The Gift of Love

     Buying gifts for people has never been one of my strong suits, while I enjoy making people happy trying to figure out the right gift that would make someone happy boggles my mind. I do OK at gift giving but often it is more like the proverbial blind squirrel finding a nut, in other words I get lucky. It must be a guy thing because I know of other men infected with the same problem.
     Women on the other hand are not afflicted with this problem, in fact they seem to enjoy gift giving and go to special lengths to find the right gift. They listen to people and learn their likes, from that information they determine the right gift. Linda had this ability, she would have next years Christmas gifts picked out and bought by spring. She enjoyed shopping for things to give people, she had a true knack for picking the right gift and I was happy to let her buy all the gifts for everyone, that left me with having to buy for her and that was difficult enough.
     Kay, like Linda, enjoys buying things for people, she enjoys the search, she enjoys the smiles on the faces of the recipients. She has a stash of gifts already bought and waiting for someone to need them, she has another stash of cards for every occasion and can whip one out on a moments notice to be signed and mailed. She constantly surprises people with her gifts.
     There was a time when I would be asked what I wanted for my birthday or Christmas  and I could instantly come up with an item or two that I either needed or wanted. I have reached the age where I have everything I need and want as far as material things are concerned, a simple smile or hug is more meaningful and enjoyable. With Kay I get the hugs and a gift that I didn't know I wanted.
     Last Christmas I was somewhat incapacitated and unable to go shopping which was OK because Kay had purchased all of the gifts leaving me needing to buy a gift for her. I had asked her what she might want and she told me she wanted a Dulcimer. To make a long story short I was able to get out one afternoon in mid December and purchase a gift card for her, the Dulcimer I found on the internet and had to involve her niece Pam in a little subterfuge - the Dulcimer she didn't get for about two weeks after Christmas. She was surprised.
     I didn't really tell Kay what I wanted for Christmas but she seemed to know what I would like and set out to round up a few things. Among the things she got me there was one gift that I have come to think more of than all the rest because Kay as it turns out is as much a romantic as I am, her gifts come from the heart and have meaning.
     My gift was a medallion that appeared to be old although it was new and made of two pieces which she had put together. One side of the medallion was a starred compass indicating North, South, East and West, the other side was a clock face with no hands. Kay explained the significance of each side - the compass means the world is ours to explore we could go where ever we wanted, the clock face with no hands meant we had all the time we needed to get there.
     Well we get out and explore our world every week, we enjoy going for a ride on Sunday afternoons, sometimes we head for specific places and quite often we just drive until we see something that grabs our attention and we stop. We try to stay on back roads and seldom return home till after dark. We have been to Tennessee, Alabama, Florida and a good portion of Georgia.
     We have plans to expand our borders and venture farther to places out west or up north or both, the destination doesn't matter because all the world is ours to explore and we have all the time we need to get there.


     I love you Kay
   

Fish Tales

     I grew up in the 1950's, it was a good time to be a kid because we didn't have things to play with that kept us indoors all day. We wanted to go outside from the minute we woke up every morning. We got to play in the dirt and roam freely through out the neighborhood, fields and woods.
     I was the son of a country boy and one thing country boys did was fish. There were no fishing clubs to join, no fishing shows on TV, no custom built rods and reels or 200 hp bass boats there was not even an Old Hickory Lake. What we did have were small creeks, river banks, a few ponds and a father who liked to go fishing.
     Our fishing gear consisted of long cane poles with thick braided line tied to the end. The line had a hook and sinker on the other end and a cork ( also known as a float or bobber ) attached to the line, the float was adjustable depending on how deep you wanted the bait beneath the surface. The distance you could fish from shore depended on how long the cane pole was and how much line was attached to the pole, I have seen cane poles up to 15 feet long and usually there would be as much as 20 ft of line. Hooks varied in size depending on the type fish you were hoping to catch, sinkers or weights usually were store bought pieces of lead in various shapes and sizes but I personally have resorted to using flat washers and even nuts and bolts will do in a pinch. Floats were usually store bought, they were made from cork, plastic or wood, they were different shapes and sizes as well as different colors although red and white were the generally accepted colors, again in a pinch I have tied on a small twig.
      In 1960 we moved to Mt. Juliet, Tn. which was at that time country. Dad bought his first "NEW" home in a subdivision that was going to be big but never grew to more than about twenty homes in five years. The great thing was that it was located next to Cedar Creek which was a tributary to Old Hickory Lake, I thought I had moved to paradise. I learned to fish with cane pole, spinning rod, fly rod, hunting knife and bow and arrow. I quit fishing when I went into the Navy and didn't get back into it until the early 1970's, I quit again in the 1980's and didn't get back in again until about 2002. With all my ins and outs I had my share of experiences both good and bad.
     Recently I read a book that Kay gave me for Christmas, the writer was not only a newspaper columnist but an avid fisherman as well. The book was a collection of his fish stories based on his experiences and I got to thinking maybe some of my experiences would make a good story for my blog so here we go.
 
