The Crotchety Old Fart Returns!

The Return of Lance E. Davis and his

More Than A Half-Century Of Wisdom.

Brought to you by: Life At Our Place

So what are we to do? It would appear we are on the precipice of something major happening not just within our borders but on a Global scale. Contrary to the Media of today we are rapidly heading towards a finality which will shake the World and forever be etched in History. It is known by many that banks, in general, are all very close to becoming ruined and will be forced to shut down making anyone relying on the money in accounts of all those banks destitute overnight. Many of those without valuables to trade for food may be forced to become beggars or worse (criminals) to survive or provide for their families. The demarkation between the poor and the wealthy broadens every day. People are suspicious, nervous, anxious and paranoid about what's going to happen next. We trust no one. Not the Government. Not the Media. Not even our own neighbors because we don't so much as know their names.

I was Cancelled on the Social Media platform I refer to as, "Fakebook" a couple of years ago for something I supposedly posted. When I made numerous attempts to ascertain which post was flagged so I could make corrections or other form of reparation I was given several possibilities as to why I was cancelled. At first I was angry then my mood switched over to being happy without it in my life. I pretty much stopped using all the Social Media platforms at that point. Before I was cancelled I came across a cryptic post from a guy. It moved me back then and finally regaining access to my Blog Site and rereading this Draft I composed years ago, it still moves me.

This is John Tipton Oxford, III's "Fakebook" Post:

These days, with the way things are...when tears form in my eyes...I place a finger on the tears & then touch them to my tongue, close my eyes & I taste the life that's taken me to here. A life of music, menial jobs, travel, violence, revelations, drugs, drinking, sex, sadness, craziness...just like so many others. I am not unique. I'm just here. Here...short, fat, poor, with a woman, a wife, I truly adore...outta work, tryin' to find, tryin' to think of a way to help to support this family...the only family I've been with this many years in a row, that also supports me in my sometimes insane ways. I wish I was smart, I mean, really smart, so I could figure things out. But, I ain't. All I can do is write about these days, with the way things are...

      -   John Tipton Oxford III   -

I wonder how he's doing now and what he's thinking about the situation(s) today. At any rate, I'm going to try to start back writing my Blogs more regularly since I can now get back into the site. Keep a watchful eye out for future posts.

Toodles for now!

Legacy, An Aunt And A Southern Bell Tale

I awoke this morning and flipped through the Guide on my Satellite TV until I settled on a movie entitled, “Public Enemies” and then began to watch it. Seeing some of the old cars, buildings and clothing caused my mind to amble way back down memory lane. All the way back to the time when the phone number of my Great Aunt, Dorothea Fischer Miller, was ‘Cedar’-359. I know that some of you will recall those days even if only passed down by oral traditions from the elders in your family.

I grew up in Greenville, South Carolina beginning in 1958 until permanently moving to another town in 1979. I was privileged to be a part of what was once a very close-knit Family which was proud of our Lineage and History. My early years were those of weekly and in some cases, daily visits to various family members’ homes and vice versa. All the children would play outside or in a remote garage where we wouldn’t be underfoot or within earshot of “the Grown-ups” as they talked over coffee, tea or the occasional drink of alcohol. Rarely would a Television be on even if one existed somewhere in the house because those things were still a relatively new thing and were so expensive as to prohibit anyone beneath the “Well-To-Do” level of income from owning one. Besides that, there were only three stations available the year I was born. Radio was still the big thing those days. Radios and phonographs (Record Players). Yeah, Man. That was the thing!

I can recall eavesdropping on a great many of my Elder’s conversations growing up which is why, I suppose, my mind drifted back to listening to my Aunt Dot, as I called her, talking with other family members about their times spent at the Switchboard at Southern Bell Telephone And Telegraph. Wait! What? “What’s a Switchboard”, you ask? Well. You see, kids, back in The Day all our telephones were usually in one location in the home or office connected to the ‘network’ by wire through the walls and out to where other wires were strung together along what is called, of all things, Telephone Poles. Before electrical lines began to be strung along all the existing poles found nearly everywhere, only Telegraph then later Telephone lines were hung along their paths and the name, Telephone Pole, was adopted and has stuck until today.

My Aunt Dot was charged with sitting in one spot for a minimum of twelve hours per day at a desk wearing a headset and plugging and pulling wires into and from various patchbays connecting callers and disconnecting them when their calls were complete. She would have to keep checking on in on the calls to see whether someone was still talking on the line(s) so she could disconnect them as they finished their gossip or business. She used  to have some wild stories to tell and she always knew all the latest gossip on this politician's affair with the Wife of the business owner down the street and even family members! Yes, Charlie. Someone listening to part or all of your conversations is nothing new. Everyone complains that our Government and other agencies invade our Privacy when they do this but it was a necessary evil when the Telephone Operator connected your call. No one ever thought a thing about an Operator eavesdropping on your conversations back then other than the very savvy criminals.

I still remember some of those old Phone Numbers, some six-digit and some seven as well as the Call Letters of my Dad’s Ham Radio Operator License. How great it would be to pick up my iPhone and be able to “dial”,  ‘Cedar’-359 and hear Aunt Dot’s or Uncle Dan’s voice again. What a kick it would be to key a microphone on my desk and speak my Dad’s Call Letters over the air and have him answer just once more.

There is so much of our local History which isn’t taught anymore and was never written in books or magazines. That History is a rich one in the Upstate as it is nearly everywhere else in this country and it’s those little stories which never made the Headlines which help to shape the bigger stories from our local History. If you forget everything else, remember it’s these kinds of stories from your own Family History which contribute to those bigger stories and events so pass those stories along to your children. Teach them about their Ancestors and their Heritage because if you don’t your own History will be lost as well as your Family History. Teach them just how important it is to pass the stories you heard from your Elders and the stories of which you were a part down to their own children. In short, keep the Legacy alive.

Toodles for now.

From Riches To Rags With A Full Cup

I was just watching an episode of What Would You Do and the very first story began with a ‘Food Stamp’ customer trying to check out of a grocery store with not quite enough money left on her account to buy all the groceries she’d wanted to purchase. She had no extra cash for the remaining $12.00 and the clerk (an actor) was giving the welfare customer (an actor) grief because she was taking Government money which the cashier paid for. Most every other non suspecting real customer paid the $12.00 difference to help the young lady out and sparked sometimes heated conversations with the clerk. This got me to thinking about my own life.

My Family was never well-to-do when I was growing up and my Dad often had more than one job at a time. Three jobs, in point of fact, on several occasions. He did this to provide for my mother and me keeping a roof over our heads, food in the fridge and on the table and electricity for lights and heat. We didn’t have an extravagant life by any means. Often our weekly night out for entertainment would be going to a local stretch of busy train tracks to wait for the trains to come by so we could count the number of locomotives and train cars as each one rumbled by and clacked down the tracks. In the warmer months, my entertainment was found in our yard or in the stand of woods across the street from our house. We were lucky to have each other and everything else we possessed in our little piece of the world.

