My Life As A Hobby

Ferris Bueller was right when he said life moves pretty fast.  Does it ever.  That realization hit me square in the face when I recently saw a  Facebook post from one of my lifelong friends, Jane.  She was electronically celebrating an important milestone in her life.  Fifty years ago, Jane and her husband Wayne had their first date - a blind date.  In the text she mentioned that he still had the original piece of paper with her telephone number.  As I read it, I smiled, and a flood of memories washed over me.  Because a half century ago, I was the one who gave Wayne her phone number.  Jane was my high school girl-friend.    Every boy needs a girl-friend.  Not to be confused with girlfriend, a girl-friend is a confidant and advisor, especially in matters concerning the opposite sex.  I didn’t always take Jane’s advice, but I always sought it.  Besides, I knew that she was already someone’s girlfriend.  She had been dating a buddy of mine for a while.   Fortunately, he understood our fr

Being a proud grandparent, I’ve decided that 2 years is an especially wonderful age for a grandchild.  They talk pretty well, they’re just about potty trained, and they’re still unencumbered when it comes to social graces.  Come to think about it, that’s pretty much the way my wife describes me.  And the questions. “What is this? What’s this for?  Why are you doing this?”  They are little sponges absorbing everything they can as the world unfolds before them.  This combination of cuteness and  curiosity, coupled with a sense of wonder, makes Christmas an especially wonderful time for a two year old.  The fear of Santa is over.  The concept of gifting is basically understood.  And the classic Christmas movies are new and fresh to them.   And so it came about yesterday that we got to introduce Addy, my two year old grand princess, to one of my favorite holiday flicks, The Polar Express.   It didn’t come about easily.  Another trait of a two year old that I didn’t mention is that upon fin

“Sometimes it only takes one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”                                 Jackie Chan Even though this happened years ago, the lesson it teaches is still applicable today.  Maybe now more than ever.  Read it, enjoy it, take it to heart.   I sat down with a cup of coffee and looked at the pile of papers on my desk.  “Just another typical Monday morning,” I thought. Time to write a to-do list and get a few things done before the phone started ringing.  My concentration was broken when Rita, a work associate, walked in my office and sat down across from me.  It was the first time I had seen her in several days since she had been in Orlando for a meeting.  “How was your trip?”, I asked.  Her eyes widened. “You are not going to believe what happened!”, she said.   I leaned forward to listen, my interest piqued.  Sales meetings were always good for stories about someone who did something stupid.   Rita continued, saying,  “I was in the Orlando airpor

Getting old is about gains versus losses.  Mostly losses. You lose your strength, you lose your balance, you lose  hair, you lose your flexibility, you lose your memory. About all you gain is weight, although for men I suppose a larger prostate is a gain of sorts.  As an avid senior golfer, I’ve lost something else - distance.  Precious, precious distance.  I used to hit long, towering drives that hung in the sky forever.  Now my golf swing is producing harmless little pop flies you’d see at a 6 year old’s T Ball game.   For those non-golfers reading my blog, distance is critical all to golfers.   So when you get older and begin to lose it, you obsess about getting it back.  It’s that important.   How important?  One of my friends said that if his doctor gave him the choice of a prescription for Viagra, or a pill that would give him 25 more yards more distance, he would take the yardage pill without fail.   “Why would you do that?,” I asked incredulously.   He didn’t hesitate. “Because

  It’s nothing but an old wooden post down at edge the lake. It’s been there a while, at least 15 years, because we’ve owned the house that long.  Maybe someone was using it as a light pole, maybe someone was using it to tie off their dock,  I don’t know. Once I even considered cutting it down.  But in a stroke of inspiration that probably came about from watching too many MASH reruns, I came up with a better use for it than firewood.  I decided that I would make my own personal directional sign.   It’s not a unique project.  If you  Google the term, “directional signs”, you get dozens of photos of them in  all shapes, sizes, and colors.  But I had to do something to make my sign unique. It had to fit in with the personality of the house.  Our little cabin on Smith Lake is small and old, but I think it has a lot of character.  Maybe that’s because we have tried to fill it with personal items.  Almost everything has a story behind it.  There are paintings my Mom did, an old window pane

