We Need to Talk! - God

The other day I was on my way to Greenville.  I was on the four lane (Hwy 189) and was in the left lane passing a few slower cars.  There were probably five cars in line in the right lane, all running about 50 mph and I was running 60 mph (I know the speed limit's 55 but they've always given 9 mph leadway).  As I was about to approach the middle car (3rd from the front and 3rd from the back), I noticed she turned on her signal and began to come to my lane.  I imagine I was in the blind spot on her mirror.  I slowed slightly and lightly "tapped" my horn to let her know I was beside her.  As soon as I was satisfied she was back in her lane, I proceeded to pass her, still not exceeding the 60 mph.  As I got by her, I looked in my mirror, she had stuck her hand out the window and "flipped me off" with her middle finger (which, incidentally, looks the same whether looking directly at it or in a mirror).  I also noticed that she had a license plate on the front of her car that said "God is my Co-Pilot."  After I had passed the line of cars, I pulled into the right hand lane myself and she decided she wanted to lead the pack so she passed the other two cars that had been in front of her and then proceeded to pass me.  I noticed she had two small children in the back.  As she went on around, I couldn't help but see the bumper sticker declaring "Christians aren't Perfect, just Forgiven," a "fish" on her trunk and the word "clergy" on her rear bumper. 

Either she or her husband or someone who owned the car was a minister.  I couldn't help but think it quite odd to "flip me off" so easily and in public.  I wanted to "get mad," but couldn't help but laugh to myself.

This got me to thinking (I do that occasionally, especially when I'm alone in my car) about other times I've seen things like this happen.

I couldn't help but think of race car driver Dale Earnhardt Sr. and the day he died on the last lap of the 2001 Daytona 500.  He was by far the most popular driver ever to participate in the sport.  The last thing I remember him doing was "flipping off" one of the other drivers who "cut him off" while they were racing in line.  Seconds later, he hit the wall and was killed instantly.  I don't say this to be "judging" Mr. Earnhardt (I'm not in charge of that department), and I believe our God is merciful and forgiving, but I couldn't imagine how "awkward" he must have felt as he approached his maker and I wondered if God didn't ask for some sort of "explanation" of his actions.  I'm confident he probably entered the kingdom of Heaven because the good he did in his life far outweighed the bad (as far as I know) but still, he had to feel uncomfortable. 

Once, many years ago, I was in the Jaycees and we ran the Muhlenberg County Fair.  We always reserved Wednesday nights for Gospel Music so we didn't feel as if we were "competing" with the local churches.  Our show always started at 8 p.m. and that gave most church attendees in reasonable driving distance ample time to come.  Several even loaded their buses and came directly after prayer service.  We usually had at least one pretty big name group.  I don't want to mention any names here but there was one group that was nationally known in Gospel Music circles and they had come for about three years in a row.  The entertainment committee felt it was getting a little "stale," and decided to check into some other groups and in fact, decided to book "Hovey Lister and the Statesmen," who were second in popularity nationally to the "Oak Ridge Boys."  Several weeks passed and finally the leader of the original group we used to have called me and I woefully had to tell him we had already hired another group.  "Who'd you hire?" he asked.  "Hovey Lister and the Statesmen Quartet," I told him.  "You hired those long-haired sons of b------?," he asked, which totally floored me.  Goes to show that we're all "human," I guess!

Heard a good story the other day and wanted to share it with you all.  Seems a burglar was "casing out" a neighborhood one day and decided to break into a nice home.  He wandered around back and seeing no cars in the garage or driveway, he decided it was empty and "ripe for the picking!"  Carefully he managed to break into through a door leading directly into the kitchen.  There he encountered a parrot in a cage.  The parrot looked at him straight in the eye and said "Jesus is gonna get you!"  The man thought it was neat to see a talking bird but went ahead with his business.  He unfolded a cloth sack and began removing silverware from the drawers and some silver dishes from the china cabinet.  Again, the parrot said "Jesus is gonna get you!"  The burglar shook his head and headed for the living room where he began filling his sack with a dvd recorder, a Bose Stereo, and some valuable books from the bookcase.  The parrot, who could still see him from the doorway, again said "Jesus is gonna get you!"  By now this was beginning to get on the burglar's nerves but still he went about his business.  He quietly wandered over to a shut door leading to the den.  When he opened it, he was startled to see a Doberman that seemed to be five foot tall and with all his teeth exposed, drooling, to which the parrot said "Get Him Jesus!"

My mother used to get "annoyed" when she got her annual visit from the Jehovah's Witnesses.  She always knew it was them because nobody else ever came to our "front" door.  She'd be sitting in her favorite rocking chair trying to enjoy "As the World Turns," and the inevitable "knock" would come from the door.  This would usually happen just as some climax to some storyline that had been building up for six weeks was about to unfold.  This always put her in a glorious mood as she would get up to answer the door and I'm sure the people on the porch quickly realized they didn't have her full attention (or probably even 10% of it).  She'd glance over the top of her glasses with a not-so-perky "Whattyda want?"  They'd then "shift into drive" and proceed with their spill while trying to hand her a "Watchtower" (their informational magazine).  She'd always interrupt them with "don't need any of that propoganda...go see Mrs. Morris next door, she's lookin' for a religion."  They asked her if she had a few minutes to sit out and discuss a certain verse of scripture.  "No," she said, "I'm about to find out who Veronica's illegimate baby belongs to....you guys picked a bad time to save my soul!"  After about five minutes of this, the Jehovah's Witnesses would "trek" over to Mrs. Morris' house.  Mrs. Morris was apparently kinder to them because they usually stayed there about an hour.  I don't think she ever joined their church, however.  I told Mom she'd have to explain this to God someday and she always told me "don't worry about it...I'll get it worked out in Confession this weekend."

