Greetings to all, and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
“ Hell hast no fury like a cat scorned”. “Few things in life are more dangerous than a scorned cat. The cat’s scorned. Sophia’s on the war path and looking for democrats all. She doesn’t have to put on the war paint, it’s built in and ready, and now the cat’s ready too. Hell hast no fury….
Sophia tells me that for a full year she laughed at and ignored the democrats on their health care thing. Knowing full well it effected people only, not cats. Says she even made fun of the whole thing, took it all is as just a people joke. The cat was wrong. On page one thousand nine hundred twenty three of two thousand seven hundred ninety six pages, the second paragraph on that page identifies how the Veterinary Health Care Program is to be rationed out under, as Sophia puts it, “the democrat disaster”.
All Veterinary Medicine is to fall under the new system. All those currently working in the field of Veterinary Medicine are to be mustered in as Federal Employees no later than May 1, 2010.
To ensure that the utmost care and consideration for all of God’s creatures is guaranteed, the President looked long and hard to find the most qualified of all candidates to head up these extremely vital social programs. After close to a year of deliberation, and the weeding out process of candidates from across the nation, the President has selected the Rev. Jessie Jackson the person appointed by the President to head up the Feline Division of the Veterinary Care Administration. The Rev. Jackson’s official title is the “Cat Czar”.
The Rev Jackson will occupy office spaces in Chicago, on the south side of Chicago, the baddest part of town, in an area formerly controlled and occupied by a man named Lee Roy Brown. The Rev Jackson is expected to set up shop in a South Side Cat House. With his background and experience in such matters, President Obama has expressed this confidence that the Rev. Jackson to do quite well in a Cat House. Sophia is furious. She swears retaliation for those responsible for such atrocities on the American Cat Nation.
Sophia said, she, as the official spokes cat for the NRCCC (National Republican Calico Cat Conference) she will carry the message from cats across the country directly to the White House, that she will never tire until the people’s White House is occupied by a good cat, not a democrat.
As the NRCCC Spokes Cat, Sophia said the she considers President Obama the most worthless piece of democrat crap to ever bubble up through the bowls of a corrupt Illinois political system, even more crap than the former governor Milorad "Rod" Blagojevich and the current Mayor Dailey. The cat does come on strong, from time to time, when she lights up the war paint.
She tells that all cats are now required to purchase their own Veterinary Medicine Insurance before the first day of summer 2010. Cats not in compliance with the VMIP (Veterinary Medicine Insurance Program) are to be rounded up and subjected to a micro chip implanted in their brain, which will allow satellite monitoring anywhere on earth. Any cat seeking medical services without being enrolled in the VMIP will be disposed of from the office of the Cat Czar by remote control under the direct orders issued from the White House, which is the enforcing authority of the new Veterinary Medicine Care Law.
What really got Sophia’s goat was when she found out that all Registered Republican Calico Cats are to be assessed and additional 15% surtax onto their VMIP, due to a democrat funded research study in 2008 which established that Republican Calico Cats have a higher blood pressure than democratic girldogs and as such, are a higher health care risk as they are more apt to require health service from any new system.
The 2girldogs have no problem at all with the new health care system, they are quite pleased that the President has named Rev. Al Sharpton the director of the Canine Division of the Vet Care Administration. The Rev. Al and the Canine Division of will be enshrined in the new 500 million dollar Vet Care Administration complex in the heart of Detroit City. Rev. Al’s official title is “Big Dog of Detroit” The Detroit City complex is a small part of the administration’s plan to revitalize the intercity of America, starting with downtown Detroit.
As for the requirement to purchase dog health care insurance, the 2girldogs qualify for the government assistance program, and as such they will not be required to pay for their own insurance coverage, that means Sophia will have to subsidize the 2girldogs’s insurance. Just another reason the cat’s blood pressure boils.
Sophia says the health care law is the first step that our government has taken to mandate how we spend our money. The Pup Baby says “what money, I don’t have any money”. Then Sophia told the Pup Baby a story ‘bout a fellow in Europe many years ago, back in the 1800’s who had an idea ‘bout how things should work with everybody living happy ever after, with the government taking care of things for all. I believe she said his name was Marx, I think she said his first name was Carl, ‘cept he spelled it with a K. She said he summarized his approach to society in the first line of chapter one of a book he wrote, called his book his “Communist Manifesto”, wrote that book back in 1848: "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles."
Interesting that the cat would bring up such a topic in light of the fact that our government has in effect taken control of 1/6th of our economy, after taking control of the banking, insurance and American automobile industry all in less than two years. And all the while increasing the national debt fourfold without as much as a whimper from many. A change ya can believe in? Sometimes you’re wrong in what ya thank is right.
How’d like Joe Biden laying the ole F--- word on worldwide TV? Now I’ve never been a Joe Biden fan and make no bones ‘bout it, but that one stepped over more than a line. That stepped into the realm of national embarrassment. And to compound the issue, the President condoned the language, when the next morning is quoted as saying “the best thing about yesterday was Joe’s comment”.
When the Vice President of the United States lays the “F” word on the President of the United States and the President laughs it off, how can society expect a cleaner language from anybody. I expect to next hear the “F” word from the President’s own Press Secretary, after all, if he allows his Vice President to use offensive language, I’m sure there will be no objection for the Press Secretary using the same words as the Vice President uses in public.
In fact, the President has rewarded the Vice President for having quick wit in coming up with such an appropriate introduction for the health care bill signing into law, the President has appointed Joe Biden to become the “Language Czar” and expects the Vice President to come up with a listing of inappropriate words which will be illegal to be spoken by any citizen under the age of 40. The Vice President is expected to complete his list within 5 years. Or when voted out of office, whichever comes first. The Vice President indicated that he may rely on the Rap Music Industry in a consulting capacity.
Five Billion Dollars of the Stimulus Money has been made available to properly fund the work of the “Language Czar”. Language consultants don’t come cheap.
A few weeks ago I proposed no one use language that ya wouldn’t say to your mother or grandmother. I still sick to that proposal. I gotta, I still take my mama to lunch every Friday at Richards of Toto, and today, this Palm Sunday, I also took mama to lunch at Richards of Toto. It was during the small talk time at the table, that time between placing the order and the food arriving, that mama said “Did ya happen to hear what the Vice President said on TV the other day?” I said “yes mama I heard”, she said “if you’d ever say something like that in public, I’d make it a point to slap your face on live TV. I’d call channel 22 from South Bend and have ‘em come down just to show the world that in the Howard Family we don’t go for that kinda dirty talk.” I hope Joe Biden never meets my mama in person, she may decide to dish out her own form of justice delayed.
With the passing of my brother-in-law, Ed, I’ve just been reluctant to unpack my telescope and star gaze. For those who may not know the story, Ed gave me the telescope as a Christmas present a few years ago, and we talked a lot ‘bout stargazing. Ed had a great telescope but for the last several years of his life, health issues prevented him from stargazing. Well, I had marked on my calendar some time back the date of March 25th.
March 25th was to be the best time to look at the planet Mars this year. All the conditions were just right to allow the best view of Mars. March 24th I woke to bright sunshine, and I’m thinking it’s gona be a great day, and it was. The 25th, I woke to the rain and dark foreboding clouds. On the way to work, I’m listening to a weather forecast that don’t hold out much hope for clear sky at night. Last Thursday night was cold and cloudy, really cold and really cloudy. I must have gone outside 10 time over the course of the evening just to see if there was any chance of a break in the clouds. There was none, oh well, there will always be another night, another time to gaze at the stars. Particularly since the latest estimate of stars in the universe just increased by at least a billion, a billion estimated new stars added to the ones we already estimated about. Ya can’t help but wonder, how can ya miss a billion stars? That’s a lot. Summer stargazing with warm breezes, I’m looking forward to stargazing with my adopted grand boys and girl. We’ll stargaze on the north deck come the summertime.
