Life is like a big box of Legos and I'm running out of pieces...

When we come into this world we are given all the time we need, at least for that moment. All of the time that we will spend here on Earth is poured out on our table of Life like a box of Legos as we begin to build our world.

Each piece symbolizes the amount of time we will spend creating either our cityscape or landscape that will be our identity. The white pieces might represent hours, the blue pieces days, the red pieces months and even some green pieces that might represent years.

Not all of us will have the same amount of pieces. Sadly, some may only have a few. And yet some may have enough time pieces that looks like they would last for an eternity....but they won't. The pieces will begin to slowly disappear.

Some of us will think we have plenty of pieces of time to do all we want in this world and we will carelessly use them up randomly without ever setting a good foundation for our structures.

And, again sadly, some people 's Legos of time can be swept completely off the table in an instant much like the fires and hurricanes that have happened this year. And yes there are those who had taken care and used every block to build for their future with spare blocks of time left over, only to find that through illness or disease that suddenly there are only a few pieces left.

Initially, our parents teach us to use our time blocks to simply take care of ourselves...sometimes a lot of those hour blocks are needed and sometimes we learn more quickly. And then as children we use an abundant amount to simply play never worrying if we will have enough blocks. As students we begin to build our education structures that for some might be the tallest building on their table. For others their structure might be their family and as they construct each time block it not only rises tall but also spreads far and wide.

Some people spend their time building that proverbial stairway to heaven as they use all of their time doing good deeds for their fellow man. And again sadly, some simply throw away their blocks to a life of addiction. And many try to build the tallest structure around with their careers, surpassing all others only to look around and see that no family building, spiritual building or recreational building exists.

As I begin to near yet another milestone in my journey with my 70th coming next year, I took a moment to see just how many time blocks I have used and how many I might have left, assuming they aren't lost suddenly. It's not as many as I had hoped for, seeing I have a lot of buildings and landscapes that I still want to create, but as I take a panoramic view of what I am leaving behind, I'm relatively satisfied. Sure, there's a number of pieces left along the wayside, broken, dented and scraped but at least I had the chance to use them and I am thankful for that.

In closing, I suggest all of us stop for a moment and take a look around. Are there things and places you want to do and see? Do you still have some time blocks left? Are you hoarding your time pieces waiting for the right moment? Choose wisely. Your box of Life Legos can just last so long.

Some memories of past Winters

Now that the first of what will be several Winter blasts has settled in, it didn't take me long to remember some of the lesser sights, sounds, and feelings of my childhood while growing up in the Midwest town of Dayton Ohio. A town, tho not as cold as some in Ohio near the Canadian border, it was still far away from the pleasures of a sun-filled Florida city where many Ohioans went at this time of year. These were the sounds and sights  that are so unique that it takes that sharp slap in the face when you open the door on that first cold Winter day to let the dog out while still dressed in your sleeping attire to make you remember.

One is the disquiet that occurs in the eerie morning after the first snow fall as your galoshes crunch through the snow leaving the first of what will be many footprints throughout the day. Your mission is to simply get to school on time. No playing, no wasting time, no side tracks. All of that will come soon after the day ends and you can enjoy a coldness that is only appreciated by youth. The crunching, the pounding of the snow echoes through the neighborhood as you walk slowly so as not to fall. But it begins to take on a rhythm of its own. You begin to set the crunch to either a Christmas carol still in your head or maybe even a song you heard on the radio. You speed up, you slow down all the time as the neighbor looks out his window and says to their spouse, "There goes that odd Kender boy acting like he is dancing to music".  But in fact you were.

 As your journey to school continues you smell the aroma spewing from a neighbor's fireplace of burning oak. But that incense makes you smile not because you think of yourself sitting in a warm living room, but because it reminds you of where you will be on the weekend. You will be lacing up your ice skates while sitting around the outdoor fire at Icelandia, an ice skating rink in Dayton that was the center of most activity both day and night during the cold Winter months. Sharing hot chocolate with a friend or maybe if you were old enough meeting a special friend  there as you skated hand in hand in a continuous circle as the music played hoping you would not fall and look foolish.

And then finally you are near your school, and as the nuns usher you into the classroom they remind you not to take your warm clothes off just yet because you will be going to daily Mass next door in Church. So you sit there half-warm, half cold waiting. You'll head to Mass, head back to class and then wait until recess and then, then that feeling that reminds you why freezing temperatures are so painful.

You take up the dare from your best friend, as he challenges to stick your tongue out and touch it to the metal sign post. This challenge is new to you. You've never seen it before nor ever witnessed it. But it will be a challenge you will later throw out to friends, companions and not so close companions as you ready yourself to witness one of the most bizarre scenes for a kid in Winter. Your dang tongue will stick to the post. The other kids will scream with laughter, the teachers will come running and thankfully one of the nuns will pour warm water on your tongue to save you.

Yep, just the sounds and smells and feelings of Winter.  A favorite  time of the year.

Thanksgiving Memories

As I looked through the hundreds of blogs, short stories, articles or just plain musings I've written over the years, the topic of Thanksgiving wins hands down and takes the lead for "most items written about one subject". Either it's a time of year when I have less to do and more free time on my hands or it's more of an emotional period and I find that writing allows me to express and share those feelings.

I also find that the stories act somewhat like a key to helping me remember where I was living or what I was dong that particular year. Although some of the stories become a little more embellished each time I share them, the events as I recall them pretty much took place... well, sorta. One of my  favorites allowed me to remember a time when doing things like riding a bus downtown with my friends when we were barely 10 years old, in order to bring home a live turkey.

Another one that brings back a fun time was when the entire "Williams" family, my in-laws, and I all went camping on Thanksgiving and we cooked our turkey and sides on a bed of coals from the campfire.

The first Thanksgiving I spent away from my immediate family was my freshman year at the University of Oklahoma in 1966. Because of the expense of flying and the distance of 1,000 miles from Dayton, Ohio and it was too far to drive in such a short time, I ended up spending the holiday with my college roommate and his family. The companionship was great. The food was great, but just not being home, brought a little sadness.

One year later, I found myself again at OU during Thanksgiving with no plans to get back to Dayton for the holiday. I didn't have a car my sophomore year, I think it had something to day with really bad grades, so I decided to catch a ride to Nashville with a friend and then maybe hitchhike on to Dayton and perhaps talking Mom and Dad into taking my car back. I remember somehow getting to Vanderbilt University and going to the local chapter of my college fraternity and then somehow ending up in Dayton, I think by flying stand-by. Who knows. I guess it's just another one of those chapters in my life that seemed normal at the time. I did get to take my car back to college though.

Three years later I found myself once again separated from my family while I enjoyed my Thanksgiving meal alone at Basic Training for the U.S. Air Force. The companionship existed of 45 of us in our flight that we spent 24 hours a day looking at each other, the food was standard mess hall chow and the sadness, well, there was that also.

From Ohio to Oklahoma to Virginia and back to Oklahoma to New Mexico and finally to Texas every stop, every location, every address has a memory.

For the first 18 years I can remember Mom cooking the turkey down in the basement. Now, and yes, it makes me smile to even tell this anecdote, all those years Mom would cook the turkey in a little second oven, that Dad had connected in the basement. I guess they had bought a new oven at one point and they just decided to keep the old one. The kitchen was so small it was almost like a blast furnace in there by the time all of the burners and oven were fired up. Poor Mom would traipse up and down those stairs 20 or 30 times on Thanksgiving morning checking on the turkey.

In those early years it seems like right after a full belly of turkey and right before any drowsiness set in, we would gather in the neighborhood for some touch football unless of course an early season snowfall would cover the ground.

As the years went by, our own traditions would begin to evolve but of course the mainstay of the tradition was certainly the turkey but football was always included.

There was the infamous Dallas Cowboy football game of 1993 when a player named Leon Lett had a goal line fumble that cost the Cowboys the game. Leon would go on to say it was the worst day of his life. We hosted Thanksgiving at our house that day and had family come from 20 miles away braving the ice and snow to be together.