Despite this shortcoming, I believe Mom made it OK.

TV Evangelists have always fascinated me.  They always seem to have God-Given Powers that lowly "home town preachers" didn't inherit.  Several of them can heal the sick, get people who have been in wheel-chairs to stand up and dance (they never walk...they dance!), restore hearing, etc.  I never can figure out why any of our local ministers have not been able to duplicate this...at least on a regular basis. 

One day I was going to Evansville and while driving down the parkway, surfing the radio, I hit upon a regional preacher who was talking so loud and fast he was having trouble breathing.  The radio station was in Madisonville.  This preacher was telling of a dream he had "in his sleep" (that's the only way I dream), whereby the Lord himself appeared at the foot of his bed.  He told him he would be back on this earth very soon (this has been about 30 years ago) and for him to prepare his "flock."  He then removed a white shirt from the corner bedpost and blessed it.  "Share this with the multitudes of followers," he told the preacher.  The preacher then went on to say "I awoke this morning and cut that shirt into several small strips...and I want you to have one.  With each donation of $25.00 or more I will send you a strip of this white shirt, blessed by the Lord himself in my house and in my bedroom." 

Unfortunately I didn't have access to a pencil or paper or I would have written down the address and purchased one for my Mom!

Love Them Big Yellow Buses....

Went into town this morning and got behind a school bus (actually two, if you count the ones coming the other way).  Our subdivision is located out Highway 70 West about a mile from the three way stop, where it intersects with Reservoir Ave.  I got behind this bus where it exited the subdivision and entered onto the main highway.  It traveled approximately 100 yards to the top of the hill and stopped to pick up a kid. It then turned off the red lights, turned the yellow lights back on, went about 100 feet, turned the red lights back on and stopped to pick up another child.  This was repeated about six times in the next 250 yards.  There was then a straight stretch where there are no homes for about one-half mile on the right hand side of the road.  As we started downhill (there are several homes on the left hand side), another bus was traveling west (opposite me) and it stopped just down the hill from the entrance to Country Club Estates.  This was interesting because this was the first time I remember in my sixty-three years (nearly) of existence that I've seen a school bus have to stop for another oncoming school bus.  These are the small things in life that you just don't give much thought to unless you witness it.  After the oncoming bus picked up it's passengers we headed out again.  We arrived at the stoplight at SR 189 (which is now U.S. 431 - an effort to avoid our famous viaduct on old U. S. 431).  After we pass through this light, there are a few more houses and a couple of businesses.  The bus stopped at nearly every one of the houses.

I couldn't help but think of when I was in school at old CCHS.  I can remember maybe two or three days school was cancelled because Mr. (George) Taylor, the superintendent always said he would "only call school off if he wasn't able to get up there himself."  Remarkedly, he was "always" able to get up there, and so were we.  During my tenure as a student, there was no such thing as a city school bus (much less buses).  We got there any way we could.  Usually one of the neighborhood "Moms" would haul us up there but it was pretty common to have to walk home, rain, shine or snow.  I always surmised that they never trusted us to walk up there and seeing that we got a ride was their way to insure we made it to our classrooms.  Getting home didn't seem as important.

We lived on Park Street and the line dividing the school districts was at the interesection of 5th Street and Park.  It was such a fine line that the kids who lived on the south side of 5th went to the city schools and those on the north side went to the county schools.  We lived on Park, about 40 yards north of the line.  My Dad paid $50.00 per kid for tuition for us to go to Central City schools (he didn't have any problem with Muhlenberg Central...it's just that both he and my mother graduated from CCHS and he felt my brother and I needed to do the same).  Most of the neighboring kids on my street went to MCHS.  The bus picked them up down by Cherry Street (shudders...some of them had to walk two blocks to the bus stop).  They also seemed to get out of school every time there was a "heavy dew," which certainly didn't set well with those of us who had to go. 

I'm sure we're no different than any other locale in these United States, but it sure seems there's an awful lot of school buses on the roads each morning, both in the cities and on the country roads.  One morning I was going to Greenville and passed eleven buses coming from Central City (no one lives on the bypass so they didn't stop out there).  I'm sure they were coming from  Nelson Creek, Cleaton, Bremen, South Carrollton and other places and not just from Central City.  This didn't count the cars I saw with students in them (or I think they were students) and parents shuffling kids to one of the schools.  I sure didn't remember seeing that many kids in the world when I was growing up around here.  Shoot, I can remember if we could get twenty or thirty of us together at the Youth Center it was a crowd.

I can appreciate the safety the bus routes offer by picking up kids at every driveway but man it sure seems like a lot of stops.  The one place you don't want to be in the mornings or afternoons is Reservoir Ave. from about 431, up Ryan Hill to U.S. 62.  It takes at least three buses to cover that area and that's just in one direction...three more cover the other way.  This keeps kids from having to travel in front of the bus to cross the street.  A good idea.  It also makes the trip from 431 to 62 take about fifteen minutes and when the bus gets down to 62, if the driver has to turn "left" for any reason, you're really in trouble.  That bus will sit at that intersection sometimes ten minutes waiting on an opening and it's not wide enough to pass it on the right hand side.  If you ever get jury duty and have to be in Greenville in time for court to start, then don't take that route (this has happened to me more than once).

