The Hierarchy

 

     Growing up with a father who was a butcher you would think we ate a lot of good meat but the reality was that with five kids dad could hardly afford steak for himself. Many times we didn't even have meat for dinner. Often just having a ham hock cooked in with the Navy beans was a bonus but then we were kids who would eat pretty much anything and anything was what we got. 

     Back in the 50's, kids were treated differently, we were supposed to be seen but not heard and when it came to food we ate what was put before us except for me, as for me all food had to look good, smell good and taste good in that order. I admit that I was a picky eater and therefore I had my old standby's of mashed potatoes, Navy beans and cornbread for dinner meals and bologna sandwiches for lunch and Cherrios for breakfast. But every now and then dad would bring home a roast which if it wasn't consumed in one meal it was turned into leftovers in the form of "hash". 

     While we had our old standbys we did eat other things like green beans, peas, cornbread cooked in an iron skillet and cut into triangles, cornbread paddies that looked like small pancakes and sometimes cornbread muffins. We also ate chicken that was fried in the same skillet as the cornbread, in fact the cornbread often had a taste of chicken because some of the leftover grease was used in the making of the cornbread, the rest of the grease was poured into a special can to be used again later to cook something else, nothing was wasted.

     There was a hierarchy for eating and another for the food itself. As for the act of eating the hierarchy started with dad going first then the oldest child, that was me, then on down the line with mom being the last to eat. Moms were the last to sit down at the table after having finished the cooking and getting the food from the pot into a bowl and on the table, then she would prepare a plate for the little ones and spoon feed the baby, I was 13 before there were no babies to feed. By the time I was nine I was mom's assistant with the cooking, washing, ironing and setting the table.

     Then there was the hierarchy for the food itself, generally speaking that meant there was adult food and kid food. Dad, and sometimes mom, got to eat steak and baked potatoes or shrimp and fries. When mom and dad got to eat shrimp we kids had leftover hash and were sent to bed early.

     One food that was popular back then was chicken, it was cheap, quick and easy to prepare. Chicken was usually eaten on Sunday and almost always it was fried, any leftovers were put on a plate, covered with a dishcloth and left on the table so anyone could come in and grab a piece for their "midnight snack". Chicken was one of those foods that involved a hierarchy for the various parts. there were seven different parts to a chicken, four of them were in pairs, then there was the dark meat / light meat factor. Chicken also held an eating order hierarchy, in other words, the adults got the pick of the best pieces. I think I was in my late teens before I got to eat a chicken breast.

     In my opinion, the best part of the chicken was the breast and wish bone, the meat was all white, more tender and therefore more delicious. Because of this, the breast was considered "adult food" but the kids did get the wish bone after a small argument. The other parts contained the dark meat, the thigh, leg and wings were therefore they were considered kid food, the adults started indoctrinating us at an early age that these parts were the best and that we were lucky to have them. That leaves the neck bone and gizzard, I have never eaten either of them, they didn't meet my standards for looks, smell and taste.

     There is an irony about chicken, where as back in the 1950's it was generally served for Sunday meals, it has today become one of the most popular foods. It is served baked, grilled and fried, covered in gravy, filled with various stuffings and consumed any meal of the day or night, it is served in strips (fingers), on buns with fries and purchased by the bucketful for the whole family. There are whole establishments serving nothing but chicken. 

     When I was in Vietnam and aboard ship, chicken seemed to be a staple. When food supplies ran low we always had chicken to the point that when I came home I forbade Linda to serve me chicken, I finally got over my disdain for chicken and it is once again a staple for me, Kay and I have it several times a week.

     I have finally reached the age where I am the oldest of most tables I sit down too so I can pull the first served status if I want but most of the time it's women and children first. My palate has improved a little over the years but I'm still a picky eater, Linda and Kay will both attest to that.

     Another irony is that the wings have become the most popular of all the parts, to me it is the most aggravating.  of the parts as a lot of time and trouble is spent trying to get at the little bit of meat there is but Buffalo wings as they are called are eaten by the dozens. It is not uncommon for one individual to eat twenty or more at a time then wash them down with a cold beer.

     

The Six "P's" of Life

 

     Back in the 1980's, I did a stint as a salesman and as a salesman attended several annual sales meetings. On the whole the meetings were both raucous and boring at the same time, you wound up drinking and eating too much and sleeping was something you did on the flight home. Anything that may or may not have happened during that week was never spoken about in mixed company. Every now and then you would get something from the meetings that would stick with you and hopefully improve your sales if not your life. The meetings lasted four days starting on Monday and ending Thursday night, every day held a different subject and one of those days was the highlight subject of the week. 