Gray Lady James, the Captain of the 2girldog team, seems to be demonstrating signs of extreme old age. The Gray Lady came to me one day in November 1999, starved, abused and pregnant. I gave her food shelter and a warm place to have a baby. She had one baby in January 2000. The Pup Baby, Mustina James. And now there are signs that the end of the Gray Lady’s life is drawing closer. I’m glad all good dogs go to heaven. She’ll laugh and she’ll play in heaven, and wait for her Pup Baby.
I’m amazed at how many people buried animals in the summer time just for something to do. ‘Bout half my email last week referred to doing just that, and as usual the other half was email to the cat. It’s kinda funny, but I can rant and rave all I want and very few will take the time to say anything ‘bout it one way or the other, but let Sophia the Republican Cat say something and I then spend 3 or 4 hours the next week answering her email. Damn Republican Cat!
Even with the cold of last Thursday night, it’s getting SOOO close to dirt digging. I love digging in the dirt in the springtime. Something ‘bout dirt digging and planting a garden, must be a hillbilly thing or something, ‘cause every year toward the end of March, I’m looking to dig in the dirt.
I love to plant gardens, they never grow very well, but I sure do like to do ‘em. Maybe this year things will grow differently and I’ll have major corps in everything I plant. Done that upside down tomato bag last year. Wasted $19.99 and the tomatoes didn’t work in the bag as well as in the big planters on the pool deck. Maybe that’s why the other day I saw one of those upside down tomato bags for sale at the Dollar General Store for $5.00 Oh well, at least I didn’t buy two last year. I almost did.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan,
From the East Wing, With a Mad Cat, 2 Happy girldogs, VP & The “F” Word, Stargazing, Dirt Digging Hillbilly.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
From the East Wing With a Dog Along The Way, The Toto Volunteers, and The Funeral Church of Toto
Greetings to all, and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
On the way home the other day, driving out here in the country, no house within ½ mile or so, I saw something in the road a ways up ahead. As I got closer, I realized it was a dog that had been hit by a car or maybe a truck. Either way it was easy to tell the dog was dead.
It was a big dog in the middle of the road. I stopped to move the dog to the side of the road, which I did. But on the way home I just couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout that dog. Got to thinking ‘bout an old song I once heard sung in a black church in Weeksbury KY. When I was just a kid, went there with my dad.
He was some mother’s baby
He was some mother’s child
Once he was fair
And once he was mild.
But Some mother rocked him
Her baby to sleep
But they left him to die
Like a tramp on the street
He was a pretty dog, part shepherd, maybe part retriever, and I believe a big part just good ole boy dog. Brown and white and, even in death, ya could just tell, he was a good dog. He looked much too young to die that day..
By the time I got home the decision had already been made, I’d go back and bury the dog close to where he died there on the road. I got the shovel and took the post hole diggers along just in case the ground was still frozen at the puppy cemetery in which I was about to dig.
The ground was not frozen and the digging was easy. One good thing ‘bout Starke County Sand, ya can dig holes easy most everywhere. As I buried one of God’s neglected creatures right there close beside where he died, I got to thinking ‘bout how much fun we had a kids in downtown Toto burring whatever animal that happened to die in Toto or along the roads for miles around.
We didn’t have the Boys and Girls Club for summer activity in downtown Toto, but we did have the Army, officially known as the Toto Volunteers and we had the Funeral Church. Now both these organizations served the public interest of Toto with a great deal of community pride. I was active in both groups. I served as the general in the army and the preacher at the church.
We were an army of 12, with 7 bb guns, 12 sling shots, 6 wagons and 4 bicycles, 14 dogs and 6 little brothers. The job of our army was much like the job of any army today. We protected our stuff. We protected Toto. We protected each other. We were proud, we were brave, we were the Toto Volunteers. We still are.
The Funeral Church was different, we didn’t protect stuff, we took care of God’s dead creatures. Jobs were assigned to most everybody. Those who owned wagons got the job of finding corpses so we could have funerals. Sometimes we would go for days with nothing to bury, and all of a sudden we would get a bunch of stuff and have to have two or even three funerals in one day.
I remember one day I preached so much and so loud that my voice hurt when I talked. Back then preaching was a tuff job, with no loud speakers or anything like they got today. Today ya don’t have to yell even if you’re preaching to a crowd.
Now with my dad being a Baptist Preacher, I had plenty of opportunity to attend many people funerals. That’s why I decided that I should be the Preacher at the Funeral Church. And besides, there was no one else who knew how to preach except me, and another thing was that every boy in the Funeral Church was also in the Toto Volunteers and I was the general in that army.
We had people assigned to sing and people assigned to cry. People assigned to pray and people assigned to shout, and people assigned to testify . People assigned to gather the flowers and people assigned to dig the graves. Most everybody, ‘cept me took turns being “the family”. I couldn’t take my turn, ‘cause I had to do the preaching. Now the family of the deceased had to cry a lot and carry on more than the rest of ‘em at the funeral.
Most of the time we didn’t have any, but If we did have any money on the days we had funerals, the “family members” for that day got to decide what we would buy with the money. Whatever was bought was divided by the number of people who attended the funeral. I had a pocket knife and I divided it up with my knife. I can still to this day cut a candy bar into 20 slices if I have to. It may be harder today, Milky Way’s are a lot smaller now than then. Twinkie’s are a lot less too, but they cut easier.
It was a rare day that we had enough money for a bottle of pop, but if we did, ya took a swig and passed it on. Now if ya took too much drink and someone yelled doubles, then we voted and if ya lost, ya missed the next round of drinks when it’s your turn. We watched each other drink real close.
One time a wagon came back from a collection trip with a snake, we had a lot of people who didn’t want to bury a snake. One girl who’s turn it was to get flowers for the funeral said there was no such thing as snake flowers and she’s wasn’t gona go look for any flowers for a snake, ever. I knew that something had to be done real fast or else I’m gona have a big mess on my hands ‘bout this dead snake.
So I goes over and look at the snake one more time and say “has anybody ever seen an eel?” Nobody had ever seen and eel in their whole life. So I say “I don’t think that’s’ a snake, I think that’s an eel.” One boy said he thought it was still a snake, so I said we would all vote, and if it’s was a snake we wouldn’t have a funeral, we’d just go throw it in the ditch, but if it’s an eel, then God would want us to bury the eel.
The vote was 14 to nothing in favor of the eel. We buried that eel in our cemetery, right next to the little red squirrel from the day before. I was so glad that it turned out to be an eel, ‘cause I sure didn’t want to preach the funeral of dead a snake.
It was several years later before I saw another eel, and it just didn’t seem to look very much like the eel we buried in Downtown Toto in 1955.
Sometimes the Funeral Church was fun and sometimes it was sad. Now when someone’s own dog or cat got killed and we had to do a real pet funeral, that was sad. But one thing I learned from my dad ‘bout preaching the funerals was, never preach ‘em into hell. So I never did.
That was the way of some hillbilly Baptist Preachers back then, when a person died and had not professed their Christianity from the hilltops, some of those Baptist Preachers had the fortitude to stand up and preach the dead sinner into the depths of hell. They called those type the “Hard Shell Baptist”, now these same Hard Shell Baptist also believed they’d be the only ones who’d enter in the Kingdom of Heaven.
My dad had a different point of view on that sorta thing, “God don’t judge man until after he dies, so why should I”, I heard my dad say many times. He also said that whatever words that are spoken at any funeral are for those in attendance, not the deceased, so speak kind and gentle words at all funerals. I always did.
One day somebody found a frog that had been run over ‘bout a hundred twenty seven times on the road. Well, when the collector brought this frog in, everybody laughed and laughed, ‘cause we seldom every got anything round like a plate, dead as a frog.
One of the boys said we should bury the frog in a round hole, and his dad had a post hole digger that he could get. He went home and came back dragging the post hole digger. The problem we had to deal with right up front was, the post hole digger was too tall. In fact, the post hole digger was taller than any of the boys. That post hole digger was taller than everybody ‘cept one girl, and she’d never seen a post hole digger in her whole life, but she was taller than a post hole digger.