One of the things I find amazing is how fast the State Police will give you a ticket for not wearing a seat belt (which is a good idea - I always wear mine) but we don't even offer the seat belt option for kids on buses.  I'm not sure how it could be effective.  The bus drivers sit still pretty much now until the kid finds his/her seat and that takes about 15 or 20 additional seconds after he/she enters the bus.  This is for every stop which if the bus has 60 kids on it, adds twenty minutes to the route.  Think how much longer it would take if the driver had to sit there until the kid buckled up.  It's a problem that maybe someone smarter than I am (if that's even possible) will have to solve. 

I'm still trying to figure how to make it to jury duty on time.

This n' That about the seasons....

Looks like another hot day after a "cooling down" period that lasted for a few days around here.  TV weatherman said this morning it would climb in low to mid-nineties today.  A group of us have been working hard getting ready for the Central City Rock & Roll Festival which begins August 29 and runs through Sept. 5.  That'll about "wrap up" summer activities for the most part as we prepare for fall and later winter.  These seasons sure seem to fly by faster as I get older.

It seems like an eternity but before the powers that be decided we weren't getting "smart enough," they would let us out of school around Memorial Day and we didn't go back until after Labor Day.  Now the kids around here no more than get out (still around Memorial Day) but they're back in school in early to mid-August.  Of course, we didn't get Fall Break and Spring Break although we did get a generous Christmas Vacation that usually ran from about December 20 until January 2.

Summer used to be my favorite season when I was growing up but as the years passed, Spring and Fall (with Fall winning out by a notch) became my favorites.  I guess this happened because when we were in school we couldn't get the full enjoyment of Spring and Fall due to school.  That also explains why Summer was my favorite in those days.  We used to "cheat the season" a little by some spring "skinnydipping" out at Devil's Lake but I always looked forward to early May when Mr. Gish would hire a group of us guys to rake leaves and scrub the walls of the city swimming pool, along with some painting in order to get it opened by the Memorial Day Weekend.  We spent most of those summer days using the city park in the mornings and the pool in the afternoons.  Summer evenings found us around home chasing and catching "lightning bugs" and waiting for the "Jolly Roger" (a mobile soft serve ice cream shop) to make it's rounds in our neighborhood.

Fall meant the beautiful smell of burning leaves, mixed with the burning of coal from grates and coal furnaces throughout town, not to mention the coal fired railroad engines that were active down at the end of 8th street and over at the roundhouse.  I know these things weren't too environmentally friendly but I still enjoy the memories when I smell anything similiar. 

Pat and I belong to a convertible owner's club and we get together every week throughout late spring and "cruise" somewhere until mid-fall.  By "cruising," I mean we usually, as a group, find a "back road" and drive at a snail's pace for about an hour before we arrive at a restaurant for a meal together.  It's lots of fun and we vote on the restaurants we intend to visit at the beginning of "cruising season," place their names in a bucket and each week someone will "draw" where we'll be going the next week (incidentally our standard cruise night is Monday).  Our rule is that we cannot go to the same restaurant more than once in a month and we can't go to the same city more than twice in a month.  We generally have between 15-20 convertibles in our "convoy."

This past Monday we went to Kirkmansville, Kentucky which has a population of less than 100 people (a whole lot less).  City-data.com gives them credit for 1,420 people there and also says there is an average of 22 people per square mile.  Believe me, there isn't 64.5 square miles in Kirkmansville so my estimate of the population is a lot closer than theirs.  Anyway, Kirkmansville is in Todd County and you get there by going south on the Weir Road (next door to the hospital) in Greenville for about 20 miles.  Weir Road is extremely curvy and hilly so naturally you're going to remain at "cruising speed" (about 40 mph) most of the way, even if you're driving a Corvette.  In the middle of Kirkmansville is it's only active business, a general store/grocery/pool hall/opryhouse & restaurant called "Helen's."  It's named after it's owner, "Helen" (don't know her last name) and has been there for years.  We always kid "Helen" about when we visit Kirkmansville, we "double" their population.

Anyway, Helen likes to have us over (there were 46 of us Monday evening) and she and her staff always prepare a feast fit for a king (or queen).  When I say "feast," it included Pork Tenderloin, fried squash, home grown tomatoes, home cooked pinto beans, corn bread, sliced potato casserold, fresh green beans and more stuff than I can remember.  Desserts also included home made banana pudding, Hickory Nut pie (same as pecan but with hickory nuts instead), coconut cream pie, chocolate cake...all the stuff you'd get at your Grandmother's on Sunday afternoon.  If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend you give it a try, especially on Friday or Saturday nights when whe also has fresh catfish and local entertainers perform in the opryhouse portion of the place.

I said all that to tell you this.  After we left, as is customary, we usually go to a "hangout" for a coke or cup of coffee.  More than not we'll go to either the Sonic Drive-in in Greenville or Central City since they have outdoor tables and we can park our cars under the lighted canopy.  Monday night we decided we'd meet at the Sonic in Greenville.  Everyone's on their own after the main cruise so we sometimes take different routes to the next stop.  Pat & I  went a couple of blocks from "Helen's" to highway 107, turned east and drove over to 181 at Clifty and headed north to Greenville.  It was a cool, beautiful evening so we rolled up the side windows and kept the top down.  You can see and smell things in an open convertible that you usually don't in a closed, air-conditioned sedan.  Some of these aren't so good (skunks, manure, chicken houses, etc.) but there are a lot of things that conjure up memories of days past.

