Earnest Talks

It's Such An Easy Word!

2008-11-12T11:11:00.000-06:00

Put yourself in this situation. You are a grandparent whose daughter and granddaughter live on an island in the Pacific. Not only do you miss them, but also you worry about how they must be living in such a faraway place. Imagine your excitement when you receive a recorded tape from them. You put it into your tape player and turn it on, anxious to hear the voices of your daughter and her family. One of the first words you hear is your toddler granddaughter yelling "woach!," followed by the sound of a child's foot smacking the floor.

The island was Okinawa. The time was the 1960's. The child was my oldest daughter. The "woach" was real, as was the tape. We lived on Okinawa for almost two years. It was an interesting time for us, to say the least. It was also a place with many insects, not the least of which was the large, flying roaches that seemed immune to the spray the Navy gave us to kill them.

Living on Okinawa was an adventure. Our house was bounded on one side by an Okinawan cemetery. On another side were rice paddies which stretched almost a half mile to the edge of the South China Sea. To get to work I walked through a local village and caught a very crowded bus each day. We used the same buses to take us to and from the army base where we did our shopping. We boarded up the entire house for each typhoon that was coming our way, although none hit while we were there. And yes, we killed roaches.

One of the first words our daughter learned was "woach." Maybe that's why she moved from Texas when she grew up. After all, we have the same kind of "woaches" here.

Of Course Global Warming Is Real

2008-11-10T06:00:00.000-06:00

It's coming up on the time of year when we would get bundled up, grease our sled runners with bacon grease and slide down the hill on 15th street. At least that was true when I was many years younger than I am now, back when we still had snow.

The road up Barger Hill was once one of the finest sledding roads known to any wide-eyed kid. We loved when it snowed because we knew it was time to get our sleds out and start making that road impassable to cars. That was before salt trucks, of course.

I remember bundling up so much that I could barely walk, which was the only way mom would allow me to go out into the cold air. We would walk our sleds up the hill, lie down on them and rocket down the hill, ending up on 15th street in front of our houses. Over and over we did this until the street was a sheet of ice from the sled runners.

The time came when we could no longer use the street. The city started plowing it before we could make it impassable. The people who were building the big houses at the top of the hill insisted upon being able to drive home. We thought that was pretty unreasonable of them. After all, there was a little back road they could use. It was barely one lane, but it would have allowed us to keep our sledding track.

Also, it has been quite a few years since that much snow has fallen on my little hometown. When I've been home I've seen kids sliding down the dead grass on the hillsides. No sleds, though, just cardboard. What a poor substitute for flying down that icy hill, barely in control of a speeding sled, laughing all of the way down.

If we reverse global warming and widen the back road will you give us back the road up Barger Hill?

American Eels as a Bonding Tool

2008-11-05T18:47:00.002-06:00

Slipping and Sliding with Dad

(This blog also appears as a guest post at www.maydecembersecrets.com)

The American Eel is believed to come from an area of the Atlantic Ocean called the Sargasso Sea. They are born there and then spend most of their life in fresh water. They are energetic little fish which swim from the Atlantic ocean up many of the rivers and streams in America to mature in some interesting places. This post is about those which found their way into the muddy banks of creeks in West Virginia. That’s a pretty long swim.

One of the activities I loved to do with dad was to fish. We usually fished in Twelve Pole Creek, an almost river-sized creek near home. Most of the time we fished with either minnows or worms. There were times, though, when dad wanted to fish with eels. They lasted much longer than other baits on a hook and big bass seemed to particularly love them. Obtaining them meant a lot of work for us, though.

We could stop at any bait shop for minnows or worms, but eels required that we wade in creeks around home with bait buckets and long handled shovels. Somehow dad knew just the right creek in which to “dig eels.” He would point and say “dig there” and I would shove the spade into the mud at the edge of the water and throw it out onto the bank. With luck, and speed, we would quickly be able to dig a half dozen or so eels. As I remember, though, they didn’t come easily. There were many shovels full of mud with no eels or eels that were so fast they got back into the water before I could grab them. Sometimes he yelled at me when an eel made it back to the water, but it would only be a few minutes before we were laughing again as I scrambled around trying to catch those slimy, slick little creatures. As was usually the case, he was very patient with me.

We would take the eels we caught and happily fish with them for many hours. Some of my fondest memories of dad are around the time I spent fishing with him. He was a good fisherman and a good teacher. He taught me everything I know about fishing.

Dad loved to wade as he fished. I guess he felt it got him closer to the fish. The family had a bit of a problem with that, however. You see, he never learned to swim. I saw him slip under water a couple of times. He always came back up sputtering, with his fishing rod in his hand, and somehow scrambled out of the hole he had stepped into.

Earnestine was also fortunate to have the benefit of some of his fishing knowledge. Living in the big city she never got an opportunity to fish as a child. We’re both glad she learned a little about fishing from an expert like dad. The memory of her catching her first (cat)fish in my sister’s farm pond will always be with us. Again, we were all laughing as she dragged the fish out of the water and yelled for help with it.

It was hard for my parents to accept my divorce and remarriage, particularly to a woman who was much younger than I. We have always emphasized bonding between Earnestine and my children. Because of the distance and reticence of my parents we could not similarly emphasize that closeness with them. Although she ultimately bonded with most of my family, I believe her interest in fishing was one of the things that strengthened her friendship with dad.

Corn Off the Cob

2008-10-12T15:45:00.000-05:00

In his maydecembersecrets.com website my friend Ron talked about his childhood happening in a more innocent time. I think that was true for me, too, even though it didn't necessarily feel innocent around Halloween.

We went trick or treating on Halloween but it was different from today in many ways. Although we often ate too much candy during and after Halloween, we didn't have to be careful about needles, razor blades or other additives that parent must check for today. We also received homemade items that would probably be thrown away today. I remember the popcorn balls, in particular. Popcorn was mixed in melted caramel, formed into a ball, and then wrapped in waxed paper. They were so good we often ate them as we walked and never wondered if the person who made them was wearing surgical gloves at the time.

We had to work to prepare for our Halloween pranks, if I can actually use that term to describe what we did. I lived in an area that had several small farms and garden plots close to me. By October all of the harvests were in and the fields had only the remnants, like corn stalks, remaining. Inevitably there was corn missed when the ears were removed by hand. We would comb through those rows of dead corn and always found several ears of dried corn.

We removed the shucks to get at the dried kernels inside. Then we took the ear of corn in both hands and twisted our hands back and forth on it over an open paper sack. This twisting motion released the kernels into the bag leaving only the empty corn cobs (which we occasionally used to make pipes.) It required a lot of ears of corn but we would usually end up with four or five pounds of corn kernels in the bag. By the time we were finished we had some very sore hands, too. I don't know why we didn't wear gloves.

Our children would probably laugh at us for calling what we did next a prank. We had two ways to display our displeasure at any home where we were not given candy. We carried our bags of corn along with pieces of soap as we went from house to house asking for candy. If we got none or no one was home we either soaped their windows or threw corn on their porch, or both. We really got even, huh? It didn't occur to us to do any damage. That was as mischievous as we got until we became teenagers.

Today, carloads of children are taken from neighborhood to neighborhood. The candy is all that matters. I do believe some of these children may have little candy during the year but the waves of kids are too much at times. It's also not unusual to wake up the next day and find pumpkin pieces scattered in the road where kids have taken jack-o-lanterns from porches and thrown them into the street. It felt like enough to us to just throw some corn. We enjoyed the artwork on all of the jack-o-lanterns too much to destroy them.

Times change. Kids change. Ideas of fun change. We were definitely "greedy" for candy at Halloween but ours came from homes in our neighborhood. We didn't consider asking our parents to take us somewhere else. I don't think they would have, anyway, and we still got more candy than we needed.

As I close this post I leave this thought with you. Halloween may have changed. Throwing corn might have been replaced by throwing pumpkins. However, if you enjoy eating candy corn during the Halloween season you can thank me and my friends and those Halloween pranksters that came before us. That candy corn represents the kernels of corn we threw. The yellow and white colors make it look just like the kernels of corn we so laboriously separated from their cob. I'm glad we could do that for all of you.

I Love My Sister's Words

2008-10-07T20:29:00.010-05:00

This is the second time my sister (yes, that one) has gifted me and my readers with memories that I don't have or don't remember as well. I do remember some of the things she talks about below but I have only heard about some of the others. I particularly remember the rabies shots, though. I have included her words without edit. She's really pretty cool.

Her words:

"Hey, I was checking out your blog for something new today and saw the picture of you on the pony. Can you believe I remember that picture being made that day. A man would come around to the neighborhood with that pony and take kid's pictures. I was so jealous. I think I would have looked very cute on that pony too. Also, I remember the drum major outfit mother made for you to be in the toy band when you were in elementary school. I was jealous of that too!! For some reason I always felt you got all the attention and I was just there. I am telling you - you made a mark on my life for ever!!! Also, I read about the dog with heart worms. Do you remember your dog named Corky? He got rabies and you and daddy had to take shots, I think in the stomach, I WAS NOT jealous of that. Do you remember the "Ladies Aid" that would meet at our house from the church? We lived on Pine Street then. They would come and stay all day and make quilts. They all would bring a "covered dish" and we would get to eat lunch with them. I can still remember that being the best food ever. They all brought their kids, (no sitters back then) and we would play all day outside even it rained. I would like to play in the rain again!! I can also remember they cut up old sheets and made bandages during world war II, That was 1941 to '46 I think. I would have been about 10 and you about 5. Can you remember any of this? Do you remember the cellar under that house where mother kept all the stuff she canned. She would put a cloth on the big crocks of kraut and a big rock on top of the crock. I can remember sneaking down there and removing the rock and putting my hand in that big crock until I found the big core that came from the cabbage. Loved that part! Also, remember on Pine St. we lived across from a railroad and "hobos" would ride those trains and they all knew they could drop off at our house, because mother would feed them. I remember she always had "soup beans and corn bread" to feed them. She had these special dishes and forks she kept just for them to eat with. It is strange to think back on these things now as we now have to tell our children not to talk to strangers, but mother and daddy would have them on our front porch and we all talked to them."