There were a couple of times that Pattye and I spent Thanksgiving working at the Dallas Cowboy stadium in one of the food vending booths. She sang with a world famous group of ladies, The Rich-Tones, and each year we would raise money as a non-profit manning the booth during the annual Cowboys Thanksgiving Day game. Later we would join the rest of her group of volunteers for turkey at one of their homes.

We have eaten at 5 star restaurants on Thanksgiving. We have had everything catered by the local grocery. We have traveled to our kids homes and they have traveled to ours. Each year has been different in its own way. Some years have been more quiet than others and sometimes the day seemed like non-stop kids running through the house.

It's a special time and I hold all of the memories close to my heart.

I hope all of you enjoy the day as well.

Gosh, I'm getting hungry already.

The Art of Shopping.....yet another dwindling institution

As we progress further and further into the abstract world of technology, we often lose touch with traditional and ancestral practices. Routines that once separated us from the uncivilized hunters and gatherers of the world are slowly being eroded from our memory banks.

The one thing that made us conqueror of all in the free world, second only to having an opposable thumb, was not only the ability to shop, but the knowledge of knowing how to shop.

For those that can remember back that far, the shopping experience was a long anticipated adventure. Young girls and occasionally little Skeeter boys would dream of the upcoming trip as they looked through their closets for their best slacks or dresses, their crisp shirts or blouses and their shiniest of shoes, often black patent leather for the girls and sometimes the boys would sport a bow tie.

The mothers would often dress their young daughter with the same ensemble that the mother was wearing or sometimes if there were sisters, they would both wear the matching attire. From hat, sometimes with a veil, to scarf, to purse and to the obligatory white gloves they set the pace for a fun and exciting day.

And then they would head out to shop.

Keep in mind, shopping wasn't necessarily buying. Shopping was browsing. Shopping was trying on items and looking into the mirrors that gave almost a full circle of presentation from all sides. The moms would smile, the little girls would beam but by then, the little Skeeter boys were becoming bored and they would make faces in the mirrors and try and see how far they could see around their backs.

As the day wore on, the mothers would offer tips to her young charges on the importance of different fabrics such as the softness of cashmere or the fragrance of leather. Sometimes the little Skeeter boys were left momentarily as the mothers and their older daughter would venture into the dressing room taking along more intimate clothing. The little boys or little girls left behind would often receive a soft command from within saying, "Skeeter or Mary or Alice or whomever, "Go get the saleslady".

The experienced well-dressed, salesperson, expert would enter the dressing room and after a few hmmms and ummms would leave and come back and then saunter forth with more intimate items. Finally all would exit with smiles on everyone's faces except for the young teen whose face showed only crimson cheeks and a half-smile.

My first exposure into understanding that shopping was an adventure, an event, rather than just a trip to accumulate goods was later in life when I took on an extra job selling ladies shoes at Marshall Fields, a world-wide store, known for the latest in women's fashions. Simply stated, I sold ladies shoes. Trouble was, I later found out, woman tried on shoes, lots of them, different styles, different designs, sometimes even different sizes. But that's what they were there for...they were shopping, but not buying. It was truly an Art how they took something as simple as leather, thread and glue and turned it into a show. The young children would eagerly await their turn to try on their first heels as the little Skeeter boy played with the metal device that measured feet as he imitated the salesperson as he straddled the little footstool.

So much of what we learn isn't always from books or lectures, it's from watching someone we trust and try to emulate them. But now, mothers teaching the youngsters this mysterious and time honored tradition of shopping is now in jeopardy. Technology has now taken over.

One can sit in their easy chair as they browse their phone, or tablet or laptop and simply say, "Siri, I need a pair of black leather pumps, with 3 inch heels, a beaded black clutch, a blue scarf and I need it by Tuesday. Also, I have coupons." Even the weekly shopping trip to Walmart is now being replaced with a simple APP that allows you to place your entire shopping list in someone else's hands, the Personal Shopper, to have your items ready for pick-up without ever leaving your car...or simply having Uber deliver the groceries.

How will the children learn to pick the ripest melon, the ripest or not-ripest avocado? Even grocery shopping is becoming a lost Art. I know, I know many of the younger moms and dads are saying GREAT!. My only concern is how will the next generation learn to pick up that tomato and simply by smelling and sniffing, they know they have exactly want they wanted.

Is it truly an Art, this in-store shopping phenomon? Is it soon to be a lost Art?. Sadly, I think so. The malls keep closing their stores, the Saks, the Maceys, the Neiman's all are closing up shop and turning to technology to sell their wares. The days of Mother and daughters wearing their white gloves  and carrying their purse for a day of fun and learning are now over.

The children will learn their own way, and, well...that's okay...even for me. I am sad though that the touch of cashmere and that fragrance of leather may never be experienced  the way we first learned while walking through the stores.

The young girls will grow up and be great shoppers on their own and in their own way. And, the little Skeeter boys, they'll  be fine too. Heck, they never really shopped anyway.....they just learned from their dad's to just go in and buy, the heck with that shopping stuff.

A reminder of the "Circle of Life"

As the first taste of Winter from a blast of cold air and wind blows through Texas this morning, I'm reminded of how one's life begins with just needing the bare necessities and slowly leaves with just having simple needs.

I have succumbed to yet another sign of old age......It's funny how just the simplest of things, like a change in the season reminds one of how our bodies are changing.

We start off as little infants with booties and as we move into the Autumn and Winter of our lives and suddenly we find we are completing that Circle of Life and we need booties again. Yep, I'm just getting older.

Oh, I've done most of it now. Cataract surgery, gray hair, liver spots, loose skin and wrinkles under my eyes.....but now, now the dreaded sign of really getting old......COLD FEET!

I haven't worn slippers since I was a little Skeeter kid growing up in Dayton, Ohio. The winters up there sometimes would call for several feet of snow and sheets of ice. As a child, I loved it. I don't ever remember being cold when playing outside, maybe because I was reminded every time I went out, "Tommy put your hat and gloves and boots and scarf on" or maybe as a kid, we had so much body heat from playing in the snow we never noticed it.

I do remember the cold though at night or on the weekends after coming in from a day of playing in the snow or sledding, or maybe waking up on a Saturday morning and going downstairs to watch cartoons on the tiny Emerson TV in the living room,

The only things to keep my feet warm were these Indian-looking kind of mucklucks with leather soles. They were warm, but oh, how they itched. I guess they were made from wool and I would scratch and scratch until my ankles would bleed. I decided then and there, I would just tough it out and not wear anything on my feet unless of course Mom came into the room and spotted my bare toes.

But now, as I come full circle, I've decided to do something I haven't done in over 60 years. I'm gonna get some slippers. Some warm slippers that will be somewhat fashionable, possibly even sexy but most important, they will be warm. And NOT made out of wool.

So, Mother Nature, "bring it on". I'll have warm feet and just sit in front of the fire and remember how as a child I didn't have a care in the world, well except for itchy ankles.

New and even more exciting challenges await me...

I'm embarking on yet another adventure. This one is travelling to the world of electronics. It's a land that isn't totally foreign to me for I have had a keen interest in it even going back to my young Skeeter days.

I guess my first exposure was when my oldest brother, Dave, an Electrical Engineer himself, had all sorts of equipment that lit up his bedroom.  He had everything from oscilloscopes to ham radios including something my friend, "The Jer" and I referred as his "shock machine".

I may have written about it previously but it was simply a device that had two orange juice cans that we would hold in each hand that were wired to a transformer and Dave would entice us to hold on for as long as we could as he slowly increased the voltage. "The Jer" always could hold on the longest, either because he was braver, or had a higher pain threshold. Regardless, I always had an interest in all of the electronic gadgets.

Fast forward to some 60 years later and here I am refreshing my brain with all of the different Laws of Electronics including Ohm's Law, Coulomb's Law, DC Circuit Laws and many more. And why, you might ask?. Well, because I just love to learn things and as the world is on a fast-paced race to automating everything we do and particularly doing it with a Smart Phone, I want to be on the forefront.