Along our route, a farmer had cleared some land and had built a huge bonfire from the piles of dead trees.  You could smell it for about a mile or so and it smelled just like the many campfires we used to build as boys sleeping in our back yards and telling an endless stream of ghost stories (girls called these "slumber parties").  A little further, we could see and smell several "curing fires" in the many tobacco barns.  It's a smell that defines Fall in these parts and with less people using tobacco, it's getting more scarce.  We even smelled a couple of areas where the residents were getting the jump on the fall season by raking and burning some of the early fallen leaves.  That's probably my favorite aroma.  I'm looking forward to the next two or three months and getting out in our convertible to enjoy the color of the changing leaves and the aroma of burning ones.  If you don't own (or have access to) a convertible, find a pickup truck and an old country road...load everyone in the back and go "cruising."  You'll be surprised at the sights and sounds you've forgotten about.

Our home in Cherry Hill Pointe is relatively new (7 yrs. old) and the trees haven't grown enough to generate many leaves.  It's easiest just to mulch 'em with the lawn mower.  Our cabin at Lake Malone is a different story, however.  We have several large trees of various breeds and they deposit lots of leaves each fall.  We usually let most of them reach the ground then take an entire weekend and go up there and rake and burn them.  Our youngest granddaughter came up for a day with us last fall.  She also lives in a relatively new home in Owensboro and again...not many leaves to mess with.  We had raked them into a huge pile before burning them and she got to do what all kids like to do when they see a pile of leaves....dive right into them.  I did it, my kids did it and now my grandkids are doing it.  She frolicked in that old pile of leaves (along with our Dachshund) for over an hour and when she left, we had to rake them again.  We didn't mind.  As the sun began to set we lit 'em up and for the next couple of hours we enjoyed the aroma as they converted themselves into embers.

I'm having a great summer (albeit a short one) and I always hate to see it end but I'm always ready for fall.  I even enjoy winter until Christmas then I'm ready for spring.  Here in Kentucky, we have about two months of Spring, four months of Summer, two months of Fall and four more months of Winter (if we're lucky).  I think it would be ideal to have four months of Spring, two months of Summer, four months of Fall and two months of Winter.  Of course since we're only having two months of winter, make it two months of a good hard winter.  The 12" snowfalls, cold north winds, crackling fires in fireplaces, heavy warm bedrolls and frozen lakes.  I don't want any more ice storms, however...we've had enough of that to last a lifetime.

In the meantime, hop in your car and roll down the windows.  Strike out a country road and drive without getting into overdrive.  Search out the sights and sounds and smells...better yet, bring along the kids if they're small or the grandkids.  Let them experience this euphoria.  Don't let them bring along their portable DVD player or ipod or cell/texting phone.  Let them savor the day and their surroundings and when they get home that evening, they'll have plenty to text about...only thing is it'll be hard to come up with words to describe it.

Kentucky....Should I Stay or Leave?

There is a group of us (mostly men) who eat lunch (which we still call "dinner"...the evening meal is still "supper") and we discuss the issues of the day.  We actually have an "office pool" bet on when Michael Jackson will finally be buried permanently (and where).

Since most of us are either retirement age (or near it), we sometimes discuss the "pros" and "cons" of whether to retire here or consider moving to some exotic location and visiting here occasionally.  For some reason, remaining "here" usually wins out.  I guess that's why we're still "here!"

Here's some of the things we enjoy about living in Kentucky.  (1) You can rent a movie, buy a sandwich and purchase night crawlers in the same store.  (2) "Yall" is singular and "All Yall" is plural.  (3) "He needed killin' " is a valid defense in our courts here.  (4) About 80% of us have two first names: Billy Bob, Jimmy Bob, Betty Sue, Mary Kate, etc.  (4) Some of us don't even have names... just initials such as C. W., J. P. (one of my sons), R. D., J. J., etc. and more than a few of us are simply named "Junior."  (5)  Everything is either "in yonder," "over yonder," or "out yonder."  It's important to know the difference too.  (6)  You see bumper stickers that proclaim "My Son was Inmate of the Month at LaGrange Reformatory,"  or "My Son can Whup your Honor Student's Butt." 

(7) Dentists advertise big for affordable dentures (don't bother trying to fix my teeth...just pull 'em).  (8) At least 50% of the "men folk" claim to be some kind of ordained preacher.  (9) More women are tattooed than men and (10) we define "foreplay" as "get in the truck, woman!"  I'm sure you get the idea by now.

Those are the "pros," but we also have our "cons," some of which are we only get home grown Tomatoes and Sweet Corn about two months a year. Our Mosquitos have lots of kin folks elsewhere and are always having family reunions here with mosquitos from Indiana or Tennessee.  Cowboy boots on a woman is considered "sexy."  Gillette or Schick would never build a factory here.  A great way to spend a fall Sunday afternoon is to stand around pickup truck beds at Uncle Lee's parking lot and watch the deer bleed.  I'm sure you get my drift.

Most non-Kentuckians think of the Lexington area when they think of our state or the twin spires of Churchill Downs.  Our legacy is thoroughbred horses and I guess that's good.  I have probably ridden two horses in my life (and one of them was a pony at the fair that rode round and round in a ten foot circle).  My wife was raised on a farm so she is the horse expert in our family.  She got to ride some in her early years (she never owned a bicycle as a child so that's where I "get even" with her).  I have some friends who used to live near Orlando, Florida.  I couldn't believe it when they told me that they had never gone inside the gates of Disney World.  They also couldn't believe it when I told them I had only been to one Kentucky Derby and I was only 18 years old then.  They thought I spent at least two or three days each summer at Mammoth Cave.  Truth is, I've only been there three times, once as a Boy Scout, once when our sons were children and about three years ago (although we didn't go inside the cave).