I myself have had many jobs working for the other guy (mostly Management positions) and I’ve had five different businesses of my own. I’ve also kept up my music career in one form or another and have been lucky enough to make a living at it for the third time now. I have seen the low side of life having lived out of my own car at one point with no job and no place to go much less knowing where my next meal would come from. Conversely, I have been fortunate enough to gross over $6000.00 per day with one of my businesses. I’ve been Bankrupt once and almost had to file a second time but found a way to work myself out of that situation. I can say without a doubt that just making just enough money to pay the bills and go out once in a while is all a person really “needs”.

Many of my friends and family members would/will be shocked to hear that I, too, have been on Government assistance. The EBT (Food Stamps) kept food in my belly when I would have otherwise gone hungry and maybe even passed over into the criminal world to be able to eat had it not been for that Government assistance. I realize that a lot of people are abusing the system. What I am saying is that there are so very many people which need some help from time to time. It wasn’t so long ago that a good friend had a heart so big as to help me get a car running and on the road. This person also loaned me money to pay off a debt and I’m currently paying him back with a payment every month. Now things are beginning to get back on track and life is once again good.

What does all this really mean? It means you shouldn’t judge a person based on their appearance, financial wealth, their education, their job or their past. In a nut-shell, just don’t judge at all! You probably don’t know a person’s situation and would most likely be incorrect if you speculated about them. A person’s worth can only be measured by their every day actions so unless you know them and are around them often, try not to measure their worth. Some of the most generous and thoughtful folks I know have, if you’ll pardon my French, no pot to piss in. (A point of Trivia here. A person’s status was once judged on whether someone had a “Pee-Pot” to use during the night stored under or beside their bed so they wouldn’t have to go outside to relieve themselves during the night. Poor people could barely afford cookware to use for cooking food and did not own a Pee-Pot. The Pee-Pot was considered a luxury item only afforded by the wealthy. If you were a Commoner, or poor, you had “no pot to piss in”. And now you know where the term comes from. You’re welcome!) I’ve ridden both ends of the stick. I’ve been more than comfortable with lots of “stuff” and so broke I had nowhere to live but my car and no food to eat for days at a time. Everyone should be so lucky for only then can one truly appreciate the things they have.

The moral of this little story can be summed up like this: 

(From the Bible, New International Version)  

Matthew, 7-2 - For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. 

Toodles for now. 

It’s Been A While...

I have refrained from posting blogs for quite some time now but a great many folks keep telling me I should write more. I find myself discovering new things to comment about or to discuss every single day and you would think that I would write about them. I have come to the proverbial fork in the road at which I must make a decision. Write more often and make my readers either think, smile or laugh or just simply ignore my blog page. Shucks! Let’s pull a Nike and just do it!

I’ll begin by getting everyone caught up on what’s been going on for the last couple of years. I’ve been playing music as much as possible and scratched an item off of my Bucket List and did a Cruise Gig. I did a lot of hired gun gigs as Bassist and/or Guitarist. I became an Ordained Minister then was finally granted an Honorary Doctorate. I currently hold the position of Bass Tech for a concert group named Stone Echo and have done some fill ins with them on both bass and guitar. Though my primary duties are more directed towards making sure the Bassist for the group has everything he needs and is set up and tuned before a show, I also assist the crew with setting up the stage as well as assisting the Lighting Tech. Needless to say I help with the Load Out as well but the Bassist’s gear always comes first. If any of you have ever been on a touring crew in any capacity, you will understand this to be true in a lot of cases.

I have been in the Music Industry in one element or another as a professional since the tender age of twelve when I was signed to a management company out of Nashville, Tennessee. I suppose you might even say earlier than that as my first paying gig was a solo performance for a private event where I was paid rather handsomely for my age and the times. There have certainly been  times where I took the miscellaneous jobs to help pay bills and even had several of my own businesses in the past but I never completely abandoned my music.

For many musicians, the music we perform or compose is at least as bad as alcohol or drugs for an addict. Some musicians are able to just play occasionally while the rest of us become grumpy if we cannot or do not play. This is the meat of what separates us into two major components. The Professional and the Hobbyist. The Hobbyist will put any income from music into the Household funds and can usually be found sitting in an office somewhere or playing with his buddies in someone’s home or garage. This group of individuals can be found on stage at most local venues such as bars or even city-wide events. The Professionals will almost always only put back into their personal finances just enough to pay their bills and all other monies go right back into the business. You see? Music is a business if that’s what you choose to do for your living. Bassically if you don’t work (play music), you don’t eat. It’s just that simple.

Some, like me, have been around long enough that we have seen and done a lot of things which others wouldn’t even believe if we were to tell them about everything we’ve seen and done as a musician. We’ve also met a lot of really well known Artists and have either opened for a number of them or have been on the stage with them performing. Shoot! I partied a few times with Black Oak Arkansas some years back backstage in the green rooms, on their Tour Bus as well as in their rooms. Jim Dandy didn’t do any sort of rescuing when we were partying back in the day. If you are my age, you will most assuredly understand the “rescuing” reference. I have recorded in the studio or been on the stage with Grammy Nominees,  Grammy Winners and Dove Award Winners. I’ve met some of the most popular Artists of their day. I sold a song I composed when I was nineteen and there are not too many musicians who can say they have done that in their lives. 

Though it is a tough job, I enjoy being on a concert band crew. I’m old and have much experience and can pass knowledge along whenever I’m asked. I’m fortunate enough to have the love of a woman who understands the business and is well versed in all of which being Married to a Professional Musician entails. I wish every one of my music family members were as lucky as this business has a habit of tearing many couples apart. 

For what it’s worth, I’ll be posting more often about somewhat more interesting subject matter. For now just try to remember to recognize your journey and be kind to others. King’s X released an album entitled, “Faith, Hope and Love” a number of years ago and truly we could use a bit more of all three in today’s society. 

Until the next time...

...Toodles!                    

Cancer, See Alice and Prayers For A Dying Man!

I think I was sixteen or seventeen years old when I began playing with a band based out of Seneca, SC.  We had a gig at a small venue in the mountains near Wallhalla, SC.  It was a return engagement.  I can't recall what the place was named but everyone knew of its seedy reputation and propensity for violence.  While it's true that there were "Professional Ladies" that "worked" at this bar, they were all quite pleasant to converse with and were known to give the band members what they called, "A Free One" when asked.  Having gigged at this hole-in-the-wall before I knew there'd be at least one fight which the band would be required to play through.