I've joked before that if people could wipe their butt with a Smart Phone, they'd probably do it. And, quite frankly I love the ideas that shoot in and out of my head-brain as I think of new ways to automate everything around me.

I mean, how cool is it as you get to work, or on vacation or anywhere and you ask yourself, "Did I shut the garage door?" Well, now all I have to do is turn on my WiFi camera from my phone and if I see the garage door is still open, a simple app closes it.

But I'm taking it even further. I'm not buying these finished products. I'm building them from scratch. Well, that is along with Dave's help.

In my pool business more and more customers are wanting to automate their equipment, having things like their spas turned on and heated by the time they get home or having their waterfalls dance to lights and music. Sure, that equipment has been out there for a few years. But it was all a propitiatory mystery. Now, I can build it myself for just a mere fraction of the shelf cost.

But why, why do I want to go to the trouble of building it rather than buying it. It's because I want to use my brain. I don't want to sit and simply get old. I have writing that stimulates me but now I have a new world of electronics that stimulate me, sorta like that shock machine that I used to hold onto when I was a kid.

If anyone has a suggestion or an idea of something they need, let me know.I can make it for you.

My first project has been simply making a blinking light and turning it on and off from anywhere in the world. Simple?  Yes. But if you can make a light blink, you can do anything.

Another of the world's greatest myths unveiled...

I have lived most of my 69 years on this earth trying to do the right thing. Sure, I don't necessarily follow the rules per se, but I have always been a law abiding person who for the most part tried to live my life on the positive side of the good/bad line.

Growing up and even as an adult, I accepted the rules and regulations as truth. If I was told the earth was round, well then, I believed it was round without ever venturing to the end of the horizon to see if I would drop off into space. 

I always believed, as I was told, that the sun rose in the East and set in the West. Although, it wasn't until later that I found out the sun didn't actually rise and fall but the Earth rotated and it made it seem like the sun was rising and setting.

And yes, there were times, that even if I did know the truth, well maybe I didn't want to believe it at the time, but deep down I knew I was just fooling myself. Things like drinking cheap wine and thinking I really wouldn't get a hangover headache. Or thinking that maybe Mom wouldn't smell cigarette smoke and beer on my breath when I came in late at night on a high school weekend. They were truths and they stood the test of time.

But today, I found that one of the truths that I believed in all of my life has now been unveiled to me as an untruth. A simple myth.

I have spoken of or written of my oldest brother, Dave, many times on this blog. His
brilliance is somewhere in the stratosphere, yet he often comes to me with questions on how to solve certain problems of the universe. Sometimes Academia needs to walk hand-hand with Practicality.

Dave and I have been working on several projects together and today it involved DC Current. I won't go any further that that, BUT, he told me something , which I in turn, I had to do and find out for myself.

Did you know, the in the old-timey type flashlights, that you could put the batteries in backwards, assuming they all went the same direction, and the flashlight would still work. Yep, it's true. If you don't believe me, try it for yourself.

Now, keep in mind, that's for the old-time electronic things, today most of our devices are POLAR sensitive, what that means is "Do it the way the instructions say".

But to think all of my life, I put batteries into a flashlight or into a simple device by following the directions and I could have followed MY rules and had done it my way and it still would have worked. This all may sound mundane and simple to many of you, but these were truths that I believed. I held these Truths to be Self-evident.

So today, even though I'm a lot older, a lot more mature (well, sorta), maybe, just maybe I'll once again be a little more adventurous. Maybe I'll go back to taking the road less traveled.

I'm not disappointed. Actually, I feel some exhilaration in knowing that even in the Autumn of my life I am still learning new things. Yes, some aren't as important as others but some things are pretty cool, and Dave and I are on to some new and exciting inventions.

And, did you know that about 20 years ago I was developing a GPS bracelet even before people could even spell GPS, well I mean they could spell GPS of course, but they didn't know what it was. I had the idea for a GPS bracelet that could be used to find lost seniors or kids or even doggies. I never followed up. But, there are plenty of others things out there. And now that I feel a sense of challenge knowing that maybe I just have to believe in myself and not take everything for Gospel truth.

OK, so, in conclusion, be careful on some of the new electronic devices, you might want to double check on putting those batteries in backwards, you could cause the device to run backwards and who knows what might happen. But for those old-timey things like flashlights. You'll be ok. Try it!

How Playboy Magazine Changed My Life...

(Editor's Note: With the passing of Hugh Hefner, founder of Playboy magazine,  I'm reminded of an event that had a major impact on my life)


No, no, no... all of you who just couldn't wait to read this story after seeing the headline, I am NOT confirming your suspicions that you have always had of me. I can hear you right now...."I KNEW he was a pervert."  Well, that may be true, but it has nothing to do with this story.

When I was a young boy slowly maturing into puberty in Dayton, Ohio, most of my friends were one or two years older than me. I always seemed to run around with friends older than me partly I guess because I was the youngest of three boys and well, I guess maybe I acted a little bit older for my age. And, running around with older kids, I guess one of the experiences that we all came across at some point in our lives was exposure (pun intended) to adult magazines.

Did I look at them?  Of course. Wide-eyed and staring. But Playboy was much more than a "dirty" magazine. It came out monthly and for the life of me, I have no idea how we ever got a copy. I do know that it seems that the first Friday after the magazine was in our hands, I generally had to spend a little more time saying my penance after going to confession at Our Lady of Mercy. I think the nuns always kept a stopwatch on me and tried to determine where I ranked in oneryness with the rest of the class. If I found myself running over my normal time limit of having to say a few extra Our Fathers and Hail Marys for some of the pictures I looked at in Playboy, well, I would say them faster or maybe tell God that "Hey, I'll catch these last few prayers when I go to bed". He always understood. He knew He had big plans for me.  I didn't want to arouse any suspicions with the nuns.

I don't think the nuns ever caught on to my crafty way of keeping my penance praying down to the same ole' 10 minutes. Which could have easily been a record back then.


Well, let me preface again by saying, I truly did look at the magazines to read the articles, kinda, sorta. And back then Playboy was the first "sophisticated" men's reading material available. Sure there were pictures of tata's and popo's, well actually, I don't remember Playboy having pictures of popo's back then. That was absolutely verboten. It was just tata's if I remember correctly.

But still I was reading the articles.... Well, those and the letters to the editor, and the cartoons by great artists like Shel Silverstein and of course the Playboy Party Joke section. I still have two jokes in my repertoire that I tell on occasion that I first read in Playboy almost 60 years ago.

The articles were really fascinating. I remember one that was about, well this stuff and the writer was talking about how this was pretty neat and people were going to find it interesting. And then there was this other article about having this something or other and how if you did this or maybe that it would react like.....ok, ok, I'm busted. I didn't read that many articles. However, there was one annual story that always got my attention, and this was the one that changed my life.

At 17, I was a senior at Fairview High School and like many of my classmates I wasn't sure where I would be the following year. We had the Vietnam War looming over us and with it the mandatory draft. So that meant either deferring the draft into the Army by going to college or enlisting. That was it people. Hard to believe huh. I figured I'd just hang around Dayton and wait on my Draft Notice.

But then came that article. That article in Playboy that would change my destiny. The article that simply by chance I discovered in between the pages of Miss April and Playboy's College Girls. It was Playboy's ranking of the ten top party colleges in the country. And, the University of Oklahoma was number 1. I decided right then and there, I was going to college. I was going to the Univ of Oklahoma, a 1,000 miles from home. Although I couldn't even buy beer yet, nor even buy a Playboy magazine at that age, I knew I was headed for bigger and better things.

After that, I always read the articles in Playboy before even looking at any of the pictures. I knew that the written word was much more important than any picture of some naked girl.

I majored in Journalism, I wrote for the college newspaper, I wrote and edited stories in the service. I stayed in the field for some years after that. And now, well I continue to write. All because of a iconic magazine that happened to have some great articles in it in addition to some great photos. And that is how it all began.