Several of our out-of-state friends are totally surprised at the beauty of some of the other parts of Kentucky.  They are amazed at the size of Kentucky and Barkley Lakes and the quiet beauty of Lake Malone.  A few years ago we had to drive in the left lane of the West Kentucky Parkway because so many people would pull over near the Green River/Ohio County line and snap pictures of the huge coal shovels and the TVA power plant in the distance.  They can't believe it when they see the size and beauty of Western Kentucky University or Murray State University in communities the size of which they are both located.

The other day, I was amazed when I saw an Arkansas license plate on the back of a car that was emblazoned with a "UK" logo.  I guess you can purchase your favorite college on the state license plates.  I'll bet that guy's always getting his car "keyed" in shopping center parking lots.  I always see lots of "UK" bumper stickers and flags on vehicles from other states.  Kentucky pride is something that's hard to contain.  I know we're accused of "exporting" a lot of our kids but there's a lot of "transplants" here too.  We have a lot of people from other regions who came to work here in the 60's on construction of the TVA plant and got permanent jobs there, lived here and upon their death chose to be buried here.  That's pretty "heavy" stuff.

One of the good reasons for staying in Kentucky is that it's about the same distance to Detroit, Michigan as it is to Destin, Florida. 

When it's cold, you can go south and when it's hot you can go north.  You can swim in the Gulf of Mexico or Lake Michigan (for goodness sakes don't get their seasons mixed up). 

I have cousins that live in Evansville, Indiana and friends that live in Henderson, Kentucky.  The two towns are the width of the Ohio River apart.  If you were a pretty fair swimmer, you could probably swim from one town to the other (although it would have to be from Evansville TO Henderson since the current of the river goes that way).  Seriously, you could get from the northern city limits of Henderson to the southern city limits of Evansville in about five minutes.  They are practically one town, as is Covington, Kentucky and Cincinnati, Ohio.  That's why I find it difficult to understand how there can be so much difference in the dialect of the two communities.  My friends in Henderson say "Hidy Y'all," and "over yonder," and "How's it goin'?"  My cousins to the north say "Hiyee Youse Guyees," and "Oh Myee Gawd!"  Makes me want to say "Y'all Ain't Right!"

A couple of years ago, Brad, our middle son was a travel nurse and was assigned to Lewes (pronounced Lewis) Delaware.  Lewes was a "beach town" much like those in western Florida on the eastern seaboard.  We went to visit him and flew into Baltimore, rented a car and drove the couple of hours to Lewes.  I always had this preconception of Delaware and expected it to be a Colonial State and that it would be covered with fancy homes preserved from the Revolutionary War era.  I pictured the men still wearing wigs and long tailed coats with high top boots.  I thought the women still wore their hair in buns and long flowing dresses with lots of ruffles and a parasol to match.  When we took the drive, I found most of the route to be agricultural (with taller corn than Kentucky has).  Most of the homes looked like ours and there was a vegetable or produce stand on the side of the highway about every 100 yards or so.  We drove about 150 miles and 90% of it was farms.  We were amazed to find out they only got an average of two snows a winter and even those only averaged about 3".  The temperatures were pleasant for summer but Brad said it only got down to about thirty degrees most evenings in the winter and up to the lower fifties many days.  He rarely wore a coat to work.  I couldn't help but wonder what their perception of Kentucky was.

Several years ago I was President of the Central City Jaycees and attended a state convention in Louisville.  While there, I met the president of the Harlan County Jaycees.  He was a pleasant chap and you could tell he was well-educated (I believe he told me he was a Pharmacist).  I told him how surprised I was when he told me where he was from because I had this pre-conception that Harlan County was a bunch of "bumbling rednecks."  I told him I had always heard that the State Police assigned two troopers to each car there.  He laughed and told me he had heard that before but assured me their reputation was unfair and Harlan County was like any other...a good place to live and raise a family. 

Several years later, I became Mayor of Central City.  I was at a conference in Washington, D. C. and was seated at the table with the Judge-Executive of Harlan County.  We exchanged pleasantries and during the course of our conversation he asked me which county Central City was located in.  I told him we were in Muhlenberg County.  I saw his eyes get slightly larger and he looked at me and told me "I hear you guys run two troopers to the car over there."  He had this pre-conception of what Muhlenberg County was like and I don't believe I ever denied it or told him any different.  I guess things had gone "full circle" with his comment.

I guess for now I'm staying put in Kentucky.  Several of our friends now spend a good portion of their winters in Florida and wouldn't have it any other way.  Of course they play lots of Golf, a game for which I have never acquired a taste.  Some of the others like to spend days fishing...unlike me; I like to fish about two days a year and work hard at not catching anything.  My next door neighbor up at Lake Malone once told me he had caught some fish and wanted to give me several of them.  "Are they cleaned?" I asked.  "Of course they aren't cleaned," he told me.  "Nah, but thanks for thinking of me," I told him.  If he had said they were cleaned, my next question for him was "Are they cooked?"  That's about the extent of my fishing.  My point is this is a good place to live and these other places are good ones to visit.  I enjoy visiting Destin, Florida a couple of weeks a year but I probably wouldn't enjoy it as much if I was a Wal-Mart greeter or working at the window at McDonald's (not that I really want to do that here either, but a person's gotta have something to do if they don't golf or fish).

