their homemade stills for family use or to trade for store merchandise. When state and federal excise taxes were put on homemade whisky during the Civil War, most of the production of Corn whiskey went underground to become moonshine. Where it remains to this day.
Unlike all other whiskeys that are highly regulated and controlled by the federal government, Moonshine Whiskey (a.k.a. white lightning, Corn likker, or white dog) is self regulated by the manufactures, it’s not necessarily made from the same recipe every time either.
Moonshine is cooked from a mixture of ground up corn and sugar and whatever else the moonshiner may have available to kick it up a notch to extend the volume. The rule of thumb being “if ya can eat it, ya can cook it, if ya can cook it, ya can drink it, if ya can drink it, ya can sell it.”
Like all other manufactured products, quality control is paramount in ensuring an excellent product for the market place. And so it is with Moonshine.
There are three steps in quality control. The first quality control being smell, mix all ingredients, stir each day unit it smells right. If it don’t smell right, it just aint right, don’t cook it till it smells just right.
The second quality control check being, after ya cook it, light it. When ya light the moon, it don’t turn blue. (the higher the alcohol content, the less blue appearance of the flame, 100% alcohol burns without any visible blue flame)
The third section of quality control being taste. If ya can speak within 15 seconds after a mouthful of moon, ya made it wrong.
A great deal of care and planning also goes into the ageing process of Moonshine Whisky. In fact, it’s this care and planning of the ageing process that gives Moonshine Whisky it one of its kind taste and bouquet.
As a matter of routine, Moonshine Whisky is aged in Mason Jars for the length of time it takes the purchaser to get home from the Moonshiner’s house, or the Duke Boys to make a delivery in the General Lee. Whichever is shorter.
There have been rumors of Moonshine whisky having been aged as long as two weeks, but such rumors are mostly discredited due to lack of documentation along with creditable eye witness reports or physical evidence.
I almost forgot to tell ya, ya gotta bring your own Mason Jars. And no, there’re no tours of the factory, no free samples, or those little cheese and crackers plates like ya find at those griley-man wineries .
If I had to describe the taste of Moonshine whisky, I’d say it’s kinda like walking through the fires of hell while snorting Wasabi Mayonnaise up your nose.
The devils drink, that Moonshine Whisky.
Yesterday the folks at the Kentucky Derby, they forgot the original Kentucky whisky and drank Mint Juleps. Wimps.
Sophia, the Republican cat, just walked by with her list and informed me the 100 days are up and she’s ready to take on the new President for having the nerve to get a stupid dog named Bo and not a Republican Cat. She said actually that was complaint number 101. Said I get to see the rest of her list Tuesday. Why Tuesday, I don’t have a clue nor did she offer. Will just have to wait and see. Even though she’s a republican I love the way that cat smiles.
Did ya ever wonder where old sayings come from? Things like “ It’s raining cats and dogs”. “A Complete Collection of Polite and Ingenious Conversation” by Jonathan Swift in 1738 Seems to be the earliest written reference to raining cats and dogs that I could find anywhere.
Now this Jonathan Swift fellow is an interesting author to say the least, a story teller in rhyme, he wrote of the things he saw in life. Our lives today are so removed for the early 1740’s it’s hard to even comprehend the world of Jonathan Swift.
Imagine if you can, a city the size of Indianapolis Indiana without a sanitary sewer system, no paved streets or sidewalks, no garbage pickup, no water distribution system, no organized food distribution system, a part of the city is built on a hill, and when it rains gravity takes control of the water………….
Jonathan Swift wrote of just such conditions some thirty years before he wrote about “it’s raining cats and dogs” when he wrote “A Description of A City Shower” in 1710. Life in London England was not a pretty site when it rained.
“Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down, Threat'ning with Deluge this devoted Town.Now from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow, And bear their Trophies with them as they go:Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell. What Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell.They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force, From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their Course,And in huge Confluent join'd at Snow-Hill Ridge, Fall from the Conduit, prone to Holbourn-Bridge.Sweeping from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood, Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud, Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood.”
Now that don’t paint a pretty picture of city life. Did ya notice that they kinda talked funny back then? I’m sure if Jonathan Swift could see the ramblings from the East Wing, he wouldn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. Course ya don’t have to be Jonathan Swift to not have a clue what I’m talking about, I’m sure lots of people think that about me all the time. I even think that about me half the time.
For all those who may wish to return to the “old fashion way” of life, may I suggest you go back and re-read “A Description of A City Shower” , just two paragraphs up, one more time, and if that don’t work, re-read again, sooner or later ya’ll start to see the real meaning of the poem. All cities of the time were hell on earth when it came to rain, or even snow, but especially rain.
From the people I know, I’m sure there are some who would still say life was simple and easy back then. It may well have been, but I bet it smelled.
With all my girls now asleep (2dogs, 1cat, 1wife) I take pleasure in the silence of the darkness in this the late part of the spring day.
I thank you so much for visiting with me this evening, I look forward to my fingers talking to your eyes once again from the keyboard.
Stay safe in Baghdad.
From the East Wing the day after they ran for the roses, and drank the Mint Juleps. Wimps.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Building the Fire at the Tip Top School
Greeting to all, and welcome for the first time to the East Wing,
I guess it kinda shows your age when ya remember that Memorial Day used to be May 30th every year. It was changed to the last Monday in May just to make a three day holiday. It don’t seem right. It cheapened up the meaning of Memorial Day.
Damn Republicans, I think they’ve done this dastardly deed just looking for a reason to dork over regular people like me and you. I don’t know anyone who ever had a problem with Memorial Day being May 30th each year no matter what day of the week. After all, the people we remember on Memorial Day didn’t all die on the last Monday in May. When a three day weekend becomes more important than the reason to remember, well don’t get me started on that one. Damn Democrats, maybe they’re the ones that changed the holiday. a pox on both their houses. Shame on them all.
Sometimes politics and the people who play that dirty game make me wanta puke, one good thing about writing from the East Wing, there’s enough of those type reading the rambling they know who I’m talking about, and why.
Decoration Day, that’s what we hillbillies called it when I was a kid. In Kentucky, unlike Indiana, many people are buried in family cemeteries rather than communal locations. The cemeteries in Kentucky carry family names such as Manns, Minix, Watson, Clemons, Howard etc. It is not uncommon to this day to drive along the back roads of Eastern Kentucky and see a new grave site located within close walking distance of the house.
As a kid, I remember many people would make the trip from Starke County Indiana to Eastern Kentucky on Decoration Day to cut the grass and clean the cemeteries, to put out new flowers, to remember, to just remember. I read somewhere ya never die as long as someone remembers your name. That being said, I guess only the famous or villainous live forever. If ya stop and think about it, only a few, a very few have achieved that level of immortality. All others are destined to go the way of BobbyRay, “dust you are and dust you shall return”.
I lost a friend of mine a few days ago, Mike Rowe, he knew about Decoration Day. One of Mike’s favorite things in the world was going to Kentucky, to Tip Top Kentucky. When I was a kid, Mike’s dad, Henry Rowe, was the clerk at the company store at Tip Top.
I don’t know if I told ya about the first time I started into business for myself. I was in the third grade at Tip Top Elementary School.
Now every year the teacher hired someone to come early each morning to build the fire in the two stoves in the class rooms when the weather is cold.
The teacher’s name was Miss Higgins, and she approached me with a business proposition, build the fire in the two stoves each day of school when the weather is cold and receive 25¢ per week. I was to supply the kindling, the school was to supply the coal. (There was always lots of coal at Tip Top, in fact the only reason there was a Tip Top. KY, was there was lots of coal at Tip Top.)
I was to supply the matches. I negotiated with Miss Higgins on the matches, I won, the school would supplied the matchers. My first earned income was secured. Life was good in Tip Top and my financial future was assured with an income being at a level unsurpassed by any one in my extended family for my age. But what really worked out best for me was when I started bragging about my new found wealth.