When I finally rolled up to the venue our lead vocalist met me in the parking lot with some really bad news.  Our bass player had been arrested!  I hadn't picked up a bass yet and the other guys didn't want to try to tackle the low-voiced beast at the last minute.  I was asked if I knew of any bass player I could get to fill in for the night.  It took me but a fraction of a second to answer in the affirmative.  "Eddie", I said.  "Eddie Hipps!  He's the only one I know of that can step in and play tonight cold!"  The band leader told me to call him.

I don't remember where I was when I placed the call to Eddie but he agreed to play if I picked him up and took him back home.  This was around two hours before we were to take the stage and Eddie lived an hour-and-a-half away.  Off I raced to Greenville to pick Eddie up.  We arrived back at the mountain venue just fifteen minutes late for the start of the show.  The venue owner was livid but understanding all the same.  Eddie and I both ran in and plugged in our respective instruments and the music began.  The band was a hit that night and Eddie was the unintended star!

I had known Eddie since Middle School but never had the opportunity to play with him before.  When the night was over I found myself hoping I'd have such an opportunity once more.  Eddie's music career and my own would take such drastically different paths it seemed that such a chance would never come again.

Eddie and I lost touch over the years and I wound up in Wyoming.  I eventually moved back home to South Carolina and Eddie and I somehow wound up getting in touch again.  Over the following few years Eddie and I grew close.  So close that I consider him my Brother.  Still, our music jobs were traveling different paths.  I longed for the chance to play on stage with Eddie.  I respect him and his talent.  After all.  It was Eddie's bass playing that eventually got me to pick up the bass.  I told him too many times that I wanted to be in a group with him.  I know he had to have gotten tired of hearing me moan about it.  Then something happened.

See Alice was born of several like-thinking minds.  John Langley, Eddie Hipps and Marty Parker had formed See Alice with some of the original members of The Fabulous Shades when talk started about adding me and eventually Eric Berthold into the group.  My break to join the group came after a difference of opinion regarding how often the group should play and how far they should travel for gigs.  The guys from The Fabulous Shades all pulled out leaving John, Eddie and Marty.  Eric and I were asked to join the fold and we both agreed.  Each of us bring something unique to the group and the music is great!  But there is a problem.

Eddie had Colon Cancer several years ago and beat it.  Next came his back troubles requiring surgery to fix.  The back surgery made matters worse and Eddie has been in constant pain and his left leg is all but useless now since that surgery.  If that weren't enough, he had a heart attack and was found to need triple coronary by-pass surgery which he underwent about a year ago.  He started having one kidney infection after another following his heart surgery and had some surgeries to attempt to correct that as well.  He still got no better.  His Doctors found that his cancer had returned during his last hospital stay.  Eddie and his family were told his cancer had returned with a vengeance and had spread through much of his torso.  His prognosis?  Terminal!  The Doctors are treating him solely in an attempt to keep Eddie comfortable now because nothing else can be done.  My friend is dying in front of my eyes and I can't do a damned thing about it!

It has been agreed and Eddie has told me that I'll be playing bass instead of guitar when Eddie can no longer play.  What an honor for him to ask me to play in his stead!  No one could ever fill Eddie's shoes on bass and I'd certainly never try!  Moreover.  What an honor it has been to share the stage with him these last couple of months and to watch him effortlessly pluck those stings!

See Alice is playing a benefit this week end for Eddie.  Eddie says he hopes to feel well enough to take the stage with both High Tide and See Alice.  Eddie has also played bass for High Tide for years and still does when he's able.  I'm not what you might call a religious man but I believe that prayers work.  Eddie needs lots of them now.  Send some up for him!

Musicians, Quantum Mechanics And Finding My Way Home

For those of you who know me, you are aware that I am a muzishun musishun muzition .... Awe, HELL!  I'm a music maker!  Okay?

For as many years as there have been musicians, the world has held a general opinion that musicians are a lazy, alcohol drinking, drug using, violent bunch of narcissistic illiterates who can't even remember their way home after a gig. I’d like to take just a few moments to dispel at least some of your opinions.

Let me begin by educating those of you who have similar opinions. There are a great number of musicians proliferating the general aforementioned opinions so I can see where the opinions might develop. Most people tend to make derogatory comments about musicians as a whole based on the actions of only a portion of our group of Artists. Allow me to make an effort here to sway your opinions.

The musicians you never hear about are the ones such as the late Philip Taylor Kramer, former Iron Butterfly bassist. He worked on the MX Missile project for the Government, facial recognition software as well as numerous other projects and had claimed to have discovered a mathematical equation that would make “faster-than-light-speed” communications possible. He disappeared, however, before his equation was published and his work verified. Many believe his disappearance to be a suicide. Most believe his work for the Government might have been the reason for his death. To put it in a nut shell, Taylor was a genius. For your information, Randy Jackson (Michael Jackson’s Brother) was Mr. Kramer’s business partner for some years before their company was swallowed up by another corporation following Bankruptcy. Randy is also a musician. Go figure!

This brings me to a point. I have several friends who are quite intelligent and share similar interests with me. They are also, you guessed it, musicians. Sober, giving, intelligent musicians. I have no clue what their respective Intelligence Quotients (IQs) are but they can all find their ways home after a gig!

Take me. I was teaching guitar at age nine. I also began to study Theoretical Physics on my own at that age. I was invited to join Mensa twice but never did. One drink or one beer puts me at my limit. The last time I took a toke (just one toke from a joint) was six or more years ago. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tried what must be every thing else under the sun that was available when I was growing up and I used to drink straight, room temperature tequila by the quart when I was in college. All that stuff stopped before I turned twenty. (I have to confide one thing here. If they ever truly legalize ‘the herb’ I’ll be saying, “High!” quite often.)  Guess what? I can find my way home after a gig, too! AND I’M A FREAKIN’ MUSICIAN!

The moral of this story? Not all of us may be lumped into your opinion of musicians. Get out and have some good conversations with a musician! Give a musician a hug! Take time to go see them perform at what ever venue they play then give them another hug! Trust me. The conversations as well as the hugs are appreciated.

Mahalo! And until next time, aloha!

Gadgets, Cursive Writing And An EMP

For years now I have printed most everything I write. I began to do so while attending High School because my penmanship was so horrid that I could not even read my own writing. My Teachers stopped complaining about not being able to read my writing once I made the switch from cursive writing to printing my words and, to my amazement, my grades went up. I still print to this day rather than write using cursive script when putting pen to paper. It's not a problem of not remembering how to write rather one of laziness on my part. I was too lazy years ago to steady my pen and make myself write where myself and others could read what I penned there. I will write using cursive script only when something is of great importance to me because I have to take such great care to make things legible. It also takes me a great deal more time than just printing because I am so out of practice with my cursive writing.