Me and the boy who got his dad’s post hole digger tried to make it work, but it turns out that post hole diggers are for bigger boys than we were, and two can’t do it, only one can make a post hole digger dig holes. So the regular grave diggers dug the grave for the frog with their shovels. They made is kinda round, but not real round, it was kinda like egg round, but it fit the frog good, ‘cause the frog was not real round either. The frog was kinda egg round too.
The flower girl for that day got some of that green stuff that grows on ponds in the summer time. She thought it would be good for the frog funeral. Everybody agreed that it was just the right kind a flowers for a round dead frog funeral. That same day the collectors had found enough returnable pop bottles for the Funeral Church to purchase a 12oz Pepsi. We watched each other drink real close.
Memories of the Toto Funeral Church were interrupted when a car stopped beside me and asked if I needed help. I said no, I was just burying a dog that had been killed on the road today.
It was just almost totally dark when the last shovel full went into place on that grave site, and then, in the presence of God and only the little night creatures that make the sounds of the springtime, I Preached the Gospel according to BobbyRay for a brown and white dog I had never known.
It was a sad feeling when I thought ‘bout what a short life this pretty dog had lived, and wondered if he ever met the 2girldogs. As I turned away and started walking to my car, and looking up into the cold night sky, I was so happy to see that brown and white dog running and playing with the Angels, ‘cause everybody knows that all good dogs go to heaven.
When I got home that night, they all knew, they just knew, the 2girldogs Sophia, Sarah and the Angel, they all knew. I don’t know how, but, they did. I had not much more than sat down when Sophia climbed onto my lap and laid down, something she had never done in her whole life, she always sits on the back of my chair. Sophia just looked at me and smiled that special way as if to say, “it’s ok, ya still go me in your life” Not one time that whole night did Sophia say anything that made the 2girldogs mad a wet hens. Nor did she try to kill either Sarah or the Angel. Peaceful harmony that night. We hugged and told stories by the warmth of the fireplace in the East Wing till way past everybody’s bed time.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, With a Dog Along The Way, The Toto Volunteers, And the Funeral Church of Toto
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
On the way home the other day, driving out here in the country, no house within ½ mile or so, I saw something in the road a ways up ahead. As I got closer, I realized it was a dog that had been hit by a car or maybe a truck. Either way it was easy to tell the dog was dead.
It was a big dog in the middle of the road. I stopped to move the dog to the side of the road, which I did. But on the way home I just couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout that dog. Got to thinking ‘bout an old song I once heard sung in a black church in Weeksbury KY. When I was just a kid, went there with my dad.
He was some mother’s baby
He was some mother’s child
Once he was fair
And once he was mild.
But Some mother rocked him
Her baby to sleep
But they left him to die
Like a tramp on the street
He was a pretty dog, part shepherd, maybe part retriever, and I believe a big part just good ole boy dog. Brown and white and, even in death, ya could just tell, he was a good dog. He looked much too young to die that day..
By the time I got home the decision had already been made, I’d go back and bury the dog close to where he died there on the road. I got the shovel and took the post hole diggers along just in case the ground was still frozen at the puppy cemetery in which I was about to dig.
The ground was not frozen and the digging was easy. One good thing ‘bout Starke County Sand, ya can dig holes easy most everywhere. As I buried one of God’s neglected creatures right there close beside where he died, I got to thinking ‘bout how much fun we had a kids in downtown Toto burring whatever animal that happened to die in Toto or along the roads for miles around.
We didn’t have the Boys and Girls Club for summer activity in downtown Toto, but we did have the Army, officially known as the Toto Volunteers and we had the Funeral Church. Now both these organizations served the public interest of Toto with a great deal of community pride. I was active in both groups. I served as the general in the army and the preacher at the church.
We were an army of 12, with 7 bb guns, 12 sling shots, 6 wagons and 4 bicycles, 14 dogs and 6 little brothers. The job of our army was much like the job of any army today. We protected our stuff. We protected Toto. We protected each other. We were proud, we were brave, we were the Toto Volunteers. We still are.
The Funeral Church was different, we didn’t protect stuff, we took care of God’s dead creatures. Jobs were assigned to most everybody. Those who owned wagons got the job of finding corpses so we could have funerals. Sometimes we would go for days with nothing to bury, and all of a sudden we would get a bunch of stuff and have to have two or even three funerals in one day.
I remember one day I preached so much and so loud that my voice hurt when I talked. Back then preaching was a tuff job, with no loud speakers or anything like they got today. Today ya don’t have to yell even if you’re preaching to a crowd.
Now with my dad being a Baptist Preacher, I had plenty of opportunity to attend many people funerals. That’s why I decided that I should be the Preacher at the Funeral Church. And besides, there was no one else who knew how to preach except me, and another thing was that every boy in the Funeral Church was also in the Toto Volunteers and I was the general in that army.
We had people assigned to sing and people assigned to cry. People assigned to pray and people assigned to shout, and people assigned to testify . People assigned to gather the flowers and people assigned to dig the graves. Most everybody, ‘cept me took turns being “the family”. I couldn’t take my turn, ‘cause I had to do the preaching. Now the family of the deceased had to cry a lot and carry on more than the rest of ‘em at the funeral.
Most of the time we didn’t have any, but If we did have any money on the days we had funerals, the “family members” for that day got to decide what we would buy with the money. Whatever was bought was divided by the number of people who attended the funeral. I had a pocket knife and I divided it up with my knife. I can still to this day cut a candy bar into 20 slices if I have to. It may be harder today, Milky Way’s are a lot smaller now than then. Twinkie’s are a lot less too, but they cut easier.
It was a rare day that we had enough money for a bottle of pop, but if we did, ya took a swig and passed it on. Now if ya took too much drink and someone yelled doubles, then we voted and if ya lost, ya missed the next round of drinks when it’s your turn. We watched each other drink real close.
One time a wagon came back from a collection trip with a snake, we had a lot of people who didn’t want to bury a snake. One girl who’s turn it was to get flowers for the funeral said there was no such thing as snake flowers and she’s wasn’t gona go look for any flowers for a snake, ever. I knew that something had to be done real fast or else I’m gona have a big mess on my hands ‘bout this dead snake.
So I goes over and look at the snake one more time and say “has anybody ever seen an eel?” Nobody had ever seen and eel in their whole life. So I say “I don’t think that’s’ a snake, I think that’s an eel.” One boy said he thought it was still a snake, so I said we would all vote, and if it’s was a snake we wouldn’t have a funeral, we’d just go throw it in the ditch, but if it’s an eel, then God would want us to bury the eel.
The vote was 14 to nothing in favor of the eel. We buried that eel in our cemetery, right next to the little red squirrel from the day before. I was so glad that it turned out to be an eel, ‘cause I sure didn’t want to preach the funeral of dead a snake.
It was several years later before I saw another eel, and it just didn’t seem to look very much like the eel we buried in Downtown Toto in 1955.
Sometimes the Funeral Church was fun and sometimes it was sad. Now when someone’s own dog or cat got killed and we had to do a real pet funeral, that was sad. But one thing I learned from my dad ‘bout preaching the funerals was, never preach ‘em into hell. So I never did.
That was the way of some hillbilly Baptist Preachers back then, when a person died and had not professed their Christianity from the hilltops, some of those Baptist Preachers had the fortitude to stand up and preach the dead sinner into the depths of hell. They called those type the “Hard Shell Baptist”, now these same Hard Shell Baptist also believed they’d be the only ones who’d enter in the Kingdom of Heaven.
My dad had a different point of view on that sorta thing, “God don’t judge man until after he dies, so why should I”, I heard my dad say many times. He also said that whatever words that are spoken at any funeral are for those in attendance, not the deceased, so speak kind and gentle words at all funerals. I always did.