     I attended several sales meetings, most of them are faded memories but there was this one that stood out above the rest. I couldn't tell you who was there what year it was held or where but the highlight subject of the week has visited my memory banks often over the years. Don't ask me why it stands out so much it just does. The narrator started the meeting by writing the letter "P" six times on the dry erase board and asked what they meant, we all scratched our heads and came up clueless. The six "P,s" stood for a formula which when applied to our sales tactics would improve our sales, at least that was the general idea. Turns out that I needed more than application of an idea to improve my sales, my sales position didn't last long. I remembered those six "P's" over the years, the principal was sound but the practice left me wanting.

     So just what was the theory of the six "P's", they stood for " Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance". It's one of those little things that is so easy to understand and you would think so easy to put into practice but everybody is not wired the same. Seems that I can't slow down long enough to develop a plan much less put one into practice.

      It took me a long time to understand what the six "P's" meant, they had little to do with sales but everything to do with managing life but they were one of those things that I learned too late. Doing things in a smooth practical way was never my style, still isn't. I always thought that I didn't have time to make a plan especially since most plans were subject to change the moment they were stamped for approval.

     I never again heard of the six "P'S" but I never forgot them, I think that somehow they were being held in probate waiting for this moment when I would share this tidbit of wisdom in the hopes that maybe it would help a future offspring to live a better life. So whoever is reading this I hope you have a good life even if you don't use the theory of the "P's".

The Barefoot Kid

 

     Growing up in the 1950's was a lot different than today, the technology of today was still a few decades away. Our parents had a different view of life, they were more frugal in general because of the way they grew up during the depression of the 1920's and 30's. Everything they had back then was shared, hoarded and carefully maintained, shoes, articles of clothes, tools, equipment, even the food that was left over from meals was reheated for a later meal in the form of "leftovers", even bath water shared, nothing went to waste. Money was in short supply so many times the barter system was used to pay for goods and services, this way of life continued on into the 1950's and 60's. Nothing was thrown out, whenever possible items that were no longer needed, worn out or outgrown were repurposed and made useful as something else. Take for instance a pair of shoes, shoes today are a "throw away" item, outgrow them - toss them in the trash, wear them out - throw them in the trash., yet my grandfather's dress shoes were handed down to my father who handed them down to me along with his Sunday church suit, outdated yes but still usable.

     I am the oldest of five kids and dad's paycheck was the only money we had coming in so we didn't have the luxury back then of tossing something we no longer wanted. Let's take shoes for instance, today they are a a throwaway item made from cloth, rubber and very thin or even fake leather. Back in the 50's we had two types of shoes, dress up and play. Dress up shoes were worn to school or any place where you needed to look good. The dress up shoes were all leather including the sole and heel, they required polishing with a shoe polish that made them shine and resisted moisture. Over time the heels and soles would show wear patterns, when this occurred, they could be taken to the shoe repair shop where the heels and soles could be replaced. Being the oldest, when I outgrew shoes they might be handed down to one of my brothers or to a neighbor's boy. Mothers had a network where they swapped items of clothing for growing kids.

     Play shoes were made to play in. often they were tennis shoes with rubber soles and canvas tops. The TV ads of the day said they would make you run faster, they came in two colors - black or white. Mostly they were worn in gym class and maybe when visiting the grandparents or any place where shoes could get dirty, torn or scuffed. Once you reached a certain age, it was not uncommon to outgrow shoes every six months, rather than toss them and if they didn't fit a sibling there would be someone in the neighborhood who could use them.

     Before you get the idea that we wore shoes all the time you have to understand, this was the south and in the summertime we often ran around barefoot. Going barefoot was one way of getting the most out of a pair of shoes, it didn't matter that you probably outgrew them over the summer, soap and water were cheaper than shoes. In Tennessee, barefoot weather started about mid May and continued on through September but to be honest even in the cold of January we could be seen making a quick barefoot run to the mailbox and back.

     As a kid of the times my feet were hardened to the elements and conditions of nature, get me on a dirt path or a grassy lawn and I could run like a deer. It was one thing to be able to run around in the grass, it actually felt good on your feet just be aware of the honey bees in the clover, nothing hurts worse than being stung between the toes. You also needed to be careful of "poop" left behind by cats, dogs, cows and chickens, it wasn't easy cleaning "poop" from between the toes with a twig or green leaf from a tree. Running on dirt wasn't too bad, generally it was smooth but watch out for things that may be embedded in it, when wet it felt different when it oozed between your toes. Running on gravel was not fun, to be blunt about it, gravel hurt and if stepped on the wrong way you could get what we called a stone bruise on the bottom of your feet. Paved roads were only a problem when they were hot, it added a whole new meaning to the term "hotfoot", crossing a paved road when it was hot required a quick step, hop or jump.