All you people who moved away from here... I admire you.  A lot of you did what those TVA construction workers did here years ago...you moved to another town, found a spouse, formed a career and now you call those places home.  Just remember what your Mama told you when you left her home.  If you get out there and feel the urge to return, you know you'll always be welcome here.

We'll keep the light on for ya!

The most trusted person in America...

It's been a couple of months since I wrote a blog and I don't really know why.  Couldn't have been "writer's block" since I haven't really sit down at my computer and tried to write anything.  I surely didn't run out of things to write about because every day is a new adventure and the group I usually eat lunch with keeps me loaded with subjects.  Guess I just felt like doing other things.

I watched "60 Minutes" tonight and they devoted the entire hour to the legacy and memory of Walter Cronkite.  For those of you over 25 years old, he was the "grandfather" that graced our living rooms every night with the news of the day.  He was considered the "most trusted man in America" by some polling group and we could use a little trust these days.  Mr. Cronkite was 91 years old and was a veteran journalist, even a military reporter in World War II.  He was the "John Wayne" of the news business.

I distinctly remember the two news items that made him the "most famous."  The first, of course was the assassination of President Kennedy (who could ever forget where they were on that day when they first heard the news?).  This was the birth of television news as we know it today with 100% coverage of all events from the time of the announcement of his death until he was buried.  Television wasn't on all night in those days but coverage went from about 6:00 am to midnight every day.  The drumbeat while his body was transported to Arlington on a Caisson was something I'll never forget.

Of course the other item that Cronkite was famous for was his coverage of the space program and especially Neil Armstrong's landing on the moon in 1969.  I didn't get to witness it from Walter Cronkite's perspective that day (although I have seen "replays" of it many times) because I was at the Twilight Drive-In with a date.  We shut off the speaker that was hanging in the window and turned on the radio.  WLS in Chicago even interrupted their programing that evening to carry the event via ABC radio.  I can remember the events distinctly including the live feed declaring "The Eagle has landed," but to this day I can't remember who I had a date with (I sure hope she's not reading this).  

In my opinion, Walter Cronkite "set the standard" for newsmen (and women) to follow and he set it high.  No one has ever attained the level he made television journalism and I seriously doubt anyone else ever will.  The reason was that the network left him alone and he was his own managing editor and newswriter.   He was instrumental in making CBS News what it is and it took Dan Rather, his successor nearly 20 years to crush it.  If Cronkite was the "most trusted" person in America, Rather became one of the "least trusted," and it led to his professional demise.

This got me to thinkin'! (I know, here we go again).  If Walter Cronkite was the most trusted person in America and since he's gone, who's the most trusted person now?  My first choice is Tom Brokaw who retired as anchor for NBC news.  Brokaw achieved his credibility with his best selling book, "The Greatest Generation," a moving tribute of those who fought in World War II.  But because he has now been retired for several years, many young adults don't really know who he is, so would that knock him out of first?  If he's out of the running, then who does that leave?  Unfortunately, I don't know of anyone in politics that would be in the running.  I'm not saying they're all "crooked," but I am saying that none of them are the "most trusted." 

John Wooten, the "many years retired" coach of the UCLA Bruins Basketball teams and ten time NCAA Champion (nobody is even close to this record) would certainly be eligible for this distinction.  Again, the problem is since he's been out of the public limelight so long a lot of people have already forgotten him and everyone is not a basketball fan (and especially in Kentucky where UCLA fans are really hard to find).  He was one honest man, though.  How about Billy Graham?  I think most people trust his honesty but some have trouble with him appointing his son as his replacement...that cuts his credibility considerably (don't ask me why - it just does).

Certainly Paul Harvey would have been considered but he died before Walter Cronkite.

Are you noticing a pattern here?  Each of these people (and several others I can think of) are retired or semi-retired.  All are in their seventies and eighties (or even nineties).  What has happened?  Is there no one honorable enough to attain the title of "most trusted person in America?"  I certainly can't think of any CEO's of major companies I consider bestowing this title upon.  I know of no one in the field of journalism (print or television) that would earn it.  No major sports figures, movie stars (Jimmy Stewart's dead), religious leaders (Sorry...I like Joel Osteen but he still hasn't earned 100% of my trust) or anybody else comes to mind. 

This makes Brokaw's "The Greatest Generation" take on a whole new meaning.  All of the aforementioned people (except Brokaw) that could even be remotely considered for this great honor were of that generation.  Being honest isn't all there is to "trust."  Trust is something that is earned over a long period of time...it is consistency in honesty, not just "honest for the moment."  Earning Trust also requires a certain amount of tactfulness.  General George Patton was probably honest, he just wasn't very charismatic (although "charisma" certainly doesn't earn trust in itself).

So it looks like, at least for the time being, Walter Cronkite will carry the honor posthumesly with him.  Somewhere out there is a younger person who has the "honesty" factor and he just needs "experience" in honesty and he will attain this award. Sorry, it probably won't be me as I once siphoned some gas from a car on Reynolds Street so I could go to Owensboro.  Also, in my later years, I've become about as charismatic as General Patton.

My First Airline Flight....

I have a friend who recently told me he'd "rather ride across this great nation on the back of a donkey than fly over it."  I couldn't help but think this guy's really got a fetish against flying.  With today's modern airliner, it's definitely the safest mode of transportation we know of...and most especially it's safer than riding a donkey.  I've never known an airplane to "kick you when you're down."