I think I told ya about having 12 cousins at Tip Top and them all being named Cole, and all in the same family, well they were, and when I told the Cole Boys about me landing this big contract with the Tip Top Elementary School Corporation for this fire building job, I had one cousin, Pilipino, ( yup we named people kinda funny names, after all they named me BobbyRay). Any how Pilipino, we called him Pino, Pino says why I’d do that job for just 10¢ a week if they’d ask me.
Now I’m honing my business skills at a young age and I see an opportunity to make money without working so I say “ Pino how’d you like to make 10¢ a week?” Pino says “Who’d I gota kill?” I say “nobody, just build fires at the schoolhouse” Pino grins and sees big $$ signs.
Me and Pino work out the details, he agrees to: supply and split the kindling, the school supply the coal and the matches, Pino builds the fire every day when it’s cold in the morning, at least one hour before school starts at 8:00 AM. The schoolhouse to be always warm by time to start school. Pino to be paid 10¢ a week. Pino is to become the second richest cousin in Tip Top, second only to BobbyRay.
Pino’s happy, Miss Higgins’s happy, I’m happy, and Pino splits the kindling, builds the fire, gets up early to go to school to build the fire, makes 10¢ a week, I make 15¢ a week, don’t do any work, sleep in every cold morning and just go to school on time, to a warm schoolhouse. My company ran like a well oiled machine.
I had so much money coming in I started a charge account at the company store just to get rid of some of the cash. Henry Rowe set it up for me. My wealth surpassed my wildest dreams, 15¢ every week and no work, the money just kept rolling in, with no end in sight.
In addition to being the clerk at the Company Store, Henry Rowe was a Baptist Preacher, as was my dad, Wick Howard, so I knew Henry Rowe most all my life. A kind and gentle man, Henry Rowe. Henry was a hugger of people. Now us hillbilly people are huggers or non huggers. Henry Rowe was a hugger. He hugged um all, both male and female, every time ya saw him, ya got a hug from Henry. He loved us all, and we all loved him.
My family of Howard, we are huggers too, I hug my babies every day and every time I see them, even if I hugged them yesterday, today is a new day, hug your babies every day, ya won’t be sorry.
So it was with Henry Rowe. As a little boy he made me feel important. He talked to me, not down to me but at my level, not many people have that ability to talk to kids that way. Henry Rowe did, and so did his son Mike Rowe. I’ll truly miss my friend Mike Rowe. Want to know the value of a friend? Lose one.
Last week was my birthday, and ya know what my mama got me for my birthday, ya got that right, Moon Pies, took some doing but the ole girl got er done. I’m so glad my mama can still wish me a happy birthday and buy me Moon Pies. Not only did my mama get me Moon Pies for my birthday, she also got me golf shirts, not only golf shirts, but a TIGER WOODS RED GOLF SHIRT. My mama loves to watch Tiger Woods play golf, but only if he is in the lead. She won’t watch TV the Tiger is not winning.
The next time I play golf with my son, John, I’m gona ask my mama to drive the golf cart, she will. Ya never get too old to love your mama.
The day has come and gone, this 31st day of May, at what in another time would have been Memorial Day Weekend. Society changes and memories remain. A President has been elected based solely on a platform of “Change” without detail. We’ll see. Month five according to the count of the Republican Cat, and Lord knows that cat is keeping count.
As all my girls sleep, (2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife) I have enjoyed your company this evening more than ever before on this last day of May 2009. I so look forward to our next visit. Please know forever, you’re always welcome in the East Wing………………..
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, remembering two friends of mine, Henry Rowe and his son Mike, on the old Memorial Day Weekend.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
I guess it kinda shows your age when ya remember that Memorial Day used to be May 30th every year. It was changed to the last Monday in May just to make a three day holiday. It don’t seem right. It cheapened up the meaning of Memorial Day.
Damn Republicans, I think they’ve done this dastardly deed just looking for a reason to dork over regular people like me and you. I don’t know anyone who ever had a problem with Memorial Day being May 30th each year no matter what day of the week. After all, the people we remember on Memorial Day didn’t all die on the last Monday in May. When a three day weekend becomes more important than the reason to remember, well don’t get me started on that one. Damn Democrats, maybe they’re the ones that changed the holiday. a pox on both their houses. Shame on them all.
Sometimes politics and the people who play that dirty game make me wanta puke, one good thing about writing from the East Wing, there’s enough of those type reading the rambling they know who I’m talking about, and why.
Decoration Day, that’s what we hillbillies called it when I was a kid. In Kentucky, unlike Indiana, many people are buried in family cemeteries rather than communal locations. The cemeteries in Kentucky carry family names such as Manns, Minix, Watson, Clemons, Howard etc. It is not uncommon to this day to drive along the back roads of Eastern Kentucky and see a new grave site located within close walking distance of the house.
As a kid, I remember many people would make the trip from Starke County Indiana to Eastern Kentucky on Decoration Day to cut the grass and clean the cemeteries, to put out new flowers, to remember, to just remember. I read somewhere ya never die as long as someone remembers your name. That being said, I guess only the famous or villainous live forever. If ya stop and think about it, only a few, a very few have achieved that level of immortality. All others are destined to go the way of BobbyRay, “dust you are and dust you shall return”.
I lost a friend of mine a few days ago, Mike Rowe, he knew about Decoration Day. One of Mike’s favorite things in the world was going to Kentucky, to Tip Top Kentucky. When I was a kid, Mike’s dad, Henry Rowe, was the clerk at the company store at Tip Top.
I don’t know if I told ya about the first time I started into business for myself. I was in the third grade at Tip Top Elementary School.
Now every year the teacher hired someone to come early each morning to build the fire in the two stoves in the class rooms when the weather is cold.
The teacher’s name was Miss Higgins, and she approached me with a business proposition, build the fire in the two stoves each day of school when the weather is cold and receive 25¢ per week. I was to supply the kindling, the school was to supply the coal. (There was always lots of coal at Tip Top, in fact the only reason there was a Tip Top. KY, was there was lots of coal at Tip Top.)
I was to supply the matches. I negotiated with Miss Higgins on the matches, I won, the school would supplied the matchers. My first earned income was secured. Life was good in Tip Top and my financial future was assured with an income being at a level unsurpassed by any one in my extended family for my age. But what really worked out best for me was when I started bragging about my new found wealth.
I think I told ya about having 12 cousins at Tip Top and them all being named Cole, and all in the same family, well they were, and when I told the Cole Boys about me landing this big contract with the Tip Top Elementary School Corporation for this fire building job, I had one cousin, Pilipino, ( yup we named people kinda funny names, after all they named me BobbyRay). Any how Pilipino, we called him Pino, Pino says why I’d do that job for just 10¢ a week if they’d ask me.
Now I’m honing my business skills at a young age and I see an opportunity to make money without working so I say “ Pino how’d you like to make 10¢ a week?” Pino says “Who’d I gota kill?” I say “nobody, just build fires at the schoolhouse” Pino grins and sees big $$ signs.
Me and Pino work out the details, he agrees to: supply and split the kindling, the school supply the coal and the matches, Pino builds the fire every day when it’s cold in the morning, at least one hour before school starts at 8:00 AM. The schoolhouse to be always warm by time to start school. Pino to be paid 10¢ a week. Pino is to become the second richest cousin in Tip Top, second only to BobbyRay.
Pino’s happy, Miss Higgins’s happy, I’m happy, and Pino splits the kindling, builds the fire, gets up early to go to school to build the fire, makes 10¢ a week, I make 15¢ a week, don’t do any work, sleep in every cold morning and just go to school on time, to a warm schoolhouse. My company ran like a well oiled machine.
I had so much money coming in I started a charge account at the company store just to get rid of some of the cash. Henry Rowe set it up for me. My wealth surpassed my wildest dreams, 15¢ every week and no work, the money just kept rolling in, with no end in sight.