That ends her memories and this is Earnest writing now. One thing I wish is that I could remember those days on Pine Street. However we moved from there when I was three. I love thinking about my mother feeding "hobos." That is so much not something I remember about her.

Here are some of my sister's words about her marriage. They are worth adding.

"We went to the Greenbrier this week for our 53rd anniversary!... We have had many many things to overcome. It has not been easy to say the least, but we never gave up and we now enjoy a wonderful life as old people together! My husband is the BEST!"

I remember when her husband first came into our family. I thought he was really cool. Mom and dad didn't feel that way, to say the least. I'm glad my sister decided they were wrong. Congratulations to the two of you. 53 years! That's amazing.

Oh, I had dinner with my niece this week. She told me her dad was the one who gave me the 50 cents I used to buy my croquet set. Imagine that.

Growing Up Earnest

2008-09-15T06:00:00.002-05:00

Yep, that's Earnest when I still thought I might grow up to be a cowboy. That's also the house with the broken door. I lived there from about age 3 to 12 or 13. There are a couple of things of which to take note (in addition to how cute I was). One is the tree behind me. That's the apple tree that fed the June bugs I flew. Second is the open window. I don't remember when mom and dad finally got window air conditioning, but it wasn't while I lived with them. That open window and a large fan upstairs were all we had for cooling. It didn't do a very good job but I didn't know anything different so it was OK. I do remember laying awake in the summer tossing my pillow over and over to try and find a cool spot, though.

That was a great neighborhood for a little boy. Directly behind the apple tree is my dad's garden. The picture isn't good enough to see it. Once the growing season was over it became lots of things. It was allowed to grow high with weeds in the fall and it became a place for us to fight wars and build clubs out of cardboard boxes and generally pretend we were somewhere other than Kenova. There was another, larger garden across the alley and we would dig foxholes and tunnels in it. War was a big deal for little boys back then.

I wanted to be a cowboy or a soldier. I didn't become either but it sure felt real when I was growing up Earnest.

The Nickel - by My First Guest Blogger

2008-09-10T06:00:00.001-05:00

This is a short intro. I have learned this week that at least two of my sisters are reading Earnest talks and I have to say I'm delighted. They have both reminded me of stories that I will write about in the future. This blog is about a subject I have a very vague memory of but my (Not so) evil sister remembers it well. She is the guest blogger and a very welcome one at that. This is as she wrote it. I don't always agree with her characterization of me and my activities but I respect the First Amendment. Oh, the name of the store was MJ's.

The nickel: We were living on 15th st. and mother sent us up to the corner to the grocery, I don't remember the name of the store. She gave me orders to give you a nickel to get candy and I guess you overheard her, so while we were walking to the store you started wanting the nickel right then. You could be a real little devil! I was maybe ten or eleven, so you were maybe 5 or 6. Anyway, you kept it up till I gave you the nickel and then you little dumba___ you put it in your mouth and then of course, you swallowed it. All I could think of was Mother was going to kill me, so I just hit you really hard and the nickle popped out! I told you if you told mother I would never take you to the store again, but of course just as soon as we hit the door you said, and I quote, "Yvonne made me swallow my nickel." Mother, of course spanked me. Thank you very much!! Oh, I remember the croquet set. I think I remember most everything about your childhood. You caused me to have a mark on my life for ever. I told Joyce (another sister) about your blog on Sunday, glad she could find it. Luv. Y

Who Knew What Fifty Cents Would Buy

2008-08-30T16:54:00.001-05:00

I have to admit that evil sister probably hated me when I was a little boy. At least as far as my effect on her life. You can be sure that I played my part of pesky little brother to the limit.

For instance, there was the time when she was sitting in the living room with her boyfriend. The back of the couch faced the living room door so I was able to stand in the hall and see when they got close together or if her boyfriend put his arm around her. When that happened I would wander into the room and start playing or talking to them.

Well I'm sure you can imagine that I didn't make them very happy when I interrupted whatever they were doing. On this particular night I was a very big pest. I was in and out of the living room several times and my sister was getting angrier each time I "visited" them. Finally her boyfriend bribed me with fifty cents and I left them alone for the rest of the evening.

Fifty cents was a lot of money to me then. I couldn't wait to spend it so the next day I walked to the local 10 cent store and shopped and shopped before finally deciding on a toy croquet set (not the one in the picture.) Yep, it had several small mallets, balls, stakes and miniature wire wickets. As it turned out, the balls were so small that they would be deflected by high grass and therefore weren't much good for croquet.

So, for what does a disappointed little boy use a useless croquet set? If you ask my evil sister she'll say I chased and hit her with the mallets. So tell me my faithful readers. Do you really think I would do such an un-brotherly loving thing?

Traveling With Mom And Dad

2008-08-26T06:00:00.000-05:00

The deeper I get into this blogging activity, the more surprises I find.

I have a traveling Jones. That's pretty well-known in the family. Throughout my life I have believed this to be due to all of the reading and dreaming I've done. Through my reading I've visited places and times and worlds and characters that often transcended the world in which I lived. Who wouldn't want to travel to as many of those places as possible?

I was talking with Earnestine about traveling with my mom and dad when something struck me - they loved to travel! I had never thought about it. I knew they traveled quite a bit after all of us kids left home but I just assumed it was only to come see us and their grandchildren. When I stopped assuming, however, I immediately remembered my experiences when I traveled with them.

In my lifetime they didn't own a car until the early fifties (there was one before my birth) when they bought my brother's 1949 Chevy from him. Until that time they both rode the bus to work and when we went somewhere we walked or rode the bus. Then they got the car and things changed. We began going to my grandmother's house a lot (I got sick in the car.) When my sister (not the evil one) moved to Ohio we drove there (I got sick in the car.) Then, she moved to New Mexico.

I remember our first trip to Albuquerque - it took five days (I got sick more than once.) There were no interstates. Highways were mostly two lane and went through every small town from West Virginia to New Mexico. My memories of that trip have always related to the destruction of my ukulele (due to the evil sister) and getting sick. This recent revelation, however, gives me so much more to think about.

In that five days we stopped at almost every historical marker and state line monument along the road. About half of the trip was on Route 66 and we stopped at most of the tourist attractions that are now part of the Route 66 folklore. Snake farms, tepee motels, buffalo ranches, caverns, and whatever else appeared before us. I'm surprised we got there in five days. I even remember my first experience with "Mexican" food. We stopped in Tucumcari, New Mexico for dinner and I had Mexican spaghetti. Hot! Hot! Hot! It's over 50 years later and I still remember that meal.

There was another trip to New Mexico before I left home. It was just mom and dad and me but the trip experience was more of the same. After that mom and dad visited us kids wherever we were. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. New Mexico several times. Birmingham, Alabama., Springfield, Massachusetts, New Orleans, Louisiana, and more. But there came a time when they began to just stop by to see us as they traveled through.

On one trip they stopped in New Orleans to see my family and went on to New Mexico to my sister's home. Then, for some reason, they went on to the Grand Canyon and California and back through the upper Midwest before returning home. Why? They didn't have any family in any of those places. Until now I always thought they were just taking another way home.

But what came to me in the past few days is that my sister and I had no interest in historical markers on the way to New Mexico. We didn't care much for Route 66 "tourist traps." We certainly were not impressed by the monuments that told us where each state line was located. (or how high above sea level we were as does the picture above.) It was also a pain trying to get each of those little state decals to slide off the wet cardboard onto the rear window of the car without tearing or wrinkling. My sister and I could have cared less, not to mention how tacky they looked. We just wanted the trip to be over. Have I told you the car was not air-conditioned?

My mom and dad, however, loved all of this. I didn't realize that at the time, but certainly do now. They were both raised on farms and probably never thought they would see much more than where they lived. When they were able to travel, however, they did! As I think back, I realize their traveling gave them an opportunity to live a life they might never have thought possible. They were having fun! What a concept!

At some point they stopped traveling. I don't know why and don't know if one or both of them made that decision. It doesn't matter, though, because in their life they were able to go places and see things they had only dreamed about. They enjoyed life outside of the five kids and all of the grandchildren. I'm sad this has occurred to me only now. I'm glad I do finally get to know, though.

So, yes, I come by my traveling Jones honestly. That little small town West Virginia boy always dreamed of traveling but never really expected it to happen. But, like mom and dad I have had the opportunities and have taken them. I've traveled the world, as have some of my siblings and children. I actually scheduled one business trip so that I literally took a trip around the world, just so I could say I have done it. But I'll bet nothing I saw on that or any of my trips was more exciting to me than the Grand Canyon or Golden Gate Bridge or Mount Rushmore was to my mom and dad.

I haven't finished traveling yet. I hope to never reach a stop. I wish I could take mom and dad on a trip, though. I wish they could have gone to Paris with us. I would have loved to buy them one of those little plastic Eiffel Towers! It would not seem at all tacky if I was handing it to one of them.