Months ago, my Fiancee pointed out to me a disturbing fact. She told me that some schools are no longer requiring cursive writing to be taught in classrooms. I did some research and found that many States no longer require cursive to be taught as part of their curriculum. I thought back to reading some of my Mother's letters and how pretty her handwriting was. My Grandfather's handwriting was even better than my Mother's! His could have been used in the classroom to teach students how to write. He even told me one time that I should never stop writing with cursive script. Maybe I'm an alarmist these days but I agree with him now.

I watched a segment on a local news program last night that shocked me even more than I felt it would. A Third Grade Student from Kentucky can write cursive and a Seventh Grade Student in this State cannot. The local Student admitted to not being able to read or write the cursive script. Shameful! The school systems feel there is no longer a need to be able to write when the technology is advancing so rapidly. They further explained that students are still taught to read and write the Alphabet by printing the letters I assume as to better allow them to write with the computer keyboards so prevalent in schools these days. I see several issues with this line of thinking so please follow along with me and overlook what you may assume to be my apparent ellipses as I traverse the subject matter of decreasing literacy and our ever increasing dependence on technology.

According to many Archaeologists and Historians, the Human Race had little advancement of any kind prior to the written language being invented. Stories and more passed on by way of word of mouth can sometimes leave room for inaccuracies being introduced and their numbers increasing exponentially each time the story is told. Experiments to this end have been documented many times over the years. When something is written, however, there is less room for misinterpretation and the insertion of personal opinions into the subject matter. There are some exceptions to this rule.

When translating or reading texts or scripts from long ago one must first understand the culture and at least have an understanding of the prevalent religions and politics of their time. The first thing to realize is that many an innocent person has been murdered by organized religions and political factions throughout history as a result of what they had written. In other words; what you say (or write) can hurt you! Once you've learned about the culture and popular religion and politics of the day you must take all that knowledge into account when reading anything written during those particular times and in that particular location. It can sometimes be a daunting task but realizing the way religion, culture and politics affect more ancient writing and story-telling can help you better understand what the author was trying to convey. Put simply. This better affords you to draw your own conclusions and arrive at your own opinion regarding the subject matter you're reading.

There have been many discoveries about known historical facts that have been previously taught incorrectly for many years. One subject that comes to mind is the City of Troy. It was long taught that the story of Troy was just another Greek Myth about romance, greed and power. Guess what? Archeologists are now excavating an area which has been identified as Troy. No longer is the city a myth. This tends to lead us in the direction of historical accuracy when considering some of the rest of the stories told about Helen, Achilles, Hector, Agamemnon and lastly, the Trojan Horse. If Troy is not a myth we must assume that at the very least portions of the remainder of the tales are historically accurate evidence of things past. Put in simpler terms, the ancient stories written about Troy were written during a time when the teacher taught history by telling a story as if it were a drama or a play and the lesson was sometimes scribed as it was being told or performed. Believe it or not, we do a similar thing today with movies. We remember facts much easier and more accurately if they are presented as entertainment. To think the Greeks realized this so many years ago seems to be beyond our grasp today. A problem arises only when the scribe writes down an inaccuracy being told him or when he omits, adds or changes things because of his opinion regarding content or relevancy. History is only as good as its' author.

Let's consider writing. More correctly, typewriting. We learn to type by first recognizing the letters of the Alphabet then finding them on the keyboard. Some students are even taught the “QWERTY Keyboard” and how to type on it utilizing the “Home Keys” and more. The remainder of the students which are not taught this are what I refer to as the “Hunt-And-Peckers”. These folks use two fingers to navigate the entire keyboard then complain about their hands and arms getting tired after a short time of typing. Maybe these folks should try to type using an old Underwood mechanical typewriter for a while. I bet that would make them want to learn the proper way to navigate on and type with a keyboard. There is a problem with typing using the muscle memory of Home-Key, QWERTY Keyboard typing. You don't look at the letters while you type. You only see the monitor which displays your work as you go. Stay with me here.

Another problem comes up wile looking at the result of your keystroke on a monitor. When a person types a word incorrectly, a usually red, squiggly line underscores a misspelled word unless the operator has disabled the function on their word processing program. Most folks don't disable it because, like me, they have learned to rely on it far too much to make them spell correctly. Others simply don't know why the squiggly underline appears from time to time. Worse yet, still others know why it's there and how to use the spell correcting feature but refuse to correct the incorrect spelling. Spelling and Grammar travel hand-in-hand. Poor Grammar results in words like “Sale” and “Sell” taking on new meanings when used incorrectly. Other words like, “yore”, “your”, “you're” and “then” and “than” are most often used in the wrong contexts as well these days. This could cause historical inaccuracies if the word “than” is inserted in the place of “then” and vice versa. This is a Grammatical issue but is just as important to accurate communication which should also be addressed by contemporary teachers.

So far I've talked a lit bit about Writing, Spelling, History and Grammar. Let's have fun adding another subject to the conversation. Math! How many of us used to be able to perform rather complex Math equations in our heads? I used to be able to accurately resolve accounting formulas, hand-written in long form ledgers without the use of a calculator or pencil and paper. If you can do the same, you are most likely at least a half-century old. My Math skills were once superb but now I struggle to calculate percentages without the aid of some sort of computing device. It is said that Math is the only true Universal Language. Well. There is a problem with assuming Math is an infallible, universal language. Math is also, as it would seem, sometimes only as accurate as the solver's interpretation of the equation. Your interpretation of an equation may very well differ from your child's understanding on how to gain a solution to the query it may create and you may find your respective answers different. At times there are more than one correct answer to an equation but those times are very rare. What is needed at times is us putting one part of an equation into context with its neighboring strings of numbers and symbols to find a solution. Sadly. Many of our children are being taught less and less of the subject of Math because we have computers that give us more accurate answers faster than we are capable of attaining them. Therefore the tides are turning more towards just letting the technology get our solutions for us. The problem with not calculating the Math ourselves? If you don't use it, you loose it!

Let's back up a little here. Remember the speech I wrote above which pertained to Home-Key, QWERTY typing. Learning to type correctly is rapidly becoming a dinosaur as well as writing in general. Think about it. We command our phones to look up the correct spelling of a word via the internet connection it maintains throughout the day, a phone number, or any number of other things. Your phone verbally asks you to verify the command and waits for a response. Once the command is confirmed, the phone tells you the appropriate answer with an almost human voice. You didn't type or write a thing and you didn't have to read anything. The same technology is becoming more and more prevalent in computers and other electronic devices in use daily by millions of human beings on a global scale. Many of our devices will read our texts, e-mails and more aloud for us so we don't even have to look at a written word again and will transcribe for us anything we wish. What do you suppose is happening here? It puts me in mind of something said just a few lines back. If you don't use it, you loose it. If you don't believe it, just ask the nearest musician.