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      Not long after moving to Mt. Juliet I met a classmate by the name of Donnie Odum, he lived down on the lake, he was a true sportsman and he had a boat. One day Donnie and I went crappie fishing and we were doing good, we had close to two dozen crappie in a fish basket tied to the side of the boat. Fish baskets were widely used back then because it was easy to put the fish in the basket and it kept the fish fresh and alive. So here we are catching crappie like crazy but then they just quit eating so we decided to try our luck somewhere else so we pulled in our lines fired up the motor and away we went, we didn't get far when we heard a loud snap and looked back in time to see the basket full of crappie sinking beneath the surface. We didn't find another good spot that day.
 


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 Another time fishing with Donnie and another friend named Brent, we went after white hybrid bass or as we called them then "Strippers". The strippers generally ran about two pounds and traveled in large schools, they moved up and down the lake following schools of shad minnows which they would attack and feed on with a vengeance, the surface boils. The action is fast and furious then the fish move on. They would hit on anything bright and shinny, spinner baits worked great.
     The three of us were in Donnie's twelve foot boat out on the river channel, we hooked up with a school of strippers feeding on the surface and were able to pull several fish out before they went down, the fishing was so hectic that when we brought in a fish we simply removed it from the hook and dropped it in the floor of the boat. Donnie operated the motor which he never turned off, we would sit idling and watching for the school to surface again then we would race to where they were and start fishing. We kept this up for a couple of hours and wound up following the school for several miles down the lake before we lost them. Every time we pulled up next to the school we would each catch two to three fish, we had quite a haul by the end of the day.


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     I had a thirty pound pull bow and arrow with a spool attached to it to hold fishing line which was attached a fiberglass fishing arrow, I liked to hunt for carp in the shallow waters of the lake. One day I was back up in the creek walking the bank to a good spot, the trail took me on a low rise overlooking a small pool of water and there he was or maybe it was a she I don't know but it was the biggest carp I had ever seen. It was a good three plus feet long, the pool was about eight feet in diameter and so shallow a large portion of the fish's back was out of the water, we are talking about a fish of thirty plus pounds. I was about six feet above the pool and about ten feet away from the fish. I notched the arrow and drew back on the string and loosed the arrow. I hit the fish in the side just behind the gills, a perfect spot, then I quickly ducked as the arrow flew by on it's return trip. I watched as the fish slowly turned and eased out of the pool and disappeared down the creek. I couldn't believe what just happened until I retrieved my arrow, skewered on the tip was a fish scale at least two + inches in diameter. This was the big one that got away.


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     Not long after I got out of the Navy I bought a 1969 Pontiac GTO, much to Linda's dismay. It was one of those macho, go fast, big engine, muscle cars that every red blooded boy wanted but not many ever got and it was mine. This car had a 400 cubic inch engine with a Hurst four speed  shifter in the floor, I once got it up to 120 mph out on hwy 109 before I backed off. Man I loved that car but on with the story.
     This was 1970 and I hadn't yet bought my first boat, one reason was I couldn't afford it after buying the GTO. Not having a boat was not a reason not to go fishing, all one needed was a rod and reel or cane pole and a river bank, oh! and transportation.
     One beautiful Saturday afternoon I decided to go fishing somewhere on Stones River below the dam so I picked up Ronnie and we headed off looking for that virgin fishing hole that held the "BIG" one. I had two vehicles at that time, my prized GTO and a 1962 Chevy Impala hard top with a 283 engine and three on the column ( that's a three speed manual transmission with the shifter on the steering column ). Linda didn't like the GTO so I drove it in search of the fishing hole with fishing rods sticking out the rear window.
     I located a subdivision on a hill overlooking a field next to the river it had an access road down the hill which turned into a dirt path to the river bank. I didn't see any other cars around and thought we would have the place to ourselves so off we went down the hill. Things went pretty good for a little ways and then we hit soft ground which turned into outright mud. The GTO having only two wheel drive quickly started to mire down, the only thing four hundred horse power got me was a rooster tail of mud behind the car. I didn't just sink up to the axles I went all the way to the floor boards. I was beyond stuck, I was not going anywhere without the aid of a wrecker and a long chain so I called my little brother Clint.
     Clint was the family "go to" guy for all things mechanical, he came out to pick us up and look over the situation. Yep, he knew a guy who knew a guy who had a wrecker but he couldn't get there until the next day. I had to leave the GTO overnight needless to say I didn't sleep very well.
     To make a long story short, it cost me twenty five dollars to get the car pulled out of the mud and another four dollars at the car wash to clean the mud off.
     Ronnie and I never did make it back to the fishing hole, just as well, it probably didn't hold any fish worth catching anyway.