A Very Short Story

2008-08-25T07:00:00.001-05:00

The treatments worked! The heartworms are gone! He's still slow. He's still spoiled. He's still short. He's still the cutest dog ever! All is well in the Shorty world.

Pigs Love to Eat What?

2008-08-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

Well, the truth is they seem to love to eat everything. In that little town in which I grew up we had so many opportunities for playing. We dug foxholes and fought wars, ran around the neighborhood all day, played tag at night, rode sleds in the winter, built forts in the summer, rode trains as they went into the rail yard and, yes, we fed coal to pigs.

Coal, you ask? Yes, coal. Many coal trains passed my house each day and, of course, coal would fall on the rails. Now we didn't need the coal for heat, but didn't want it to go to waste. So, the boys in the neighborhood learned that pigs love to eat coal. In the hills above our town were several pig pens. Since we had pigs and coal and a lot of free time we naturally combined them into one fun adventure.

We also fed them sandstone, but that wasn't quite as easy since we didn't have any sandstone trains. I guess they liked the coal. They ate it. But they ate everything. I wonder if they ever got indigestion. Did it hurt their teeth?

Don't get me started on how they "harvested" the hams and roasts and bacon and such from these pigs. I also got to watch that in the alley behind my house. I wonder if they tasted like coal.

David Letterman and Cracker Jacks

2008-08-07T06:00:00.003-05:00

I made this note one night when I was watching Letterman. I no longer remember the connection to Dave but that doesn't matter. Did you know that Cracker Jacks were first sold at the World's Columbian Exposition, Chicago's first world fair, in 1893. Now, that statistic comes from the Cracker Jack website so it must be right. It wasn't really marketed and trademarked as Cracker Jacks until 1896.

Did y0u know (sorry Elliot) that Cracker Jacks were immortalized in 1908 when Jack Norworth wrote the lyrics to "Take Me Out To The Ballgame." Of course you all know the phrase "buy me some popcorn and Cracker Jacks" in that song.

Even I'm not old enough to remember when these things happened (I've heard John McCain may be, though.) Here's what I do remember - OK, this is going to be an Andy Rooney moment.

When I was a kid Cracker Jacks came in a tightly sealed and waxed box. I can remember how difficult it was to tear through that waxed paper without a knife. Teeth just slid across the wax. The seal on the bottom of the box, where the toy was hidden, was even worse but the toy was worth the work to retrieve it. Now don't get me wrong, I love Cracker Jacks, but the toys back then were the best (whatever they were.)

So, why is this going to be an Andy Rooney moment? Simple. Those marvelous toys of the past are gone. What do you get now? Something made out of paper. They aren't toys, they are throwaways. I still eat Cracker Jacks but I surely don't eat as many as when I was a kid. What's the point? They are only candied popcorn and peanuts. Where are the toys of old (whatever they were.) What's more, Cracker Jacks now come in bags! Where's the challenge to opening them?

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

2008-08-01T18:41:00.006-05:00

Do you enjoy Macbeth? Neither do I but the title fits. Picture Shakespeare's witches stirring a huge, black, iron cauldron over a large fire. That's what I used to see almost every year in my neighborhood. The differences from Macbeth were significant, however.

It was a huge, black, iron cauldron. It was over a large fire. There were no witches, however. Instead there was one sweet old (probably in her forties or fifties but everyone is old when you are a kid) lady tending the cauldron. I don't know what Macbeth's witches were stirring up but I sure knew what this lady was stirring and even though she was using a cement hoe, it wasn't cement.

All of the kids in the neighborhood looked forward to this spectacle and its result. She would build the fire in her front yard (this was sort of country, after all) and somehow the cauldron got put on the fire. I never saw how that happened so maybe she was something of a witch. Next came the apples - lots of apples. Yep, she was making apple butter. The best apple butter I've ever eaten, before and since. She spent an entire day cooking each batch and we all looked forward to the samples. She never forgot to let us taste her special brew. One more sweet memory of growing up in Kenova.

Let's Hear it For the Big Cheese!

2008-08-01T18:00:00.006-05:00

I just listened to my friend Ron Lambert as he was interviewed by Elliot Barnes for Elliot's Sparklecast. I have to admit I'm not sure who had the most fun, Ron or Elliot. There's is no question that Elliot did an amazing amount of research for the interview and tested Ron's knowledge of our home town.

Pumpkin houses and naming conventions almost tripped up Ron but I had coached him with Kenova trivia (yep, Kentucky, Ohio and Virginia). I could tell he was a little surprised by the questions but managed to hold his own.

All I can say is that Elliot is a well prepared interviewer. It sounded like he has been reading my blog, too. How else did he come up with Ron's "two" sisters. Like me, Ron has three sisters and a brother but only two sisters have been mentioned on-line. We got him on that one, didn't we Ron!

Elliot is Earnestine's BOFitUK. I guess he will have to be mine and Ron's BOGFitUK. I did hear something about that interview being one between dueling genius's didn't I?

Mom's Black Sheets

2008-07-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

Oh, how I loved those steam engines. They had sounds that were so unique. As the wheels turned you could hear the steam escaping. As they neared railroad crossings you could hear their whistles shouting "get out of my way!" At times you could smell the sulfur in the coal that powered these monsters.

We had two major railroads passing through our town, the Norfolk and Western and the Chesapeake and Ohio. The N&W passed about 100 yards from my home. There were several men in the neighborhood who worked for the railroads. One was actually an engineer. All of the little boys, including me, looked up to these men who kept the railroad running.

My mother hated those steam engines.

I don't think we had even heard of a clothes dryer when I was a kid. We had four long, wire lines in our backyard on which mom hung freshly washed laundry to dry. I remember watching her do laundry and sometimes helping with the rinsing and "wringing." The washer was on our open back porch, exposed to the weather. There were also two large, galvanized wash tubs. One was the first rinse as the laundry came out of the washer. The other was for a final rinse to be sure the soap was gone. Then the laundry was fed between two rubber rollers that squeezed out the water (wringers.) Finally, mom would hang the clean clothes on the freshly cleaned lines. They would stay there until they dried.

So, what does this have to do with mom hating the steam engines? Well, when one came roaring through our neighborhood 100 yards from our house it usually left a black layer of soot on her clean laundry. The sheets would often be almost black. Of course she hated them. Wouldn't you? Oh, I forgot. There are no more steam engines and it would be hard to get soot into your clothes dryer, anyway.

DON'T

2008-07-15T06:00:00.011-05:00

Don't speak to strangers! Don't go out unless one of us is with you! Don't cross that street alone! Don't play with that ..., it's dirty! Don't... Don't... One of the most repeated words heard by a child today is don't. There are such a wide range of don'ts that I couldn't begin to repeat them all here.

I also grew up with don'ts. Don'ts like "don't be late for dinner." "Don't go so far that you can't hear me." (I could hear my mother's "EARNEST" from two or three blocks away. Maybe she was using the nearby hills to amplify her voice.) Don't stay outside past your bedtime. Don't forget to put your coat on before you go out in the snow.

Unfortunately, many of today's don'ts are really necessary because of the risks to children that weren't so prevalent when I was a child. Today more children disappear. Traffic is so much heavier. More people prey on children. Sure there were a few people that seemed too interested in us but we recognized them as "scarey" and stayed away from them.

I was talking with my son recently and could hear in his voice the sadness he has about how few of us know our neighbors. We've lost one of the primary things that kept me safe as a child. I knew all of the neighbors for blocks around and they knew me (not always a blessing.) My parents knew them, also, and knew that all of the parents kept an eye on all of the children in the neighborhood. A "neighborhood watch" before we knew what that meant.

I'm still not sure how I survived to adulthood, though. It wasn't as if we didn't have danger around us. Things like the coal trains that we liked to hang onto when they were going into the nearby rail yard. Or hanging onto the bumpers of cars and sliding on our leather soled shoes (didn't take long to wear them out!) Or walking without escort into the local glass factory to watch the glassblowers work. Or watching the enormous saws ripping logs into lumber at the local lumber mill and then climbing the stacks of raw lumber. It is a miracle that I made it this far!

More than dangers, though, we had freedom and joy and closeness and trust. In the summer we didn't stop playing until dark. We wandered the hills that were close to my house. We climbed the sandstone cliffs (about 20 feet high) and slid back down them. We sat in trees and ate apples and cherries as we picked them (and often paid with digestive issues.) I remember sitting in the street building dams in the gutter when it rained. Today, being in the gutter has very negative connotations. MY gutters were places to recreate the magnificent hydroelectric dams that I read about. And then I got to (figuratively) blow them up and watch the water rush towards the unsuspecting ants down the street.

I know we'll never go back to those days but I surely enjoy remembering them for me, my kids, and both of my blog readers. I wonder, however, if we are slowly losing the adventurous spirit that grew in me and my friends during those carefree days. As they say back home, "it's hard to tell".

How to Fly a June Bug

2008-06-30T20:50:00.000-05:00

Ugly little beast, isn't it? I didn't think so when I was a little fellow. We had two really great apple trees in our yard that produced tons of yellow "early June" apples. At least that's what we called them. They made the best fried apples you ever sunk a tooth in. They were great as pies, too. During the summer mom would preserve many jars of the apples so we had them year-round. I haven't seen apples like those since I was a kid and the last time I was home I drove by the old house. The apple trees were gone. What a shame.