I will make a supposition here that any reader still following this storyline is more of an abstract thinker and is beginning to see what I'm driving towards. If you can see where I'm going, the facts should hent your attention to the point of terror at what may lie on the horizon for humanity. If you are what's known as a linear thinker and your interest is somehow piqued, please stay with me as I attempt to summarize.

Do you own a phone that you can command to get information and perform tasks for you? Do you have a similar program for your computer? Do you have a program on your work computer which allows you to speak your correspondence while the program transcribes it for you as you rare back in your office chair and close your eyes because of the really bad head-ache you have? Does your phone or notepad read newspapers or novels for you as you drive down the highway headed home after work? Do you speak into your phone to create reminder notes or schedule an important date? Take a moment here and seriously consider how much you rely on technology yourself then imagine a world suddenly stripped of the technology to which you've grown so attached. No! Really! Take a moment to ponder what your world would be like without all your gadgets!

Now. Let's all Fast-Forward about one thousand, nine hundred, eighty-eight years into the future. Paper mills all shut down long ago and there is very little paper left except in some of the few remaining museums around the world. The museums are considering closing because no one visits them any more. Everyone gets their information from technology. They can download images directly to their own brain with the tried and true image procurement technology that has been in use since the early twenty-one hundreds. What do you need the museums for when you can download it and see it right in your own head? Most governments have outlawed writing because of its arcane nature. After all. Writing is no way to communicate!

Then it comes! Whether it was a man-made disaster or natural phenomenon, the effects of the global electromagnetic burst is realized. Nothing works! Everything which was connected to a power source whether powered on or not has now been fried and rendered useless! Roughly one percent of the world's population can still read but they are old and near death. There are a few books but not enough people left to teach the rest of the world how to read now. Hell. People have barely actually talked to each other for so many years now their vocal bands have begun to shrivel and waste away because they haven't been used. All the verbalization has been done by computers for the last five hundred or more years! Teaching Math was discontinued way back around twenty-one sixty because our technology did our calculations faster and more accurately than we could. So why bother learning how to add or subtract? There are no more architects or people left who can even read a blueprint. Robotics has taken over all the tasks of building from instructions given them by computers which are designed and built by still other computers and robotic devices.

Laugh and think me a doomsday fanatic if you wish. Before you do, however, think about the world just two hundred fifty years ago. If someone were to have said they were building a rocket to go to the moon and another vehicle to drive around on its surface, they'd have been burned at the stake for being possessed by a demon or the Devil himself. Think about how someone from three hundred years ago might try to describe you using your Smartphone of today. You might have been thought to be God incarnate if you talked to your phone and it talked back to you or played music or even showed moving images as if it were real. Why, then, are you having so much difficulty in believing the possible world I partially described above or seeing that writing might just disappear forever if we allow it?

We need to encourage our school systems to get back to teaching all the basics and never stopping to teach them. There will come a time when it will be important to all of us once again to rely on our own brains and our own mouths to communicate. What a joy it would be if we could still write our thoughts down for eternity. If your child's school won't teach them, then the responsibility rests on the shoulders of parents and anyone else willing to share the knowledge with future generations. Don't let cursive writing fall into the black hole of oblivion! It could be just one more small step towards a world populated by nothing more than sheep.

Post Script: Sheep are dumb. Don't let yourself or your descendants become sheep!

Hooters, Coming Out And Reality Shows

So it's like this. I have found that I may be gay! I don't think I am but I found myself making comments as if I were one of my few gay friends while watching The Bachelor on television recently. I was aghast that the young man starring in this so-called “Reality Show” could not see the manipulative bitch in one of the girls on the show. I was commenting on the issue to my wonderful Fiancee (a woman) when it struck me that I sounded just like a gay male talking about one of his friend's lovers! I had to laugh and then asked my sweetheart if I sounded “gay” to her while making the comments. She looked up from the laptop with which she was using to play a computer game and said, “......No?.....” After which a huge grin crossed her face. She continued, “You are not, in any way, gay!” I must admit her comment did little to comfort me but served only to disturb my calm even more. Truth be told? I am not, in point of fact, gay. I only sound gay sometimes.

I admit to being addicted to certain reality based programming such as the aforementioned as well as things like Cops and Survivor. I don't like many of the other ones and don't understand why. I suppose you could say that I'm a little strange that way. My Fiancee tells me I'm strange in a lot of ways but that's beside the point.

Why does it have to be that a heterosexual male cannot display emotion as a rule? I was an only child and very close with my Mother. I learned from her how to stay in touch with my emotions. I learned from her that it was alright for a man to cry and to show that he was hurt emotionally. I learned from her that strength came from accepting and understanding my emotions. So what happened to the majority of other men in this world?

Most Blue-Collar men in this country hardly ever hug. A shaking of the hand is more than some are comfortable with doing for the most part. Hugs and kisses, some even on the lips, is an accepted practice in many other cultures. This type of contact does not make someone gay! Here, however, men as a majority tend to strut around as if they were the bantam rooster ruling the yard. No more than a hand-shake for no longer than a second is the routine. If you see one man hugging another and saying, “I love you” as they part ways, you assume they are related in some way or gay. This sort of practice is acceptable for females and is quite common.

I am a man who likes to fish, hunt, play golf and I also enjoy many other “Manly” activities. Here's the rub. I have male friends who I hug when I visit them. I hug them again when departing from their company then tell them I love them. I can find no shame in doing so. I do love my friends and don't mind touching them. I just have no desire to touch them “down there” and would have a cow if they did that to me! These are men who love to talk about the female physique and are rather the braggarts when it comes to their sexual prowess with the women. Me? I'm one of those guys too. I don't think a 'Gaynometer' would even move if any of us were hooked up to one. Let me interject a query here. Do you think I'd ever say, “No” to going out to Hooters? I think not! The food is great! (Being engaged; isn't this what I'm supposed to say?) The girls in their outfits make me want to stay and enjoy a nice long beer or leisurely cup of coffee after the meal!

Speaking of sounding gay. I once knew a young man in High School who was teased constantly about being “queer”. He was one of my better friends. He never complained or said otherwise but would only grin when someone teased him about it. I had been invited over to his house for lunch one day and afterward found myself sitting just inside his garage talking as we watched the traffic go by on the street. We both were enjoying the fellowship when he suddenly became very quiet and his smile faded to a sullen line harshly drawn across his face. He began to speak in almost a whisper with his head down and gaze on the concrete on which we sat. “You know?” he began, “I'm not queer. I just let every body think I am.” This unsolicited admission rattled me. I sat there with mouth open not quite knowing what to say. “I only act this way because I can get all the dirt on all the girls.” he continued “That way I know which ones put out!” I sat there both shocked and envious of him. He began to name a few of the girls he'd had physical relationships with and I found myself becoming angry because many of them were fantasies of mine!