In addition to being the clerk at the Company Store, Henry Rowe was a Baptist Preacher, as was my dad, Wick Howard, so I knew Henry Rowe most all my life. A kind and gentle man, Henry Rowe. Henry was a hugger of people. Now us hillbilly people are huggers or non huggers. Henry Rowe was a hugger. He hugged um all, both male and female, every time ya saw him, ya got a hug from Henry. He loved us all, and we all loved him.
My family of Howard, we are huggers too, I hug my babies every day and every time I see them, even if I hugged them yesterday, today is a new day, hug your babies every day, ya won’t be sorry.
So it was with Henry Rowe. As a little boy he made me feel important. He talked to me, not down to me but at my level, not many people have that ability to talk to kids that way. Henry Rowe did, and so did his son Mike Rowe. I’ll truly miss my friend Mike Rowe. Want to know the value of a friend? Lose one.
Last week was my birthday, and ya know what my mama got me for my birthday, ya got that right, Moon Pies, took some doing but the ole girl got er done. I’m so glad my mama can still wish me a happy birthday and buy me Moon Pies. Not only did my mama get me Moon Pies for my birthday, she also got me golf shirts, not only golf shirts, but a TIGER WOODS RED GOLF SHIRT. My mama loves to watch Tiger Woods play golf, but only if he is in the lead. She won’t watch TV the Tiger is not winning.
The next time I play golf with my son, John, I’m gona ask my mama to drive the golf cart, she will. Ya never get too old to love your mama.
The day has come and gone, this 31st day of May, at what in another time would have been Memorial Day Weekend. Society changes and memories remain. A President has been elected based solely on a platform of “Change” without detail. We’ll see. Month five according to the count of the Republican Cat, and Lord knows that cat is keeping count.
As all my girls sleep, (2dogs, 1cat, and 1wife) I have enjoyed your company this evening more than ever before on this last day of May 2009. I so look forward to our next visit. Please know forever, you’re always welcome in the East Wing………………..
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, remembering two friends of mine, Henry Rowe and his son Mike, on the old Memorial Day Weekend.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
The Tip Top Electons
Greeting to all, and welcome aboard to my new friends in Taiwan.
Who would have ever thought a kid that grew up in downtown Toto writing about the little city in Northern Indiana would be read by a guy In the Taiwan. The power of fingers on keyboards. It makes ya stop and think.
Don’t know about your trees but many of mine have lost most of their color and most of the leaves except one tree. A Maple which has turned a spectacular shade of yellow, orange, green standing directly outside the East Wing as I look to the south..
I look at this tree in the bright sunshine with a slight breeze from the east moving all the leaves in harmony this early November Morning and notice the other trees and bushes in the yard also in tune with silent music heard only by the leaves and realize surly somewhere there in the wind there is the leader of the band. I just haven’t met him yet, but will.
How about that snow a week ago, so pretty, to me it’s still magic. As the snow fell, I lit the fireplace, sat on the floor in the East Wing and told stories to the girls (two dogs, one cat, one wife). The one wife didn’t come to the story telling.
It was a night to remember. I told Mustina’s favorite story about the “Three Little Dogs and the Big Bad Wolf”. The girl dogs love that story. Sophia the Cat said it was a stupid story, she never heard of a talking wolf.
For those of you that were unable to attend the Meet the Candidates Night at Grand Central two weeks ago on Oct. 22nd, you missed a lot. Too far gone to detail it out, but just say next time make it a point to come. It was worth the effort.Sure hope everyone is ready to vote. I’m almost. One way or the other we will give ourselves a new president.
That reminds me of the time I ran for president, the third grade, Tip Top, Kentucky. Now Tip Top was a company town way up in the mountains. The educational facilities at Tip Top in 1953 were somewhat more sparse than what we are accustom to seeing now days. Two room building, grades 1 – 7 in the larger room, grade 8 in a separate room. A single source heating system, pot belly stove, Both rooms. Air Conditioning System, windows that went up and down. Plumbing, outside, both sanitation and water(outhouse and well). Federal and State Financial Assistance, $00.00. Company school, company funded.
It was the springtime in the mountains, right near the end of the current school year, and Magoffin County was in the middle of a hotly contested primary election, it was from that background that I stepped in the political world.
The teacher, Miss Higgins, thought it a good idea to get us little hillbilly boys involved in politics early, after all our parents were shooting each other left and right over political differences and both sides buying votes at every possible opportunity. She explained that it would prepare us to take our places in society in the future if we understood how politics worked.
Miss Higgins would select two candidates and they would campaign for the votes and after the campaigning was all done we would vote. Well when the teacher said she would select the candidates we all knew she would select Tucker Bailey, cause Tucker Bailey was the teacher’s pet.
When ya go to a school with two rooms and a total enrollment of 32 students and 1 teacher, it don’t take long to figure out who’s the teacher’s pet. Later in life I could never quite figure out the fact that Tucker Bailey’s Dad owned the coal mine and the whole town plus he hired Miss Higgins, if that had anything with Tucker Bailey getting to be the teacher’s pet, or she if just liked him better than me. I just don’t know.
Miss Higgins said we needed candidates who could be president of the student body next school year, a person of leadership, a person who we all could admire, (at the time I didn’t know what admire was) a person who could get all us students working for the common good of Tip Top.
The teacher pointed out that the newly elected president would not take office until next school year so that meant the current eight graders could not qualify, but they would get to vote. Just like everybody in that school house knew she would, she said “My first candidate from the fifth grade is Tucker Bailey”. We were all about as surprised as when the sun came that morning.
It was Miss Higgins’s next statement that changes my life forever when she said “and running against Tucker is from the third grade Bobby Ray Howard”.Well I damn near fell off my seat, twice.
Having no political experience and a great deal of resentment of Tucker Bailey, he had the nicest house in Tip Top, his yard had grass, his house was painted, he had shoes year round, he wore church paints to school, he didn’t have to carry water, he had his own dog, while I had to share a dog with seven cousins, and the list went on and on.
I was just pain jealous of Tucker Bailey. I thought he had all the things that made people rich. He had all the stuff I didn’t have and I wanted um.
Miss Higgins told me and Tucker Bailey that the next day we were to give a speech to the whole school and then we would vote for the best one.
I was so afraid I didn’t want to go to school the next day but I did.Tucker Bailey came to school that morning in a new white shirt and a neck tie, yes a neck tie, Tucker Bailey wore a neck tie to school. I wore the same overalls from yesterday. Tucker Bailey wore shoes,,,shoes I’m telling ya Tucker Bailey was the only person besides Miss Higgins wearing shoes in that school house that day.
Tucker Bailey spoke first, he said what a great privilege it was going to be to be president of the school. He talked about making us all better citizens of Magoffin County. Tucker Bailey laid out his plan to organize next year’s 7th and 8th graders to remove all the rocks from the playground so the little kids would not get hurt from falling on the rocks. (we go more hurt from throwing than falling) Seeing if he could get his dad to paint the school building which would allow us more pride in our school ( I think Tucker Bailey’s mother wrote that little speech, cause he’s wasn’t that smart to use words like privilege)
When Tucker Bailey finished Miss Higgins lead the applause and congratulated Tucker Bailey on such a fine campaign speech. Miss Higgins then turned to me and with a somewhat snicker said “Now Bobby Ray are you ready?”
Boy was I ever not ready. Somehow I just never thought I’d really have to do this thing. With no thought in my mind what so ever I walked to the front of the room, both composing and practicing my speech as I walked.
I turned to face the electorate and said “If you’ll vote for me I’ll give ya a RC Cola and a Moon Pie”The school went wild. Everyone jumped to their feet clapping and yelling and stomping the floor. Miss Higgins had to ring the bell to get the kids back under control.