I had a wonderful English teacher in high school, Ms. Dorothy Herbst. One of her favorite sayings was, "Every grain of sand affects the tide". I guess Playboy magazine was a grain of sand for me.

                                                                                     -30-

Angels on my doorstep...

Yesterday the doorbell rang in the middle of the afternoon. This usually means only one thing, roofing salesmen or some other contractor trying to hustle up some business.

Although Cooper never barks when someone is at the door, I always take him with me when I open it with my hand on his collar to try and be a little intimidating. His waggin'  tail however always gives him away.

This afternoon though, the people interrupting my day weren't sales people, they were angels. And oddly enough I quit believing in angels many, many years ago.

They were a group of kids, mostly young girls, though I later found out they were young college men and women. They were here in Richardson for I think they told me for some training at a church just around the corner from our house. They were cleaned-faced, dressed casually and most important, a smile that reached across their face from side to side.

They politely introduced themselves and before they had a chance to go any further, I told them, with kind of a fake grouch face, "I normally escort people off my property without any hesitation for ruining my day". I think that might have scared one or two of them. But it's true. Although I am one of the kindest people,  I still am very territorial.

They simply asked if there was anything I needed. I looked at them and realized they had been sent to my home by a friend, actually two friends, both of whom who had passed away less than 24 hours ago. My friends, who I have known for over 60 years had left this earth, without me having a chance to say goodbye.

The young people could see I was struggling when I went to reply to them. I briefly told them about my friends passing and was having somewhat of a difficult day.

Obviously since they were church kids, the best thing I could ask for was prayer. Again, something I haven't done myself in a long, long time. Usually I tell people when informing them that someone needs spiritual help to simply say, "keep them in your thoughts". Saying the word prayer, well, it makes me feel vulnerable and I sure don't ask it for myself.

I then put the responsibility on myself and asked to hold hands, which I rarely do unless at a dinner table and someone grabs my hand and certainly never in public,  and I said "Hit it", which left a look of confusion on a few faces, but one of the girls took the cue and immediately had God's number and a direct line of communication and asked for blessings on Jack and Rosie and all of their friends and family and asked particularly for blessings on me.

I felt at peace. Mostly because I knew it was a sign from above that Jack and Rosie were fine. I knew that their families would be fine. And, I knew I would be fine.

I thanked them for being there for me. I thanked them for reminding me that despite the hate and anger in this country, there are young people who will truly save this world.

I don't want this to be a piece about anyone commenting and complaining about sales people who come to your door. If that's what you read, well, then read it again. It's about hope, strength, and something greater than ourselves.

Thanks for listening.

Does God decide who wins the Lottery?

We have another big Power Ball payoff tonight, close to 1/2 a billion dollars give or take a few million, and I was just trying to get a little inside track on winning this thing.

Now I'm sure for all of my true believer friends, my all-in or nothing friends, there is no question about this, "God decides all things". And I respect that opinion. I truly do.

As a matter of fact some of you recently helped me through a dark period when I pretty much had given up on my faith trying to understand how God lets people suffer and die. A nice couple, who have the strongest faith I have ever witnessed, told me to have faith and I did and the person who is dying has had some improvement. So, yes, I truly believe. But this is just me being kind of silly, so kind of bear with me here.

Okay. So let's just assume that God is in control here, where do you suppose on his list of important things is my or anyone else chance of winning the lottery. I mean there's a lot of people buying tickets and his bookkeepers have got to be going crazy trying to give Him all the data so He can decide who the winner will be.

And what about prayer. I saw a lady, as I was buying my lotto ticket for tonight's big payoff, I saw her make the sign of the cross right before the cashier punched in the information. Does that help?  I have to admit I kinda faked a real quick one acting like I was brushing something off my shirt just so I at least would have a level playing field with her.

Does God's bookkeepers keep a tally of who have said the most prayers and proclaim them the winners?

I remember as a young kid playing baseball, I was pitching for the B.O. K. team and some kid made the sign of the cross as he got up to the plate. I thought, "crap", he's got an edge on me now"...so I whipped out not only one but two signs of the cross right before I began my windup. I fired my fast ball fully expecting to strike him out and he hit the dang thing for a home run.

Looking back, that probably was part of the reason I began to question my faith.

And even when praying...you got to be doing it right.

I can remember in catholic school for my first eight years of education at Our Lady of Mercy in Dayton, Ohio.  We had to start every school day by going to church first. We would kneel for almost an hour and had to have our hands folded perfectly in prayer. It never failed, that a nun would crack my knuckles with her ruler if my hands weren't folded exactly right. I'd follow her directions but as she walked down the aisle, and in church no less, I would slightly raise that middle finger as my hands were folded in prayer. I kinda think God was winking at me on that one.

So anyway, back to the Lottery.

I've made all the promises to God, just like everyone else I suppose. I would give a great big portion of the winnings to charity. I'll give a whole lot to family. I might even give some to the city. I'll help out the animal shelters. I'll adopt a whole bunch of doggies and maybe a cat or two, well maybe I'll just pay for someone to adopt the cat. I'll have free beer at the bars. I'll buy free meals at restaurants. Heck, I'll even throw money from a helicopter. I'll do it all if I win that thing.

So, I guess I have answered my own question if God had anything to do with winning the lottery.

The one thing I have learned is...You can't win if you don't play

Good luck!.

On losing one's Superpowers...

I had the rare opportunity this past week to sit down and chat with one of my all-time heroes, Mr. Clark Kent, also known as Superman. (Well, at least it was a dream I had last night.)




Me: Mr. Kent, er...Superman, thank you so much for a chance of a lifetime to be able to talk with you. Sir, should I call you Superman or Clark or Mr. Kent?

Superman: Tommy, you can call me whatever you want, just be sure and call me for dinner! That's kind of a joke we tell here at the Home.

Me: Superman, I remember you as far back as 1952 and watching you on a little 6 " Emerson yellow screen TV. It was just magic seeing you fly. Do you remember those days?

Superman: Did you say TV, yep, I have one right here in my room. We have a bigger one downstairs where everybody gathers to play Bingo on Thursdays. Do you like to play Bingo?. I won last week. I  think.

Me: Sir, you been portrayed so many times on TV, in the movies, as a child in Smallville. You've had love interests, you've gone back in time...what was one of your favorite accomplishments.

Superman: What did you say your name was again. oh Tommy....well, one of the more recent things I accomplished that gave me a lot of pleasure was I had a really good BM this morning. You can ask the nurse. And I even made it to the bathroom on time.

Me: Superman, I mentioned love interests, do you ever see Lois Lane anymore. Were you intimate with her?

Superman: Well, I think we have a Lois somewhere down the hallway. I think she's kinda pretty. She don't play Bingo worth a dang tho.

Me: Sir, I'm curious, do you still have most of your superpowers?

Superman: Well my hearing is slightly off, and my memory is slippin' a little bit. I don't have to worry about zippin' up my britches though cuz I just wear this onesie. I still got all my teeth, that reminds me could you hand them to me, they're sittin on the table over there. Do you know if it's time for lunch yet?

Me: Well Superman, ...um...Superman....hello Superman, I think you dozed off a little bit there. As you're getting older do you look back and think of anything that you might have done differently.

Superman: Well, I wish I hadn't eaten the asparagus last night for dinner. You know it just seems to give me gas.

Me: Superman, I want to thank you for your time. You've made me realize that there comes a time when we have to face up to reality and accept life and appreciate the time we have had on this earth.

Superman: Yep, I like those reality shows. Boy, that Tyra Banks is a humdinger. She sure is tall. Sonny, have they called for dinner yet?

To me, High School was a higher level of socialization as well as a higher level of education

Summer has barely begun and already kids are heading back to school. And with that comes some memories.

To those of you who have ever owned a boat you know that the two best days in your life as a boat owner is the day you buy the boat and the day you sell the boat. I think the same thing stands true for going to high school. Obviously, the last day of school speaks for itself. But the first day of the school year, well now that's a wonderful day as well.