The little June bug in the picture loved those apples, too. When the apples were ripe there were lots of bugs flying around and they were very easy to catch. I'm sure PETA would be after me now if I was still doing it, but we used to fly the June bugs. It sounds cruel, and may have been, but a little boy in WVa in the fifties didn't know about those things.

We would catch the bugs and tie thread around their back leg. It was kind of like having a miniature kite that didn't require wind. The June bug would take off and fly in circles while we would hold the other end of the thread. We had to treat them nice and not fly them too often or they would just lie there. So, we usually had several and at night would put each of them on an apple and tie them down so they didn't fly away. They ate the apple at night and were ready to go again in the morning.

They were only around for a few weeks but were fun for the few days we flew them. Little boys easily get bored. At least this one did. There was always something else to do in the summer days in WVa after the June bugs left.

Did You Ever Open a Door With Your Shoulder?

2008-06-24T06:00:00.005-05:00

Well, I have, although I don't remember how old I was at the time. It was in the house in which I lived with 3 of my 4 siblings. My brother was not around a lot, or, this might have been during the time he was in Korea.

Anyway, two of my sisters were at home that day. One of them was my evil sister, of course. I can't remember exactly what they did to get me going but they were always picking on me. I don't even know how I survived to adulthood. They don't tell these stories the same way, of course, but they don't remember them like I do. Also, any bad things they say about me are lies!

On the day in question both mom and dad were at work. I don't remember why mom had to go to work but I'm sure it was because we really, really needed the money. I remember her salary, though. It was $25 a week and, like other topics I've mentioned in my blogs, that's for another story. So, they were at work and it was after breakfast because I remember my two sisters were in the kitchen washing dishes.

I'm sure they were taunting me about something or I would not have gotten angry. When they saw they had made me angry they closed and locked the kitchen door. This was an old house with skeleton key locks on every door. If I could have found a key I wouldn't have had to break the door down. I couldn't let them get the best of me, though. After all, I went to the movies every weekend and I knew how to open doors. I had seen my heroes do it many times with their shoulders. (Interesting fact: movies were 15 cents back then. Oh, Earnest, you are getting a little long in the tooth. We usually got a double feature, a serial and a cartoon for that.)

I remember the hallway being about 15 feet long. I went all of the way down the hall and then turned around and ran at the door as hard as I could. Well, I didn't know my own strength. When my shoulder hit the door it immediately popped open and I fell onto the kitchen floor. The latch from the door frame fell onto the floor with me. I had ripped it out of the wall.

To make a long story short, I and my two sisters spent the rest of the day putting the door back together. Somehow we managed to make it look good enough that neither mom nor dad noticed it. I don't know if we ever told them about it. My sisters missed a really good chance to get me in trouble by helping me. Maybe they weren't always so bad.

The Latest Shorty Report

2008-06-21T21:55:00.009-05:00

I hope Shorty will forgive us for the picture. That's Ian's hat he's wearing. I think he was born with more tongue than mouth, though.

On Friday and today Shorty had his final heartworm shots. It was bad yesterday. I thought he was getting the shots in his hip, but he was actually getting them in the lumbar muscle. He did great at the vet but the rest of the day was tough. When I pulled into the garage at home he blew massive chunks on the front seat and, like a waterfall, into the floor. I surely don't remember feeding him that much. It took four beach towels to clean it out of the car and I also had to wash the floormat. Oh, well, he was just getting back at me, I guess.

He spent most of Friday in bed and when he wasn't there he went from crate to crate. It was like he felt better with the walls around him. No matter where he was he couldn't find a comfortable position and he did a lot of shivering and shaking. I hated the thoughts of him having to go again today.

We babysat Ian today and were concerned we would have a problem with him and Shorty. Earnestine took Shorty for the shot while I picked up Ian. I'm glad to report they both did great. Shorty seemed to have recovered a lot by this morning and the new shot did not hit him like it did yesterday. Ian did well being gentle to both Shorty and (elderly) Betty even though he wasn't perfect at it. He is only two, however.

So, this is a good Shorty report. He still has potential problems ahead as the heartworms die, but I just caught him trying to see if there was food on top of the kitchen counter. Those lumbar muscles must not be too sore.

Stay tuned. I have more little Earnest stories coming but Shorty has gotten the attention for this chapter of Earnest Talks. He earned it.

Bill Clinton Screwed Up My Facebook Page

2008-06-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

Sort of. As many of you know, Earnestine and I have been feverishly creating new sources of contacts. I sat down a few nights ago and started developing my own Facebook (another one of those made up words) page. Now if it were a Book of Faces page I would understand, but, I digress.

Anyway, I was once again in a realm that didn't make a great deal of sense to me but I plowed ahead. I added some personal data, searched for some folks that I knew and sent out some invitations to prospective "friends." Then, I decided to see if Bill Clinton had a facebook page - he did, I think, sort of.

I would advise you to avoid going out to check what I'm saying here unless you are very good with Facebook. You, too, might end up like me. I just wanted to take a look at his page. I couldn't find a place to invite him to be a friend but there was something about being a Bill Clinton Supporter.

If you know me, you already know that I am a supporter of President Clinton. I didn't want to sign up, though, so I just went back to my page. Well, I don't know what I did but my Facebook page now clearly said I was a Bill Clinton Supporter. I tried to remove it. I don't think you can (right Hillary?). I tried something else (I don't really know what) and all at once my page no longer had any pictures. It still doesn't.

So, President Clinton, I am a supporter of yours but I sure wish you hadn't screwed up my Facebook page. By the way, Hillary was robbed!

The Gentlest Man I Ever Knew

2008-06-15T06:00:00.004-05:00

Today is father’s day and once again I’m missing my dad. I think about him very often but father’s day is special. In some ways it was the only day he was the center of attention when my mom was alive. She just had a way of being the one people saw.

I remember the dad of my childhood. Our life revolved around his work schedule. When he was working the day shift we always ate dinner (supper to some of you) at 4:30 when he got home. When he was working nights I had to be quiet while he slept during the day. That was never easy. When he worked what they called the “swing shift” I was generally confused about when he would be home or working.

I think back and believe he was not a very involved father. However, he took very good care of all of us and managed to keep us fed and clothed even when he was not working. As a union man in the steel industry it was not unusual for him to be on strike. We never played ball together or shared boy scouts or anything like that. We did fish and hunt, though, and those times remain in my memory as some of the greatest times of my life with him.

I never doubted that he loved me. I never really asked, though, because we weren’t a very demonstrative family when I was young. I don’t remember being hugged or kissed by him until I was an adult. I do remember seeing the love in his eyes, though. He had the sweetest, most gentle eyes I’ve ever known. His hands and his smell also stick in my mind. I loved looking at those hands that had worked so hard. I always wanted my hands to look like his, and they do. They are smaller, but are definitely his hands.

He had a garden almost every year. There were many times when a significant portion of our food came from his gardens. He grew it and mom preserved it. We had “fresh” vegetables the year around. I hated the gardens. I loved the food, but hated the gardens. He would give me a hoe and say “weed!” Have you ever hoed (I think that’s a word) in the heat for hours? Well, actually, neither have I. I usually found a way to play around and let the weeds grow. That is still the story of me and gardens. Plant ‘em and leave ‘em alone. I don’t get many vegetables. Maybe a tomato or two at best.

I remember when I was thirteen and had taken a paper route just long enough to buy myself a shotgun. When we hunted in the winter he didn’t seem to have any nerves in his feet. He could stand still in the same place for such a long time in the snow. I would be jumping around trying to keep the blood flowing and he would tell me to stand still and be quiet. One day we had been standing in the snow for about twenty minutes when my moving around scared a rabbit out of a bush right next to me. It had been there all along and finally ran. As it topped the hill next to me I shot at it. Well, dad was really upset. He thought I just wanted to shoot the new gun – which I did. I went over the hill hoping to find that rabbit and there it was. Dad just smiled and walked on. He could say so much with his face.

As he aged he became more emotional. He regularly said he loved me and would hug me when I arrived and when I left on visits. He stayed mobile until the day he broke his hip and then began spiraling down. Finally, I came home to help move him into an assisted living center.

On the last night I was there I was in his room and helped him into bed. He looked at me and said “son, I don’t think I can stay here for six months.” Although my sister, brother and I knew better, we had told him he would be there that long to give him time to heal. I hugged and kissed him goodbye and got into my car to drive home to Texas. I drove all night and when I got home went straight to bed. When I woke there were several messages from my (not really evil) sister. Dad had died in his sleep the night I left. He was 96 years old. I can still feel the kiss he gave me on my cheek the last time I saw him alive.

I know he and mom are together again. I know they loved each other. I also know that part of the reason they were married so long was that he was the gentlest man I ever knew. As much as they seemed to not get along sometimes, his face always softened when he talked about her. She knew his gentleness, too. I’m sure of that.

I love you dad and miss you terribly. Happy father’s day. You were and are the best.

Could it be Me?

2008-06-13T12:56:00.004-05:00

Am I causing these computer problems? First it was the Dell equipment. That's now been replaced with an Apple MacBook as you all know. Now, Windows is no longer working correctly on this, the recently new HP laptop that I love. It keeps bouncing me off the internet and also won't play videos.

So, I've switched to Firefox. I must say I was considering the switch anyway and had been playing around with learning to use it. I just don't like being forced to make the switch. I'm funny like that. I'm beginning to like Firefox. It has some quirky little things but at least it will let me stay on the internet. It appears to be a lot more friendly than Windows and I think it's going to be ok.