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     A couple of years after the GTO fiasco I had the opportunity to by a boat, it was eighteen feet long, a runabout with  a walk thru windshield and powered by a 125 hp Johnson engine. Linda and I enjoyed the hell out of that boat, every weekend we loaded up and headed to the lake for two days of camping and water skiing. We enjoyed it so much that we sold the house and bought one in a small subdivision close to the lake ( we could see the lake if we stood on tip toes on the front porch standing on a stool ). Now we could go water skiing after work and on the week ends.
     I did fish from the boat but mostly it was anchored down night fishing as I didn't have a trolling motor. I wasn't into fishing that much anyway but Dad was. I kept the boat docked at Cedar Creek Marina,  Dad asked if he could borrow the boat to go fishing on his day off, I said sure and let the people at the marina know he was coming.
     Dad liked to fish the Spencer's Creek area where he grew up, by water it was maybe five miles and that's where he went. Dad brought along a clamp on trolling motor he purchased for the occasion and put it to work in an afternoon of fishing. The thing Dad didn't think about was a separate  battery and how quickly the trolling motor would drain down the one used to start the engine, by the time Dad was ready to go there wasn't enough juice left to crank the motor.
     Once Dad realized there was a problem he started looking for a way to rectify it, there were no other boats around in the middle of the week and he didn't see anyone home at the few houses he could see so he took the cover off the engine in the hopes of finding a fix. Johnson engines were state of the art for the times and 125 hp was about as big as they came. Dad discovered a starter rope coiled and attached inside the engine cover and he could see that the fly wheel was set up to accept it so Dad wound the rope around the fly wheel  just like he used to do on old lawn mowers. Once in place Dad gave the rope a good strong pull. In Dad's own words "I almost pulled my arm out of it's socket".
     Turns out the torque required to start a 5 hp lawnmower was a lot less than that required for a 125 hp engine, it just wouldn't budge even though he tried several times. He broke out a paddle and started sculling for shore when another boat came along and gave him a tow back to Cedar Creek, it took awhile.
     It wasn't long until Dad bought his own fishing boat.



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     When Linda and I moved to the lake I met a guy who lived down the street and on the lake, his name was Mike, he was ten years older than me and we became best friends. Mike lived on the lake and had a dock but it wasn't covered so he kept his boat at the marina. He and I decided we should do some night fishing so on a Friday or Saturday night we would run up the lake to where Spencer Creek runs into the river channel.
     We never did too well at catching fish but that was not the point, we had a good time drinking a couple of beers and solving the problems of the world. Sometimes we would be out a few hours sometimes we would be out till the wee hours of the morning, we didn't catch anymore fish but we did solve a lot of the worlds problems and the beer was good.
     One night we decided to finish early so we upped anchor and started for home, we had been out about four hours by then. About half way home we noticed several boats, with their lanterns burning brightly, anchored down in a cut along the channel. Mike thought we should stop and join the guys, we knew most of them, so I said why not.
     I think at this point I should tell you that I was in my late twenties then and I had a bladder that seemingly held gallons before I had to empty it, I was known to go for hours without having to go to the bathroom. I called it my thousand mile kidneys.
     We got in among our friends and started to fish, seems nobody else was having better luck than we were so we did a lot of talking, several of the guys had there wives along. A couple of beers later and I was starting to feel the pressure building and Mike was no closer to leaving so I had to make a decision. I was considerate of the ladies and turned my back as I stood on the bow of the boat, I apologized to them but nature called and I had to go.
       I started urinating into the water, my bladder was so full it was taking awhile to empty, then I heard someone tell his partner he better let some line out on the anchor rope the lake seemed to be rising, another guy told someone to get on the marine radio and call the dam they may need to open the flood gates. It seemed forever before my bladder was empty, everyone had fun at my expense, it was a while longer before I lived that episode down.
   
   
   
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     Mike bought a new bass boat with a 150 hp Mercury engine, with that big engine it would do better than 50 mph. At that time he had the fastest boat at the marina and maybe on the lake. One night we decided to go up to the Gallatin steam plant to fish for Sauger. After fishing till the wee hours of the morning we decided to go home. We motored out to the channel and found dense fog so thick I could see no more than a few yards.
     Mike was one of those people that was confident in every thing he did and he spread that confidence to those around him, I trusted Mike, I was sure he knew what he was doing therefore we would be OK. Mike had the latest equipment on his boat including a flasher depth  finder. A flasher depth finder sort of looked like a circular speedometer in the dash of a car, instead of a needle to indicate the depth there was a light that flashed different colors as the depth changed.
     We started out down the channel, Mike had me lay down on the bow of the boat with a spot light to keep an eye out for floating logs or large pieces of debris in the water, if I saw anything I was to shout back to Mike. I laid there on the bow trying to spot debris, at some point I looked back at Mike, he was intently staring at the flasher, changing course as needed, the boat was doing about 30 mph. I still couldn't see more than a few yards. The thought occurred to me that if I did see something by the time I got Mike's attention we would have already hit what ever it was. Realizing my  efforts were futile I went back and sat down beside Mike, it wasn't long before we were safe at home smelling like fish.
     As a footnote, Mike beefed up his boat reaching a top speed in excess of 70 mph, he raced it in time trials and against other boats ( suckers ) he could find on the lake.