For me at Fairview High School in Dayton, Ohio there were three criteria that would determine how successful my school year would be and the needed steps would line up like the the stars at night depending on how each fell into place. Hopefully in complete harmony.

First: The classes that I had signed up for.

I was in what was referred to as the College Prep program. Coming from a parochial school, Our Lady of Mercy, apparently my counselor, Mrs. Culp, gave me much more credit for being smarter than I was. Each year I was plagued with having to take hard courses like Advanced Biology, Chemistry and German. Dang people, I was in high school to have fun not learn anything. I think they added a sub-division to the College Prep curriculum after I graduated and called it College Prep/CYA. That stood for Cover Your Ass, which was what I would have to do each subsequent year by taking more General Education classes just so I wouldn't get sent back a year.

So, as each school year began, I would get my schedule and estimate just how much I would have to put into it. I always set my sites on a "C", that way I figured I could get by without doing anything including homework and if I applied myself even the slightest I would look like potential National Honor Society material.

Second: Who was in my class.

Each year's social season is based on how many people you could see in one day either in the hallways or classroom. The first class of the day was Homeroom. It's purpose was to ....um....er....hmm, let's see. The purpose of the Homeroom was to...well, I guess it was where the first attendance was taken for the day. Most of the time, I barely got into my seat by the time the first bell rang. About all I can remember about Homeroom was that I stared at the back of Scott Kelso's head for four years and John Kimmel stared at the back of mine for four years, always asking me what  was I doing the next weekend.

For the rest of the classes tho, it was always exciting to see who was going to be in your class. Most of the time it gave you a chance to meet and get to know more people; ergo. the Socialization part of learning, Sometimes tho, if you were in the same class of someone you had recently had a falling-out with, known as "breakup", you were screwed because you would have to suffer stares and glares for a whole semester.
In addition to being in the same class, proper seating locations was just as important. Usually you got stuck behind that same head you had already been staring at during Homeroom. The classroom was the center point for catching up on any news that had occurred in just the previous hour. You have to remember, we didn't have texting back then and there were only two ways of passing along important stuff like who is dating who. Either you sent it by folded up notes or left a note in someone's locker through the little vent hole. And that leads me to the third criteria.

Third: Locker Assignments.

I have no idea and maybe some of my friends who later became teachers can help me......Who in the heck assigns lockers in a school?

In four years of high school, I had two of the best locations and two of the worst locations. Fortunately, my senior year was one of my best locations. It was very near to the area we referred to as "Third and Main". It was the center point for traffic as people when back and forth to class. You could see friends, you could pass messages, you could exchange homework in split seconds. You could arrange dates, heck you could even "break-up" as in the fore mentioned situation. The downside of that specific location was that it was near the Offices and you weren't allowed a lot of horseplay. One of the worst locker locations was down in the Shop area where you were completely shutoff from conversation with the opposite sex.  And as I said, that was the whole purpose of High School....It was about Socialization.

 Yes, the first day of school was terrific. And, each following day was almost as much fun. Would I have been a better person had I spent more time at  academic education?  Perhaps. But then I wouldn't have had as many fun stories to tell.

Have a great day and have some great memories.

The 5 tallest peaks I conquered.......as a young boy

I grew up in the mountainous regions of Dayton, Ohio......WHOA, WHOA, WHOA.....Hold on now. Don't go thinking this is one of my stories where I tend to stretch the truth. The operative words here are "grew up". And, when you are a 8 or 9 year old boy trying to pump your bike up a tall hill, to you it is Mt. Everest, and you wonder if you will ever succeed or simply die on the slope. So yes, to a young Skeeter kid, it WAS a mountainous region.

Now, let me finish and see if you don't agree with me or maybe you have some choices of your own.

Where I grew up on Sandhurst Drive in Dayton, our home was only a block from the Stillwater River. And being located that close to the river, obviously we sat low in the kinda valley, and since the river flowed North to South, as most rivers do, that meant that venturing either West or East was going to be an upward journey.

The first peak that I conquered was going west on Siebenthaler and was just a block away and ran parallel to Sandhurst. I learned to hike the peak on foot before I tried it on my bike early on as I would walk to school with my friend, Bobby Ritter., . We would leave about 15 minutes before the bell rang at Our Lady of Mercy catholic school, taking our time as we looked for cigarette butts that we might smoke along the way.

The school and church were only midway up the hill, so we didn't have to top the crest. Occasionally though when I rode my bike up Siebenthaler I would pump to the top to go meet some of friends from school at their hilltop homes. It was tough, and little did I know I was building up my body for even greater challenges.

The second peak was also on Siebenthaler, but this time it was going from west to east. There was a wonderful arch bridge that crossed the Stillwater River that I mentioned earlier. Since the bridge was high above the river, you could get a pretty good speed built up as you crossed it and headed down a steep slope that would give you enough momentum to at least get to the Deweese Parkway turn, which again was just about midway going up East Siebenthaler. But here again, the last several hundred feet was going to be the toughest. I would stand on each pedal trying to move my bike just a few more inches. We didn't have any fancy 3 speed or let alone 10 speed bikes back in those days. You just gutted it out.

Number three was Wampler Avenue. This summit had to be conquered simply out of necessity. It was on the direct route to Loos School/Woods where I would spend every summer. It also was only a block away from where I would pick up my Dayton Daily Newspapers at the corner of Daleview and Melford,  which I would then throw from my bike. The pump up the hill was savage, but the mountain though did had it's pluses. It was the finest place to go sled riding in the neighborhood. Also, we would ride our soap box carts made out of anything that had wheels down the peak racing each other as we flew down the street.

The fourth peak on my list of accomplishments was Hillcrest Avenue. The name itself indicated that it was ominous. I had a friend who lived off of Hillcrest, Jerry Anthony, but again, the saving grace was that his street was about midway and I could get a break. Another plus was that the cutest girl lived on Hillcrest, right after you topped the highest part of the mountain, and all of your efforts were rewarded if  Linda Koogler happened to be in her front yard. Seeing her would cause you to peddle even faster as if the climb had been a piece of cake.

And finally, Mt Everest itself. Drill Hill. It was actually named Drill Avenue but we knew it as Drill Hill, or sometimes Hell Hill. The meanest, the cruelest, the most unforgiving peak in my small world. It wasn't on any routine path of mine and fortunately there were other routes where you could use to bypass the ferocious summit. I'd be lying if I told you that I rode to the top of Drill Hill without having to get off of my bike. I did get off. Several times. But I eventually made it. It made me proud.

I remember one time driving up Drill Hill a few years later in my '53 Chevy. I had to climb it in first gear just to give you an idea how steep one of nature's (and man's) greatest creations could be.

So there you have it. Five mountains in my small world. Each conquered one at a time. Memories that I am glad I have.

Happy 80th Birthday, dear friend

Forty-five years ago I had the privilege of meeting a young man, an Air Force navigator who was returning stateside, after routinely risking his life flying "low and slow missions" barely above the treetops of the jungles of Vietnam..

E.K. Loving, or always known to me as Maj. Loving, the rank he held when he showed up at the Base Information Office at Langley AFB, Va., was just thirty-five years old at the time, about ten years older than me. He was a seasoned officer but I wasn't sure if that experience would be enough to handle a bunch of "rogue" characters in our Information Office. Turns out, his experience as a leader   made my particular career in the military not only fun but extremely rewarding.

We were kind of a rag-tag type operation before he got there, somewhat like the background guys in the movie "Good Morning, Vietnam" with the late Robin Williams. We didn't do any crazy stuff, but we tended to be a little shaggy haired, scuffed shoes-type, crumbled slept-in uniform types. We also were more educated then the average enlisted man at the time with all of us having been college educated to some degree. I guess maybe it was fate or maybe "Karma" that we ended up under Maj. Loving's command.

My main job in the Information Office at that time was the editor of the Langley Flyer, the base newspaper for all of the personnel stationed there as well as their families. In addition to the newspaper we had a Public Information division that handled any and everything about news or publicity that would have to do with the base.