I wonder when it's going to break, though.

Thank You Michael Dell

2008-06-11T22:36:00.011-05:00

After many years as PC users we can now thank Michael Dell (you know Michael Dell as in Dell computers) for turning us on to Apple computers. I have to admit that Bill Gates was an integral part of the match as well. When you put Microsoft Vista on a Dell computer it’s not a good thing. They fight with each other and cause breakdowns kind of like couples who pay to fight with other in a bad marriage counseling session. Earnestine’s parents liked to fight with each other too. She just wasn’t up for triangulation in another dysfunctional marriage.

Yes, Earnestine and I are telling the horror story of purchasing a Dell system to as many people as possible so they may avoid similar problems. Since October 2007 we have had two new Dell laptops and another is on the way. Why so many? It’s very simple. They quit working and Dell support can’t fix them so they just send another. No, after hours and hours and hours on the phone with Texas, Canada, India, and Jamaica we still don’t have the working Dell PC we thought we purchased. Also, Dell has made it clear that we are stuck with their product. That’s OK. Someone in the family may need a boat anchor.

Oh, and I should mention that part of that system purchase was a Dell printer. We’ve now had four and decided to replace the last one with an HP printer that came as part of the Apple deal. After all, why keep the one that just jams the paper? Dell support couldn't fix those either and sent us one after another.

So, Earnestine decided to go to the Dell store to “look.” She took me and an Apple loving friend named John(ny,) who is now known as the midhusband, to the store with her. We are now the proud owners of a new Apple MacBook. Have you ever purchased a computer that you just had to turn on when it came out of the box? And it worked? The Apple did just that. We were amazed. No downloads. No software additions. No…

Anyway, we owe quite a bit to Mr. Dell, including the balance due on the system that doesn’t work. But most importantly, we owe him for introducing us to the wonderful world of Apple.

Now, how do I justify getting rid of the HP and Gateway PCs and going to Apple for myself? Hmmm……………….

Vacation Bible School is Dangerous

2008-06-06T16:35:00.003-05:00

It’s that time again and there are signs on churches all around telling us to bring our kids to vacation Bible school (VBS). Well, if you want them to survive the summer you might be better off keeping them home. I can personally tell you that VBS can certainly be life threatening.

I was about ten years old the year VBS tried to kill me. It actually ended the day before and now we were in Sunday school. VBS happened in the same room as my Sunday school class and we had built birdhouses. We used wood rasps (look it up) to knock off the rough edges of the hole we drilled for the birds’ entrance. We didn’t want the little birdies to get a splinter.

I and an unnamed friend (Donnie Spears) were lying down on a flat bench in the room, pushing each other back and forth with our feet. What else would you do in Sunday school? In the window ledge above me I saw one of the wood rasps. I took it down and was holding it in front of me just as Donnie gave me a big push with his feet. I moved. The wood rasp didn’t. It hit the wall and stuck out like a bayonet.

For a second I didn’t know I was hurt. Then a stream of blood shot out and hit the wall. I jumped up, scared out of my wits and watched the blood pump out of me with each heartbeat. Well, my Sunday school teacher was a smart guy so he grabbed his handkerchief and clapped it over my neck, almost choking me as he held it tightly. I hope it was clean

Someone found my dad and soon we were in the car, heading for the nearest hospital. At some point I looked down and saw that my teacher’s hand, my shirt and the top of my pants were solid red. I knew I was dying! We got to the hospital emergency room and the doctor there removed the handkerchief to take a look. The hole was about as big as a pencil lead and seemed to have sealed shut. There was no more blood coming out. It was too small for a stitch so they wrapped my neck with a pressure bandage and sent me on my way. He said I punctured my jugular vein but I wasn’t dying after all.

The next Sunday I went into class and could still see my blood on the walls. Someone had tried to paint over it but it didn’t work. In fact, that stain kept bleeding (pun intended) through for a couple of years. I’ll bet I could find them today if I scraped off a little paint.

So, remember me when your kids ask to go to Bible school. You can tell them this story and let them know there are many dangerous things in those classes so they might just want to stay home. I certainly don’t go any more. I saw my teacher at mom’s funeral. He was still telling everyone how he had saved my life. I meant to ask him if he had used a clean handkerchief but didn’t get a chance.

Have You Cruised Yet?

2008-06-04T12:21:00.001-05:00

These blogging, website building, book writing efforts all began as a result of going on a cruise. The cruise and workshops was sponsored by Hay House Publishers. Many of you know that name. Louise Hay, the author of You Can Heal Your Life is Hay House Publishing's owner. There were many workshops and speakers on the cruise but we were particularly interested in Cheryl Richardson and Brian Weiss.

But this is not about the workshops, it's about the cruise. In all my years I have never had much interest in cruises. I had a picture in my mind of The Love Boat and that certainly didn't hold a great deal of interest. I'm also prone to sea sickness. However, when the opportunity to attend these workshops came, we took it. On Saturday we got on the plane at the crack of dawn in Dallas to fly to San Diego. We took a cab to the pier and there she was, Holland America's Oosterdam. She was pretty and big.

We were directed into this warehouse-like space about an hour before the schedule said we could embark. Well, not all of the "celebrities" had arrived and we had to wait for them. It was hot and uncomfortable and loud. It was also very confusing because we kept getting the wrong signals. It was not very long before I was sure I had made a mistake and could not imagine how I was going to like this cattle car mentality.

Well, the high muckety mucks all finally arrived and we got on the ship a couple of hours late. First, however, we were herded into another room in the warehouse where we were lined up like at Disney World to check in. We finally got our room and ID cards and were directed to get on that floating city.

I have to tell you. Once I walked through that door in the side of the ship I was in another world. Everyone was there to help. We were guided to an elevator and told exactly where are rooms were. We went to our room and when I went in I was hooked again. It wasn't particularly large, but it had a glass wall and balcony that stretched the full width of the room. A young man came in with our luggage and introduced himself as our cabin attendant for the duration of the cruise.

A door opened to the balcony and two chairs and a table were there so you could sit and read or watch the ocean going by. I also sat on this balcony during more than one undocking and added my help to make sure the captain did it right. At least I think he might have seen me helping.

The rest of the room was ok. Clean, neat, and arranged nicely. There was a TV that had cable and movies but, more importantly, would be showing all of the keynote speakers for the entire trip. That was very informative and entertaining.

After a while we left the room and went to the Lido deck for a late lunch. When I got into line and saw the chef carving from a huge steamship round of beef I knew I was home. Oh, there was always really good food available and room service was available 24 hours a day. I was lucky, though, I gained only four pounds. It must have been all of that work I did when the ship undocked.

The classes were great. The food was great. The staff was great. I have never felt so pampered in my life and want to do it again. We cruised down the Mexican Riviera and stopped at Cabo San Lucas, Puerto Vallerta, and Manzanillo. We got off in Manzanillo only. We've seen a lot of Mexico in the past and why leave the luxury of the ship?

After Rhoda's party on Saturday and fortified with a few drinks, a group of us decided we would develop an assisted living cruise ship for retirees. Anyone know where I can get a really nice cruise ship cheap?

Sometimes I'm a Slow Learner

2008-06-01T13:07:00.009-05:00

Yesterday we participated in a fund raising activity for our friend and house sitter Rhoda. She is battling complications from breast cancer and a group of friends put the fund raiser together to help her meet her expenses. It was quite successful and raised more than $3,000. We were very pleased, to say the least.

The fundraiser was located at the Ye Shire Tavern in Richardson, Texas. After it ended several of us stayed to have dinner. We had heard their prime rib was exceptional and that’s what we ordered. We were not disappointed. It was while I was enjoying prime rib accompanied by fresh, grated horseradish that I remembered my first experience with horseradish.

My dad always had a garden each summer. He would grow a large selection of fresh vegetables. I was quite small when my horseradish experience happened. I knew what the string beans and corn and tomatoes were, but did not know what the white root was when he dug it up. He told me horseradish. That meant nothing so I picked up a piece of root and popped it into my mouth, biting off a large piece.

I love horseradish. Creamed or grated, I love how it tastes on a good piece of beef and I understand I should use only a little. Well, let me tell you something. If you have ever burned your taste buds with freshly grated horseradish you still have no idea how hot it is when it is fresh out of the ground. When I bit into that root I was immediately certain that my tongue and the inside of my mouth had been destroyed. I couldn’t get into the house quickly enough. The water I drank didn’t help much, either. My dad thought the whole thing was hilarious.

A few years later I began delivering newspapers. While on my route one afternoon I handed the paper to one of my customers who was working in his garden. He was busily harvesting some of the radishes he grew. I love radishes and he gave me one to eat. It was delicious. Then he pulled up a white radish. I had never seen or eaten one of those. When he asked if I would like to try one I said I would. Well, once again I knew I had destroyed the inside of my mouth. Red radishes are spicy. White radishes are pure fire.

You would think I had learned my lessons, wouldn't you? When I was working in the oil business I traveled a lot. On one trip I was staying in a Hilton Inn at the airport in New Orleans. This was my first trip into the deep South and I was really enjoying the different foods. The Hilton had a very good salad bar at dinner. I love salad bars and took a little of everything. One thing I chose was a dark green pepper. I loved the little, semi-hot peppers you could find on salad bars at home so it seemed safe. When I bit into that fresh jalapeno pepper, I quickly learned my mistake. I couldn’t taste the remainder of my dinner.