One day somebody found a frog that had been run over ‘bout a hundred twenty seven times on the road. Well, when the collector brought this frog in, everybody laughed and laughed, ‘cause we seldom every got anything round like a plate, dead as a frog.
One of the boys said we should bury the frog in a round hole, and his dad had a post hole digger that he could get. He went home and came back dragging the post hole digger. The problem we had to deal with right up front was, the post hole digger was too tall. In fact, the post hole digger was taller than any of the boys. That post hole digger was taller than everybody ‘cept one girl, and she’d never seen a post hole digger in her whole life, but she was taller than a post hole digger.
Me and the boy who got his dad’s post hole digger tried to make it work, but it turns out that post hole diggers are for bigger boys than we were, and two can’t do it, only one can make a post hole digger dig holes. So the regular grave diggers dug the grave for the frog with their shovels. They made is kinda round, but not real round, it was kinda like egg round, but it fit the frog good, ‘cause the frog was not real round either. The frog was kinda egg round too.
The flower girl for that day got some of that green stuff that grows on ponds in the summer time. She thought it would be good for the frog funeral. Everybody agreed that it was just the right kind a flowers for a round dead frog funeral. That same day the collectors had found enough returnable pop bottles for the Funeral Church to purchase a 12oz Pepsi. We watched each other drink real close.
Memories of the Toto Funeral Church were interrupted when a car stopped beside me and asked if I needed help. I said no, I was just burying a dog that had been killed on the road today.
It was just almost totally dark when the last shovel full went into place on that grave site, and then, in the presence of God and only the little night creatures that make the sounds of the springtime, I Preached the Gospel according to BobbyRay for a brown and white dog I had never known.
It was a sad feeling when I thought ‘bout what a short life this pretty dog had lived, and wondered if he ever met the 2girldogs. As I turned away and started walking to my car, and looking up into the cold night sky, I was so happy to see that brown and white dog running and playing with the Angels, ‘cause everybody knows that all good dogs go to heaven.
When I got home that night, they all knew, they just knew, the 2girldogs Sophia, Sarah and the Angel, they all knew. I don’t know how, but, they did. I had not much more than sat down when Sophia climbed onto my lap and laid down, something she had never done in her whole life, she always sits on the back of my chair. Sophia just looked at me and smiled that special way as if to say, “it’s ok, ya still go me in your life” Not one time that whole night did Sophia say anything that made the 2girldogs mad a wet hens. Nor did she try to kill either Sarah or the Angel. Peaceful harmony that night. We hugged and told stories by the warmth of the fireplace in the East Wing till way past everybody’s bed time.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, With a Dog Along The Way, The Toto Volunteers, And the Funeral Church of Toto
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, March 14, 2010
From the East Wing, On To Fast Time, Garden Buddies, Bobby Knight's Cat, Sophia's Doritos, And Dirty Snow
Greetings to all, and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
Every year there’s something that just tells ya spring just “right around the corner”. Some may say seeing the first Robin, or the first green thing pushing its self through the dirt. For me, it’s the first time I feel the warmth of the sunshine on bare skin. I don’t care who ya are, that’s a springtime feeling.
It’s surprising what a few degrees of angle of the sun in relationship to the earth can make when it comes to being warm or just being daylight. Guess that’s why the Democrats and Republicans are not in charge of that sorta thing. Can ya just imagine if people like Barney Frank or Joe Biden were in charge of moving the sun around the universe? It’s scary enough with just what those two do now, much less given the extra work of sun moving. Course Barney Frank could maybe get some help from Twinkle Toes, seems he has some connections in that area of twinkle.
Here we go again on this fast time kick. Spring forward, fall back, dumb and dumber. Sure would be nice to be on the same time all year long. Did ya ever wonder why?
Today is the beginning of Daylight Saving Time, time for moving the clocks one hour ahead. The exceptions are Arizona, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, and American Samoa.
Benjamin Franklin, was the first who suggested daylight savings time in 1784, they laughed at him. In the early part of the last century a fellow named William Willett, proposed a similar system in the pamphlet “The Waste of Daylight”. They laughed at him too.
The Germans were the first to officially adopt the daylight-extending system in 1915 as a fuel-saving measure during World War I. The British switched one year later, and the United States followed in 1918, all for the same reasons. In 1918 Congress passed the Standard Time Act, which established our time zones across the country.. This experiment in jerking ‘round with the time lasted only until 1920, when the law was repealed due to opposition from dairy farmers. It turned out that cows don't pay attention to clocks and very few have watchers. Don’t know how many times ya’ve been in a barn, but ya seldom see any clocks on barn walls, in fact, ya seldom see anything on barn walls. During World War II, Daylight Saving Time was imposed again, year around, and for the same reason as during the first world war, to save fuel. Now I don’t know if we now save anything or not but I do know we sure make folks mad every time we change the clock. Forward or back.
Now in the United States, Daylight Saving Time commences at 2:00 a.m. to minimize disruption. However, many states restrict bars from serving alcohol between 2:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. At 2:00 a.m. in the fall, however, the time switches back one hour. So, can bars serve alcohol for that additional hour? Some states claim that bars actually stop serving liquor at 1:59 a.m., so they have already stopped serving when the time reverts to Standard Time, Yah Right. Other states get solve the problem by saying that liquor can be served until "two hours after midnight." In practice, however, many establishments stay open an extra hour in the fall. I think most bars that find themselves in that situation just lets the drunks vote whether to serve another round or not.
Another good reason to choose 2:00 AM to switch the time is it prevents the day from switching to yesterday, which would be confusing to say the least. It is early enough that the entire continental U.S. switches by daybreak, and the changeover occurs before most early shift workers and early churchgoers are affected.
Much effort is put into making the time switch a safety reminder “time”. Many fire departments encourage people to change the batteries in their smoke detectors when they change their clocks because Daylight Saving Time provides a convenient reminder. A working smoke detector more than doubles a person's chances of surviving a home fire. More than 90 percent of homes in the United States have smoke detectors, but one-third are estimated to have dead or missing batteries. I checked mine.
Seems we just get the ole clock deal settled get everybody on the same time page, and we jump head first into the Ides of March. “Beware the ides of March” is for most people one of only two lines ever remembered from William Shakespeare’s works, the other being that Romeo thing, ya know what I’m talking ‘bout, where he’s at and all.
The word ides comes from a Latin word meaning “to divide.” The most memorable thing ‘bout Marsh 15th was the assassination of Julius Caesar on that day in 44 B.C. Now Julius Caesar was an interesting fellow, not only did he change the way the world was calculating stuff, like days and months, he also created the concept of lucky and unlucky days. One thing for sure, March 15th was not his lucky day. He’d been better off to have gone fishing that day for sure. Course it they didn’t get him that day, then March 16th would’ve been an unlucky day.
Yesterday afternoon, me and the she were on our way to a birthday party for twin girls turning 80, Doreen and Doretta, when she said she could hardly wait to start digging in the dirt this spring, even said she was gona grow a garden.
With that idea in mind, I got to thinking that it takes more than good soil, sunshine, and rain to make a garden grow. Plants have to grow well with one another. Just like people, some are friends and some are foes! Just like people, some plants just plain don’t like each other.
Now dill and basil planted among tomatoes protect the tomatoes from hornworms, and sage scattered about the cabbage patch reduces injury from cabbage moths. While Marigolds are as good as gold when grown with just about any garden plant, repelling beetles, nematodes, and even animal pests like rabbits and squirrels
There are even some companion plants that will act as traps, luring insects to themselves. Nasturtiums, for example, are so favored by aphids that the devastating little bas#%$#@s will flock to them instead of other plants.
Things like carrots, dill, parsley, and parsnips attract garden heroes, praying mantises, ladybugs, and spiders, that dine on insect pests.
A plant like white garlic can repel a plethora of pests, along with one hillbilly BobbyRay, and make excellent neighbors for most garden plants. Soup beans don’t grow well in the presence of garlic, and I’m not surprised.
