My Life As A Hobby

  I saw a bumper sticker on a car not too long ago that said,”It’s not that I’m old, your music really does suck.”  Preach it brother.  Bob Seger put it best when he sang, “Call me a relic, call me what you will.  Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill. Today's music ain't got the same soul - I like that old time rock 'n' roll.”  I might change the last line to,  “today’s music sounds like a Buick that needs a brake job stopping on a hill.”  You’re welcome, Bob.  If you’re thinking,” Oh no, it’s not another one of old people telling us how bad our music is.” Well, buck up, Sparky, because it is. There is no doubt that many things in today’s world are better than they were a half century ago. But music ain’t one of them. And it’s not even close. The music in the 60’s 70’s and 80’s rules.  Artists that most people under 35 don’t even know have influenced some of the so-called music that they listen to today. And I wish they had influ...

I have been yelling like a, well, a grumpy grandfather. It’s embarrassing really - yelling for quiet. But it’s necessary when you have a houseful of screaming kids.  I know my voice only added to the pandemonium, but I had to do something. The TV was blasting, an iPad was playing music, and a naked 3 year old was running thru the den like a mini streaker.  When you add shrieks from 2 other kids and barking dogs, there’s no way I could peacefully watch the ending of Top Gun. The cherry on the frustrating sundae came about when I get out of my chair to inquire about the nudity, and my bare foot stepped on a Barbie doll.  It felt like I had been stabbed with a Bowie Knife.  This is what happens when three of my grandkids - who are all girls- spend the night with us.  Any time Rilynne, who’s 11, Eva, who’s 8, and Addy, who’s 3, get together, it’s like an all-girl version of Lord of the Flies.  I asked for this. I raised 3 boys and I desperately wanted a l...

  I can’t believe that it’s been 4 years since my two dogs, Reese and Roscoe became part of my life. And as I think back on the events that brought us together, it’s hard to believe our paths even crossed. Ironically, I wasn’t there for the first meeting. My wife, son, and granddaughter were headed home from a quick spring break trip to the lake. Instead of driving back on the normal route, they decided to take a longer, scenic way. After a few miles, they spotted them on the side of a two lane highway.  A black and white pup with his brindle colored running mate. They were dirty, stinky, skittish dogs. Not a collar between them. It was obvious they had missed a few meals. One of them had a dime sized tick below her eye. Normally, curs like this elicit a collective sigh, and are forgotten by the next mile marker.  Not today.  Not when the black and white one could have been the brother of my beloved, departed bird dog, Precious. Rilynne, being the brash, insightful, ...

I tried to be patient, but the tension was building. My stomach felt like I had just eaten a supersized breakfast burrito. I knew the feeling - it’s because when I pulled up to the gas pump, I discovered I didn’t have my wallet. I normally keep it in my console; or if I take in the house,  I put it on the dresser.  When I couldn’t find it after a thorough examination of the truck, it was time to call home.  Foregoing any pleasantries, I said, Hey, do me a favor. Can you see if my wallet’s on the dresser?” “Let me check.” After a moment she returned.  “No it isn’t. Where did you have it last?” “Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be calling you,” I thought to myself.  I wisely let that statement slide  because I needed help. Instead, I said, “Can you take a look around and call me back?” While I was waiting on the return call, my mind began waging war with itself. The sensible part of me was saying,” Chill out. It’s around. Just stay calm.” Meanwhile, The Other...

I drive a pickup truck.  That’s because I’m a man who lives in the south, and  it’s the law. I’ve owned my latest truck for a couple of years now. When I bought it, the only option I was concerned about was the color - it had to be red.   I decided that I needed something that would stand out in a parking lot when I couldn’t find my old silver pickup at the Piggly Wiggly.  Luckily, the salesman at the dealer came up with a pickup in a shade of red that almost glows in the dark. Chevrolet’s correctly calls it “Pull Me Over Red”.  The first truck I owned was a 1969 Chevy C10 that my father-in-law gifted me.  Looking back, I can clearly see that trucks from that era are nothing like the ones we drive now. Now you can get all kinds of options: fancy leather interiors, dual climate controls, 5 star sound systems, sunroofs, and who knows how many electronic doo-dads. My latest truck even has a seat warmer, which I thought was as useless as a Bible for an athei...

  All my life I’ve been a practical joker. If you’ve read my blogs, you know  I have written about several of my favorites. In my opinion, there’s never a bad time for a practical joke.  My buddy Richard says that when he dies, he’s going to have one of those “I Voted” stickers put on his lapel before his viewing. When I told my wife about his plan, she said, “You mean somebody else will put it on his lapel.” Well, duh.   Oh Lord help me. That’s another blog for another time.  Back to the story.  I was having surgery this week for a torn meniscus and I thought to myself, what better time to play a little practical joke on my surgeon?  Dr. Rogers seemed to be cool - I knew he had a sense of humor, so why not?  In a way, it was self serving. The way I look at it, a happy surgeon is a good surgeon. I certainly don’t want to be cut on by someone who just had a knock down, drag out fight with his wife.   So I made up a little sign and put it in th...

  Since February is the month of love, and I have a signed, notarized contract from my wife, I’ve decided to write this story. So, if I come up missing, or you drive by my house and see all of my stuff in a pile by the mailbox, you will know that she chose not to abide by our agreement.  I’m going to tell you about my first kiss. This wasn’t a good night kiss from mommy, or a peck on your cheek from your Aunt Eileen; I’m talking about a real face to face, lip to lip, kiss from a girl my own age. Some of the details are a bit fuzzy; that’s what time will do. However, many of the events that day are still clear in my mind, so it obviously had an impact on me. It’s not unusual - lots of people I’ve talked to remember their first kiss.  For a 12 year old boy, there’s no better place for a first  kiss than the woods. That’s where it happened for me.  There was a big rope swing in a forest not too far from my house where kids would gather regularly.  On this ...