     Probably the main problem with going barefoot was when you got in a hurry and stubbed your toe, that results because you failed to pick your feet up particularly when running. The results of stubbing your toe meant that the big toe on either foot (sometimes both feet) had the skin removed on the end of the toe and a scab would cover the injured area for weeks. Often a barefooter would have a continuous scab all summer, before the first injury could heel you could stub it again and forget about putting on a pair of shoes with scabs on your big toe. 

     I'm 77 years old now, I can't walk from one room to another without putting on house slippers and my feet are paying the price for my youth but I would give anything to walk barefoot through a lawn of clover again.

     Growing up in the 1950's was an experience you had to live, I can tell you all about it here and kids today will have a hard time believing me, how in the world did I survive. I look back on those days with fond memories, we didn't know how bad we had it because we had it so good.

     

     

Be Happy

 

     I can't remember if I have previously written about this but I love this memory and want to be sure it's in the blog.

     When I went back to California in 1986, there was an older guy who had a business next door making top of the line office furniture. His name was Norm and at the time I was still in my 30's, Norm was retired from 25 years with and aerospace company so he was at least in his 60's. He had a heart condition but didn't let it stop him from anything he wanted to do. We became good friends and spent a good deal of time solving the world's problems.

     I was a workaholic back then but Norm put me to shame, when I got to work at 7:00 am he had been there since 5:30am. When I went home at 5:30 or 6:00 he was still at work and when I would come in to check on something on a Saturday Norm would be at his desk.

     One of the things Norm Talked about was the fact that he was retired, after hearing him say this on several occasions I finally pointed out all of the hours and days that I found him at work. I told him it didn't seem to me that he was retired. It was at this time that Norm gave me an education on the meaning of retirement.

     He went on to explain to me that he worked 25 years for Aerojet and hated every minute but it paid the bills.  and allowed him to raise a family and put a few dollars in the bank. When he finally got to the point that he could retire he found something that he wanted to do, something that gave him a reason for getting out of bed every morning, building office furniture was it and he enjoyed it.

     So, according to Norm, the true meaning of retirement was that you quit doing something you didn't like doing and started doing something that you liked.

     I got laid off from a job back in 2007 or 8, I searched for a new job but the economy was not very good and jobs were hard to find so Linda told me to just retire - I did. I stumbled around for a time looking for something to keep me interested. I work in my shop making things from wood, sometimes I just make sawdust. Linda and I would take day trips now and again till she got sick. Kay and I shoot pool and take trips, go fishing and generally do things that make us want to get out of bed in the morning. We are doing something that makes us happy.

Getting Old Ain't For Sissies

 

 

     Recently, I heard that the average life span of a white male in this country was 76 years of age, being that I recently turned 77 I am feeling quite proud that I am finally above average in something. 

     I woke up one morning back last November and decided that I was a little out of shape and needed to do something about it so I joined a gym. Turns out I was more out of shape than I thought but I put my shoulder to the grindstone and pushed on. Before I knew it I was walking on the treadmill at a good clip then I was doing a modified pushup and other exercises. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday found me sweating , huffing and puffing at the gym, I was religious with my efforts and quite proud of the results. My routine got all fouled up last month due to several out of town trips and I have yet to get back on schedule but I'm working on it.

     To be honest, I have not really felt as if I was getting old, I can't function as I did twenty years ago but I function pretty good. My doctors seemed to be happy with my health, I am only on five prescriptions and have been subjected to exrays, MRI's, stress test, nuclear stress test and CAT scanned like crazy. Sure, I have a few minor issues, arthritis in several key places around my body, loss of some muscle tone, a little shortness of breath and not near the stamina I once had. I have some minor balance problems that require me to sit on the side of the bed before standing else I will slam into every wall, doorjamb and piece of furniture on my way to the bathroom but there is nothing debilitating, in my mind I'm on track to be around another twenty years.

     The key phrase in that last sentence is "in my mind", like a lot of elderly people, especially men, we are in a state of denial about our ageing, how we feel and what we are capable of doing. You see, we think (in my mind) we can still do everything we used to do before we stopped doing them, our ego won't let us get old. That's the way the mind works, it is the controlling factor for the whole body therefore the body must do the minds bidding, this is when the body says "OK, go ahead and try".