With fire in her eyes and I would swear a split tongue Miss Higgins looked into my very soul and said “Bobby Ray how you going to pay for those RC Colas and Moon Pies?” I said “I don’t know” She said “Bobby Ray where you going to get those RC Colas and Moon Pies?” I said “I don’t know”
Then with her best smile for the teacher’s little pet she said “ Tucker, honey you get to speak again”. I looked at Tucker Bailey and for the first time in my life felt sorry for him, he was about to cry and said “I don’t want to talk no more” Miss Higgins then asked me if I wanted to say anything else.
For the second time in my campaign I stood before the voters and said “If you’ll vote for me I’ll give you a RC Cola and a Moon Pie “ This time the bell didn’t work for three minutes. After Miss Higgins gained control of the school once again, we voted. Two girls from the 8th grade counted the votes. Final Vote: Tucker Bailey 1, Bobby Ray 31
I voted for Tucker Bailey that day. He voted for me, not because he wanted to but afraid he’d be the only one voting for Tucker Bailey. I looked that little boy in the eye that day and saw superciliousness turn to fear. At that point Tucker Bailey needed a friend more than anything else in the world. I was closest one to him so it was just my job. I became his friend right then and there.
I was to take office the start of school in September.My family and I moved to Indiana that summer 1953. Come September I started school in North Judson, not as the president, but just a 4th grader with political experience.I never delivered on my campaign promise of RC Colas and Moon Pies to the Tip Top School System. I wonder if they remembered. I bet Tucker Bailey did.
As I set in the East Wing still trying to make a decision on how to vote, I have this empty feeling that I have been offered a RC Cola and a Moon Pie. By both parties.
From the Howard Campaign Headquarters in the East Wing,
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Who would have ever thought a kid that grew up in downtown Toto writing about the little city in Northern Indiana would be read by a guy In the Taiwan. The power of fingers on keyboards. It makes ya stop and think.
Don’t know about your trees but many of mine have lost most of their color and most of the leaves except one tree. A Maple which has turned a spectacular shade of yellow, orange, green standing directly outside the East Wing as I look to the south..
I look at this tree in the bright sunshine with a slight breeze from the east moving all the leaves in harmony this early November Morning and notice the other trees and bushes in the yard also in tune with silent music heard only by the leaves and realize surly somewhere there in the wind there is the leader of the band. I just haven’t met him yet, but will.
How about that snow a week ago, so pretty, to me it’s still magic. As the snow fell, I lit the fireplace, sat on the floor in the East Wing and told stories to the girls (two dogs, one cat, one wife). The one wife didn’t come to the story telling.
It was a night to remember. I told Mustina’s favorite story about the “Three Little Dogs and the Big Bad Wolf”. The girl dogs love that story. Sophia the Cat said it was a stupid story, she never heard of a talking wolf.
For those of you that were unable to attend the Meet the Candidates Night at Grand Central two weeks ago on Oct. 22nd, you missed a lot. Too far gone to detail it out, but just say next time make it a point to come. It was worth the effort.Sure hope everyone is ready to vote. I’m almost. One way or the other we will give ourselves a new president.
That reminds me of the time I ran for president, the third grade, Tip Top, Kentucky. Now Tip Top was a company town way up in the mountains. The educational facilities at Tip Top in 1953 were somewhat more sparse than what we are accustom to seeing now days. Two room building, grades 1 – 7 in the larger room, grade 8 in a separate room. A single source heating system, pot belly stove, Both rooms. Air Conditioning System, windows that went up and down. Plumbing, outside, both sanitation and water(outhouse and well). Federal and State Financial Assistance, $00.00. Company school, company funded.
It was the springtime in the mountains, right near the end of the current school year, and Magoffin County was in the middle of a hotly contested primary election, it was from that background that I stepped in the political world.
The teacher, Miss Higgins, thought it a good idea to get us little hillbilly boys involved in politics early, after all our parents were shooting each other left and right over political differences and both sides buying votes at every possible opportunity. She explained that it would prepare us to take our places in society in the future if we understood how politics worked.
Miss Higgins would select two candidates and they would campaign for the votes and after the campaigning was all done we would vote. Well when the teacher said she would select the candidates we all knew she would select Tucker Bailey, cause Tucker Bailey was the teacher’s pet.
When ya go to a school with two rooms and a total enrollment of 32 students and 1 teacher, it don’t take long to figure out who’s the teacher’s pet. Later in life I could never quite figure out the fact that Tucker Bailey’s Dad owned the coal mine and the whole town plus he hired Miss Higgins, if that had anything with Tucker Bailey getting to be the teacher’s pet, or she if just liked him better than me. I just don’t know.
Miss Higgins said we needed candidates who could be president of the student body next school year, a person of leadership, a person who we all could admire, (at the time I didn’t know what admire was) a person who could get all us students working for the common good of Tip Top.
The teacher pointed out that the newly elected president would not take office until next school year so that meant the current eight graders could not qualify, but they would get to vote. Just like everybody in that school house knew she would, she said “My first candidate from the fifth grade is Tucker Bailey”. We were all about as surprised as when the sun came that morning.
It was Miss Higgins’s next statement that changes my life forever when she said “and running against Tucker is from the third grade Bobby Ray Howard”.Well I damn near fell off my seat, twice.
Having no political experience and a great deal of resentment of Tucker Bailey, he had the nicest house in Tip Top, his yard had grass, his house was painted, he had shoes year round, he wore church paints to school, he didn’t have to carry water, he had his own dog, while I had to share a dog with seven cousins, and the list went on and on.
I was just pain jealous of Tucker Bailey. I thought he had all the things that made people rich. He had all the stuff I didn’t have and I wanted um.
Miss Higgins told me and Tucker Bailey that the next day we were to give a speech to the whole school and then we would vote for the best one.
I was so afraid I didn’t want to go to school the next day but I did.Tucker Bailey came to school that morning in a new white shirt and a neck tie, yes a neck tie, Tucker Bailey wore a neck tie to school. I wore the same overalls from yesterday. Tucker Bailey wore shoes,,,shoes I’m telling ya Tucker Bailey was the only person besides Miss Higgins wearing shoes in that school house that day.
Tucker Bailey spoke first, he said what a great privilege it was going to be to be president of the school. He talked about making us all better citizens of Magoffin County. Tucker Bailey laid out his plan to organize next year’s 7th and 8th graders to remove all the rocks from the playground so the little kids would not get hurt from falling on the rocks. (we go more hurt from throwing than falling) Seeing if he could get his dad to paint the school building which would allow us more pride in our school ( I think Tucker Bailey’s mother wrote that little speech, cause he’s wasn’t that smart to use words like privilege)
When Tucker Bailey finished Miss Higgins lead the applause and congratulated Tucker Bailey on such a fine campaign speech. Miss Higgins then turned to me and with a somewhat snicker said “Now Bobby Ray are you ready?”
Boy was I ever not ready. Somehow I just never thought I’d really have to do this thing. With no thought in my mind what so ever I walked to the front of the room, both composing and practicing my speech as I walked.
I turned to face the electorate and said “If you’ll vote for me I’ll give ya a RC Cola and a Moon Pie”The school went wild. Everyone jumped to their feet clapping and yelling and stomping the floor. Miss Higgins had to ring the bell to get the kids back under control.
With fire in her eyes and I would swear a split tongue Miss Higgins looked into my very soul and said “Bobby Ray how you going to pay for those RC Colas and Moon Pies?” I said “I don’t know” She said “Bobby Ray where you going to get those RC Colas and Moon Pies?” I said “I don’t know”
Then with her best smile for the teacher’s little pet she said “ Tucker, honey you get to speak again”. I looked at Tucker Bailey and for the first time in my life felt sorry for him, he was about to cry and said “I don’t want to talk no more” Miss Higgins then asked me if I wanted to say anything else.