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     Linda wanted me to have a fishing boat when the boys were still young, After a short vacation to see her Dad in Florida she told me Dad had a fishing boat that he would give me, all I had to do was come and get it. This alone should have thrown up a red flag as Dad never gave away anything worthwhile but I thought if it floated I could deal with it.
     A couple of weeks later the boys and I drove down to get the boat. Turns out Dad had two boats and the nicer of the two was his. The boat he wanted to give me was a fourteen foot semi - V aluminum fishing boat with a 15 hp Evinrude motor and it had a trailer. The whole rig was old, about thirty plus years, the trailer was rusted but the tires were good, the transom was split in a couple of places but had been repaired with a piece of stainless steel, the boat generally was dirty and full of leaves, water and other debris. Dad assured me it ran great and had been tuned up not long ago. It was a mess but I took it.
     After getting the boat home I spent a couple of days getting it cleaned up as best I could, buying life jackets and getting the fishing gear in some order. The next weekend the boys and I took the boat to the lake for its maiden voyage. We got to the ramp and launched the boat, as dirty as it still was, it did not leak and the engine fired up easily. We pulled away from the dock and started out into the lake, I poured on the gas and the boat planed out real nice and ran great. Just as I was about to think nice thoughts about my Father-in-law the engine lost power and the boat went dead in the water, it just sat there idling, after a few moments it took off again like a bat out of hell ran for about thirty yards and died out again. Discouraged I went back to the dock and loaded up and went home.
     I talked to a guy I worked with and he felt that it needed a tune up so I let him work on it. After a week we loaded up again and headed back to the lake. The results were the same so I took the boat home and parked it until I could decide what to do with it.
     I wound up taking the motor to a boat motor mechanic. While the mechanic took his time working on the motor I spent a weekend with the boat and trailer at the shop I managed. We had a large sand blast room and I was able to fit the boat inside and give it a good going over, the trailer took a little more effort as it had several coats of paint and some rust but it cleaned up nicely. We had on hand plenty of high quality paint that we used to paint phone booths for Bell South, I had my painter paint the boat inside and out with a glossy grey or silver as we called it, the trailer  was painted black. Now I was ready for the engine.
     A few weeks went buy and I had not heard from the mechanic so I went to see him. He told me the engine had no compression and the motor needed a complete overhaul, the problem with that was the engine was so old parts were not available so he couldn't fix it.
     All the way home I remembered that Dad had told me the motor had recently been overhauled, obviously not, then I remembered all of the things Dad had told me in the past that never happened or were a little shy of being true and I wondered why the boat fiasco should be any different. There is an old saying " the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and again expecting different results", Dad could drive one crazy that way.
     I got the motor home and mounted it to the boat and left it parked in the drive, to be dealt with  later.
     A few weeks later Linda called me at work one day, she was having a garage sale and some older man saw the boat in the drive and asked if it was for sale, she wanted the boat gone and it sounded like a good idea to me. The man was told about the motor and he still offered $400 for it and we took it.
     It wasn't long before Dad found out I had sold the boat and he was highly agitated, the word I got was I was ungrateful and he would never give me anything again, it was some time before he would talk to me. As far as I was concerned Linda and I came out winners on this deal, we would not be getting things that we didn't need or want or wouldn't work.



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     I was a shop supervisor for a company in 2001. My friend Ken had been laid off from the same company earlier, he took some extra time off to get himself in the right frame of mind - he started fishing. Ken has a Sylvan aluminum runabout built back in the 1970's, it had belonged to his uncle and he spent many hours in it on lake Erie trolling for Walleye. The boat was rigged with out riggers and down riggers perfect for trolling.
     Ken was my boss at work being the two old men of the shift we clicked, we have been best friends since. We talked on the phone a few times after he left the company and one night he invited me to go fishing with him. Ken had become infatuated with catching Strippers, they are a salt water fish that spawn in fresh water and were found to survive very well in fresh water. These fish can get up to 35 + pounds and trolling was one of a prime means of catching them and Ken was a trolling expert.
     Trolling was not one of the methods of catching fish that turned me on but Ken was my friend. I went fishing with Ken and discovered trolling was not that bad. We got into a habit of fishing every weekend during the warmer weather and have been at it ever since, once deer season started I hardly saw Ken until spring. We caught a lot of fish over the years, had some interesting times and put hundreds of hours on his ancient motor at 1 1/2 mph.


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     One day Ken and I were trolling in the Flat Creek area of Lake Lanier and as usual there were other boats out there after the Strippers, several of the boats belonged to guide services. There was this one boat that had two couples aboard and the skipper had stopped his boat deciding to straight line for the fish. Ken and I were trolling and our path took us about thirty yards off their starboard side (right side). We hooked a Stripper and hauled him in right in front of them - the fish weighed about 7-8 pounds. The next pass around we hooked another in the same spot and the pass after that we hooked another. We made a total of five passes by that boat and caught five Strippers none of which weighed less than 5 pounds. We could see the faces of the people in the guide boat and hear enough to know they were wanting to know why they weren't catching fish like ours. About the time we made our fifth pass the guide was reeling in lines and getting ready to move on.