Finally, I had learned my lesson. Since that last time I always test a small piece of every new pepper or vegetable. That caution has helped me avoid a few more learning experiences. Then I was introduced to California rolls, pickled ginger and wasabi mustard…

I Would Rather be Compared to George Clooney

2008-05-31T06:00:00.004-05:00

OK, I think you’ve figured out by now that even though I have hillbilly in my blood I don’t like to see the English language butchered. Well, last night I actually said “I’m down with that.” That frightened me. Where did that come from? I’ve never said it in my life until then. It also seems to cause a lot of “thats” in my writing.

There are many phrases which don’t seem to make any sense but are becoming part of the lexicon. Now that’s my kind of word. Lexicon! But I’m still trying to figure out how we got “I’m down with that” to mean agreement. At least I think that’s what it means.

There are two more phrases I want to mention in this blog. The first is “give it up for…” What? What am I giving up? What if I don’t want to give it up? What happened to “let’s hear it for…?” Since I’m wondering, what are we hearing?

I hear the other phrase on a television program that I watch a lot but don’t care to mention. It’s one of those chick shows and I have a reputation to maintain. (Chick? Never mind.) There is a woman on this show who shouts “shut up” several times in each show. She’s not really asking anyone to be quiet. She’s just remarking about how much she likes something, I think. Why can’t she just say “I’m down with that!” Don’t even get me started on her calling them “the girls.”

So, what does the title of this blog mean? It simply means I would rather be compared to George Clooney. That doesn’t require much explanation. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m sounding more like Andy Rooney than looking like George Clooney.

I really don’t like to watch Andy Rooney because he rarely seems to have anything that he likes. The man is 87 years old and still complaining on 60 Minutes. On the other hand if I’m still blogging at 87 then maybe he has something there. So, I’ll just continue to comment on things I don’t like. I like more than I don’t like, though. Maybe I’ll mention some of those things, too. Maybe.

The Iceman Cometh

2008-05-30T06:00:00.004-05:00

OK, I’m about to let you all know just how old I really am (older than dirt.) There was a time when refrigerators were rare. Then there was a time when they were relatively common, but not in every home. That’s the time I’m going to talk about.

I don’t remember how old I was at the time but I believe I was less than eight years old. Don’t worry about why I believe that. Living in the little town in West Virginia where I was born was quite different than today, to say the least.

One of the favorite things for children in the summer was when the iceman came to deliver. There were still a few people in my neighborhood with iceboxes, not refrigerators. An icebox was simply a large cooler (see picture). People kept milk and eggs and other perishables in them and were dependent on the iceman. Every few days he would come by and replace the ice that had melted with fresh blocks of ice. It was placed in the top of the icebox so the cold could descend over the food, keeping it chilled.

For us, this man was like a free ice cream truck. His truck was filled with huge blocks of ice. The blocks were segmented into smaller blocks of about fifty pounds each. He would stop in front of the house to which he was delivering and use his ice pick to skillfully separate the right sized block for that house. He would then use his ice tongs to pick up the block and throw it over his shoulder. Considering the size of the blocks, he must have been a very strong man. Also, he had a leather apron over his shoulder so the ice would not melt on him. I don’t think it worked very well because his shirt and pants were usually soaked.

I think it must have taken a very nice man to be the iceman. We would chase his truck and every time he stopped surround the back of the it and beg for chips of ice. There were always a few laying loose in the truck but he usually chipped bigger pieces and gave those to us. We thought it was Christmas. It was such a simple thing. It was only a piece of ice for the hot summer day, but it had this special quality that I can vaguely remember today. The chip in my hand would melt down my arm as I sucked the cold water into my mouth. What a cool (another pun) memory.

Now I can go to my fridge and get all of the ice I need from my freezer’s ice maker. One thing is for sure, though. It doesn’t taste as good as the ice from the ice man.

All About Swimming Pools

2008-05-28T17:40:00.017-05:00

Well, maybe not all. In fact, maybe not much. I sometimes marvel at where I get my ideas for these blogs. In fact, I don't even remember where I got this one.

Did you know swimming pools have been around for more than 6,000 years? Neither did I. Until now, however, I didn't really care. So when this floating (pardon the pun) idea came to mind I Googled swimming pools.

OK, I know this makes the blog hard to read, but there's another one of those made up words. Googled? What is that? There used to be a song about Barney Google with the goo, goo, googly eyes. Why would anyone use something as dumb as that song to name a website. Oh, well, I digress.

As I was saying, I googled swimming pools. To make a long story short I found that drawings of swimming pools, estimated to be about 6,000 years old, were found in the Kebir desert. Now, I don't know where that is but if it was a desert, I wonder where they got the water to fill it.

I have to ask a question. Why? Why do we have swimming pools. Is it some sort of return to the womb thing? One of the first things we did when we moved into this house was to install two pools. That's right, the swimming pool and the hot pool, as my granddaughters call the hot tub. The hot tub feels much more womby than the swimming pool (that was my own made up word.) It also takes away soreness and has other fun uses.

But the swimming pool? I don't know. There is a lot of water in my back yard (mostly in the pools) and I don't know why. I was the first to get in the pool this year. That is a first. The water was an ugly color and really, really cold. I got in it one step at a time and there were certain parts that were very unhappy when the cold water rose up. Maybe I should have worn a survival suit like they do on Deadliest Catch. I've already blogged about how dangerous a pool can be. Who knew what else was concealed by that ugly green color.

But, Earnestine dropped a pair of scissors and someone needed to find them. Guess who was elected. Thanks to some relatively prehensile toes I was able to find the scissors without having to duck my head in that cold, green water. It finally took enough chlorine to purify the drinking water for the city of Dallas to get rid of that ugly color.

I've actually been in the pool more this year than almost all years put together. Did you know if you have enough funnoodles (I'll leave that alone) you can float with only your nose and mouth above water? It's true. Maybe if it was warmer it would feel more like a womb in that position.

I still don't know why we have swimming pools. Don't even get me started on water parks.

A "Short" Report

2008-05-27T11:01:00.003-05:00

I thought the two or three of you who are reading Earnest might like a report on Shorty. He is, after all, the center of all of our attention. At least he thinks he is.

He appears to be weathering this treatment well, so far. He hasn’t shown any outward signs of the death of the worms within, but we’ve been pretty lucky keeping him relatively calm. Of course the hot Texas weather has helped. Shorty seems to prefer the air conditioning in my office to the heat in the backyard. He quickly learned to use the new dog door.

He’s lying beside my desk right now looking up at me with those mournful Basset eyes. He knows I’m writing about him. He also knows that my one or two readers care to hear about him.

Earnest will be back with more fun stuff in a day or two. Oh, in the picture above Shorty is trying to get away from the camera. He’s a little camera shy and went as far up the chair as possible.

On Aging

2008-05-23T21:47:00.004-05:00

I’ve spent time recently talking about Shorty. There were several other pets which came before him but there is one that I watch as she ages. I see so much of what my aging is like as I watch her.

Her name is Betty. When I saw her at the Humane Society I was sure that she was the dog I wanted. She was one of a litter of puppies of a Cocker Spaniel mother. The folks at the Humane Society were sure her father was a Cocker Spaniel. I didn’t care. She fit in my hand and was as cute as could be.

As she grew she became my dog. I trained her to leap into my lap and flip over on her back so I could scratch her stomach. Also as she grew she became a very long legged Cocker. Her coat was also strange because it was so straight. I still didn’t care. She was way too cute to worry about that.

As she aged she developed a temper. That almost cost her an ear once, but that is another story. Also as she aged, the underside of her jaw began to get gray. Uh oh, my cute little Cocker was getting old. Well, she’s gotten even grayer but is still as black as she can be except for under her chin.

She’s been a very good dog who is nearing her 16th birthday. About a year ago we finally realized she was probably part Chow. After all, her tongue was totally purple. Once upon a time we owned a Shar Pei and her tongue was purple. We understood then that Shar Peis and Chows were the only ones with purple tongues.

Regardless, we now know our little Betty is probably half Cocker and half Chow. She’s almost 16 years old and has slowed down a lot. I watch her and sometimes see me. We both have trouble straightening our knees and moving very fast when we first start to walk. I see my life before me. Being a dog, she is doing this faster than I, but it’s not much different.

She’s a sweet dog, and I just wish she was still able to jump in my lap and flip over on her back. I would love to scratch her stomach again while she squirmed on her back in my lap.

He's a Sick Dog

2008-05-23T18:06:00.005-05:00

It was only a few days ago that I introduced you to Shorty. You could probably tell by that blog that I was smitten. I don’t often get so involved with pets. I like them (and certainly love them) but I’m just a little removed from being enthralled by them. I know that Shorty quickly bridged that gap and stole my heart.

When he originally wormed (pardon the pun) his way in he was in a crate at Petco. For those of you who know our history this will be meaningful. His name then was Fred and the date was December 1, the original Fred’s birthday. We already had a Fred(die) at home but knew we could change his name. Although it has been a long time since Fred left us, this dog certainly used our love for Fred to his advantage. There was no way he wasn’t going home with us that day (the exact course of events might make a later blog.)

The folks at Petco were honest. The told us he had a “mild” case of heartworm. Our vet agreed and said the normal monthly heartworm treatment would take care of that. Well, on Monday he went to the vet to check on his cough. The news was not good. Our vet said the veterinary world had taken an entirely new approach to heartworms in the last six months. Now there was no such thing as a “mild” case and he needed the aggressive treatment right away.