Maj. Loving called me into his office a few days after he had gotten settled in. He said, "Sgt. Kender, ...Tom, I know you guys are used to doing things around here your way. Well, apparently, that works. All I ask is that you keep me informed and keep us out of trouble." He knew when something was working right and felt like change wasn't needed simply for change purposes. Plus he trusted us.

I guess for a navigaor used to flying dangerous missions over Vietnam, he knew it was important to work as a team. I took his words to heart. I told the people working under me to get a damn haircut, shine their shoes and wear a clean uniform to work each day. I also told them to keep writing the stories that they have been writing, but let's even do a better job than we had been doing.

I said we have a new sheriff in town and he has already earned my respect. He was truly a leader.

The next year the base newspaper, The Langley Flyer, won best base newspaper in the Command. It was a major accomplishment in our world and  it was a big deal to all of us, especially Maj. Loving.

The following year I was reassigned to TAC Command, also located at Langley, but I stayed in touch with everyone at the base Information Office on a daily basis, including the Major. We had become friends by then.

Our paths never crossed again until a few years ago when I found him as well as some other members of our office on Facebook.

Major Loving taught us how to lead by example. He was a good man back then and a better man now. I know I improved my character just by being around him.

I salute your sir, on your 80th birthday. Not only as warrior who protected our country but as a friend.

Happy Birthday,

Sarge Kender

Nicknames....we all had them..... I think?

My friend Eddie recently posted an image on Facebook of the Disney star from years ago, "Moochie",  referencing another "Mooch" who has been in the news recently. The child actor "Moochie",  that we baby-boomers grew up with, was one of many kid stars that causes me to smile as I remember the early days of television. There were also names like Stymie, Buckwheat, Kingfish, and Butch that reflected the mannerisms of those we watched.

I figured everyone had a nickname of some kind. And, interesting enough, some of us have carried that nickname with us all these years.

As Eddie got a little older, his nickname evolved into Fast Eddie, from the movie "The Hustler". Fast Eddie could shoot a mean stick at the Northtown Pool Hall. And even there you would find characters like Pat Colley, who we called "Fats", again based on a guy from the same movie, known as"Minnesota Fats". Pat not only fit the size but he too shot a mean stick and was kind of a hustler. He did enjoy wearing the moniker.

As some of you know, I was knighted with the name "Skeeter" early on. I'm not even sure where the name came from. The person awarding me the title was my friend "The Jer". I still use the Skeeter non de plume when I want to get into character and write stories from my childhood.

We had a kid in the neighborhood, I guess he was the bully that everybody dreaded. His name was "Duck". We called him that because his first name was Huey, after Donald Duck's brothers, Huey, Dewey, and Louy. I'm not sure if we ever called him that to his face though. Maybe that was what set him off every now and then.

Another kid that Eddie, or rather Fast Eddie, reminded me of, was a kid named Eric. His nickname was "Zero" and that was given to him I think by his teacher at Loos Elementary School. I'll let Eddie tell the story if he reads this. It had something to do with the "Zero" getting all of the questions on a test wrong, including even spelling his name incorrectly.

I remember my friend, "The Jer's" dad had a nickname also. His wife, Evelyn always called him, "Bud". I think that was the name of the son on the tv show "Father Knows Best".

I don't know, maybe it's just politically incorrect these days or maybe the so called experts think it is wrong for a child to have a nickname. Maybe the children are too sensitive and God forbid if they are called by something other than their given name.

Another nickname that comes to mind is my friend Bill Bridges. I always thought of him as "Rocky", a name he wore honorably growing up.

My friend P.J. went by his initials in high school. But now that he's all grown up, it's been changed to Paul. Well, except for me and a few others, because he'll always be P.J. to me.

I still use the child-like version of my christian name, Thomas. Many friends still call me Tommy and I enjoy that. It makes me feel young. I dabbled a little bit years ago using the Spanish version Tomas, but that didn't pan out very well.

No doubt there were negative nicknames out there as well. I guess that's part of growing up.

I guess there could have been worse names, "Butthead" or "Buggers".

If anyone has any nicknames that they want to share, I'd love to hear them.

This here's Skeeter signing off.

Sometimes I even surprise myself.....

A couple of years ago I wrote about doin' something stupid when I fell on my butt after being too lazy to go get a step ladder when I was doing some painting and my homemade "ladder" crashed.
I had taken a bucket and turned it upside down and then put another bucket on top of that one and turned it upside down and had an instant ladder. Well, duh...it crashed and I got banged up a little.

I promised then...."no more dumbass things"...I'm getting too old to be breaking any bones or gettin' all stitched up or spraining any muscles. Well, until today.

I was on a pool call to a house I had been to previously. The customer has a automatic gate that closes off the driveway from the alley. The remote control with a touchpad is mounted on the outside of the gate and I had the combination to open it. There is no other way to open or close the gate unless you are in one of the cars with a remote control....

OK...have it pictured in your head-brain?

I saw when I got there that the garage door was also open. So .after I pulled my truck in the driveway, I went back outside the gate and pushed the code to close the gate. I did a high jump over the safety beam so as not to cause the gate to stop from closing. I thought that was pretty brilliant....and besides, I had done it before. The reason I had closed the gate after I pulled my truck in was because the homeowner had recently lost a dog that had gotten out and was killed in a construction accident across the street. And, his second dog has a doggy door that goes into the garage and the driveway. I saw the garage door was open and didn't want the dog to get loose.



The homeowner came out and we visited and I had explained what I had done and he was very thankful for me being that considerate. He told me he had to leave and put the dog back in the house, closed the garage door since he had parked in front and left.

Then it dawned on me...Hell, I was trapped inside. The gate was closed. The touchpad was on the outside. AND, for any of you who follow this blog, you know I lost all of my phone contacts 2 weeks ago and I didn't have this homeowners number.

Well crap, I looked around and he has a ten foot high fence all around the back. And then I spot what might be the answer. I saw a homemade ladder made out of two 2x4s with boards nailed across them for steps. You'll see ladders like this around new home construction sites when workers need a fast ladder and can make them with the available materials.

This dang thing was covered in ants and it looked rotten. But one does what one has to do.

It was long enough as I placed it up against the fence. Carefully climbed to the top. Placed my butt on the top of the fence and pulled the ladder up and put it on the other side. The ladder didn't break, neither did I. I went over and then keyed in the code, opened the gate and and gave myself a pat-on-the back. And, picked off a few ants.

Not bad for some 68 year old man, who knew how to think through the problem!

Some words that inspired me 50 years ago today....

I'm not sure if it was a revelation or an epiphany or perhaps neither. But today, on June 1, 2017 I was contacted by my older brother, who also happens to be a regular reader of this blog, and he asked me the following question.

"Are you aware what happened 50 years ago today?"....Well, no, actually I didn't. I did know it was kind of a neat time in my life ,1967. I was getting ready to go back to college for another year of debauchery. Staying out late. Drinkin'. Listening to music. Mostly "The Beatles".

Dave said, "Well, I just heard on the evening news that the song by the Beatles called, "A Day In The Life" happens to have the name of your blog in the lyrics."

Well, yeah, that's where I got the name almost 13 years ago when I started this blog. And even before that I used it for a column I used to write for a semi-underground newspaper off-base when I was in the U.S. Air Force. I used the pseudo-name Mot Rednek for the byline(if anyone can see the similarity there) just in case anyone on the base saw the column. Dave had never heard the lyrics. I was kind of surprised.

I loved the lyrics then, and I love them now. Although too often people think the name of the song is "I read the news today, oh boy"

I guess I realized Dave was already out of college and he was pursuing his career in the Air Force so maybe rock and roll wasn't his thing. It was mine for sure.

Anyway, "A Day In The Life" was released 50 years ago today. That's my story and I'm stickin to it.

And in a few hours from now "I'm gonna jump out of my bed and drag a comb across my head".

Rock on!

Always ask before you answer....

I have a new friend...someone I met thru my pool business...who not only makes me laugh as we share our stories but also has quite a varied background like myself.