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     Ken and I have been all over Lake Lanier and have seen a lot of things, the things that most fascinate us is the wildlife. We have seen most every thing that lives near or along the shores of the lake, Deer, Eagles, Osprey, Otters, Groundhog. One day we were down around Two Mile Creek drifting with our bait some twenty five feet beneath us, there was a good size cut in the bank with a sandy beach, we were maybe sixty to seventy yards away. I looked up and there was a Red Fox walking out on the sand followed by a kit (young Fox), we watched as the mother  and baby drank water and played. The young Fox was like any other young animal as it explored his new world and learned to survive.
     Another day we were in the Flat Creek area, Georgia had been in a drought for some time and the lake was down about twenty feet. Large areas of land mass had appeared over many months, one of those connected a large island to the mainland. We were trolling on the back side of the island when we heard dogs barking on the island and looked up to see them running through the tress of the island. I kept watching as we continued to troll  when I saw a deer run through the trees and jump into the water, she was quickly followed by two fawns with spots still on their coats.The dogs seemed to loose the deer's sent when they reached the waters edge but the deer were swimming fast across the lake.
     There was another large island a couple of hundred yards across from where the deer entered the water and you would think the deer would swim to it as it was the shortest distance to land but I guess deer aren't that smart. About halfway across the doe makes a hard right turn and starts heading down the center of the lake heading for a shore line well over a half mile away. In the mean time the two fawns were a good hundred yards behind mama and loosing ground, mama was moving on. We watched as the fawns kept swimming and it seemed they were getting lower in the water, they started out with a portion of their backs out of the water and now only their neck and heads were showing. We reeled in our lines and motored close to the fawns  thinking we could, if we had to, throw a line around their necks and tie them to the boat to keep them from drowning.
     In the mean time mama was getting close to shore, when she made it she quickly disappeared in the trees. We did not have to rescue the fawns but I can guarantee they were wore out when they walked ashore. For having such small hooves they can sure swim.




     I think that in order to hold the readers attention I shouldn't put too much into one story and I think I have rambled on enough for this one. This is not to say I have no more fish tales to tell, there are plenty more so look for another "Fish Tales" or "Fish Tales II" or "More Fish Tales" or just some story that deals with fishing.












   

Thank You Mrs. Gann

 







      Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be a writer but here I am writing this blog and a soon to be published  book about dealing with grief  from a man's point of view. I never before enjoyed writing even letters to home when I was in the Navy were short. I don't know where this supposed gift came from but my sister Vicky started me on this road seven years ago, I had a desire for my kids and grand kids to know that there was more to their family than what they realized and I wanted them to hear the stories that I could remember. My blog has also turned into a means for my grand kids to know their Grandmother - Linda.
     There have been many people who have read my stories, a lady from England, another from California and friends and relatives, they say I am a good writer. Some of these people could be pulling my leg, you know that is what friends are for, but I don't think my sister would lead me on - she loves me. It could be that they base their statements on the content of the stories and paid little attention to the grammar. I 'm sure my ninth grade English teacher Mrs. Gann would say that I couldn't write, she would base her opinion on my ability to diagram sentences, proper use of  punctuation, nouns,pronouns, verbs and adverbs. Why I was such a good student that I had to repeat the class without much success.
     Mrs. Gann  was successful though because I left her class with a love of reading and the ability to  tell a story. We were required to read a book each month and give a written and oral book report, I could take a book of two hundred pages, write a report of five or six pages and talk about it for an hour. I read Mark Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court" and took two days to give the oral report. I never had a problem talking, I could spin a yarn with the best of them.
     Looking back I think story telling may be in my blood. I remember listening to my Grandfather and Uncles on Sunday afternoons as they sat around telling their stories. Grandpa Wade knew how to get the listeners attention, he would have us sitting on the edge of our seat and rolling on the floor with laughter. He had a story for every occasion and they were all true.
     I have no doubt I can write especially if I have something to write about, there are 87 stories and a 100 page book to prove that point but I really think I am more of a story teller, I have a gift of gab and use it quite often. Bad grammar and punctuation aside I enjoy what I am doing, I write stories injected with feeling and passion, I am keeping people alive if only in a memory. My hope is that future generations will find these pages, read the stories I have written and pass them on to others.
     So the question still stands, am I a writer or a storyteller? The decision belongs to you the reader and I think either answer may be correct. Thank you Mrs. Gann, you probably wouldn't give me a passing grade for my grammar but I think I might get an A+ for the content and effort.
   