Now potatoes and beans grow poorly in the company of sunflowers, and although cabbage and cauliflower are closely related, they don’t like each other at all. Cabbage and cauliflower sounds like some families I know.
The idea of companion planting is common sense: Lettuce, radishes, and other quick-growing plants sown between hills of melons or winter squash will mature and be harvested long before these vines need more leg room.
Now if ya like reality TV, Bet you’d like what’s going on in the garden. Talk ‘bout live drama, just watch the praying mantises, ladybugs and spiders go to work. WOW ! Now while ya’ve taken the time to stop and smell the roses by watching live Garden TV, if ya want to see a really productive society, find yourself an ant hill, just watch for a few minutes at what’s going on, you’ll know what I mean.
Ya gotta keep in mind that gardening’s not rocket science. If it were so, we’d all been starved to death long time ago. Seems we’ve been planting gardens ever since we stopped being hunter-gathers. Guess the only good thing going for that hunter-gathering lifestyle is ya got to see a lot of the county. That was back before the interstate roads. I think it was even before Route 66. They had an unusual means of transportation back then, it was called walking. Can ya imagine walking a thousand miles at twenty five miles a day. Now that would make for a long day indeed, and to make matters worse, like it even needed to get worse, there’s no Holiday Inns or Cracker Barrels along the way.
Some time back I came across one of the more enjoyable web sites I’ve seen in a long time. Not sure if I passed this site along or not, but if ya want to enjoy old radio listening then this is a must visit site. http://www.myoldradio.com/index.php ENJOY THE MUSIC, ENJOY THE STORIES. For those who have never heard this type radio, you’ll be surprised, for those who remember, precious memories, how they linger. Memory Lane.
Another sure sign of spring is the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. Sophia has gone through a cat size box of Kleenex in the last several hours after her Indiana Hoosiers were not invited to the big show. I don’t think Sophia likes basketball, she just likes the red and white colors of the Hoosiers. She did say that while in Indiana, Bobby Knight has a Calico Republican Cat named Bouncer Balls. I don’t even know if that true or not, just what the cat said. Course ya gotta keep in mind her current mental state with the Hoosiers on the bench.
To get Sophia out of the dumps we just shared Nacho Cheese Doritos. It’s hard for a cat to be down in the dumps when ya pull out the Nacho Cheese Doritos on ‘em. The smile on that cats face, you’d think she’d seen a republican. Calicos are like that, yah they are.
Sure did enjoy the extra daylight today, am looking forward to tomorrow and the next day and the next day….. Tis the springtime for sure. Mustina’s already talking ‘bout dog days. The 2girldogs are big on the Dog Days of Summer. It’ll be here before ya know it. But in the mean time we gotta usher in the official start of spring when the Vernal equinox occurs on March 20, 2010.
We’ve laughed and we’ve played in the East Wing the last Sunday of this winter, 2009 – 2010. And all the while winter is melting away, leaving all the garbage which we collectively threw into the snow thinking no one would see. And now we all see.
Those whom throw into the snow should be embarrassed. Ya gotta keep in mind, God didn’t put the beautiful white snow here for your personal garbage dump. I hope everybody who reads this will feel compelled go back out there and pick their stuff up along the way, where they threw it out. I’ll see ya out there while I’m getting my stuff too.
I think I may have to go back to Georgia, I’m sure I have to go to Tennessee, and maybe Kentucky. Maybe the next time me and Mr. Lincoln go somewhere, I’ll take a garbage bag. Such a good idea.
As this evening draws to a close in the East Wing, the 2girldogs dreaming of the Dog Days of Summer while Sophia’s busy hatching a plot to derail the democrats this coming fall, we’ve enjoyed your company once again, and as such we do look forward to your next visit on the first Sunday of Spring.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, On To Fast Time, Garden Buddies, Bobby Knight’s Cat, Sophia’s Doritos, And Dirty Snow
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Every year there’s something that just tells ya spring just “right around the corner”. Some may say seeing the first Robin, or the first green thing pushing its self through the dirt. For me, it’s the first time I feel the warmth of the sunshine on bare skin. I don’t care who ya are, that’s a springtime feeling.
It’s surprising what a few degrees of angle of the sun in relationship to the earth can make when it comes to being warm or just being daylight. Guess that’s why the Democrats and Republicans are not in charge of that sorta thing. Can ya just imagine if people like Barney Frank or Joe Biden were in charge of moving the sun around the universe? It’s scary enough with just what those two do now, much less given the extra work of sun moving. Course Barney Frank could maybe get some help from Twinkle Toes, seems he has some connections in that area of twinkle.
Here we go again on this fast time kick. Spring forward, fall back, dumb and dumber. Sure would be nice to be on the same time all year long. Did ya ever wonder why?
Today is the beginning of Daylight Saving Time, time for moving the clocks one hour ahead. The exceptions are Arizona, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, and American Samoa.
Benjamin Franklin, was the first who suggested daylight savings time in 1784, they laughed at him. In the early part of the last century a fellow named William Willett, proposed a similar system in the pamphlet “The Waste of Daylight”. They laughed at him too.
The Germans were the first to officially adopt the daylight-extending system in 1915 as a fuel-saving measure during World War I. The British switched one year later, and the United States followed in 1918, all for the same reasons. In 1918 Congress passed the Standard Time Act, which established our time zones across the country.. This experiment in jerking ‘round with the time lasted only until 1920, when the law was repealed due to opposition from dairy farmers. It turned out that cows don't pay attention to clocks and very few have watchers. Don’t know how many times ya’ve been in a barn, but ya seldom see any clocks on barn walls, in fact, ya seldom see anything on barn walls. During World War II, Daylight Saving Time was imposed again, year around, and for the same reason as during the first world war, to save fuel. Now I don’t know if we now save anything or not but I do know we sure make folks mad every time we change the clock. Forward or back.
Now in the United States, Daylight Saving Time commences at 2:00 a.m. to minimize disruption. However, many states restrict bars from serving alcohol between 2:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. At 2:00 a.m. in the fall, however, the time switches back one hour. So, can bars serve alcohol for that additional hour? Some states claim that bars actually stop serving liquor at 1:59 a.m., so they have already stopped serving when the time reverts to Standard Time, Yah Right. Other states get solve the problem by saying that liquor can be served until "two hours after midnight." In practice, however, many establishments stay open an extra hour in the fall. I think most bars that find themselves in that situation just lets the drunks vote whether to serve another round or not.
Another good reason to choose 2:00 AM to switch the time is it prevents the day from switching to yesterday, which would be confusing to say the least. It is early enough that the entire continental U.S. switches by daybreak, and the changeover occurs before most early shift workers and early churchgoers are affected.
Much effort is put into making the time switch a safety reminder “time”. Many fire departments encourage people to change the batteries in their smoke detectors when they change their clocks because Daylight Saving Time provides a convenient reminder. A working smoke detector more than doubles a person's chances of surviving a home fire. More than 90 percent of homes in the United States have smoke detectors, but one-third are estimated to have dead or missing batteries. I checked mine.
Seems we just get the ole clock deal settled get everybody on the same time page, and we jump head first into the Ides of March. “Beware the ides of March” is for most people one of only two lines ever remembered from William Shakespeare’s works, the other being that Romeo thing, ya know what I’m talking ‘bout, where he’s at and all.
The word ides comes from a Latin word meaning “to divide.” The most memorable thing ‘bout Marsh 15th was the assassination of Julius Caesar on that day in 44 B.C. Now Julius Caesar was an interesting fellow, not only did he change the way the world was calculating stuff, like days and months, he also created the concept of lucky and unlucky days. One thing for sure, March 15th was not his lucky day. He’d been better off to have gone fishing that day for sure. Course it they didn’t get him that day, then March 16th would’ve been an unlucky day.
