My Life As A Hobby

It’s not a major bucket list thing, but for years I have said I was going to do it.  And I haven’t. Little things like work kept getting in the way.  But now that I’m freshly retired, there was no good reason not to follow up on my intent.  Surprisingly I’ve learned that most retirees are busy, but they usually have schedules that are flexible.  And it seemed to be perfect way to refresh your soul after dealing with 2020.  So I was finally going to do it.  Yep, this was the year I was going take a boat trip to look at the leaves change.   Fortunately, I have the perfect venue to view nature’s handiwork - it’s Smith Lake in north central Alabama.  This man made beauty has over 500 miles of shoreline, much of it flanked by the Bankhead National Forest.  So it’s chock full of hills thick with pines and hardwoods, limestone bluffs, and natural waterfalls. Every season is pretty, but it’s especially gorgeous in autumn.  The timing was almost perfect.  In Alabama, the trees are at their best

  I’ve been thinking about last week’s Masters Jacket Ceremony.   It  always brings tears to my eyes.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with this iconic sports ritual, I’ll explain. Right after a winner has been decided, everyone heads to the famous Butler Cabin where last year’s winner presents the new champion a green jacket.  Kind of a coronation with golf spikes.  And it gets to me.  It’s not just the tinkly piano music, or the air of casual reverence, or the players who get choked up about winning golf’s greatest tournament.  That certainly contributes.  But I get emotional because some of the best memories of my Dad involve watching the Masters with him.  I’ve joked for years that my Father preferred Masters Sunday to Thanksgiving and Christmas.  There is probably some truth to that.  He  could be a royal pain in the butt at the holidays.  I think it was because we typically had the family celebrations at our house.  The combination of noise, confusion, and relatives he didn’

While taking an afternoon walk, I ran into an old friend, Ray.  I always enjoy seeing him because he worked at the pipe mill with my Dad, Uncle, and Grandfather. So it was no surprise that after we exchanged pleasantries, he begin to talk about them.  Predictably, he railed about how absolutely crazy my Dad and Uncle were. If you’ve read any of my earlier posts, you know this is true. Both of them were All American practical jokers known throughout the whole  plant.  Soon we were trading stories about my Father.    Here’s one I told him.  Dad was working on the second shift a week before Christmas, and things around the lab were quiet.  The old axiom, “An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop,” certainly applied to my Father. There was no doubt that boredom was the fuel that ran his practical joke machine.  The victim this evening was Vernon.  Vernon worked in the lab with Dad, providing him with samples to analyze. I’ll kindly say that Vernon wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.  And h

This is not lazy writing   I wrote this piece a couple of years ago when the pain from the loss of my dog soulmate Precious was still raw.  Since then I have a lot of new followers/ friends who have lost pets.  I hope this will give them some comfort.  You are gonna see them again   “ If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” - Will Rogers WARNING:   Before you begin reading, understand that what follows is written from  the perspective of a dog lover. I freely admit my bias.   And I don’t care if you agree, since it’s my opinion.    A friend of mine has told me on more than one occasion that if dogs lived 60 years he probably I wouldn’t  have any children.  I couldn’t believe that statement in my heart - well,  that is until I had teenagers of my own.  But the fact is our dogs don’t live as long as we do. We only get about 10-15 years. With Reese and Roscoe only a few months old I don’t have to ponder this now, but suffice it to say canine life spa

It seems there’s so much nastiness, rudeness, and hate in the world now. It’s everywhere, and it makes me sicker than the thought of drinking warm buttermilk.  If not for football and HGTV, I would consider throwing my TV away. And without Candy Crush and calls from my Granddaughter, my iPhone could probably go too. But occasionally you run across someone that gives you hope - someone that gives you the notion that maybe most people are good, and the venom filled trolls on TV, Facebook, and Twitter are in the minority. That happened to me yesterday. I was walking my dogs last night and stopped to speak to Nell, one of my neighbors. She’s been widowed for sometime now. She also has dementia. This makes living alone a challenge. Until a month ago, a relative was staying with her. But no more. That’s a story for another time. Nell had locked herself out of her house. Knowing there was no one there to help, I drafted myself into neighborly service. I began by checking doors a

He wasn’t surprised when the e mail pinged on his phone.  It was a message he had been expecting.   Nodding his head as he opened the file,  he seemed to know what the request was before he read it.  Amazing - all it took was an Apple computer, some basic video editing skills, and a willingness to do the job for them to reach out to him.   Fortunately, it wasn’t steady work. However, every time someone he knew died,  he would be asked to do the video slide show that would be shown during the service.    He didn’t mind.  He had always viewed it as helping a family that he cared about.  In a way,  it was an honor.  But it was always difficult because he knew the people who passed away - sometimes very well.  He wanted to do the job perfectly, giving each photo the right amount of screen time, correctly mixing young pictures with the old, using the appropriate transition, and having the proper background music.  It may have never been noticed by anyone else but him, but it was important t