Little Brother

     He was the last of the brood, the runt of the litter and cute. I still remember his cries in the night when he was a baby, it wasn't to difficult to hear them as we lived in a small house with only two bedrooms, including Mom and Dad there were already six of us crammed into that small house, Ronnie made seven.
     Because Pat and I were the older kids we helped Mom do a lot of things around the house which included feeding Ronnie, washing out his dirty diapers, warming milk for his bottles and sticking a pacifier in his mouth when he cried. I can't remember why but for a time as a toddler we called him "Bug".
     By the time he was walking I was turning into a teenager, I went to work with Dad on a part time basis ( for the next five years) so our worlds went in different directions. Ronnie was still unsteady on his feet and I was flapping my wings in preparation for the day I would go out into the world on my own. Ronnie was in his own little world where his main concerns were play time, food and naps.
     When I started my junior year of high school Ronnie started first grade, we lived in the country, yes Mt. Juliet, Tn. was country then. Back in those days we all attended the same school meaning that the Mt Juliet school was one building that contained grades one through twelve, my senior class was only sixty three students.Again, back then there were no rules regarding passenger capacity so every day all five of the Riggan kids climbed aboard the same school bus along with dozens of other kids sitting on each others laps and crammed in the isle from end to end. Young kids could be quite annoying especially to older kids, Ronnie was no exception and one day as we rode to school he ticked off another junior, who happened to live up the street, and the boy smacked Ronnie in the mouth. This was the first time that I got into a fight over one of my siblings, as soon as the bus unloaded at school I flew into that kid and wound up with his twin sister on my back, now I never was much of a fighter although I did get into a couple but this time I won. As the baby of the family Ronnie was always looking up to his older siblings but this day I stood a little taller in his eyes.
     About a year later I spread my wings and joined the Navy, over the next four years I came home for short visits. I married Linda in June of 1967 and we came home for a honeymoon, Ronnie was nine then, he and the rest of the family welcomed her. I already had orders to Vietnam, Mom and Dad told Linda if she wanted to stay with them while I was gone it would be OK so when I left in November Linda stayed behind with them.
     I can't say that Linda's stay with my family was idyllic, there were problems but Ronnie was a big help to her, he seemed to know when she needed to get away from the stress and pressures of living in a different place while I was in Vietnam.
     When I came home in the spring I brought Ronnie some foreign money I had collected from the Philippines and Vietnam, I told him about each piece and the next day he took it to school and showed it to the whole class. Once again I was a hit with my little brother.
     It was a short visit and Linda and I headed to California then a few months later I went back to Vietnam, Linda went back to Florida. After about seven months in Vietnam I returned to San Diego where we spent the last few months of my enlistment. I was discharged in June of 1969 and was eager to come home but we had a problem, we didn't have the money for the trip. What we did have was a tax return for several hundred dollars but it would not get to us for a couple of months. I called home and asked Dad for a loan, he sent three hundred dollars. When the tax check came in I went to Dad to pay him back that's when he told me he didn't have the money to send me so he borrowed it from Ronnie.
     I was twenty two when I was discharged from the Navy, Ronnie was eleven. It was late when Linda and I drove in from San Diego, Ronnie stayed up as late as he could but his eye lids got too heavy for him. He was asleep when we walked in but Mom had promised him I would wake him when I got home. I sat down on his bed and shook his shoulder, he rolled over rubbing sleep from his eyes, when he saw me he said "Mike" threw his arms around my neck and gave me a hug I will never forget.
     Linda and I went about the business of starting a life out of the Navy, it took me a couple of years to find my way. In the mean time Ronnie grew up and one day he came home with a girlfriend - Mary. It wasn't long before they were in love, married and starting a family of their own.
     Life went on for everybody over the next few years, Ronnie and Mary had two sons - James Ray and Lance - they made Christmas a lot more fun and life in general more interesting. I was the first Grandson in Dad's family and his father didn't mind letting everybody know that I was special, James Ray was that special Grandson in Dad's life and we all knew it.
     Linda and I left Tennessee in 1978, we went to Florida to chase a dream, we found some of it in the birth of our sons the rest I chased for years. That was about thirty nine years ago, we made visits home to see friends and family, sometimes there were years between visits and they were all too short.
     My siblings and I walked different paths and for a while the paths didn't cross too often, there became a rift in the family and in some ways it still exist. When Mom passed away the tension was less but there were still wounds left to heal.
     Ronnie and I got in the habit of calling each other every few weeks, usually he was driving to somewhere and had his phone set up on blue tooth or some device where he could talk and drive at the same time. One day back in December of 2012 Ronnie was dropping a load at a warehouse nearby so I went to see him, when his truck was loaded he dropped it off at a nearby truck stop and rode home with me. I had called ahead  and Linda had chili waiting for us. It was a good visit old memories were revisited, it was a happy time until Linda suddenly decided she needed to lay down  and almost as quickly she asked me to take her to the emergency room but before she could get dressed I had to call an ambulance. My neighbor came over to take Ronnie back to his truck. Linda wound up spending the holidays in the hospital and having open heart surgery. I'm not sure what Ronnie thought about all of the commotion but I was scared, I almost lost Linda that night.
     We have continued to stay in touch since that night. Kay and I spent the night with Ronnie and Mary the weekend we came up for a cousins reunion, they welcomed Kay to the family and made her feel at home.
     We all knew that Ronnie had health issues and that they were serious  but he seemed to be handling them. We often compared notes about our Dr. appointments but in the end life as we knew it continued. I talked to Ronnie back in December he sounded bad, his breathing was more like gasping and he had a hard time talking because of it. He told me of a recent trip he took, he said if he hadn't had a portable oxygen machine with him he would not have made it home. When I got off the phone I told Kay I didn't think Ronnie would last the year, then I cried.
     A few weeks later I called Ronnie on Thursday or Friday night and got his voice mail so I left a message saying I would call back later. I got busy that weekend and was surprised to get a call from him Monday morning, he was on his way to Glasgow, Ky. he sounded good and was in good spirits, we talked for some time and then hung up. Several hours later I got a call from my brother Pat, James Ray had messaged Tina - Ronnie had died. This was January 28, 2019, Ronnie was sixty years old.
     I was devastated, I had just talked with Ronnie a few hours before and now he was gone. In my mind despite Ronnie's health issues he was still young and had a lot to live for, I am the oldest I shouldn't be attending the funerals of my siblings, it's just not right.
     Ronnie was a good man, he loved his family and was proud of his sons, I think he talked more about his grand kids than anything else and the last time we talked he told me he now had five grand kids due to James Ray's kindness taking in three sisters. As far as he was concerned he had a good life, he enjoyed driving his truck, he loved his wife and family, as for his health he knew where he stood, he told me that if he had to blame someone all he had to do was look in the mirror. I think he was a lucky man, he may have left us too soon but he went out on the top of his game.
     Though we may have wandered off in different directions at times he was and still is my brother, I loved him and will miss him.


