So, Shorty got a shot of something similar to arsenic. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t seem to be a good thing. It isn’t good for the heartworms. It kills them. Sometimes it also kills the dog. I’ve actually had another dog treated this way but she stayed with the vet the entire time. He told us it would either cure her or kill her. It cured her. This vet sent Shorty home.

He came home very sore. He came home very upset by the whole thing. He lay in my office most of the day and I worried and fretted and came very close to crying on several occasions. I hated seeing him so obviously in pain as he tried to find a comfortable way to lay down. I hated the fear I had that he might die in front of me. The internet says we have to keep him calm for six to eight weeks. He’s a beagle! He doesn’t understand calm!

He has one more, even more traumatic treatment in a few weeks. I’m not sure, but I think he’s probably going to endure it better than I will. I look at him and my heart just melts. His eyes have me totally hooked. When he comes to me for a “scratch,” as I call it, he gets my attention no matter what I’m doing. When he lays on my chest in bed in the morning I’m a jellyfish. Did I tell you he lifts his front leg to be scratched in his pit? He does! And I do!

Earnest is a Shorty wimp. I'm not ashamed to say that. Earnest is scared Shorty won’t make it. I can’t have another pet that comes and goes in a few months, but that’s another blog. Stay tuned for the Shorty and Earnest updates.

Do you remember Smee?

2008-05-20T21:35:00.022-05:00

If I'm not mistaken, he was Captain Hook's first mate in Peter Pan. Right? Wrong!

If you've been reading this blog since the beginning (fat chance) you'll remember how I hate made up words. Well, it just keeps on keeping on. I wonder how long it will be before we can no longer read full words. Have you ever tried to read old English? That's how it will be with our English before we know it.

OK, you say. Shut up and tell us what you're talking about.

OK, I will. In my other life I work for a large corporation that will remain unnamed. As part of the requirements for them to continue to pay me a reasonable wage and provide exceptional benefits I have to obtain 25 hours of continuing education each year. So, I'm taking a class through a local community college. It's a quasi-business class and they have more made up words and shorthand than you can imagine.

So, back to Smee. Actually it is SME. They've dropped an E. It should be pronounced Smuh, but if you are making up words, why not make up pronunciations? Smuh does sound like some nasty bodily function, though.

If you don't know, SME means Subject Matter Expert. Then, of course, you have to define the subject matter. It was so easy when we were accounting experts, or rocket experts or ukulele experts. We've shortened the words but made it harder to know what they mean. At least that's my opinion.

They also tossed out SPOC. Now that one I knew, because I am one. At least in that huge corporation I am a SPOC. I am a Single Point of Contact. I'm not sure I want to be any point of contact, let alone the Single Point of Contact. Does that tell you what I do? Of course not. If I was still allowed to just say I'm the SME in CRE then you would know. Right? I miss my anonymity.

He's A Short Dog

2008-05-18T06:25:00.011-05:00

You can't tell from this picture, but he really is a short dog. Does he look comfortable? He should, he's in my bed.

Did you ever think about how our pets own us? Not only that, I believe they come into our lives when they choose. This short dog came into my heart the moment I saw him and he's there for good. He chose us at a time we were committed to not getting another dog. We could not refuse him, could we.

Some say he's a Beagle. Some say he's a Basset. I say he's the reincarnation of a dog that belonged to my brother when I was a teenager. He was one of two brothers who were the result of an accidental mating of a Beagle and a Basset. One was Duke (the tall, Beagle side) and the other was Shorty (the short, Basset side.) I look at the dog in the picture and know he is short and looks like he's half Beagle and half Basset. Of course his name is Shorty.

How Many Stations Can You Receive?

2008-05-17T06:25:00.006-05:00

When I was a kid, dad and I would go to the "beauty shop" to pick up mom. He often sent me inside to let her know we had arrived. I was embarassed because this place seemed to allow only women inside so I usually got in and out quickly. How things have changed!

I had very blonde hair until I was in my twenties. As I grew older it darkened. I didn't like it darker but felt there was nothing I could do about that. Several years ago I learned about a spray that claimed to use the sun to lighten hair. It worked. Then, the woman who did my hair (I no longer get haircuts) told me it looked brassy and she could make it look better. That was the beginning of many years of artificially lightening my hair.

Now I go to the hairdresser (barber?) every few weeks and have it highlighted (bleached as we used to say.) Not wanting to look totally unwilling to accept my age, I've told her to leave some of the gray showing. Yep, the natural color has now become at least partially gray. Yesterday was the day to have my hair done (haircut?) If you've never had your hair lightened you may not know that part of the process is for the hairdresser to put lots of pieces of aluminum foil in your hair to wrap around the chemically treated hair.

As I sat there with my head looking like an antenna farm a little boy about six or seven years old came around the corner. The look on his face when he saw me reminded me of the looks I'm sure I had on mine when I would go into the beauty shop to get mom. I remember being surrounded by women with wires and pins and curlers and all manner of beautifying equipment in their hair. It felt like another world.

I wonder if the little boy I saw yesterday will be blogging in years to come about the man in the chair with the aluminum foil forest in his hair. Based on the look I saw he was as embarassed for me as I was when I had to enter the realm of the women as a kid. Or maybe he wondered how I tuned my aluminum foil antennas to achieve the best reception.

"Evil Sister" Has Surfaced

2008-05-16T14:32:00.000-05:00

Once again I can't find a blog I saved. I really haven't figured this thing out yet but I'm working on it. I heard from evil sister again but this time it was an email to my work address. She's not really that evil but I like to get under her skin as often as possible. It was a short email. She simply said I have too much time on my hands. All I can say in return is that anyone who forwards as many jokes and other fw.fw.fw items definitely has too much time on her hands.
I checked. I've earned $0.44 from the advertising posted on my site. Although it's $0.44 more than I expected, it's going to take a long time to move to Paris at that rate.

Enjoy the picture. It was the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean right before we docked at Cabo San Lucas

OK, Maybe I Do Like Blogging

2008-05-14T19:30:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I've made it clear yet but I want to live in Paris. Yes, Paris, France. We've made several trips there and have just fallen more deeply in love with everything about it. So, I started another blog last night. A blog about Paris. Then I deleted it because I couldn't get it the way I wanted it. So, I started another. I deleted it, too. Earnestine said I needed to learn to refresh the page each time. Hmmmmmm. Well, today I started one more blog about Paris. It worked. It exists and it is fun. I guess it's OK to have several blogs if they are about other subjects. If anyone ever reads this, take at look at Earnest Loves Paris. Oh, I also learned how cool pictures looked in the blogs so you can expect some here, too. I'll start with my favorite sculpture in all of the Louvre. I know I have to get back to the subject of this blog, though, whatever that may be.

I Knew It Would Work!

2008-05-13T14:10:00.001-05:00

I decided if I'm going to do this someone should pay for my time. After all, my entertaining blogs are worth something (if anyone ever reads them.) Well, I couldn't find anyone willing to pay me an hourly rate for blogging so I decided to sign up for Google's AdSense. After all, I saw the blog of a 16 year old girl that was covered up with ads. That kid has the right idea.

I signed up. AdSense approved me for advertising almost immediately. So, I was telling Earnestine last night and it dawned on me that Google was going to match advertising to the content of my blog. What content? Ukuleles? 1949 Chevrolets? Mother's Day (next year maybe?) There's not much saleable content here.

Lo and behold I opened my blog today and there was an ad for vintage ukuleles! The next ad to appear was for ukuleles and guitars. It works! Now if I can only get someone to read my blogs and click on the ads. Make me rich my loyal reader(s).

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-11T08:22:00.000-05:00

Mom passed away several years ago but I can still remember making the obligatory Mother's Day call every year. That's really a sad word - obligatory. I don't know when my relationship with her became such that I felt obligated to call. Today I would feel privileged.

Yes, I miss talking to her. I can hear her saying "Ronnie, you don't call often enough." Even more loudly I can hear her saying "I love you." She really did love me. I never questioned that, even when we were having a really hard time liking each other. Like most of us, when I was hurting or in trouble I usually thought of her first.

So, I would be so happy on this Mother's day to just pick up the phone and call her. If only to say happy Mother's day and to hear I love you. Sure would be nice.

How far would you travel to be tortured?

2008-05-09T19:49:00.000-05:00

Well, in my case it's at least from Dallas to Houston.

Do you love needles? If you are an addict your answer will probably be skewed. For the rest of us I would think the answer would be "I don't!!!

That's certainly my answer. Well, there's this certain doctor in Houston who says he has the answer to what ails me. Let's call him doctor H (for Houston) since I don't want you to know who he might be. He's dangerous. He's very persuasive. In a short phone call he managed to convince me that he could help me with my knee problems if I could stand a few injections. I still don't have his definition of "a few."

Well, if you've read some of my other blogs you understand that sometimes I have a tendency to react without thinking. I agreed to come to Houston!!!

Came the day of the "treatment." If you don't know (which you don't) my knee has gotten old at a much faster rate than the rest of me. So, it's a pain sometimes. Dr. H assured me he could help. So, I got on the plane in Dallas with my knee wrapped tightly to avoid the pain I endure when I walk a lot. (Sucks, huh?) I was a spectacle! I'm walking around Dallas/Ft. Worth airport with my knee tightly wrapped, my ankle braced because of the ladder incident, and a huge envelope of xray and MRI films. Was I noticeable? What do you think?