Yesterday afternoon, me and the she were on our way to a birthday party for twin girls turning 80, Doreen and Doretta, when she said she could hardly wait to start digging in the dirt this spring, even said she was gona grow a garden.
With that idea in mind, I got to thinking that it takes more than good soil, sunshine, and rain to make a garden grow. Plants have to grow well with one another. Just like people, some are friends and some are foes! Just like people, some plants just plain don’t like each other.
Now dill and basil planted among tomatoes protect the tomatoes from hornworms, and sage scattered about the cabbage patch reduces injury from cabbage moths. While Marigolds are as good as gold when grown with just about any garden plant, repelling beetles, nematodes, and even animal pests like rabbits and squirrels
There are even some companion plants that will act as traps, luring insects to themselves. Nasturtiums, for example, are so favored by aphids that the devastating little bas#%$#@s will flock to them instead of other plants.
Things like carrots, dill, parsley, and parsnips attract garden heroes, praying mantises, ladybugs, and spiders, that dine on insect pests.
A plant like white garlic can repel a plethora of pests, along with one hillbilly BobbyRay, and make excellent neighbors for most garden plants. Soup beans don’t grow well in the presence of garlic, and I’m not surprised.
Now potatoes and beans grow poorly in the company of sunflowers, and although cabbage and cauliflower are closely related, they don’t like each other at all. Cabbage and cauliflower sounds like some families I know.
The idea of companion planting is common sense: Lettuce, radishes, and other quick-growing plants sown between hills of melons or winter squash will mature and be harvested long before these vines need more leg room.
Now if ya like reality TV, Bet you’d like what’s going on in the garden. Talk ‘bout live drama, just watch the praying mantises, ladybugs and spiders go to work. WOW ! Now while ya’ve taken the time to stop and smell the roses by watching live Garden TV, if ya want to see a really productive society, find yourself an ant hill, just watch for a few minutes at what’s going on, you’ll know what I mean.
Ya gotta keep in mind that gardening’s not rocket science. If it were so, we’d all been starved to death long time ago. Seems we’ve been planting gardens ever since we stopped being hunter-gathers. Guess the only good thing going for that hunter-gathering lifestyle is ya got to see a lot of the county. That was back before the interstate roads. I think it was even before Route 66. They had an unusual means of transportation back then, it was called walking. Can ya imagine walking a thousand miles at twenty five miles a day. Now that would make for a long day indeed, and to make matters worse, like it even needed to get worse, there’s no Holiday Inns or Cracker Barrels along the way.
Some time back I came across one of the more enjoyable web sites I’ve seen in a long time. Not sure if I passed this site along or not, but if ya want to enjoy old radio listening then this is a must visit site. http://www.myoldradio.com/index.php ENJOY THE MUSIC, ENJOY THE STORIES. For those who have never heard this type radio, you’ll be surprised, for those who remember, precious memories, how they linger. Memory Lane.
Another sure sign of spring is the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. Sophia has gone through a cat size box of Kleenex in the last several hours after her Indiana Hoosiers were not invited to the big show. I don’t think Sophia likes basketball, she just likes the red and white colors of the Hoosiers. She did say that while in Indiana, Bobby Knight has a Calico Republican Cat named Bouncer Balls. I don’t even know if that true or not, just what the cat said. Course ya gotta keep in mind her current mental state with the Hoosiers on the bench.
To get Sophia out of the dumps we just shared Nacho Cheese Doritos. It’s hard for a cat to be down in the dumps when ya pull out the Nacho Cheese Doritos on ‘em. The smile on that cats face, you’d think she’d seen a republican. Calicos are like that, yah they are.
Sure did enjoy the extra daylight today, am looking forward to tomorrow and the next day and the next day….. Tis the springtime for sure. Mustina’s already talking ‘bout dog days. The 2girldogs are big on the Dog Days of Summer. It’ll be here before ya know it. But in the mean time we gotta usher in the official start of spring when the Vernal equinox occurs on March 20, 2010.
We’ve laughed and we’ve played in the East Wing the last Sunday of this winter, 2009 – 2010. And all the while winter is melting away, leaving all the garbage which we collectively threw into the snow thinking no one would see. And now we all see.
Those whom throw into the snow should be embarrassed. Ya gotta keep in mind, God didn’t put the beautiful white snow here for your personal garbage dump. I hope everybody who reads this will feel compelled go back out there and pick their stuff up along the way, where they threw it out. I’ll see ya out there while I’m getting my stuff too.
I think I may have to go back to Georgia, I’m sure I have to go to Tennessee, and maybe Kentucky. Maybe the next time me and Mr. Lincoln go somewhere, I’ll take a garbage bag. Such a good idea.
As this evening draws to a close in the East Wing, the 2girldogs dreaming of the Dog Days of Summer while Sophia’s busy hatching a plot to derail the democrats this coming fall, we’ve enjoyed your company once again, and as such we do look forward to your next visit on the first Sunday of Spring.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan
From the East Wing, On To Fast Time, Garden Buddies, Bobby Knight’s Cat, Sophia’s Doritos, And Dirty Snow
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, March 7, 2010
From the East Wing, With the Lions of March, Squanto on Maple Syrup, Hebrews Naming Turkeys, Visiting Detroit City
Greetings to all, and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
When people talk about March weather, someone always seems to mention this old weather saying: If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb. If March comes in like a lamb, it will go out like a lion. I’ve heard that all my life and used to wonder what that meant until I started stargazing.
Now those that gaze at stars see a heavenly connection in these lambs and lions. Ya see the constellation Leo, the lion, is rising in the east at the beginning of March and thus “comes in like a lion,” while Aries, the ram, sets in the west at the end of March and “will go out like a lamb.” That other part ‘bout coming in like a lamb and going out like a lion, I don’t have a clue where that one came from.
For everybody that didn’t start spring with me on March 1st, the 20th will be here before ya know it. But March is notoriously temperamental weather-wise. So enjoy these warm days as they come, with their fast-moving weather systems, record-breaking storms, and mud, always lots of mud in March. As the winter frost leaves the ground there will be places that are like walking on jello. So fling open your windows and let springtime blow into your life. I can hardly wait to open the windows of the East Wing.
As the cold of winter fades from the back grounds of our memory, I’m glad it’s spring. Saw a rabbit Friday morning on the way to work. Not sure if it was the Easter Bunny or maybe one of the helpers just checking out the route. I think the Easter Bunny is a lot like Santa Clause in the since they both gotta lot of work and a short time to get there.
Another neat thing ‘bout March, besides that spring starting stuff, is the running of the sap. Maple sugaring season starts ‘bout the first week of March. Did ya ever wonder how anybody figured out that maple syrup thing from tree sap? It for sure wasn’t the people who came over on the boat. It was those that met the boat that told us ‘bout it. Oh sure, ya remember those people, don’t ya, the same ones that, we white boys and girls, stole their land, lively hood and treasurers ‘cause we were civilized and they weren’t.
Well, not only did Squanto tell us ‘bout putting that fish in with the kernel of corn in the ground, he probably also told us ‘bout maple sap and what ya could get by cooking it a while. But what did those people know anyway, they were just dumb Indians. I can’t help but wonder who told Squanto ‘bout the sap. Maybe the Indians knew ‘bout the sap a long, long time before Squanto. Maybe it was Squanto’s great, great, great grand Indian that started it all. I wonder if they had pan cakes back then, ‘cause they had to put Maple Syrup on something. Come to think of it, I don’t even know what Indians ate back then.
One time I heard that Indians called March’s Full Moon the Sap Moon, ‘cause it marks the time when maple sap begins to flow and it’s time to tap the Maple Tree once again. Maybe those Indians weren’t as dumb as we thought, the difference was we had gun powder, they didn’t. It’s kinda ironic that when the conversation turns to ancestry, there’s never a shortage of people who claim to be part Indian. I’ve never noticed many people bragging the same claim for some of the other cultures blended into our society. I almost forgot to tell ya, I’m part Indian, I just don’t know which part.