     Over the last couple of years, some minor issues have come up, normal things that come with the ageing process. While any issue at my age shouldn't be ignored, ignoring a lot of things is often my way of dealing with them, I know they won't go away but just maybe they won't hurt as much if I don't pay them no mind. This train of thought is proved to be wrong on pretty much a daily basis. My mind says "oh, go ahead, you can do that" then after a futile attempt my body comes back with " I told you so".

     Kay and I just returned from a six day vacation exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway. The days were long and filled with a lot of driving, sitting in one spot and feeling the vibrations of the road for long periods coupled with the occasional long walk up a hill or a bunch of steps can play havocs on your body, mine was no different. Have you ever seen an old person get up from a chair or get out of a car? They do it slowly and for a short time they just stand, holding on to something to steady themselves. They are slightly bent over, a little unsteady on their feet and weak in the knees, it takes more than a few moments for them to straighten and start walking. If you are close to them, you may be able to hear their joints pop or snap, a low groan might slip from their lips. Well, I'm here to tell you that old man was me all over this week, if there were any doubts that I'm getting old they for sure are gone now. 

    So my body has spoken, the body won and now reigns king but I figure I can learn to live with it or plop my tush in front of the TV and wait for the Grim Reaper. Well, I refuse to go willingly into the darkness of old age, I will moan, groan and ache my way to my last days, I will pop another aspirin or take another pill but I won't give in because "I'm no sissy".

     Gotta end this now and order a ski rope, the lake has warmed up and ready for me to try out that water ski I bought a few months back.

     

     

Fishing The Old Way

 

     When I first started fishing, I was a young boy of about six years old. Back then there were no big tournaments, bass boats with trolling motors and depth finders. The rods and reels were archaic by today's standards as were the lines and other paraphernalia. There wasn't even a big lake, Old Hickory Lake in Nashville hadn't been completed so the fishing holes were farm ponds, creeks and a few slow moving rivers. There were well worn dirt paths leading to the best spots, if you were lucky there would be a big rock or rotting log to sit on.

     When I went fishing it was with Dad. Brother Pat and I were taxed with getting the bait, we would dig up red wriggler worms in the back yard or from around Grandpa's barn and put them in a tin can with dirt, sometimes we would catch grasshoppers and put them in a jar with holes punched in the lid. Dad's fishing equipment consisted of several cane poles and a small tin tackle box that held plastic bobbers, hooks and weights (we couldn't always afford lead weights so there was a supply of substitutes consisting of flat washers or rusty hex nuts). The cane poles would be as long as ten to twelve feet in length, they had fishing line tied to the end and then wrapped down the length of the pole. Dad must have had eight or nine poles and he fished with every one of them at the same time. Dad would stick the cane poles in the rear side window of the car and away we would go.

     The line on the poles was longer than the poles, if a pole was ten feet long there might be fifteen or more feet tied to the pole, this was so you could get the bait far out into the water. After unwinding the line and checking that the hook was properly tied, you then put a worm on the hook hopefully without sticking the hook in your finger. Then you would set the bobber / cork to the desired depth and extend the pole far above your head and swing the bait out away from the bank, a long pole could get the bait a good eighteen feet out. Then it was set back and watch the bobber bounce up and down until eventually a fish would take the bait and pull the bobber under the surface.

     We did a fair amount of "bank" fishing when I was a kid, but it always seemed to be rather boring watching that bobber bounce around. Then in 1960 we moved to Mt. Juliet and Dad had a carpenter friend build him a 12 foot john boat that he mounted a 12 h.p. outboard motor too. It allowed us to get into another world of fishing from a boat. We used shorter cane poles to work the banks for crappie and I learned about fishing with a spinning rod and lures. Dad traded the boat for a runabout with a 35h.p. motor, you couldn't work the banks for crappie from it but you could anchor down and catch them by the boat load. 

     In 1965 I went into the Navy, fishing was put on hold for four years, when I came home, I slowly got back into it. I bought an 18 foot runabout with a 125 h.p. motor, while I did some fishing from it mostly it was used for water skiing.

     I hate to say it but life got in the way, fishing was hit or miss till just a few years ago. In 2005 I bought a 19 foot center console bay boat with 150 h.p. motor, that was two boats ago. I now have an older center console with 115 h.p. motor, it's equipped with two depth/fish finders with lake maps, a remotely operated trolling motor that has capabilities I will never use. I have three spinning rods and a whole grocery bag full of lures, plastic baits, hooks and sinkers and I go fishing a couple of times a week.     