I told this story to a group of other friends and to my surprise, more of them disliked flying that I had imagined.  Several of they said they did it to save time but that didn't mean they actually "liked" it.  My daughter-in-law falls in this category.  She said she has to "hold on to something or somebody" when the plane is either taking off or landing.  She says she's fine while the plane is flying in mid-air.  Of course, this makes sense.  Flying in mid-air is the safest part of the flight unless you collide with something while up there (such as a flying donkey).

This got me to thinking.  If these people are uncomfortable with flying in the modern aircraft of the present, then I shudder to think what they would have thought of flying some thirty or forty years ago. 

In the sixties and seventies, Owensboro had a couple of major airlines that serviced their airport.  I don't mean "commuter" jets but full sized prop planes with names like Eastern, Ozark and Delta emblazoned on their sides.  Eastern and Delta offered limited service meaning that their planes only came in every other day or so, basically as connectors to other airports but Ozark was different.  It was the smallest of the airlines operating there but they offered three or four flights daily.  They were mostly used to connect to larger airports but they also had some of their own flights that went directly to St. Louis, Chicago, Little Rock, etc. (I'll bet the Little Rock flight stayed full - like why would anyone go there?).  Most of their flights, however, were "hoppers" to Louisville, Paducah, sometimes Nashville and even Evansville (that'd be like taking a bus from Central City to Powderly). 

These were aged planes that had seen better days.  I'm sure in their "glory days" they flew to exotic locations but as regional hoppers their maintenance was "abyssimal" at best.  They had electric starters (where the co-pilot didn't have to spin the propellor by hand) but that was about it.

I remember when a group of us from my National Guard unit had to report to the airport one morning to begin our trip to Ft. Lewis, Washington for basic training.  This was quite a trip as it called for us to board an Ozark in Owensboro, fly it to Louisville, hop onto a Delta there, fly it to Chicago O'hare for a four hour layover, get aboard a United or TWA (I forget which) and fly it non-stop to Seattle.

From Seattle (the airport is actually in Tacoma) we would ride a bus for three hours to Ft. Lewis.  The entire trip took about 14 hours and upon arrival, the drill sergeants graciously assisted us in getting off the bus (but that's another story).  The fact was we were "plum-tuckered out" after that flight.

When we arrived at the airport in Owensboro, the Ozark landed around 8:00 in the morning (it was supposed to get there around 6:30 but they apparently had a strong headwind coming from Paducah where the flight originated).  This was to be my first ride on an airplane and I was anxious for the experience.  While most of the other passengers slept in the lobby chairs, I watched the runway closely looking for the "big bird" that would whisk me away from Kentucky.   It was sort of cloudy that morning but rain wasn't in the forecast.  Still there were a lot of clouds so I didn't see the plane until it got pretty close to the end of the runway.  The scene that unfolded before my eyes probably looked familiar to some of the World War II vets that greeted B-29's returning from bombing raids.

The plane that dropped through the clouds with it's landing gear down (I'm not even sure it was retractable), seemed to be flying slightly "sideways" and it smoked a lot more than I thought it should.  Just as it was about to touch down, the pilot managed to get it to sort of turn left and she straightened herself out, bounced about three times and came taxiing in.  She came rolling to a flat concrete area just outside (actually about wing's length) the terminal.  A guy in dingy coveralls, chomping on an unlit cigar butt, rolled a contraption out to the door that looks like the gray "steps" they use at Lowe's and Home Depot to retrieve stuff up high and out of reach.  The door of the plane swung open and the guy in the coveralls shoved the rolling steps against the plane.  He actually had to stand at it's base and hold it in place as passengers de-boarded. 

About seven or eight passengers got off the plane and we had about ten or twelve line up to get on.  As we were lined up outside, the guy with the cigar told us that if we had to go to the bathroom we had best do it in the terminal as there weren't any provisions on the plane for this.  He said we'd be airborne about an hour which was about twenty minutes less than the time it took to drive to Louisville.

We later found out that it didn't really take that long to make the flight...it took about thirty minutes or less.  The rest of the time we were circling the Louisville Airport because Ozark wasn't considered one of the major airlines and the other "big boys" had priority landing rights. 

When we finally boarded the plane, they assigned us seats by how we looked.  I guess they felt they needed to balance the plane so fatter people sat opposite one another and it appeared half of them was in the front and the other half in the back.  This particular plane had three seats on one side of the plane and two on the other.  The "two seated" side had mostly large men on it as they tried to balance out the married couples and smaller women on the "three seated" side.  I was on the three seated side with two of my buddies.  One of them attempted to hook up his seat belt.  These belts weren't like the "snap" kind they have today.  These were totally adjustable.  You simply raised up on the latch with your left thumb, slid the other half into the latch and tightened it down.  There wasn't any "click."

When my friend attempted this, something happened and he pulled the belt out of it's floor bracket.  They made him move to another seat.   I had a window seat (the window was a circle about 4" in diameter and was directly over the wing).  After everyone was seated, the flight attendant decided she needed to take a final bathroom break so they held the plane up while she did this.  There was no divider between the pilots and us...it was like they were one of us except they got the front seats.  Of course, since I had never flown before, I assumed all this was normal.