Bill J. grew up in McKinney, Texas just north of where I live which is just north of Dallas. His mother is an attorney and his father, who passed away when Bill was quite young, was also an attorney and later a judge in Texas. Good roots, good people. Bill is married to a OB-GYN and together they have a house full of younguns' as Bill might describe them. And, oddly enough, he has relatives in Dayton, Ohio where I grew up.

Bill is just one of those people who you're immediately drawn to. His deep Texas accent warms you right away and his down home speech might fool you into thinking he is just a good ole' country boy. Well, he's that for sure but he's also a lot more. He's witty, intelligent and very astute at figuring out people. Again, humbly, a lot like me. I guess that's why I like him.

Although the family has now moved to the big city (only about 20 miles south) Bill maintains his cattle ranch up in McKinney. From what I gather he has a variety of stock from cows, bulls and hogs. I really don't know exactly I guess but I'm learning more as we visit.

Yesterday he mentioned he has two cows that were about to domino and he would have to get up to the ranch and check on them.. Now, I'm familiar with the word "domino", since it is often used when pregnant women are ready to deliver. I doubt Bill's wife uses the word in her practice, but this is just Bill's way of telling his stories.

My immediate reaction was, "Wow. hey I'd like to go up there with you and check out the ranch."

Bill said, "Why don't you come up during AI?"

I thought,"Man, AI, gosh this guy is really up with technology. Artificial Intelligence on a ranch."

I asked, "How do you use AI at the ranch, Bill?"

He smiled, again knowing he had me, ""Well, we use it to get the cows pregnant You can help if you want."

I thought...."Yikes, that kind of AI. Artificial Insemination."

I laughed and said, "Well, sure....um do I help the bull get ready or the cow?. and then I said. "NEVERMIND"...maybe I'll just take pictures!"

I tell ya, I love this guy, he's going to be giving me stories to write about for a long, long time.

Another part of Americana Lost....the pocket knife

There was a time in this great country of ours when it was the "good" guys who carried knives. It was the good guys who could fix anything, repair anything, open anything with a simple device they always carried in their pocket. Now it's the pieces of garbage who walk the streets preying on men, women and children willing to cut their throat for a few dollars, who carry the knives.

Pocket knives were not only popular but at one time they were endorsed by a moral American organization, The Boy Scouts of America. The pocket knives were so well accepted they often were referred to as a Cub Scout knife instead of a pocket knife.

The classic Cub Scout knife

Everyone I knew had a pocket knife. Sure, we did some stupid stuff with them. But, for the most part our moms and dads not only approved of us having a pocket knife, heck, they BOUGHT them for us.

Can you imagine the look on some people's faces these days if you proclaimed, "Yep, I got my 10 year-old grandson or granddaughter a pocket knife for their birthday. They'd probably report you to Child Protective Services.

As I mentioned, yep, we did some stupid things with our pocket knives. One game in particular was playing Mumbly Peg (or different derivatives of the spelling) . I'll let you read about it in the link or even watch a Youtube video but basically you threw the knife to stick in the ground and your opponent had to spread his legs further and further apart or another version was flipping the knife off of your arm or hand.. If someone threw their knife into their own foot it was an automatic win!.

We also used to use our pocket knives to do some whittlin', once again a lost part of Americana, and of course we would carve our initials wherever we could find a suitable place without getting caught.

When we would go to Loos Elementary School in Dayton, Ohio we would start off the summer playground session by carving our initials in the lone picnic table they brought from the city. Often times we got the same table back each year and we gleamed with pride when we spotted our TAK's and EGS's and GNW's displayed proudly.

My friend, "The Jer", had the holy grail of pocket knives. The Swiss Army Knife pocket knife. It had it all including extremely sharp blades, a spoon, a fork, a leather -poking thingy, a screw driver, a bottle opener, a can opener and more. I said that he had it, BUT, he wasn't allowed to use it. I know, I know that sounds odd, but then, so was "The Jer" and him not being allowed to have his Swiss Army knife was probably a good thing. But then of course, he always had it defying his parents wishes. One reason they didn't want him to have it probably because he almost sliced his thumb off once. Bled like a son-of-a-gun.

I learned how to whittle from an old man who lived up the street. We nicknamed him, 3 Finger Pete, because he was short a few digits on his left hand. We weren't sure if he lost them while doing some whittlin' but just as well the name fit.

He would carve these little whistles that he called "dog whistles". When you blew them you couldn't hear anything, but he said dogs could hear them. We kinda believed him but now looking back I think he was pulling our leg.

I still have a pocket knife. I keep it in my truck though. Heck, if you get caught carryin' a knife you are in big trouble. You can't go into the Courthouse with a pocket knife. Can't fly. Can't even go into sporting events let alone concerts.

Yep, the world is upside down when the "good guys"  are helpless and the "thugs" have the weapons.

Have a good weekend y'all.

Oh, one other piece of information. It's called Knife Etiquette . If someone ever hands you an open knife...always return it to them in the open position. If they offer you the knife in the closed position, then return it in the closed position.

Choices...The bane of my existence

I think that sometimes people think that I don't care about things because usually my opinion about something is simply "that's fine". I'm certainly interested in the subject, I'm impressed with the results, I like the finished product...and it's "just fine".

I'm not lazy. It's not that I don't want the best results. It's just that...well, I'm easily satisfied.

These thoughts came about this morning when I went to turn on the heater, oops furnace, since there was a significant drop in the temperature last night. I'm normally not in charge of things like setting the temperature,  Pattye handles that, so after I simply flipped the switch from OFF to HEAT, it dawned on her that I needed to change the temperature setting as well. We had just turned the AC on the day before when it was in the 90's... Welcome to Texas... And then I started thinking....which by the way is dangerous, "Why do we have a different setting for the summer and the winter?"

Now, please, don't give me all of the scientific facts about humditity and drafts through the house and blah, blah, blah. The answer is simple. We have too many choices in life. Period.

You wanna know what is really over-rated. The thing that has way too many choices. The 3-way bulb. Oh, I have one. Actually we have several in the house. The one I have on right now where I am typing is a 3-way bulb. Actually, it's a 2-way bulb right now and before long it will turn into a one-way bulb. And, then,  yep, and then after it goes out I'll buy another 3-way bulb. All I do is turn the knob and keep turning it until the light comes on and then keep turning it until the light goes off.

You know, I rarely even salt and pepper my food unless it is simply by habit. And what about those people who salt their food when they haven't even tasted it. WTH?.

And colors. What's up with that? We've got 8 colors in the rainbow and that's plenty.

A few years ago when I was designing websites for profits, I had some lady say to me "Tom, could you make the blue a little bluer?" Are you kidding me?. That's why I design them for free now, so I can simply say, "Nope".

I'm thinking, see there I go again, thinking...but I'm thinking maybe it has something to do with my supposed ADD or whatever it's called. Maybe, I'm happy making a choice and moving on. Or heck, maybe I am lazy. I don't know....Hmmm.. let me think, is the thermostat supposed to be 70 in the summer or the winter. I guess that's not my choice and I'm fine with that.

Friendships can sometimes save a life...

Can anyone imagine ever saying, "My friend saved my life"? ...Well, if that sounds like a chance in a million of ever happening, what about "My high school classmate from over 50 years ago saved my life".  And, yes,  that was the case with Jack Berkemeier, Class President of the Fairview Class of '63  and what he had to say about Dr. David Joffe, also class of '63..

As some of you know, Jack has had his share, actually more than his share of some health issues over the years. You'd never know it though. He's always the first to offer help like he did when I desperately needed a projector for my 50th Reunion last year and he came to the rescue.. And Jack is always the lead dog when anything Fairview is taking place. He's the first one to get there and one of the last ones to leave.

Jack had moved temporarily back to the Dayton area a couple of years ago when he was asked to renovate an abandoned movie theater in the Miamisburg area, and that led to a renovation of a theater in Urbana and now a third theater in Eaton..

Jack has always been fast paced and even with the ole' ticker missing a few beats every now and then he keeps up with the youngest ones around.