 


















   

Before It's Too Late

     When I first started writing this blog the memories flowed like water, my head was full of ideas for stories and in that first year I wrote 28. Each year since then the quantity has declined, the subject matter no longer just pops into my head. Now something has to happen that will unlock a door in my memory banks and that is what has happened for this next story.
     One thing I have learned is that when some one passes away there is always regret that you didn't take the time to see the deceased one more time before they passed. There have been several instances where I wished that I had taken the time to go see some one before it was too late but I kept putting it off thinking that I will have time to do it later, turns out later never comes until it is too late. Like me, all of my relations are getting up in the years ( whether they will admit it or not ) and for some this may just be the last time I will ever see them. So last fall Kay and I went to Tennessee.
     Our first stop was to see Uncle Paul, even though Kay had met him last year at the cousins reunion she didn't really know him so we decided to spend the night at his house. It has been more than thirty years since I had been to his place, I quickly discovered that some things never change and in Uncle Paul's case I hope they never do. Uncle Paul turned 88 soon after our visit and though he says that he can't remember things as well as he used to he continues to be a gateway to the past. We got there around 5:00 Monday night and for the next seven hours it was like listening to one of those books on tape. I thought I knew him pretty well turns out he still has a lot to say.
     For instance I never remember him as a smoker but he told us that he started smoking at the age of eight and got up to four packs a day, cigarettes were only .25 per pack then. I knew he knew how to box but I had never heard the story of why he learned, it turns out that his older brother AJ used to knock him around as some older brothers would do ( not me ) so he took up boxing in school. He became quite good at boxing and after knocking AJ down he never had any more trouble with him. Back in those days before TV people had other means of entertainment one of which was boxing matches and Uncle Paul had several bouts in his youth.
     He worked in a shoe factory although not for his father, seems Grandpa wouldn't hire him because he didn't want people accusing him of favoritism. He was seventeen when I was born and used to babysit me. Then he told us about a guy who taught him to play billiards which is a game of skill, it took time but he finally won a game from his teacher who smiled told him he had no more to teach him then walked away, they never play together again. Uncle Paul continued to play other people and never lost a match.
     We took a break and walked around the outside, Uncle Paul lives in an old two story brick home built by slave labor back in the early 1800's. I used to stop by a lot back in the 70's and never knew there  was a family grave yard next to the house but there it was surrounded by an ornate wrought iron fence, the grave stones go back many generations. I learned early on that Uncle Paul was a pack rat, he never throws away anything and I soon realized his collection has increased over the years, it was almost like walking around in a museum.
     Uncle Paul is the last of my blood relatives from my parents generation, when he is gone that will make me the patriarch on Mom's side but the way things are going he may very well out live me, I would not be surprised. Live long and prosper Unc.
     One of the people we saw was my cousin Beverly, Kay had not met her and I had not seen her in at least eight or nine years, we met her for lunch at a restaurant and talked for hours. She told stories about how her dad was always trading cars and boats which would make her mother mad, that was one of the things that I was always envious of, they would come to Grandpa's house in a new car every month or so.
     Then Beverly told us the story about Frank and Jessie. Seems that when we were small children ( she is only a few months older than me ) our families lived in Gallatin, Tn. and she, my brother Pat and I played together quite often. Her Grandfather on her mothers side referred to Pat and I as Frank and Jessie, this was a reference to the famous outlaw gang of Jessie and Frank James back in the late 1800's. Seems like we were always up to something, I have to take her word for it as I don't remember, wonder which one of us was Jessie. It was good to see Beverly she is as beautiful as ever just like her mother.
     We had a gathering of cousins at Cracker Barrel in Gallatin, Sally, Madeline Ruth, Tommy, Uncle Henry and Tim were there. Once again stories of days gone by and memories of those most dear to us were told, they seem to never go out of fashion. It is almost like we tell these old stories so often just to see that we can still remember past this morning, more than likely we tell them because they reflect on a happier time where life was simpler and we miss the people we talk about.
     When the gathering broke up Kay and I went exploring, I took her on a quick tour of Gallatin, at least the Gallatin I remember which was much smaller than the one it has grown into. We then took a ride to the city of my birth and guess what it's not there anymore.
     I was born in Fountainhead, Tn. a small community on Hwy 109 just north of Gallatin. I understand that back in the 1940's it was known for it's healing waters but I don't know for sure. One thing for sure was that I was born in the sanitarium that was prominent in the community at that time. All Kay and I found was a historical marker.
     We finished our day by meeting up with Clint and Judy for dinner, as always it was nice to see them and bring each other up to date.
     We finished our tour by spending the night with Donnie Odum and his wife Wanda, Donnie and I got to talking and Kay just sat back and wondered how either of us ever made it to adulthood.
     The next day we headed home via back roads across the bottom of Tennessee.
     Families mature, the children leave home and go in different directions. Family gatherings that used to occur on a monthly basis are now dependent upon how far the children spread out, in my case that was pretty far. When the older generation ( parents / grandparents ) start to die off the children by then have families of their own, life gets busy, people move away and new generations are born, the family extends again. We become the older generation, the nucleus, that binds us together, we hold the memories of the past and want to hold on to each other. This is why we gather whenever we can and reminisce before it is too late.