The Life Cycle of Junk, aka The World’s Longest Yard Sale It’s been a week, and I have finally recovered enough to write this post.    That’s because    last week I spent several days at the Worlds Longest Yard Sale.    For those of you who don’t know, this piece of Americana is exactly what it says it is - a scenic stretch of rural, two lane highway that begins in Michigan and ends 690 miles and 8,000 Dollar General stores later in Alabama.    All along the way there are yard sales - and lots of them.    So, for a picker / hoarder it’s    nirvana - a large number of yard sales concentrated into a small area. From single family affairs with one table in front of their trailer, to dozens and dozens of tents manned by dealers in huge fields, they’re everywhere. Thousands of merchants set up along this route, selling everything known to humankind.    There are clothes, old tools, old signs, toys, furniture, puppies, glassware, household supplies, car parts, boat parts, swords, guns, ammo,

I knew that tonight I wouldn’t get much sleep.  No surprise - it happens about this time every year.  Let me explain.   Earlier in the day, I put both of my personal water craft on the lake - tuned up and ready for summer.  Now with the promise of a warm, clear morning just a few hours away,  soon it would be time for the season’s first ride.  And for me, that always means a sleepless night of anticipation.   From the first time I ever rode a jet ski, something resonated with me.  The term Personal Watercraft is an accurate description because it’s so… personal.   Please understand that I’m not the guy who jumps wakes and zig zags across choppy water.  My chiropractor would love that.  Instead, you will find me on the lake in the early morning when the day is new and the water is as smooth as baby skin. That’s when I’ll be carving lazy turns and exploring sloughs while listening to the steady drone of the motor.  It creates a peaceful, tranquil feeling in the very depth of me.  I call

For most of my life I wondered why anyone in their right mind would become a podiatrist. How busy could a doctor be that deals with nothing but feet?  Surely these had to be the people with the lowest grades in med school.  Then I got a little something called Plantar Fascitis. The bottom of my feet felt like someone was stabbing them with a steak knife. Every step hurt more than watching an Alabama basketball team shoot free throws.  The pain was so acute that I made an appointment with a podiatrist and got injections  in my arches. This affliction gave me an absolute respect for the good doctors of the feet.  Angels of mercy they surely are.  Podiatry is a divine calling.   Along with my shots,  I had been referred to someone to build custom orthotics for my shoes. This would correct the gait that initially caused my problem. In addition, the cost of the inserts would lighten my wallet considerably, thus adjusting the angle of my hip, giving me even more relief.  So, a week after an

  It’s been two years since we took two stray dogs off a major highway and put them in our home.  Now Reese and Roscoe are part of the family.  And there is no doubt that even with all of the chewed furniture, gnawed shoes, and beat down backyard trails, our house has been a happier place.  Now there’s more laughter than there’s been in a while.  Even with their quirks, these dogs have come to love us as much as we love them.  We have found they love people, and are especially good with my two grandkids.  In honor of this occasion, I’m going to re-post the first blog post I wrote about them just a couple of days after we rescued them. Hope you enjoy it again. Happy Gotcha Day everyone!  Stray No More - originally posted On March 26, 2019   On a two lane highway headed back from Smith Lake, my son spotted them.  A black and white bird dog mix with a terrier as his running mate.  They were dirty, stinky, skittish dogs. Not a collar between them. It was obvious they had missed a few meals

Merriam Webster defines nostalgia as “longing for or thinking fondly of a past time or condition.”  Sometimes a song or an inanimate object can trigger the memory.   But in so many instances, it’s a place that fires those nerve synapses.  And joyfully, it happened to me last week.  It’s no surprise because we went to  Tuscaloosa to get our COVID shots.  I didn’t mind going there at all because four of the best years of my life were spent at the University of Alabama. I have buckets of fond memories that begin to resurface the moment I take the University Boulevard exit.   After a stick in the arm, and a cruise thru campus, we had a decision to make.  Where to eat lunch?  A few of our favorite haunts near the school were closed for spring break.  That lead us to a place that should been at the top of our list anyway. It was barely after 11:00 AM which meant breakfast was still in play, and when I was in school, that meant only one place - The Waysider.   I didn’t need GPS to find it. De