I talked with Jack today when I had received notification of a '63 classmate of Jack's had passed away. Art Messer. I have a connection with that class partly because my brother Rick was in that class and I also host a website for the class.

I had also learned while talking with Jack that his doctor, David Joffe, had been battling some health issues as well. That information had come from Jack via Bill Wagner, '63.

After a little hesitation, Jack said, "Tommy, if it wasn't for Dr. David, I wouldn't be here today. I had called him when I was experiencing what I thought to be another heart issue and he demanded that I get to the hospital right away."

Jack just got out of the hospital on Friday, but he will be going back in on April 28th for what will probably be bypass surgery.

What a wonderful world we live in, when we can continue to have the friendships that we created 50 and 60 years ago.

Please let Jack know you are thinking of him. You can find him on Facebook or drop me a line and I'll send you his email address and or phone number.  And Jack said, Dr. David Joffe would like to hear from old friends as well and you can wish him well while he is on the mend at drcdave@yahoo.com

I'm proud to have gone to Fairview High School, a place where we made friendships and we know, that if our life ever is in danger, all we have to do is pick up the phone and that classmate will be there to help us or even save our life.. And, I'm proud to have known Jack going back 60 years to Our Lady of Mercy and then Fairview. He truly is one in a million.

Jack said he is so thankful to have had these opportunities to restore these wonderful theaters. and now it is only fitting, that a classmate from so many years ago can now help restore Jack's life.

Be well my friend

Defining moments.....

Defining moments....We've all had them. It's the accumulation of incidents, these moments in our lives that make us who we are today.

Most often it's the subtle things that change our lives. The actions we take when it is either time to step up to the challenge or sit back and do nothing.

Sometimes it's a life or death occurrence that after it happens, we right then and there decide which road we will choose in the future.

I have a friend who was wounded in Vietnam, who I am sure, as he lay recovering in a military hospital, he was sorting out his life's plan.

And sometimes, sadly, we never make the necessary changes until we're on Death's doorstep wondering why we didn't stop the stupid behavior earlier in our lives.

Each day there are more and more stories of drug overdoses happening. Parents, and that's using the term loosely since they are no type of parent I have ever known, "shooting up" in their car while kids sit in the back seat. Getting high at home and overdosing and leaving the survivors to a life of hell.

We've had a couple of incidents locally of stupid teenagers vandalizing schools and personal property and it has reminded me of a time when I had that "moment".

One of the first decisions I had to make on whether I would take the high road and "do the right thing" or follow the pack and take the stupid lane.

Some friends decided to pull a fire alarm and wait and watch the firetrucks show up. I decided to go home and pass on the idea. I'm not sure why, but I guess it was the upbringing and being shown what was right from wrong.

Trust me, I'm not a saint. Never have been. I spent a lifetime of screwing up by making poor choices in life. I've paid the price over and over but usually it was myself that I was hurting and the others around me were what we today now refer to as "collateral" damage.

God has been good to me. I'm still here. I don't make quite as many bad decisions as I used to. I've slowed it down and can now see life from a different perspective.

Do I wish I had done some things differently? Hell, yes. But I guess it's all part of the living process and thank goodness I ended up where I am today.

You can never make anyone change their life by telling them what to do. Preaching, yelling, incarceration doesn't matter to them. It has to come from within.

Why some of us are spared, even if it took years and years of doing the same stupid stuff over and over, I don't know the reason. I'm just thankful I have the chance to tell my stories and they might just make the slightest difference in a person's life.

I saw an old friend, but didn't recognize him...

I saw an old friend today. He is both an old friend and a friend who is old. The crazy thing is that I see him all of the time but I just haven't recognized him lately.

Anyone who knows me or has met me, knows him as well, but I doubt you would have recognized him either.

He's a lot grayer, but still has all of his hair. He still stands tall but has just the slightest slump when he gets tired. His gait is a little slower, but still fast paced. His wrinkles are now permanent as opposed to only when they appeared when he laughed.

As a matter of fact I recognized him and realized who he was when I heard his laugh. That's something that apparently has never changed.

He said he considers his health as excellent despite his decades of disregard for a healthy life style. His eyes are sharp, clear and as blue as ever.but admitted they were less than average until his cataract surgery.
His teeth are straight and white, but I think they might be store-bought.

He's still active, works regularly and enjoys people and things that he never had time for in years past.

Sadly, he said his memory is slipping though. He said it's frustrating that when he is having a conversation with someone that he will forget the simplest thing. But, he said he could remember every day growing up as a child.

The most difficult task he admitted to is not being able to recognize friends and people as easily as he used to.

And, just like I said I didn't recognize him...he said he didn't recognize me either.

We both agreed to see each other on a daily basis so we can improve our memories and we agreed to share the memories of our lives so those memories will never be lost.

Yep, you all know him. It's me

What makes a teacher great....

 (Editor's Note: This month, one of the finest teachers, one of the most talented instructors, David Kender,  will retire from Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio. His 25 years of service to the University, much like his 24 years of military service to his country, is not an end of a career, but simply a new phase in his life.  see more)

What makes a teacher great?

The answer is simple. The thing that makes a good teacher become a great teacher is the ability to cause one’s students to think. It's showing the student how to take all of the instructions, lectures, examples, tests and assignments and have the student come to the needed conclusion on his or her own. To think for themselves based on the knowledge they have gained.

The best teacher, the greatest teacher I ever had was one that I didn't have in a classroom, at least not the conventional classroom with four walls and a chalkboard. It was in the classroom of life.

 My brother, Dave, who will be retiring
from Wright State this month after a
 remarkable 25 year
career.

He's been teaching me my entire life not so much by lectures or instructions but by example. And I don't think either of us thought of it as a learning session. Our sessions were simply younger brother watching his older brother.

I guess my earliest tutoring that I can recall was when I would walk into his bedroom when I was probably not more than 5 or 6 years old and with our seven year age difference, he would be nearing high school age. His room was packed with electronic equipment from ham radios, oscilloscopes, and the newest item on the market, a CB radio. He also had one of his earliest inventions, a "shock machine", that he would entice me and my best friend to hold onto as he turned up the voltage to a set of tin orange juice cans that were wired to a transformer. Yes, that too, was a learning experience.

As I look back over the years, I realize that our one on one in-person meetings probably never totaled more than 50 visits together. He went off to the University of Chicago and then later Miami University in Oxford, leaving me at home until I would later head to the University of Oklahoma.

After graduation he entered the Air Force. I would do the same a few years later. We kept in touch on rare occasions by phone and of course we would meet up again as deaths occurred and we would see each other at gravesides.

During the 70's our paths crossed in the most unusual set of circumstances.

I was the editor of theLangley Flyer, the base newspaper at Langley AFB in Virginia and he was stationed at Pope AFB in North Carolina. As editor, I would receive base newspapers from all over the country and as I went through them I saw on the front page of the Pope AFB newspaper, that David Kender had won the Silver Star, the United States third-highest medal for valor during combat. Something he simply kept to himself.

As the Internet started to evolve, he and I would begin to exchange the newest invention, emails, a major breakthrough in being able to visit with each other from afar. 

Once during one of his thousands of classes, he was showing his students how to send text through the Internet. I had a little program that allowed me to "call" his computer, through an extremely slow modem, and the messages I would send him would appear on the screen being projected in the classroom. The students were entranced. He warned me beforehand not to send anything risqué.

His awards at Wright State would begin to stack up one upon another, again, without me knowing, until I would search his bio online and see all of the accolades.

Last year, while in Dayton for my 50th High School Reunion, I surprised him and sat in on one of his classes. I was impressed. Here was my brother, at age 75, sharp as ever, sharing his knowledge once again to students who would learn to think for themselves by simply being in his presence.

My life has been blessed having both of my brothers in my life. They have been my mentors, with Dave leading the way.

And Wright State has been blessed to have had such a great teacher to mentor the students.

I look forward to seeing where his next career takes him. I know for me, I will continue to learn, just as everyone who crosses his path will also benefit from his incredible knowledge and teaching skills.

Well done, brother Dave.