It was at that moment I became a member of a very elite club. The few who knew he wasn't gay! I later had conversations with some of the girls he'd “known” and they confessed he was an extraordinary lover but had been sworn to secrecy as I had been. I cannot recall any other boys that ever knew my friend was not gay but I still remember the girls who knew! I decided back then to never pass judgment on any man or woman because they acted or sounded gay. My “gay” friend from school? He's been happily married to a woman for many years and has a family now. I spoke to him recently on the phone and he still does sound a little on the more feminine side of testosterone but I'll bet he still laughs about his conquests when he was younger.

The Moral of the story? Just because I may sound gay from time to time or hug my male friends and tell them I love them doesn't mean you should accept or assume that I am gay. Besides! I suppose occasionally sounding gay has certainly played a part in getting me close to certain women in my past. (It should be noted here that I wear a huge grin on my face.) Close indeed!

Post Script: I love you, Laurie!

Love, The Double-Nickle And A Sink Full Of Dishes

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending it in the office of a doctor. What fun! I've been putting this visit off for a while and I should be happy to be getting it over with.

Fifty-Five! I used to think someone this old was really old! Now it some how doesn't seem so old. At least I'll be able to get discounts at most of the places I do business with in the future. That will be great!

I currently have the mind of a seventeen year old and the body of a seventy-seven year old. So far over the last year I have survived quintuple by-pass surgery and later a body full of blood clots, which were discovered following a pulmonary embolism compounded by massive amounts of fluid in the chest, lungs and abdomen. I can't work. I can only play with the dogs for a couple of minutes at a time. Washing a sink full of dishes is a true chore. Vacuuming the floor puts me down for a few hours. I even get winded just walking to the mail box. In other words, I no longer can run a marathon. I used to say I'd get to see my one-hundredth birthday but now realize I'll do extremely well to see my sixtieth. Such is the result of a lifetime spent without care for one's own future.

Even with all the health issues, I can say I truly am happy. I know my place in this world and understand my journey here. I was put here for four reasons. I am here to get people to talk about me so they will leave all others alone. I am here to make people think and laugh. I am here to show a special someone that things can be better when you're with the right person. I am here to share a song; to make some people smile; to make some people cry; to make some people imagine, “What if?”

I guess I'm just tired today and anxious about what the Doc may say. I anticipate some not-so-good news but hope I'm wrong. Days like today serve to remind me how important it is to tell those around you that you love them. Take my advice and do just that today. You might never get another chance to tell them.

Fish, A Past Master, And A Song Called Corina

Sitting in my recliner and pondering in the silence of the moment, I began to recall things from my past such as people who are no longer with us. My Mother and my Grandfather are the two which are at the forefront of a great many of the good times I had while growing up. Those were happy times indeed. Let me tell you a little bit about my Grandfather.

I used to tag along with my Grandfather on Saturdays to help him work during the School Year and spent many days each week with him during the Summer months. As I look back on those days I realize just how much I learned from him and just how much help I may have been to him. He was a Heating and Air Conditioning Repairman and much of our time back then was spent crawling around under houses where the furnaces were typically installed. I was the one in charge of handing Papa, as I call my Grandfather, the right tool when he asked for it. I was also the runner. That job entailed crawling out from under the houses and running to the van to retrieve whatever else Papa found he needed to facilitate the repairs. It was an important job, according to Papa, and one which I took very seriously. There were instances where I couldn't find what it was I was sent after and would run back to tell him. He would then make his way out and I'd follow him to the van where he'd instantly lay his hands right on what he had sent me to get. He never complained about having to go to the van to find what I could not. I'm not sure if he deliberately taught me how to organize tasks and my time or if I just learned it by attrition while helping him. Either way I learned how to do those things as well as how to use some specialty tools.

Papa was an amazing man who was nearly always smiling. At least I remember him smiling more than anything. He was a quiet but quick-witted man and everyone loved him dearly and trusted him because of his honesty. He was well respected as a tight-wad but would give you the shirt off his back if you were truly in need. He was a musician just like most of his side of the family. This was because his father came to the United States, became a Citizen then immediately opened his first music store. All his family was constantly exposed to music and various instruments. Papa learned to play the guitar, piano, saxophone, clarinet, flute, drums, pump organs, and was a fine vocalist as well. His Sisters, Brother and Mother were all as well versed in varieties of instruments and singing.

Papa used to sit around playing his guitar and singing when he was young but played less after arthritis settled in his hands and fingers. There was one song he was quite fond of playing from the 1940's called Corina. I decided to learn that song one day in order to show him I could play it as well and maybe even play along with him as he played it. I spent weeks learning a finger-picking technique I created just for that song. I never got to play it with him because his fingers hurt too bad and had become stiff from the arthritis. I vowed to play the song for him at some point before he died.

I had bought into a studio in Georgia at ten shares and later acquired more and more stock to become a Majority Shareholder. Things were going well with the Corporation and I asked Papa if he might let me bring him to work one day to see what I did for a living at that time. Papa agreed and I picked him up on the date agreed upon. I was amazed when I picked him up. He was wearing a grey, pin-striped silk suit and carried a charcoal grey fedora in his left hand. I asked why he dressed up so and he replied, “Well. You wear a suit and tie to work. Don't you?” He went on to say he just thought it might look a little better for him to wear a suit because I used to dress in appropriate clothing to go to work with him. He said it was only fair.

We talked about music all the way from his house to my offices and studio in Georgia. When Papa walked into the main entrance, he paused to look around. We were busy with construction building more offices and adding on to the studios. The place was a mess. I took him in to see my office first as I laid my briefcase on my desk then gave him the grand tour. I deliberately left the control room of our A Room for last. The control room was a room, within a room, within another room. Each wall was isolated by sound deadening material between each floor, wall and ceiling and was totally sound-proofed from the studio and outside world. There were various sizes of speakers hung from the ceiling and walls as well as a couple of different sets of near-field monitors sitting over the Hill, J-5 board which sat under the main window. Several different recording machines were along the wall left of the main console and out-board equipment filled several racks along the right side of the console. Papa took a seat on the client couch along the back wall of the control room as I spooled up reel after reel of 2” tape to let him see how things were done.