Most everybody thinks the Maple Syrup comes from Vermont. It don’t. Most of the world supply comes from Quebec, Canada. We’re the largest consumer of the product though. Course that stands to reason, we have more IHOPs than anybody else, not to mention those Waffle House places.
Waffle House reminds me of the Waffle House from Hell that Johnny and I stopped at on our way to Atlanta a month ago. Now I’m not gona say anything bad ‘bout the place, but when ya order an egg over easy and ya can pick it up by the tip and bang the egg on a coffee cup and get someone’s attention by the sound of egg on cup, well, that’s just not right. It may have worked as a Frisbee, that egg over easy. Waffle House, enter at your own peril.
I mentioned that I saw a rabbit on the way to work the other morning, well the day before I saw a flock of wild turkeys and I got to thinking who named this ugly bird. A little turkey research turns up some pretty neat things ‘bout turkeys.
One story claims the Christopher Columbus heard some birds say "tuka, tuka", and his interpreter came up with the name tukki, which means "big bird" in Hebrew. I’m not buying into this one at all, ‘cause where in the world would Columbus find a Hebrew Interpreter. I was thinking those guys were all gone, but maybe when they got out of the Pyramid Building Business, they went into the explorer interpretering business. If these folks worked for Columbus, they should have charged by the mile. The round trip would have been worth a few bucks. I just don’t think Columbus needed an interpreter, after all, he’s Italian, he talks with his hands most of the time anyway.
Ben Franklin wanted the turkey as the symbol of the United States. Comparing it to the eagle, he called the turkey "a more respectable bird, a true original native of America." Now before ya get in tizzy ‘bout wanting to replace the eagle, Ben’s idea was because the wild turkey is quick to defend itself and fight against all predators. He just thought those attributes blended well with the new nation he was helping to create.
Sophia, setting from her vantage point on the back of my chair, just whispered in my ear that if President Obama was to choose a national bird, she thinks he would go for the chicken. When asked why so, she said “It’s loved by most everybody ‘round the world. It fits his socialist agenda for America, and it looks so good in that little round bucket with them briskets.” Oh, the power of cat logic.
I read somewhere the average person in the United States will eat 15 pounds of turkey this year. Don’t know ‘bout you but somebody else eats ‘bout 14 pounds of my share. Eating turkey once a year is plenty for me.
Between the Cowboys and Indians and everybody else hunting the turkeys, by the 1930s, almost all of the wild turkeys in the U.S. had been hunted and ate. Today, thanks to conservation programs, there are plenty of wild turkeys. As a matter of fact, they even come to town. On the east side on North Judson, just at the town limits sign, ya can see several turkeys there ‘most every morning.
Boy and girl, tom and hen, baby is poult, young boy turkey is Jake, young girl turkey is, I guess, young hen, and that pretty well takes care of all the name calling in the turkey family.
A domestic tom can weigh up to 50 pounds, the domestic hen up to 16 pounds. The wild tom can weigh up to 20 pounds, the wild hen up to 12 pounds.
The average life span of a domestic turkey, from out of egg to into freezer, is 26 weeks. During this period of time, it will eat about 75 pounds of turkey feed. Now let’s say we’re talking a hen turkey here and it eats 75 pounds of feed and end up weighing 16 pounds. Now that’s 59 pounds of shoveling on somebody’s part. A bad job, shoveling used turkey food.
That wobbly little thing on the turkey’s chest is the turkey's beard and is made up of keratin bristles. Keratin is the same stuff that forms hair and horns on other animals. Rhino horns are made from keratin. And I always thought it was made from the same stuff as unicorns.
Only male turkeys, or toms, can gobble, and they gobble while looking for girls. Some things just never change, I’m sure you girls that read this know a lot of guys who gobble. I may have gobbled from time to time. This is way too much talk ‘bout turkeys and I don’t even like those things.
Did ya happen to read ‘bout the Detroit Public School System in the news last week? The Detroit Public School System has scored in the bottom ½ of 1% in national standardized testing of students for over 20 years.
Last week the president of the Detroit Public School System Board of Education announced he could not read. Further stated he could not write a coherent statement on paper. He then said he was proud to have obtained a degree from Wayne State University. Later that same day Wayne State University, in a press release said it took this fellow 14 years to get his degree because he kept flunking the tests.
Now instead of this idiot shutting up, he continued, said he should not step down from the job as board president rather he should remain as a role model for the students in the Detroit Public School System, showing them that having a handicap does not prevent you from doing what ya want to do in life.
Never think the ills of Detroit City are due in a major way to the demise of the automobile industry in America. I believe it is due in a most important element to stupid people. Many years ago I went to Detroit to interview for a job as a hospital administrator at Detroit General Hospital. They offered me a position which paid 4 times as much money as I was making at the time. The job also came with the use of an automobile and two body guards. Both car and drivers were 24/7.
After touring the hospital and surrounding neighborhoods, I met the body guards. It was in conversation with these body guards that I realized how out of place a hillbilly boy from Toto would be in Downtown Detroit. I couldn’t understand their language even though I was sure they were products of the Detroit Public School System. I could only surmise that these two men were speaking fluent Detroitese. I chose not to learn a second language at that point in my life. The job offer, I turned ‘em down. Arriving early one Monday morning, I left that town before the sun went down, I was afraid not to, no body guards and all, and not speaking the local language.
That was a long time ago, the city has only gotten worse since then. The decline could be due in a large part to people like the current president of the school board. I guess John Wayne was right when he said “Life’s tough, it even tougher when you’re stupid.
Such a pleasant hint of spring this 1st Sunday of March 2010. Just enough bright sunshine this morning as folks were getting out of church to let ya know that God didn’t forget to let the sun shine in. 55° temperatures have not felt so good for a long winter’s night. Took my mama to dinner this afternoon. Went to Ponderosa’s in Plymouth IN. Ya just know you’ll have a good day when ya take your mama to dinner. Me and Regina, Johnny and Jamie and my mama had a great Sunday afternoon.
As the 2girldogs sleep on their separate couches and Sophia reads the screen from the back of my chair, as Sarah plays floor hockey with a plastic bottle lid on the hardwood Oak Floor of the East Wing, silence is golden. Except for the occasional clatter of the floor hockey puck. Peaceful evening, quite night.
Thank you so much for stopping by this evening, as so often stated, your company is so much appreciated, we all look forward to your visits each and every time.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, With the Lions of March, Squanto on Maple Syrup, Hebrews Naming Turkeys, Visiting Detroit City.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
When people talk about March weather, someone always seems to mention this old weather saying: If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb. If March comes in like a lamb, it will go out like a lion. I’ve heard that all my life and used to wonder what that meant until I started stargazing.
Now those that gaze at stars see a heavenly connection in these lambs and lions. Ya see the constellation Leo, the lion, is rising in the east at the beginning of March and thus “comes in like a lion,” while Aries, the ram, sets in the west at the end of March and “will go out like a lamb.” That other part ‘bout coming in like a lamb and going out like a lion, I don’t have a clue where that one came from.
For everybody that didn’t start spring with me on March 1st, the 20th will be here before ya know it. But March is notoriously temperamental weather-wise. So enjoy these warm days as they come, with their fast-moving weather systems, record-breaking storms, and mud, always lots of mud in March. As the winter frost leaves the ground there will be places that are like walking on jello. So fling open your windows and let springtime blow into your life. I can hardly wait to open the windows of the East Wing.
As the cold of winter fades from the back grounds of our memory, I’m glad it’s spring. Saw a rabbit Friday morning on the way to work. Not sure if it was the Easter Bunny or maybe one of the helpers just checking out the route. I think the Easter Bunny is a lot like Santa Clause in the since they both gotta lot of work and a short time to get there.