     Sometimes I catch fish and sometimes I don't, I get aggravated and enthused, I come back frustrated or proud but love every minute of it. With all of the modern technology and equipment that I have, I sometimes think the best fishing was when I sat on a slick rock on a creek bank with my Dad, holding a cane pole and watching a bobber bounce up and down on the water.

The 49ers

 

     We lived in Sacramento, California back in the late 80's, Danny was just starting school and I worked long hours. Danny and Clay were Cub Scouts and Linda was a den mother, I was a backup for when they needed something. Weekends often found us looking for something to do as a family and in that respect there was a lot to do in California. Sacramento was centrally located between the Pacific Ocean and the Sierra Mountains and for the five years we were there we took the boys places that they would most likely not see again.

     I supported Danny's Cub Scout activity, after all I was once one. Through my manager position for work, I kept the Scouts well stocked with craft supplies. Every Memorial Day weekend I used the company box truck to haul supplies 7000 feet up in the mountains and we all spent the weekend making repairs to the scout camp, then we would go back on Labor Day weekend to close it down. There were also several day trips Linda would sometimes need help with.

     Weekends and vacation days were family time, from boat shows on lake Tahoe to visits to watch kites fly at San Francisco's Pier 39 or play in the snow in the Sierra mountains.

     There was a place up in the foothills called Apple Hill, it was full of fruit orchards and every fall the weekends  would be to celebrate the apple harvest. Some of the farms went all out with entertainment, fresh baked pies, cakes and sweets of all kinds, if it could be made with apples they sold it. You could also pick your own apples. They also had times for cherries and peaches but the apple was king. At any rate we made several trips each year to Apple Hill.

     Going west on I-80 there was the Nut Tree in Vacaville. It was a huge grove of walnut trees that had been selling their products since the early 1920's. By the time we got there, it had evolved into a place that drew crowds from far away, they even had their own landing strip for private planes. Every Halloween they had a huge Pumpkin Patch and invited local groups/organizations and I guess individuals to participate in a Scare Crow competition, there would be hundreds of Scare Crows and rows upon rows of pumpkins. Halloween was a big thing for them and we never missed it. 

     California weather was somewhat strange, temperatures through out the year varied according to elevation and location. We lived in Sacramento which was the center of the Sacramento Valley, the winters were mild and the summers were hot, triple digit temps started in May, low humidity was the saving grace. To escape the high temperatures, we would often go into the mountains where Linda and I would pan for gold while the boys played in the American River, the amount of gold we found wouldn't buy a tank of gas but the boys had fun.

     I traveled a good bit in the last couple of years but we still managed to do things on the weekend. It had been a particularly hot week when I came home one Friday night, Linda had decided that a beach trip was in order so we got up the next morning and headed out to Reyes Point National Seashore just north of San Francisco. We didn't get 10 miles down the road, Clay was sitting behind me kicking the back of my seat, I told him to stop several times but he didn't so I pulled off the interstate and turned returned home. The next weekend we tried again, neither of the boys gave me any problem. It was really hot in Sacramento so we dressed in shorts and T-shirts and packed a picnic lunch. When we arrived the fog was so thick we couldn't see the waves, it was a little breezy and the temperature was maybe 50 degrees, locals were running around in parkas. Our picnic lunch was held in the back seat with the heater running then we went home to triple digit temps two hours away.

     We made it to many amusement parks like Sea World, Knott's Berry Farm, Giardelli Square, Napa Valley, gold mines and Lassen Volcano park and festivals in Lake Tahoe and surrounding foothill towns.

     One memorable trip involved only Danny and I. The company had an order for a small phone booth that needed to get to Cresent City which was a coastal town on the Oregon border. I loaded the booth in my company car and Danny and I set off up interstate 5 cutting cross country at Redding. The sights were beautiful especially when we got to the coast. After making the delivery, we headed south on the coast road stopping at various sights of interest, one place claimed Bigfoot sightings and the remains of the tallest Redwood tree (used to be), lighting had hit a few years back and blown off the top leaving a stump somewhere short of a couple hundred feet tall. We passed through several Redwood groves and at one point I stopped so we could walk around, Danny was fascinated as he walked around trying to see the top of the tree. At one point he stopped and looked up, almost falling over backwards, then he said "that's one big tree dad".

     Including time in the Navy, Linda and I lived in California four times, we mostly enjoyed our stays but the last time coming home to the south was the best. Danny was beside me in the rental truck as I drove across the Mississippi River in Memphis, I had the window down and could smell Honeysuckle on the air, I looked at Danny and told him we were through with California and we wouldn't be going back. That was 1991 and I have kept my promise.