I finally asked Papa if he felt like trying to play a little guitar for my partner who had joined us and he agreed. I gave him an easy playing Martin with a buttery timbre and he strummed and plucked it for a few moments to get used to the feel. He immediately broke into Corina as I knew he would. Papa began to sing and I picked up another guitar to strum along with him. Before he could finish the song he started to get stiff fingered from his arthritis but I continued to play for him until he finished singing the song. When done, I told him that I had a song I wanted him to listen to. I pulled an A-DAT tape out of my personal rack and placed it into the player. I cued up a song and began to push the play button. It began with four clicks and I started finger picking Corina to the rhythm track I recorded some time prior to his visit. The look on Papa's face was all I needed from him. I could tell he was proud as tears welled up in both eyes then began to leave their moist tracks down his cheeks. When I finished the song, Papa was speechless for a moment then asked how I knew that song. I explained to him that I had grown up listening to him and watching him play it and wanted to give him a different arrangement of it for him to sing along to. I handed him the tape which I recorded as I played along with the rhythm tracks and explained to him that I did all this for him. Papa wept openly for several minutes then told me he was indeed proud of his number one Grandson. Hell. I was his only Grandson! That was one of the most poignant moments I ever spent with him. He died years ago but I still miss him today.

As I was growing up, Papa and I had become expert fishermen. Of course, he always was able to out fish me and it was our competition, of sorts, that kept us in good humor the whole time we would fish. It was Papa that taught me how to tie blood knots and many other fishing knots all the way up to the Bimini Twist. I still know them all today. We used to go night fishing under the old I-85 bridge on Lake Hartwell before they built the concrete structure that remains today. We would tie up on the crossbeams under the bridge and fish until daylight. The fishing was good back then. We stopped our night fishing for some years after the new bridge was built until Papa bought a boat that had a stove, a sink and a refrigerator. The only thing missing was a head. We'd anchor out in the middle of the lake and again fish the entire night. A couple of the things that made it better is that we could cook something to eat like a fish we had caught when we got hungry instead of having to eat cold sandwiches brought on board before shoving off. We also could percolate fresh coffee which was much better than coffee from a thermos type bottle.

Papa was never a trout fisherman so I never learned to operate a rod and line for trout fishing streams and rivers until I moved to Wyoming. I told him about one of my adventures in learning how to cast fly line over the phone one day. He laughed as I told him how many times I snagged my vest with a fly while trying to cast properly. He would tease me a little then tell me to keep practicing. He told me I'd get the hang of it and I did.

Papa always encouraged me to be myself and not listen to negative banter from anyone. He never told me how proud he was of me until the day I played Corina for him but I always knew he was proud. He never discouraged me from trying to beat him on the fish count. He hugged me often and told me he loved me each time he did so. He never stopped telling me to use my head and figure out new or alternate ways to do something because maybe I'd come up with an easier or faster way to do it. Some of you will understand what I mean when I say that Papa, a Past Master several times over, raised me in the Masonic Lodge. What an honor for me. He told me afterward that it was more an honor for him. Yes. I learned from Papa. Yes. I miss him. Yes. It was my honor to have him as my Grandfather. Yes. I will miss him forever. Moreover, I will forever carry a piece of him inside me. When I cross over to the next world, I will remind him of how my time in this world has been positively augmented because of his teaching and encouragement all those years. There in the next world, I will hug him, thank him and tell him how much I love him and how much I've missed him. If there are guitars in the next world, I'll play Corina again for him and maybe, just maybe, he'll play along with me.

  

Whipper-Snappers, Dangerous Chemicals And A Crotchety Old Fart

I suppose I finally turned into that crotchety old fart I used to poke fun at so many years ago. He was a grumpy bastard who complained about how stupid the young whipper-snappers had become over the years. I never understood much of what he griped about but being a Facebook user for several years now, I'm beginning to see his point(s). I hazard a supposition if you are one of my Facebook Friends, you might recognize this Status Update from yesterday. I went on to use a direct quote from the post I read made by someone else. The resulting comments put me in mind of the proverbial “Shit-Storm” everyone always mentions at some point in their lives. Though my post was not intended to be directed at any one person by using the quote, the post was taken personally by its author as a direct and vicious attack on their educational background. This was so far away from the original purpose that the comments which poured in shocked me into a realization. That being, I shouldn't post certain things on Facebook but should just keep on scrolling on down the page. I presume the comments about my character will continue on for many days.

The post was meant to enlighten some of the younger folks awareness of what they type is simply too incorrect to be understood properly by the rest of the folks speaking English in this world today. Most incorrectly used words are proliferated via text messaging and so-called social networks. Both have contributed to making our children lazy about Grammar and Spelling. Math, too, may be listed as another subject payed ill attention. The words, “yore, your, you're” all three seem to be interchangeable containing the same meanings. Others, such as, “then” and “than” share the same or similar contemporary fate.

Another thing that confuses me is why do people re-post things that have long since been debunked and comment on how awful it is that this could be happening this day and time. The additional comments regularly ramble on and on about the shame of it all even after someone posts the fact that the subject is a hoax and even list a hyperlink which exposes the hoax. It just goes to show you the old saying is true. “There's one born every minute.”

After great consideration, I decided to put to the test a common misconception regarding the younger generations typically believing without questioning. That is; “It has to be true if it's on the Internet.” As many of you may already know, this is far from the truth. Un-Truths are proliferated daily by the folks less willing to learn or find out things for themselves. Most people today have become sheep in a global environment populated with too few shepherds. They will most often believe what they are told and most of what is heard and read without trying to verify a single fact. These sheep feel our politicians and news media are infallible, without bias and as honest as eternity is long. I have toyed with the idea of creating a cult to glean wealth from such individuals in the world but haven't been able to bring myself to take advantage of such persons who are obviously sorely in need of so much compassion and guidance. At least I haven't been able to bring myself to do it..... yet!

What I did was post a rather lengthy note to one of my Social Networking sites entitled, “A Simple Experiment In Human Nature". The subject matter was a re-post of a college prank that went viral on the Internet years ago and has surfaced occasionally to strike fear in the hearts of sheep world wide over the years. That subject being, a petition to ban the use, storage and production of Dihydrogen Monoxide in the United States Of America! (H2O for all the non-chemistry sheep). I haven't gone back to check since the posting but I had already gained one 'Like' before I could even get off the page. Here's the hyperlink if you wish to go and check it out.

My Simple Experiment In Human Nature

The experiment is a simple one. Of those who read the post, how many will have already seen the subject matter or heard about it prior to my posting it again? Of those, what percentage will believe it to be true? What percentage will post negative comments and what percentage will believe it to be so because it is posted on the Internet? Finally. How many will actually “get it” and have a good laugh over it?