Another neat thing ‘bout March, besides that spring starting stuff, is the running of the sap. Maple sugaring season starts ‘bout the first week of March. Did ya ever wonder how anybody figured out that maple syrup thing from tree sap? It for sure wasn’t the people who came over on the boat. It was those that met the boat that told us ‘bout it. Oh sure, ya remember those people, don’t ya, the same ones that, we white boys and girls, stole their land, lively hood and treasurers ‘cause we were civilized and they weren’t.
Well, not only did Squanto tell us ‘bout putting that fish in with the kernel of corn in the ground, he probably also told us ‘bout maple sap and what ya could get by cooking it a while. But what did those people know anyway, they were just dumb Indians. I can’t help but wonder who told Squanto ‘bout the sap. Maybe the Indians knew ‘bout the sap a long, long time before Squanto. Maybe it was Squanto’s great, great, great grand Indian that started it all. I wonder if they had pan cakes back then, ‘cause they had to put Maple Syrup on something. Come to think of it, I don’t even know what Indians ate back then.
One time I heard that Indians called March’s Full Moon the Sap Moon, ‘cause it marks the time when maple sap begins to flow and it’s time to tap the Maple Tree once again. Maybe those Indians weren’t as dumb as we thought, the difference was we had gun powder, they didn’t. It’s kinda ironic that when the conversation turns to ancestry, there’s never a shortage of people who claim to be part Indian. I’ve never noticed many people bragging the same claim for some of the other cultures blended into our society. I almost forgot to tell ya, I’m part Indian, I just don’t know which part.
Most everybody thinks the Maple Syrup comes from Vermont. It don’t. Most of the world supply comes from Quebec, Canada. We’re the largest consumer of the product though. Course that stands to reason, we have more IHOPs than anybody else, not to mention those Waffle House places.
Waffle House reminds me of the Waffle House from Hell that Johnny and I stopped at on our way to Atlanta a month ago. Now I’m not gona say anything bad ‘bout the place, but when ya order an egg over easy and ya can pick it up by the tip and bang the egg on a coffee cup and get someone’s attention by the sound of egg on cup, well, that’s just not right. It may have worked as a Frisbee, that egg over easy. Waffle House, enter at your own peril.
I mentioned that I saw a rabbit on the way to work the other morning, well the day before I saw a flock of wild turkeys and I got to thinking who named this ugly bird. A little turkey research turns up some pretty neat things ‘bout turkeys.
One story claims the Christopher Columbus heard some birds say "tuka, tuka", and his interpreter came up with the name tukki, which means "big bird" in Hebrew. I’m not buying into this one at all, ‘cause where in the world would Columbus find a Hebrew Interpreter. I was thinking those guys were all gone, but maybe when they got out of the Pyramid Building Business, they went into the explorer interpretering business. If these folks worked for Columbus, they should have charged by the mile. The round trip would have been worth a few bucks. I just don’t think Columbus needed an interpreter, after all, he’s Italian, he talks with his hands most of the time anyway.
Ben Franklin wanted the turkey as the symbol of the United States. Comparing it to the eagle, he called the turkey "a more respectable bird, a true original native of America." Now before ya get in tizzy ‘bout wanting to replace the eagle, Ben’s idea was because the wild turkey is quick to defend itself and fight against all predators. He just thought those attributes blended well with the new nation he was helping to create.
Sophia, setting from her vantage point on the back of my chair, just whispered in my ear that if President Obama was to choose a national bird, she thinks he would go for the chicken. When asked why so, she said “It’s loved by most everybody ‘round the world. It fits his socialist agenda for America, and it looks so good in that little round bucket with them briskets.” Oh, the power of cat logic.
I read somewhere the average person in the United States will eat 15 pounds of turkey this year. Don’t know ‘bout you but somebody else eats ‘bout 14 pounds of my share. Eating turkey once a year is plenty for me.
Between the Cowboys and Indians and everybody else hunting the turkeys, by the 1930s, almost all of the wild turkeys in the U.S. had been hunted and ate. Today, thanks to conservation programs, there are plenty of wild turkeys. As a matter of fact, they even come to town. On the east side on North Judson, just at the town limits sign, ya can see several turkeys there ‘most every morning.
Boy and girl, tom and hen, baby is poult, young boy turkey is Jake, young girl turkey is, I guess, young hen, and that pretty well takes care of all the name calling in the turkey family.
A domestic tom can weigh up to 50 pounds, the domestic hen up to 16 pounds. The wild tom can weigh up to 20 pounds, the wild hen up to 12 pounds.
The average life span of a domestic turkey, from out of egg to into freezer, is 26 weeks. During this period of time, it will eat about 75 pounds of turkey feed. Now let’s say we’re talking a hen turkey here and it eats 75 pounds of feed and end up weighing 16 pounds. Now that’s 59 pounds of shoveling on somebody’s part. A bad job, shoveling used turkey food.
That wobbly little thing on the turkey’s chest is the turkey's beard and is made up of keratin bristles. Keratin is the same stuff that forms hair and horns on other animals. Rhino horns are made from keratin. And I always thought it was made from the same stuff as unicorns.
Only male turkeys, or toms, can gobble, and they gobble while looking for girls. Some things just never change, I’m sure you girls that read this know a lot of guys who gobble. I may have gobbled from time to time. This is way too much talk ‘bout turkeys and I don’t even like those things.
Did ya happen to read ‘bout the Detroit Public School System in the news last week? The Detroit Public School System has scored in the bottom ½ of 1% in national standardized testing of students for over 20 years.
Last week the president of the Detroit Public School System Board of Education announced he could not read. Further stated he could not write a coherent statement on paper. He then said he was proud to have obtained a degree from Wayne State University. Later that same day Wayne State University, in a press release said it took this fellow 14 years to get his degree because he kept flunking the tests.
Now instead of this idiot shutting up, he continued, said he should not step down from the job as board president rather he should remain as a role model for the students in the Detroit Public School System, showing them that having a handicap does not prevent you from doing what ya want to do in life.
Never think the ills of Detroit City are due in a major way to the demise of the automobile industry in America. I believe it is due in a most important element to stupid people. Many years ago I went to Detroit to interview for a job as a hospital administrator at Detroit General Hospital. They offered me a position which paid 4 times as much money as I was making at the time. The job also came with the use of an automobile and two body guards. Both car and drivers were 24/7.
After touring the hospital and surrounding neighborhoods, I met the body guards. It was in conversation with these body guards that I realized how out of place a hillbilly boy from Toto would be in Downtown Detroit. I couldn’t understand their language even though I was sure they were products of the Detroit Public School System. I could only surmise that these two men were speaking fluent Detroitese. I chose not to learn a second language at that point in my life. The job offer, I turned ‘em down. Arriving early one Monday morning, I left that town before the sun went down, I was afraid not to, no body guards and all, and not speaking the local language.
That was a long time ago, the city has only gotten worse since then. The decline could be due in a large part to people like the current president of the school board. I guess John Wayne was right when he said “Life’s tough, it even tougher when you’re stupid.
Such a pleasant hint of spring this 1st Sunday of March 2010. Just enough bright sunshine this morning as folks were getting out of church to let ya know that God didn’t forget to let the sun shine in. 55° temperatures have not felt so good for a long winter’s night. Took my mama to dinner this afternoon. Went to Ponderosa’s in Plymouth IN. Ya just know you’ll have a good day when ya take your mama to dinner. Me and Regina, Johnny and Jamie and my mama had a great Sunday afternoon.
As the 2girldogs sleep on their separate couches and Sophia reads the screen from the back of my chair, as Sarah plays floor hockey with a plastic bottle lid on the hardwood Oak Floor of the East Wing, silence is golden. Except for the occasional clatter of the floor hockey puck. Peaceful evening, quite night.
Thank you so much for stopping by this evening, as so often stated, your company is so much appreciated, we all look forward to your visits each and every time.
Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan.
From the East Wing, With the Lions of March, Squanto on Maple Syrup, Hebrews Naming Turkeys, Visiting Detroit City.
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
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