For the second time in my campaign I stood before the voters and said “If you’ll vote for me I’ll give you a RC Cola and a Moon Pie “ This time the bell didn’t work for three minutes. After Miss Higgins gained control of the school once again, we voted. Two girls from the 8th grade counted the votes. Final Vote: Tucker Bailey 1, Bobby Ray 31
I voted for Tucker Bailey that day. He voted for me, not because he wanted to but afraid he’d be the only one voting for Tucker Bailey. I looked that little boy in the eye that day and saw superciliousness turn to fear. At that point Tucker Bailey needed a friend more than anything else in the world. I was closest one to him so it was just my job. I became his friend right then and there.
I was to take office the start of school in September.My family and I moved to Indiana that summer 1953. Come September I started school in North Judson, not as the president, but just a 4th grader with political experience.I never delivered on my campaign promise of RC Colas and Moon Pies to the Tip Top School System. I wonder if they remembered. I bet Tucker Bailey did.
As I set in the East Wing still trying to make a decision on how to vote, I have this empty feeling that I have been offered a RC Cola and a Moon Pie. By both parties.
From the Howard Campaign Headquarters in the East Wing,
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
When Grandpa Wick Grew the Pot
Greeting to all, and welcome home to that group from the desert, you know who I’m talking bout!
It’s so cold Monday you’d think it early winter, evening came and morning followed. The second day, it’s raining on and off all day, evening came and morning followed. The third day, it’s sun shining and almost warm, but not quite. Then as the baseball season gets swinging, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Mother Nature hits the grand slam ! Is this spring time weather or what?
It seems like only yesterday I’m telling ya bout my Maple Tree outside the south window of the East Wing losing all its fall color. Well now it’s the other side of the coin. The buds are turning into baby leaves. The baby leaves are starting to unfold and all the while getting ready for a full season of good ole photosynthesis .
Now that’s a big ass word if there ever was one, that photosynthesis. I never expected to use that word when I went to school at Tip Top. I’m not even sure they had photosynthesis at Tip Top.
Photosynthesis is just a big word that simply means the process by which green plants and other organisms turn carbon dioxide and water into carbohydrates and oxygen, using light energy trapped by chlorophyll. Amazing thing, this photosynthesis, and ya gona love this, the byproduct of photosynthesis is the same oxygen we must have in order to breath, and the byproduct of us all breathing is the same carbon dioxide needed for plants to produce photosynthesis. Is that just too cool or what? And yes, that green pond scum stuff ya see floating on standing water in the summertime, photosynthesis.
Think I’ll call my mama up and tell her I know about photosynthesis, there was a time where she doubted if I’d ever know much of anything in this world, and it might make her feel good to think I know about photosynthesis. Now I’m not gona tell her I know about physics or any stuff like that, cause she wouldn’t believe me even if I said I knew. All mamas are the same, ya never become an adult in the eyes of your mother. Forever precious babies.
My mama lives on the edge of what was, during World War II, a 120 acre hemp field, yes, Cannabis, marijuana, dope, or whatever else ya want to call it. Just north of Toto it was grown as a product to make rope for the war effort. It continues to thrive in that area to this day despite efforts to irradiate its growth.
Years ago when my father, Wick Howard, was alive, one spring day a marijuana plant started to grow beside the steps leading into the house. My father watered and fertilized the plant. It grew as if a bean stalk clawing its way into the sky, just waiting for Jack. Now one of my father’s friends just happened to be the Sheriff of Starke County at the time, a fellow by the name of Gordon.
The sheriff was in the habit of stopping by every few weeks or so just to say hello to my dad. On one such visit he noticed the plant. Gordon said to my dad “Wick, you have a marijuana plant growing by your steps” My dad says “It’s my garden” Gordon says “It’s illegal to grow that plant” my dad says “It’s illegal to sell, not illegal to grow, and Gordon don’t forget I’m a Baptist Preacher and part of my responsibility to the Lord is to take care of his creations. I give that plant the same care and attention I do the squirrels when they come to eat the corn I stick on that nail at the feeder. The same attention as the birds I feed. Gordon I even plant flowers so the humming birds have something special to eat. Now it the Lord didn’t want me to take care of that marijuana seed then he would’ve planted it somewhere else, he didn’t, so I guess I just gotta take care of the marijuana plant this year.”
The Sheriff just smiled and said “ Can I at least come back and harvest your crop when its ready, so I can look good in the eyes of the Indiana State Police for doing my part in Marijuana control.” To which my dad replied “Gordon of course you can, now I know why God planted the seed here to begin with , he likes ya Gordon, and wants ya to look good to the Indiana State Police, so ya be sure to come back when my marijuana is ready and just pick to your heart’s content.”
And so it happened, when the time was right the sheriff came back with a photographer, harvested the huge marijuana plant, recorded it in photos, and thanked my dad for growing it and allowing him to pick marijuana at his door step.
I’ve always considered myself lucky to have been a part of that little story, just a fly on the wall, listening to conversations between two good friends having fun with the cards and playing their hands that life had dealt them both.
Precious Memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my sole. There’s one thing for sure, time never stops. Treasure every moment you have, and when you can, share it with someone special. To truly understand the importance of a friend….lose one.
I can hardly wait for butterflies to come by! I love butterflies. The neat thing about butterflies, they were all something else just a short time before ya see um as butterflies. Metamorphosis is what make butterflies. Now metamorphosis is just the process whereby things change from being one thing into another thing in the process of becoming an adult creature in their species.
Frogs do that metamorphosis thing too. Tadpoles to frogs, there ya go.
I’m for sure gona have to tell my mama I know about that metamorphosis thing too, she’ll be so proud. Two big words in one evening, WOW!
Another thing I look forward to seeing every year is humming birds, I think I told ya about holding a humming bird in my hands last year. Suffice it to say that holding a humming bird in your hands is a special gift from God. Not everybody holds a humming bird and lives to tell the story. I still get chills.
Thank you one and all for your kind words regarding my including the email from Iraq last week. I thought about that email for some time before I decided to share it with you. It was the right thing to do. I‘ve promised to never share the email addresses. I’ve not promised to not share the words from the desert. You need to know, and so do I.
You will be glad to hear that Pub Baby James, Mustina, finally dug up her first ground mole on Wednesday, she loved it to death, carried it around for the better part of three hours, played with the mole for a long time. She wanted to bring it into the house, but the 1cat, Sophia, firmly put her paw down on that idea.
Sophia, will not even talk to the 2girl dogs if they have been playing with the ground moles. It is beneath her dignity to associate with dogs playing with moles. The Republican Calico Cat does have an air about her.
The girl dogs digging holes in my yard have so such fun finding ground moles, I wouldn’t change it if I could, and I could easy enough by just killing off the food supply that attracts the mole to begin with. But then the only thing left for the 2dogs would be nothing but grass.
People who have perfect manicured lawns miss a lot in life. All that work and nothing in return except level green grass to which ya’ve become a slave. Ya’ve never had the pleasure of seeing nature working just the way God intended it to work in the first place, without chemicals or anything artificial , ya never get to see your dogs digging up ground moles and saying”gotya”.
It’s been such a pleasure enjoying your company on this most beautiful of April Evenings in this Spring Time of 2009. We so enjoy your company and all, 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife and I look forward to your next visit to the East Wing.
Stay Safe in Baghdad
From the East Wing, remembering when the Sheriff Picked the Pot
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
It’s so cold Monday you’d think it early winter, evening came and morning followed. The second day, it’s raining on and off all day, evening came and morning followed. The third day, it’s sun shining and almost warm, but not quite. Then as the baseball season gets swinging, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Mother Nature hits the grand slam ! Is this spring time weather or what?
It seems like only yesterday I’m telling ya bout my Maple Tree outside the south window of the East Wing losing all its fall color. Well now it’s the other side of the coin. The buds are turning into baby leaves. The baby leaves are starting to unfold and all the while getting ready for a full season of good ole photosynthesis .
Now that’s a big ass word if there ever was one, that photosynthesis. I never expected to use that word when I went to school at Tip Top. I’m not even sure they had photosynthesis at Tip Top.