Well, it’s taken almost a half century, but I’m finally going to get it off my chest. It’s been long enough. The way I see it, It took less than 50 years after dropping the The Bomb on Japan for us to become allies. So if time can heal a wound like that, maybe Susan wonʼt hold a grudge. She might even laugh. Either way, I’m telling the story.   It was the summer of 1970, one year before my high school graduation, and I was working at a golf course pro shop. Even though the air conditioning was preferable than the 90+ degrees outside, time was passing slower than cold ketchup pouring out of a bottle.  No doubt it was because later I had a date with Susan. She was a cute, perky strawberry blonde, and we had been dating on and off for a month or two. Nothing serious, but we were having a good time.  When I called her to confirm the pick up arrangements, Susan told me something had come up, and she had to break the date.   No word on what that something was.  What I didn’t know at the time

After 10 days, I got retested today. It was negative!  So, I hope that was my final experience with Corona.  I had to wait almost all day to get in the office  and get the result.  Locally, there are a few places that do same day testing, but they are in high demand.  However, on line registration, and keeping me informed of my wait time made things much easier,  enabling me to arrive about an hour before my test. No waiting in the car for 6 hours like my son and wife did.   As sure as I was that I had Covid before I tested 10 days ago, I was equally sure that the test I took today was going to be negative.  But I tried not to think about it.   If I dwelled  on the fact that I didn’t still have it and turned out to be wrong, that would have been a major blow to my psyche.  I did not want to be in COVID timeout any more.  But I knew so many people were praying for me and my family - and that gave me a peaceful confidence as they swabbed my nose.  Twenty minutes later the nurse walked in

It’s been a week since I tested positive, and  I’m back home from my self  imposed isolation.  As I count down the days until my next test on Wednesday, I’m fighting boredom.  So why not write a song parody?  Granted, it’s probably been done, and it’s lame, but I wrote it, so there!   And now with apologies to the Knack and Weird Al, here is My Corona.   Feel free to sing as you feel lead.  My Corona  Ooooh, the doctor swabbed my nose Swabbed my nose  And now I know that  I’ve got Corona. Ooooh, I thought I had a cold Had a cold,  But now I know I’ve got Corona.  Always wore a mask Washed my hands.   Now I’m short of breath All the food tastes bland.   Cause I-I-I yi yi woo! I-I-I’ve got Corona!  Trapped inside for 14 days Here I’ll stay  Just because I’ve got Corona.   Now it’s coming out both ends  Out both ends Never gonna win with my Corona! Always wore a mask Washed my hands.   Now I’m short of breath All the food tastes bland.  Cause I-I-I yi yi woo! I-I-I’ve got Corona!  Oh I’m

Day 5  -   Just woke up, went out on my deck and spotted three black crows on my pier.  Not what you wanna see when you have Corona.   Good thing I’m not superstitious.  Besides how can you be worried when you’re wearing your lucky t shirt? When people read my first post about COVID, I got  lots of questions  about the timeline, the symptoms, and the transmission of ‘Rona. So as a public service, I’ll let you know what happened.  Don’t guess this post will be funny, but I’ll try.  Our youngest son who is a RN, lives w us and was exposed at work. They did a 24 hour test which was positive, and then he packed up and headed to our place at the lake for isolation.   We sprayed  Lysol and alcohol everywhere. Used bleach too.        The next day I had a stuffy nose.  It felt like allergies and I thought nothing of it.  Then I began to get headaches In the morning.  Still, it seemed like sinusitis and nothing more.  The morning of the second headache I walked my dogs and was a bit short of br

I’m eating a breakfast burrito - or it it a Chili Dog?  Wait,  maybe  it’s a spicy tuna roll, or a glazed donut.   Right now it could be any of the above because currently my taste buds don’t know Little Debbie from Chef Boyardee.   All compliments of good ol’ COVID.  Granted, it seems my case of the virus isn’t near as bad as so many others (although I was told to be vigilant because it  can change quickly).   So, even though I have COVID  right now, I feel lucky.   Just a daily headache, occasional mild cramps, some shortness of breath, and a general blah feeling.     However,  like so many people who have it, I’ve lost my sense of taste and smell.  Beginning to lose my taste was one of the things that made me think I had COVID and not a case of seasonal allergies.  This symptom seems like a level of Dante’s Purgatory personalized just for me.  I love to cook and eat, unlike my wife who believes recipe is a four letter word.  It even drives her crazy because I can be eating a meal I