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