Big Rubber Bands

     Recently Kay and I were in Office Depot looking for new computers, hers had died and mine had long ago become antiquated. Kay being the computer pro talked to the technician while I wandered around looking at the mass of products offered by the store. As I roamed the isles I came across a blister pack of rubber bands, specifically "BIG" rubber bands, they were red in color and several were folded to fit the packaging. These were rubber bands designed to be placed around large items such as file folders.
     Now a memory materialized from the time I was in the fourth grade at Donelson Grammar school, the memory was flooded with the aroma of well oiled wood floors that creaked as you walked on them and a simpler life. I started attending school there in the third grade, my teacher was a Mrs. Webb who right away recognized my name and asked if my Dad's name was Bill, when I told her it was she told me that she had been one of his teachers when he was in school ( this was about 1956 and Dad attended school back in the 1930's ). Having taught Dad at sometime in his youth and now me was a tell for how old Mrs. Webb was at the time, she was a nice lady who was a customer of Dad's when I went to work in the grocery store at the age of thirteen, she always had a smile and kind words and if I was the one to carry her groceries to her car she would tip me a quarter. 
     The school was quite old at the time but well maintained, today it is a senior citizen center and one of the few landmarks from my youth still standing. It was a small school by today's standards but it had all of the amenities except air conditioning which we didn't need too often because we didn't attend school during the summer months. When the temperatures did rise into the uncomfortable zone we had tall windows that started about three feet off the floor and rose almost to the ceiling some nine or ten feet above, the windows could be opened from the top and bottom for air circulation providing there was a breeze.
     One of the problems with open air air conditioning was that unless you had screens installed, there were none, every thing that flew, floated or drifted on the air at some time came into the class room. So at one time or another we had seeds from dandy lion flowers, leaves in the fall, an occasional bird, butterflies and rain if we were not fast enough closing the windows. The most prolific of things to enter the classroom were flies, the common house fly that supposedly only lived for twenty four hours. Flies were everywhere at times and they seemed to be quite large. The teacher carried a fly swatter and us kids developed various means of eradicating them including the use of rubber bands.
     Us boys decided that the best way to rid the class room of flies was to kill them from a long distance so we tied several average sized rubber bands together and holding one end between your thumb and forefinger pulled back on the other end while taking aim at a fly. Once a target was acquired you let loose the back end of the string of rubber bands which flew straight to the target and splat went the fly.
     The only limits were the rubber bands themselves, the more you could tie end to end the farther you could reach out to kill the elusive fly who could evade slaughter if you got too close. Rubber bands were a premium item, they were a non essential item in most households, if they had any at all they were the ones the paperboy wrapped around the newspaper. As it turned out, I or rather my Dad had a remedy.
     Dad was a butcher and in the 1950's butchers wrapped special cuts of meat in brown butcher paper and secured it with large red rubber bands. These rubber bands were thicker than their smaller counterparts and longer, like maybe ten to twelve inches and two of them when tied together would stretch a good three feet. The power they delivered guaranteed a long distance kill and there were soon little red spots from the blood of the flies we killed spotting the windows, walls and various other surfaces of the classroom.
     I was an overnight sensation when I showed up for class armed with three of these monster rubber bands tied end to end, I was the envy of the other boys and they were willing to pay for such a deadly weapon, I amassed a small fortune selling rubber bands at two cents apiece until Dad figured out where his missing rubber bands were going.
     I look back to the simpler times of my youth and understand why so many people who have reached old age wish and even try to recapture their youth. It is hard to believe that a child of today would find a rubber band entertaining.