Photosynthesis is just a big word that simply means the process by which green plants and other organisms turn carbon dioxide and water into carbohydrates and oxygen, using light energy trapped by chlorophyll. Amazing thing, this photosynthesis, and ya gona love this, the byproduct of photosynthesis is the same oxygen we must have in order to breath, and the byproduct of us all breathing is the same carbon dioxide needed for plants to produce photosynthesis. Is that just too cool or what? And yes, that green pond scum stuff ya see floating on standing water in the summertime, photosynthesis.
Think I’ll call my mama up and tell her I know about photosynthesis, there was a time where she doubted if I’d ever know much of anything in this world, and it might make her feel good to think I know about photosynthesis. Now I’m not gona tell her I know about physics or any stuff like that, cause she wouldn’t believe me even if I said I knew. All mamas are the same, ya never become an adult in the eyes of your mother. Forever precious babies.
My mama lives on the edge of what was, during World War II, a 120 acre hemp field, yes, Cannabis, marijuana, dope, or whatever else ya want to call it. Just north of Toto it was grown as a product to make rope for the war effort. It continues to thrive in that area to this day despite efforts to irradiate its growth.
Years ago when my father, Wick Howard, was alive, one spring day a marijuana plant started to grow beside the steps leading into the house. My father watered and fertilized the plant. It grew as if a bean stalk clawing its way into the sky, just waiting for Jack. Now one of my father’s friends just happened to be the Sheriff of Starke County at the time, a fellow by the name of Gordon.
The sheriff was in the habit of stopping by every few weeks or so just to say hello to my dad. On one such visit he noticed the plant. Gordon said to my dad “Wick, you have a marijuana plant growing by your steps” My dad says “It’s my garden” Gordon says “It’s illegal to grow that plant” my dad says “It’s illegal to sell, not illegal to grow, and Gordon don’t forget I’m a Baptist Preacher and part of my responsibility to the Lord is to take care of his creations. I give that plant the same care and attention I do the squirrels when they come to eat the corn I stick on that nail at the feeder. The same attention as the birds I feed. Gordon I even plant flowers so the humming birds have something special to eat. Now it the Lord didn’t want me to take care of that marijuana seed then he would’ve planted it somewhere else, he didn’t, so I guess I just gotta take care of the marijuana plant this year.”
The Sheriff just smiled and said “ Can I at least come back and harvest your crop when its ready, so I can look good in the eyes of the Indiana State Police for doing my part in Marijuana control.” To which my dad replied “Gordon of course you can, now I know why God planted the seed here to begin with , he likes ya Gordon, and wants ya to look good to the Indiana State Police, so ya be sure to come back when my marijuana is ready and just pick to your heart’s content.”
And so it happened, when the time was right the sheriff came back with a photographer, harvested the huge marijuana plant, recorded it in photos, and thanked my dad for growing it and allowing him to pick marijuana at his door step.
I’ve always considered myself lucky to have been a part of that little story, just a fly on the wall, listening to conversations between two good friends having fun with the cards and playing their hands that life had dealt them both.
Precious Memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my sole. There’s one thing for sure, time never stops. Treasure every moment you have, and when you can, share it with someone special. To truly understand the importance of a friend….lose one.
I can hardly wait for butterflies to come by! I love butterflies. The neat thing about butterflies, they were all something else just a short time before ya see um as butterflies. Metamorphosis is what make butterflies. Now metamorphosis is just the process whereby things change from being one thing into another thing in the process of becoming an adult creature in their species.
Frogs do that metamorphosis thing too. Tadpoles to frogs, there ya go.
I’m for sure gona have to tell my mama I know about that metamorphosis thing too, she’ll be so proud. Two big words in one evening, WOW!
Another thing I look forward to seeing every year is humming birds, I think I told ya about holding a humming bird in my hands last year. Suffice it to say that holding a humming bird in your hands is a special gift from God. Not everybody holds a humming bird and lives to tell the story. I still get chills.
Thank you one and all for your kind words regarding my including the email from Iraq last week. I thought about that email for some time before I decided to share it with you. It was the right thing to do. I‘ve promised to never share the email addresses. I’ve not promised to not share the words from the desert. You need to know, and so do I.
You will be glad to hear that Pub Baby James, Mustina, finally dug up her first ground mole on Wednesday, she loved it to death, carried it around for the better part of three hours, played with the mole for a long time. She wanted to bring it into the house, but the 1cat, Sophia, firmly put her paw down on that idea.
Sophia, will not even talk to the 2girl dogs if they have been playing with the ground moles. It is beneath her dignity to associate with dogs playing with moles. The Republican Calico Cat does have an air about her.
The girl dogs digging holes in my yard have so such fun finding ground moles, I wouldn’t change it if I could, and I could easy enough by just killing off the food supply that attracts the mole to begin with. But then the only thing left for the 2dogs would be nothing but grass.
People who have perfect manicured lawns miss a lot in life. All that work and nothing in return except level green grass to which ya’ve become a slave. Ya’ve never had the pleasure of seeing nature working just the way God intended it to work in the first place, without chemicals or anything artificial , ya never get to see your dogs digging up ground moles and saying”gotya”.
It’s been such a pleasure enjoying your company on this most beautiful of April Evenings in this Spring Time of 2009. We so enjoy your company and all, 2dogs, 1cat, 1wife and I look forward to your next visit to the East Wing.
Stay Safe in Baghdad
From the East Wing, remembering when the Sheriff Picked the Pot
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The White Tail of BuckyBoy
Greeting to all, and welcome to those visiting the East Wing for the first time.
I’ve spent most all my life in the company of both dogs and cats. Love um all, but the most remembered pet I’ve had was neither dog nor cat, was a rabbit. Yes, a giant white rabbit by the name of BuckyBoy.
Now me and Bucky Boy crossed paths in 1950, I was 6 years old and Bucky Boy was 6 months old. I think that’s about 21 in rabbit years. Bucky Boy hopped into my life as a direct result of a horrendous murder. The damn milk man killed my dog!
In Dorton Kentucky ya got your milk every day, or how often ya wanted, from the milk man. He drove a little truck that looked a lot like a scaled down version of the UPS Truck. Only it was white and not brown and said milk on the side not UPS. But the doors were the same and in the summer time the milk man would drive with the door open, just like the UPS guy does today. The milk man’s name was Charlie. Charlie always waved to us kids. He didn’t give us any free milk but we liked him anyway. Charlie always wore a white uniform and a whit cap, just like his little truck.
When ya went to school at Dorton, ya walked. About a mile each way, uphill, both ways. On an early spring morning I’m getting ready to walk to school with my two older sisters when Charlie the Milk Man pulls the little UPS like milk truck into our driveway. He brings the milk up on the porch in a little yellow wire basket, trades the full basket for the empty return basket and gets in his truck and starts to back out the driveway.
Just as I step onto the porch to go to school, the most blood curdling sound ya can ever imagine splits the warm morning air , it’s as if a thunder bolt from hell had been delivered by the devil himself, as Charlie backs over my dog.
Now Charlie stopped the little truck, on the wrong side of my dog. He jumped out ran back and reached under the truck, pulled out my dog, and sure enough, dead as a post. Charlie said how sorry he was he killed my dog, how bad he felt. He felt! It wasn’t his dog. I was the one feeling bad, until I realize that if I cried a lot I wouldn’t have to go to school that day with my dog getting killed and all. So boy did I ever turn on the tears and cry a lot. Charlie felt so bad, he went into the little milk truck and got me one of those little glass jars of milk. I had never had one of those before, just seen um.
I didn’t have to go to school that day, my mama said it was ok to stay home. My mama helped me bury my dog that day. She asked me if I wanted to say anything about my dog. Right there at Dorton Kentucky, in front of God and my mama, was the first time I preached the gospel of pets, according to BobbyRay. My mama put her arm around me when we walked back to the house. I was glad she did.