I arrived and was chauffered from the airport to the clinic with a stop at a famed Margarita joint. I had to prepare, after all with a Gold Margarita - the only kind. An hour later I took my Xanax and Vicodin cocktail to further assist in the healing process. I finally arrived at the clinic and could visualize the huge number of needles waiting for me. I wasn't off by much.

They really attempted to disarm me quickly. The were nice. I hate it when that happens! Dr. H took quite a bit of time to describe what was going to happen. Although that was cool, he still managed to not tell me how many needles to expect. He was cagey to say the least.

Then comes in assistant B. Nice guy. Wouldn't tell me anything. I was beginning to be very scared. After a bout of cleaning my leg I was told they would have to remove some of the fluid that was causing swelling. I didn't look, but I believe the needle was about eight inches long and a half inch thick. I think they were sucking out most of my knee. I tried to faint but was unsuccessful.

Next, I was told the numbing injections would help with the rest of the procedure. Did they have to heat the needles enough to melt lead? Since when does novo or lidocaine come with fire included? Well, after they hurt me worse than I have ever been hurt (not really but I am allowed to exaggerate because I am me) the real procedure began.

OK, it didnt' really hurt that much. But, I am, always have been, and will proudly continue to be a huge baby when shots or needles are concerned. I don't care what any of them say, I was tortured today and they still won't tell me how many injections I received.
Of course, I now feel fine. Just don't tell Dr. H. I have to come back, after all, and he needs to think I am tender and easily hurt. Otherwise he won't be careful and feel sorry for me at the right (needle) time. I need that!!!

I will say this. Since these are unusual circumstances I am spending the night with Dr. H and his family until I am recovered enough to return to Dallas tomorrow. I've decided it's no longer important to know how many needles he used. How can I fault anyone who makes such a good dirty martini?

I do have one question. Is that glass coffee table where it is simply to drum up business? I managed to slam my poor, injured knee into it at least twice. I'm just glad it was a vase of flowers that I knocked in the floor and not one of those great martinis.

Who says I can't swim?

2008-05-07T21:16:00.000-05:00

Well, the ukulele killer has spoken. So has Kynephew. Thanks for the spelling lesson. I think her foot must have glanced off my ukulele and hit me in the head. I was a spelling champion before that trip.

Anyway, I spoke with my (evil) ukulele killing sister after she read the blog. She said I should have blogged about the time I tried to drown her. Of course she remembers it differently than I do. At no time in my life have I ever said or thought I wanted to drown her. Well...

She says she tried to keep me out of the water that day but I remember that she was so busy with all of the boys at the swimming pool that she wasn't paying attention to me. That was her job, too. I was just a little boy! Our parents told her to take care of me!

Where we lived probably has one of the largest swimming pools in the world. (At least it seems that way). My evil sister and I spent most of our summers at that pool. I think I had learned to swim by the time I was five. At least that's how I remember it.

On the day in question I decided to swim out to the island that was in the deeper water. No sweat. I swam out and climbed on the island to rest. There wasn't much to do there so I decided to go back. About halfway back I got a cramp or something and began to sink (she says I got tired). Well, my (evil) sister must have seen me because she actually came out to get me.

Now you have to understand that I was just a little boy and drowning was not something I wanted to do. I quickly figured out that all I had to do to keep from drowning was stand on her shoulders. The only problem was that put her under water, making it difficult for her to breathe, to say the least. But, I was finally OK.

For some reason my solution did not agree with her and she kept trying to push me off. I guess the lifeguard finally took his eyes off the girls and saw me. At least some big guy came out and helped me swim back to the side of the pool. My (evil) sister floated up and swam to the side. She has been giving me trouble about this all of my life. I don't understand her problem.

On the serious side, Earnestine reminded me of a trip we took to California a few years ago. We were in a canoe on the Russian River and came under a bridge just before the point where we were to beach the canoe. The bridge had an island similar to the pool and there were several kids just coming off that island to swim back to shore.

Well, as Yogi Berra would say, it was deja vu all over again. One of the smaller kids began to struggle in the water and we could see he wasn't going to make it. We got the canoe near him and I stuck a paddle out for him to hold while we pulled him in. Well, he was scared and decided to grab the canoe instead. I could see that was going to cause us to tip but somehow managed to get him to stop and we got him in with a paddle. I'm just glad he didn't have to stand on my shoulders.

How entertainment has changed

2008-05-05T10:54:00.000-05:00

I was talking with my daughter yesterday about a long road trip with her kids. She said they had two dvd players with screens that attached to the back of the headrests so the kids could stay occupied. Can you imagine that? Two movies in the car at the same time?

The discussion reminded me of a trip I took with my family back in the early fifties. Yes, I'm older than dirt. We went from WV to NM in a 1949 Chevy with no air conditioning and only an AM radio for entertainment. Not only that, but back then we had only two lane roads and my parents loved to stop at every tourist attraction. Since much of the trip was along the legendary Route 66 there were lots of tourist attractions from which to choose. As a result of all of that, the trip took about five days, I knew we would need more entertainment while we were in the car. So, I brought my ukelele to fill in the dead spots.

Yep, a four string plastic ukelele and I used it to entertain my parents and my older sister. I'm sure the fact that I knew only part of one song contributed to the problem that ensued. I was about 10 years old. That meant my sister would have been about 15 years old. Under ordinary circumstances 15 year old girls do not like their 10 year old brothers, anyway, and the ukelele seemed to make that situation even worse.

After the second or third day my sister must have gotten tired of Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue being played over and over by me on my ukelele. My parents hadn't said anything so I figured I was doing a good job entertaining everyone. My sister was laying down in the back seat and I was sitting on the other side of the car strumming away. Without warning she slammed her heel into the back of my ukelele, crushing it.

I'm still traumatized by the fact that my parents did not take my side in this situation. They obviously loved her more than me. Maybe I was adopted like my older siblings told me. Anyway, we had to spend the rest of the trip with no entertainment at all. I was very glad she was not invited the next time we went to NM. Of course by that time she had escaped the house and was married. Oh, well.

To add insult to injury, I was relating this story in a restaurant. For some reason my wife and daughter were laughing uncontrollably and were attracting a lot of attention. I couldn't believe they didn't understand how this incident had caused me to never want to travel with kids again. They obviously didn't love me.

Oh, I never played the ukelele again.

Is it just me?

2008-05-04T09:35:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who is totally sick of the presidential campaign? It is way past being enough. It's Sunday morning and Obama is on Russert. Masses of talking heads who have only opinions are chattering on CNN. The same reporters who were fawning over Obama are now savaging him. Kind of sickening, huh?

I'll be very happy when we are done with it this year.

On the other hand is a beautiful day here in Texas. Cool and bright. We have to enjoy that while we can.

I was right. This is just a journal. That's OK, too. Since it's a journal I can say anything I want without it having to make sense or deliver a message. It's just me. I think I like that and it makes no difference if anyone reads this or not.

So, if you do read any of this it may not be very profound. On the other hand, once I get a little farther along on the book I'm writing with my wife I may finally have something to say! Happy Sunday.

May Day

2008-05-01T19:43:00.001-05:00

I found it interesting this morning that illegal immigration protestors chose today to show their dissatisfaction with our, admittedly inept, lawmakers.

Why did I find it interesting? Well there are two reasons. First, May 1, or May Day, is a holiday for all of the current and former Communist countries. They were having their parades today, too. Second, Cinco de Mayo is only 5 days away. Wouldn't that make more sense?

I know, not the normal Earnest posting, but here is where I get to do my musings and express my complaints. Why blog otherwise? No one is reading it, anyway.

Happy May Day

Oops

2008-04-30T08:59:00.000-05:00

I missed a day. Oh, well, I'm beginning to believe that blogging is just journaling by another name. Since I don't journal, it can only be a conspiracy of the people who sell all of those books at Barnes and Noble that have no writing in them. So, I'll continue to stay on here for a little while longer just so I can say that I was not manipulated into killing another tree. So, there.

Day two and counting

2008-04-28T18:36:00.000-05:00

OK, I have only one response to my first blog and I know where that one came from. I'm not ready to spend a lot of time on this yet but I'm sure I will.

I'm getting PO'd. I just spent several minutes typing. I previewed what I typed and when I came back to edit it, it was gone. I'm not sure I understand this BLOGGING (another made-up word FCS!) I'm going to be very surprised when I get a comment from someone other than my beloved Earnestine.

I've been sitting here listening to her talk about branding (nope, she doesn't want me to brand her. She would probably like to brand me, though.) She's talking about us being our own brands and that we need to learn to sell ourselves (I might not get much. I'm a old model.) So, let's see - Earnest D. Cember. Hmmm. Maybe I'd better change my name before I go on the market.

Somebody find me and comment!!!!

Here goes nothing

2008-04-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

OK, here I am with my first posting ever in my life. First, I have to say I don't like made up words, like BLOG! The term "web logging" makes more sense and is easier to hear, but I understand that we have gotten very lazy and will make every effort to shorten words.

Regardless, I have now entered the world of blogging and we shall see how long it lasts. I have read very few blogs so I'm not sure how it is supposed to work. I guess I'll just wing it. I generally don't journal or write letters so this is pretty unusual and uncomfortable. I'm sure I can do it, though.

The first problem that arises is whether or not I have anything to say that you or anyone else would care about. For a long time now I have been helping folks to learn how to live better. As a counselor I get to see their souls and help them find themselves.

I guess I really do have something to say. I hope there's someone out there who is interested in listening. If not, I won't do much more of this "blogging" stuff.