What I'm attempting to convey with this Blog Post and the experiment mentioned above is indeed simple. We, as a global society, need to get back to questioning everything. How else are we to learn? Where would we be if people such as Newton, Einstein, Hawking, Bell, Washington, Lincoln and so many others had not questioned the things and situations around them? We may begin by learning how to properly communicate with those around us. Get back to what used to be considered basic education in the subjects of Math, Science, Spelling and Grammar. We need to get involved with the education of our children and not depend on others to teach them the basics. Make sure you know what your child is being taught! What your child learns may be taught to them by a teacher that doesn't care that your child can't spell or knows how to effectively count money. Not all teachers passively teach and pass them on to the next grade just to get rid of them. Some teachers actually care but find it difficult to compete with the lack of care some parents seem to display about education at home. Parents these days believe that some of the games their child plays on that expensive game system are really educational ones. Some may be but I feel kids can learn a great deal more and will find it much easier to learn if the imagination is first utilized. Further. Parents are too busy playing with their own toys to see their child being sucked down into the black hole that is literate ineptitude.

I'll come down from my lofty altitude which is the top of my soap box and close with these few words. There are parents who monitor their child's activities and educational progress. There are teachers who make sure no child goes on to the next grade without being prepared. There are politicians who give a rat's ass that our country is going down the tube. There is a large slice of society which is as alarmed about the same things I am worried about. We are not alone! If you are not with us but would like to be, all you have to do is grab a paddle then climb aboard that canoe we so desperately need to navigate along Shit Creek. We'll welcome you without fail! If my words confound you or confuse you, I'll leave you with something I left at the end of one of my posts on a social network site this past week. It plainly reads as follows:

“IF I PISSED YOU OFF WITH THIS POST, than your part of tha prollem!”

Post Script:  Be sure to check back next week when I'll be talking about the joys of fishing!

Golf balls, A Full Life And A Couple Of Beers

Prelude:

I am writing this post while not feeling well. Those of you who are my Facebook Fans probably know of some of my health issues. Let us just say that today has not been a good day and I currently am distracted by my difficulty in comfortably breathing right now. I mention this only because this post will be short and may contain grammatical errors. Please understand that this is not me.

Now let's get on with it. I was looking through some of the funny, sorrowful and unique stories I have on file and came across the following story filed away on my external hard drive. I posted it here only because of its relevance to my Blog post today.

The Wise Professor

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous, “Yes”. The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now”, said the professor as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things - your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions - and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car. The sand is everything else - the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Visit with grandparents. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and mow the lawn. Take care of the golf balls first - the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the Beer represented. The professor smiled and said, “I’m glad you asked. The Beer just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of Beers with a friend.”

I have enjoyed the frustrating and relaxing game of Golf for almost as long as I can remember. I didn't start playing the game until I was about eight. At least I learned how to swing the club then. I used to caddy for my Dad more than anything and later, I caddied for other golfers. I was always finding golf balls that had been lost or simply let lie because of such a bad shot. I'd pick them up and put them into a canvass bag I always kept for such a find. I'd clean all the found balls before taking them home to put into my gallon sized jar. It was one of those jars you used to see at the neighborhood store that contained pickled pigs feet, pickled eggs or pickled sausages. I kept only the good golf balls that looked new so that I could use them later as I couldn't afford to buy my golf supplies. I'd hit the scuffed ones or the ones with a slice on them into the woods behind my house as I practiced my swings with different clubs. I suppose I was an fair shot for my age.

As I got older, I hardly ever played golf. I had discovered girls! My golf stuff went by the way-side and I had placed my big jar full of golf balls on the pea-sized gravel next to the basement door outside. I hardly ever played in the yard after girls were discovered and it wasn't long before I'd forgotten about my golf balls altogether. One day one of my Mother's friends came to visit with her five-year-old boy. I was told that I would be the one to “entertain” and watch after the young boy while Mother's friend visited. You can imagine my enthusiasm at being given this task. I showed the youngster out to our back yard and started to try and interest him in some things I liked to do. I quickly discovered looking after him would be no easy task. He was all over the place throwing rocks and sticks, running and trying to climb trees. I couldn't keep up with him even in my youth. He found the jar and started to put some of the gravel into it. I kept my mouth closed because he found something to keep him busy for a while. I watched as he packed the jar as full as he could get it, shifting the golf balls and shaking the jar from time to time as he progressed. At last the jar was in fact full and he raced off to find something else to interest him. I figured I could empty the gravel out later and once again, forgot the jar where it sat.

Many years had passed and my parents had made the decision to sell the house I grew up in. They had moved into a house nearer a lake and only a few miles away from my Dad's business while I was still a Sophomore in High School. I had lived there for the last two-and-a-half years by myself and kept the house and lawn in good repair. (I kept the house full of girls and parties as well, but that's a whole novel all by itself so we'll just leave that subject alone! Sorry about my ellipsis. Allow me to continue.) As we began to pack things up, the jar of golf balls and pea-gravel was found to have sand from the bottom to the brim. The wind had blown the sand into the jar over a four year period and it had settled in between all the gravel and golf balls and was also water laden which made it very heavy. My Dad wanted to just throw it away but I insisted I was going to keep it. I packed it into my car as carefully as I could with the rest of the things which were important to me and which I didn't trust anyone else to move for me.

I came across this stupid jar again many years later and wondered why the hell I had kept this thing. Being somewhat of a ponderer, I began to hold the jar up turning it and studying it for some time. I remembered my Dad complaining about the jar I had “filled” with golf balls. I remember thinking that the jar was certainly “full” after our little visitor had “filled” it with all the gravel. It occurred to me while studying the jar, however, that it never was “full”. It wasn't full as I studied it. The water had long since evaporated and even if water were poured into the jar, it would hold a great deal of liquid and still, the jar would not be totally “full” ever! If you consider the microscopic and atomic levels, there are always places where more and more substance may occupy space. I'm sorry. That's just the way my thought process has always worked. The jar can never be “full”. This is why I saved the story about the wise Professor for so many years. It reminded me of my revelation regarding whether the jar could ever be really filled.

All of this brings me to a wonderful enlightened revelation. There is always some time for everything. Our chore has become making the decision to fill the empty spaces in our worldly time-line with the things that are important first, then the other big things and finally with all of the lessor things no matter how small they may seem. There will always be room for my Family. There will always be time to fix something or do the dishes. There's still time enough to write a new song, play another round of golf, go hiking, take a nap, read a book, or spend time with the kids, parents, or grandparents. With all the things going on in my life, I still have time to share a couple of bottles of beer with a friend. As the saying goes; “Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things.” Enjoy a long life as full as you can make it because there are some folks who wish they could fill there lives a bit more. Like me.

I hope the year, 2013 will bring you many wonderful memories and few bad ones. I hope you will find your checking and savings accounts grow a little more than the years past. Most of all. I hope this coming year will bring you health and many more close friends with which you find pleasure in just spending time and sharing a couple of bottles of beer. I dare you to try to fill your jar this year.