The next time Charlie the Milk Man came, he walked up to the house with that little yellow wire basket set it down, picked up the empty return basket went back to the truck and came back out of the truck carrying a big brown box. Set the box on the grass and said “come over here BobbyRay”. Wanting to see what’s in the box, I’m more than willing to go over and take a peek inside.
Inside is the whitest biggest live thing I ever saw, it’s bigger than my dead dog! Charlie says he hope this will make up for the other day. I looked in that big box and didn’t know what to say. One thing I knew for sure, it’s not a dog in that brown box. I say “what is it?” Charlie says “Why it’s big buck rabbit” I say “what’s a buck rabbit?” Charlie says “it’s a boy rabbit.” then he says “what ya gona name him BobbyRay”
Not having a lot of experience in rabbit naming, but I was doing pretty good in arithmetic in the first grade, so knowing the rabbit was both a buck and a boy. One plus one. Walla! BuckyBoy hopped into my life.
BuckyBoy learned my name real quick, I think cause it’s so close to his, BobbyRay and BuckyBoy, or maybe Charlie had already told him my name. Me and BuckyBoy became friends before the sun went down that day. It’s hard not to be friends with a rabbit. It didn’t take long for BuckyBoy to take the dog’s place in our family. I had a big cat named Roger, but BuckyBoy was a lot bigger than Roger, so Roger made friends with BuckyBoy real quick. They got along fine, BuckyBoy and that cat.
Most houses at Dorton KY, are built on stacked stone columns some 30” or so high. Now that may seem like an unusual way to build a foundation for a house, It all has to do with the creek rising, and we’ll talk about that some other time.
BuckyBoy took up residence under my house. The house was high enough for me to visit BuckyBoy at his new home, which I did often. We played together, me and BuckyBoy. We ran, we walked, we hopped, we sat, we napped on blankets under shade trees, we wadded in the creek, really I wadded, BuckyBoy just hopped along beside the creek, but what I liked most of all was just holding BuckyBoy in my lap and petting his ever so soft white fur. The more ya petted BuckyBoy the whiter he got.
My mama raised chickens, kept them in a fenced in area maybe 20 x 20 or so, don’t remember how many but she had a bunch. She fed and watered her chickens every morning at the same time. It didn’t take BuckyBoy long to figure out that routine. BuckyBoy started going along to feed the chickens. One day as my mama was putting out the chicken feed, well BuckyBoy decided he’d try a bite. That’s all it took, from that day on BuckyBoy ate when the chickens ate.
One day BuckyBoy was so excited about eating the chicken feed he didn’t notice my mama leaving the chicken pen. BuckyBoy got locked in with the chickens and stayed there till I came home from school. Did ya ever see a mad rabbit? From that day on when my mama started toward the gait, BuckyBoy beat her there.
A couple weeks after BuckyBoy arrived my dad decided that we as a family could make some money with BuckyBoy, raising and selling rabbits. He set about building rabbit hutches. Little boxes made of screen wire on the sides and bottom so the rabbit poop can fall out. Rabbit poop is kinda cool, little round balls like gum balls only really dark brown and they don’t smell. Rabbits make a lot of um every day. After my dad built the rabbit houses, he went somewhere and got the wives of BuckyBoy. It didn’t take long.
In a few weeks we’re in the rabbit production business full force, and ole BuckyBoy, well he’s just more than willing to do all he could do for the family business. Sometimes rabbits can smile like cats when they’re working.
A rabbit gestation period is on a 31 to 32 day cycle, and can have 1 to 12 babies each pregnancy. One female rabbit can have six litters per year. We had six females. Do the math.
By the end of summer we were running over with rabbits. Even with the new rabbits boxes my dad built we ran out of room to put more rabbits. We had 122 rabbits, not counting BuckyBoy. Then my dad said it was time to sell the rabbits.
SELL THE RABBITS !! SELL BUCKYBOY’S LITTLE BABIES!!!!! My sisters and me, well we just threw a fit and a half. We would not, could not ever, ever in our lifetime sell the babies of BuckyBoy. They were family, those babies of BuckyBoy.
The upcoming weekend was Labor Day, that year 1950. My father announced that the family would go to South Fork for the holiday. ( I haven’t even started to tell ya about South Fork yet) We went to South Fork, got hugged by our grandma and grandpa, played in the cool waters of South Fork, ate Moon Pies at grandpa & grandma’s store, were told scary stories at night as only our Uncle Hagins could tell. Listened to the rain on the tin roof of grandma’s house. Then went home three days after we came to South Fork. All the other times we went to South Fork, we stayed for two weeks.
When we got home BuckyBoy and all his babies were gone. All his wives were gone. All the rabbit houses were gone. Nothing remained of BuckyBoy or his family. The rabbit poop was even gone. I cried a lot, for a long time that day and night.
The next day we started back to school again. As I walked out of the yard to go to school, Charlie the Milk Man in that little truck waved at me as he pulled into the driveway. He didn’t even know about BuckyBoy. I cried some more on the way to school that morning as I walked along by myself. Somewhere between my house and the school house I got ready to be a second grader. The only thing I knew for sure as I walked down that road toward the second grade was, in April I traded a dead dog for BuckyBoy, now come September, I traded BuckyBoy for precious memories.
By the time I got to school that morning most of the kids were already inside, so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stepped into the second grade, and as I did so made myself a promise, “ I’ll never forget you BuckyBoy”
Gentle rabbit, that BuckyBoy. It’s hard not to like a rabbit.
That Friday, after being a second grader for a whole week, and growing up a lot, my dad came home with a six week old blond cocker spaniel pup. My sisters played with that dog, but nobody in my family would name the little dog, it was a girl. That little girl dog had been at my house for three days before I even picked her up. She licked my chin. I named her Blondie and cried cause I still missed BuckyBoy, but it’s hard not to like Blond Cocker Spaniel Pup.
When I told this story to the 2dogs and 1cat, the girl dogs cried, the 1cat said “what the hell! Why ya even thinking about a stupid rabbit that couldn’t even talk, ya got me,,, you’re lucky.” Then she gave me that little smile that so much reminded me of BuckyBoy when he worked.
Guess I’m lucky to have that cat, even if she is a Calico Republican.
As always, your company is such a pleasure and a joy this second Sunday of May, a most beautiful of spring days. I sit in the cool darkness of this evening with the girl dogs asleep nearby, 1wife asleep on the couch in the living room, and 1cat walking around on the back of my chair wanting to know when I’m gona talk about the President some more. She says “ I still got issues ya know” and so she does along with most other republicans. I saw her new list last Tuesday. Interesting list.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing this beautiful Sunday Evening, remembering a friend of mine, BuckyBoy
I wish you well
BobbyRay
I’ve spent most all my life in the company of both dogs and cats. Love um all, but the most remembered pet I’ve had was neither dog nor cat, was a rabbit. Yes, a giant white rabbit by the name of BuckyBoy.
Now me and Bucky Boy crossed paths in 1950, I was 6 years old and Bucky Boy was 6 months old. I think that’s about 21 in rabbit years. Bucky Boy hopped into my life as a direct result of a horrendous murder. The damn milk man killed my dog!
In Dorton Kentucky ya got your milk every day, or how often ya wanted, from the milk man. He drove a little truck that looked a lot like a scaled down version of the UPS Truck. Only it was white and not brown and said milk on the side not UPS. But the doors were the same and in the summer time the milk man would drive with the door open, just like the UPS guy does today. The milk man’s name was Charlie. Charlie always waved to us kids. He didn’t give us any free milk but we liked him anyway. Charlie always wore a white uniform and a whit cap, just like his little truck.
When ya went to school at Dorton, ya walked. About a mile each way, uphill, both ways. On an early spring morning I’m getting ready to walk to school with my two older sisters when Charlie the Milk Man pulls the little UPS like milk truck into our driveway. He brings the milk up on the porch in a little yellow wire basket, trades the full basket for the empty return basket and gets in his truck and starts to back out the driveway.
