My Life As A Hobby

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, glas...

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 p...

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 ...

  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 be...

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 o...

In the eyes of a college student,  a Friday afternoon class has about the same appeal as non alcoholic beer.  But it can happen when you get totally screwed at registration.  And that’s exactly what happened to me during the spring semester of my sophomore year.   But what could I do? There was a Psychcology class that I had to take, and the only time it was available was Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 2 PM. That’s right - Friday at 2 PM.  An afternoon class on a Friday during spring semester should be against the law.   It’s immoral!  Friday afternoons in the spring were for taking coeds out to Hurricane Creek, planning trips to the liquor store, and getting ready for the weekend parties. They sure weren’t for sitting in a near empty auditorium and listening to some professor rail on about my Oedipal Complex.  At least the news wasn’t all bad.  I found out that Dr. Jerome Rosenberg would be teaching the course. ...

I proudly admit that one of my favorite movies is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.  I quote from it regularly because it has so many terrific one liners.  I especially like the one when the snooty Maitre D in the restaurant looks at Ferris  and says, ”I weep for the future!”  This is an obvious, hilarious, statement of his concern about the future generation.  Ironically, just I heard a story that makes me think that the Maitre D’s statement could  apply to Millennials today.   I was in the middle of a conversation with my granddaughter when my phone rang.  It was my best friend Richard.  I didn’t answer - granddaughters always take precedence.   However, within 10 minutes he had called three more times.  And three more times I refused to answer, although I begin to grow concerned that something bad had happened.  After all, we are in our late sixties.  Did he have a heart attack?  Car wreck? Was it COVID?  Broken hip f...