Just as I step onto the porch to go to school, the most blood curdling sound ya can ever imagine splits the warm morning air , it’s as if a thunder bolt from hell had been delivered by the devil himself, as Charlie backs over my dog.
Now Charlie stopped the little truck, on the wrong side of my dog. He jumped out ran back and reached under the truck, pulled out my dog, and sure enough, dead as a post. Charlie said how sorry he was he killed my dog, how bad he felt. He felt! It wasn’t his dog. I was the one feeling bad, until I realize that if I cried a lot I wouldn’t have to go to school that day with my dog getting killed and all. So boy did I ever turn on the tears and cry a lot. Charlie felt so bad, he went into the little milk truck and got me one of those little glass jars of milk. I had never had one of those before, just seen um.
I didn’t have to go to school that day, my mama said it was ok to stay home. My mama helped me bury my dog that day. She asked me if I wanted to say anything about my dog. Right there at Dorton Kentucky, in front of God and my mama, was the first time I preached the gospel of pets, according to BobbyRay. My mama put her arm around me when we walked back to the house. I was glad she did.
The next time Charlie the Milk Man came, he walked up to the house with that little yellow wire basket set it down, picked up the empty return basket went back to the truck and came back out of the truck carrying a big brown box. Set the box on the grass and said “come over here BobbyRay”. Wanting to see what’s in the box, I’m more than willing to go over and take a peek inside.
Inside is the whitest biggest live thing I ever saw, it’s bigger than my dead dog! Charlie says he hope this will make up for the other day. I looked in that big box and didn’t know what to say. One thing I knew for sure, it’s not a dog in that brown box. I say “what is it?” Charlie says “Why it’s big buck rabbit” I say “what’s a buck rabbit?” Charlie says “it’s a boy rabbit.” then he says “what ya gona name him BobbyRay”
Not having a lot of experience in rabbit naming, but I was doing pretty good in arithmetic in the first grade, so knowing the rabbit was both a buck and a boy. One plus one. Walla! BuckyBoy hopped into my life.
BuckyBoy learned my name real quick, I think cause it’s so close to his, BobbyRay and BuckyBoy, or maybe Charlie had already told him my name. Me and BuckyBoy became friends before the sun went down that day. It’s hard not to be friends with a rabbit. It didn’t take long for BuckyBoy to take the dog’s place in our family. I had a big cat named Roger, but BuckyBoy was a lot bigger than Roger, so Roger made friends with BuckyBoy real quick. They got along fine, BuckyBoy and that cat.
Most houses at Dorton KY, are built on stacked stone columns some 30” or so high. Now that may seem like an unusual way to build a foundation for a house, It all has to do with the creek rising, and we’ll talk about that some other time.
BuckyBoy took up residence under my house. The house was high enough for me to visit BuckyBoy at his new home, which I did often. We played together, me and BuckyBoy. We ran, we walked, we hopped, we sat, we napped on blankets under shade trees, we wadded in the creek, really I wadded, BuckyBoy just hopped along beside the creek, but what I liked most of all was just holding BuckyBoy in my lap and petting his ever so soft white fur. The more ya petted BuckyBoy the whiter he got.
My mama raised chickens, kept them in a fenced in area maybe 20 x 20 or so, don’t remember how many but she had a bunch. She fed and watered her chickens every morning at the same time. It didn’t take BuckyBoy long to figure out that routine. BuckyBoy started going along to feed the chickens. One day as my mama was putting out the chicken feed, well BuckyBoy decided he’d try a bite. That’s all it took, from that day on BuckyBoy ate when the chickens ate.
One day BuckyBoy was so excited about eating the chicken feed he didn’t notice my mama leaving the chicken pen. BuckyBoy got locked in with the chickens and stayed there till I came home from school. Did ya ever see a mad rabbit? From that day on when my mama started toward the gait, BuckyBoy beat her there.
A couple weeks after BuckyBoy arrived my dad decided that we as a family could make some money with BuckyBoy, raising and selling rabbits. He set about building rabbit hutches. Little boxes made of screen wire on the sides and bottom so the rabbit poop can fall out. Rabbit poop is kinda cool, little round balls like gum balls only really dark brown and they don’t smell. Rabbits make a lot of um every day. After my dad built the rabbit houses, he went somewhere and got the wives of BuckyBoy. It didn’t take long.
In a few weeks we’re in the rabbit production business full force, and ole BuckyBoy, well he’s just more than willing to do all he could do for the family business. Sometimes rabbits can smile like cats when they’re working.
A rabbit gestation period is on a 31 to 32 day cycle, and can have 1 to 12 babies each pregnancy. One female rabbit can have six litters per year. We had six females. Do the math.
By the end of summer we were running over with rabbits. Even with the new rabbits boxes my dad built we ran out of room to put more rabbits. We had 122 rabbits, not counting BuckyBoy. Then my dad said it was time to sell the rabbits.
SELL THE RABBITS !! SELL BUCKYBOY’S LITTLE BABIES!!!!! My sisters and me, well we just threw a fit and a half. We would not, could not ever, ever in our lifetime sell the babies of BuckyBoy. They were family, those babies of BuckyBoy.
The upcoming weekend was Labor Day, that year 1950. My father announced that the family would go to South Fork for the holiday. ( I haven’t even started to tell ya about South Fork yet) We went to South Fork, got hugged by our grandma and grandpa, played in the cool waters of South Fork, ate Moon Pies at grandpa & grandma’s store, were told scary stories at night as only our Uncle Hagins could tell. Listened to the rain on the tin roof of grandma’s house. Then went home three days after we came to South Fork. All the other times we went to South Fork, we stayed for two weeks.
When we got home BuckyBoy and all his babies were gone. All his wives were gone. All the rabbit houses were gone. Nothing remained of BuckyBoy or his family. The rabbit poop was even gone. I cried a lot, for a long time that day and night.
The next day we started back to school again. As I walked out of the yard to go to school, Charlie the Milk Man in that little truck waved at me as he pulled into the driveway. He didn’t even know about BuckyBoy. I cried some more on the way to school that morning as I walked along by myself. Somewhere between my house and the school house I got ready to be a second grader. The only thing I knew for sure as I walked down that road toward the second grade was, in April I traded a dead dog for BuckyBoy, now come September, I traded BuckyBoy for precious memories.
By the time I got to school that morning most of the kids were already inside, so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stepped into the second grade, and as I did so made myself a promise, “ I’ll never forget you BuckyBoy”
Gentle rabbit, that BuckyBoy. It’s hard not to like a rabbit.
That Friday, after being a second grader for a whole week, and growing up a lot, my dad came home with a six week old blond cocker spaniel pup. My sisters played with that dog, but nobody in my family would name the little dog, it was a girl. That little girl dog had been at my house for three days before I even picked her up. She licked my chin. I named her Blondie and cried cause I still missed BuckyBoy, but it’s hard not to like Blond Cocker Spaniel Pup.
When I told this story to the 2dogs and 1cat, the girl dogs cried, the 1cat said “what the hell! Why ya even thinking about a stupid rabbit that couldn’t even talk, ya got me,,, you’re lucky.” Then she gave me that little smile that so much reminded me of BuckyBoy when he worked.
Guess I’m lucky to have that cat, even if she is a Calico Republican.
As always, your company is such a pleasure and a joy this second Sunday of May, a most beautiful of spring days. I sit in the cool darkness of this evening with the girl dogs asleep nearby, 1wife asleep on the couch in the living room, and 1cat walking around on the back of my chair wanting to know when I’m gona talk about the President some more. She says “ I still got issues ya know” and so she does along with most other republicans. I saw her new list last Tuesday. Interesting list.
Stay safe in Baghdad and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing this beautiful Sunday Evening, remembering a friend of mine, BuckyBoy
I wish you well
BobbyRay
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