A few minutes later our flight attendant (they were called "stewardesses" in those days) returned and pulled the door shut.  The pilot and co-pilot began "flicking" some switches, talking in some strange lingo and soon one of the engines began to spin.  A few minutes later the second engine fired.  I couldn't help but notice that the window I was looking out of had a "sooty-oily" film on it and wondered if this was normal.  The engine on my side of the plane seemed to smoke a lot but since we were about to go airborne I thought this was also normal.  Slowly, the old bird began it's procession out to the end of the runway.  As she taxied along, I noticed she sure "creaked and squeaked" an awful lot, but again...what did I know?  I'd never been on one of these before.

After what seemed like an eternity, the flight crew took her to the runway's end and turned her around.  We sat there for about two or three minutes while the engines "chunked" and "clunked" and revved up some rpms.  Finally, the pilot let out on the clutch (this is actually what it felt like) and we started going faster and faster down the runway.  When we had gone what felt to me like about three miles, we could feel her lift off.  We hit turbulence at about 100 feet.  They climbed to a height of slightly more than radio towers and maintained that level all the way to Louisville.  I could see cars on the highway below and could actually identify what they were.

I looked down at the wing and noticed a bolt of some sort that was loose.  As the plane vibrated and pushed through the air, this bolt turned ever so slowly on it's axis.  I couldn't see what it's purpose was.  It was out in the center of the wing so I was confident it wasn't anything that actually held the wing on but couldn't say for sure it didn't have something to do with the engine mount.  I showed it to our stewardess and she laughed and said it had been like that for months.  She said it drives everyone who sits in the seat I was in "nuts!"  I thought to myself, "it's no big deal!"  Little did I realize at that moment that six months later after I had finished my training, I would be flying the same plane home and the bolt was gone and there was a hole in the wing."  No big deal.

About ten minutes into the flight, our stewardess came around and asked us if we'd like some coffee.  It had been perculated in Paducah, placed in Thermos bottles and stored in a tub in the back of the plane.  They could only serve it black as they didn't have cream and sugar on the plane.  It was served to us in those old cardboard cups with "loop" handles made of construction paper attached to them.  These things probably "scalded" more palms than anything on earth.  It was nearly impossible to drink from them on land much less in this "bobbing and weaving" plane. 

I couldn't help but notice that our stewardess wore a uniform that was a green skirt with white blouse and had a Sinclair Gasoline logo on the front, complete with their famous dinosaur.  I assumed that Sinclair Oil Company owned Ozark Airlines.  When she got a bit of a break, I asked her about it.  "No," she told me.  "When we get to Louisville, my return flight is six hours later.  I work part time at a Sinclair station out across from the airport.  It supplements my income."   Made me wonder what the pilots did.

At any rate and after circling over Fontaine Ferry Park at least six times, they "set her down."  The Louisville Airport seemed a lot bigger and busier than Owensboro.  We taxied past some pretty impressive planes, both civilian and military.  Our terminal was away from the larger airlines terminals and was apart from what was the main terminal.  It was little more than a pole barn out at the edge of the property.  When they got our plane stopped and the engines shut down, the stewardess opened the door.  We stood up and waited to get out.  It took a few minutes while the twin brother of the guy in Owensboro rolled the steps up to the door and we were able to de-plane.  Since it was a decent walk over to the main terminal where our luggage was headed, they offered us a ride on a couple of the empty luggage carts.  Some of us readily accepted it.

When we got to the main terminal, we had a layover of about an hour.  We boarded a Delta (or Eastern, I forget which) for the flight to Chicago.  This plane was "heaven" and I thought the old Ozark wasn't bad until I boarded this newer one.  It had high back seats that reclined, foot rests, seat belts that "clicked" shut, magazines and stewardesses that wore Delta (or Eastern, I forget which) uniforms and who didn't have to "subsidize" their meager salaries by working at a gas station.  The plane we took from Chicago to Seattle was even better.  It was a jet and they even allowed you to get up and roam around the cabin for most of the flight.  I was beginning to "take a liking" to this "flying" scene.

Months later, after we had finished our training, the flight home was just the opposite of the one coming out.  We left "Sea-Tac" Airport on a modern jet, landed in Chicago, flew a prop jet to Evansville this time (it was a Delta or Eastern, I forget which).  Since, like most soldiers, we wanted to surprise our parents, we had arranged for a friend to pick us up at Evansville for the drive home.  When our plane began it's descent for Dress Memorial Airport, the fog was so thick you could see nothing at all.  I hoped the pilots knew how to fly by some kind of instrument because it was impossible to see anything but pea soup.  As the engines wound down and we were dropping, all of a sudden, we felt a hard "thrust" and the engines began revving up again.  The plane began to climb.  Our pilot came over the intercom and said due to the thick fog, they felt it was best to fly to Louisville where the visibility was good and they could land in a timely manner rather than circling over Evansville until the fog lifted.  In a few short minutes we were on the ground at the Louisville airport.  Those people who didn't mind waiting a couple of hours could catch a flight to Evansville and on to their original destination.  Those of us that lived in Kentucky could catch a flight to Owensboro in about thirty minutes at no extra cost, which we opted to do.  We called our friend at the Evansville airport and had him meet us in Owensboro.  The people from Delta (or Eastern, I forget which) escorted us to a terminal in the back and right into ..... you guessed it - the same old Ozark Airlines plane we had ridden to Louisville months before, complete with the same stewardess and the same pilot and co-pilot.  It was like old times.

I sat in the seat my buddy had sat months ago and they had repaired the seat belt.  It worked fine.  After we were airborne, I leaned over and looked out the oily window to see if the bolt on the wing was still loose and that's when I noticed it was gone, replaced with a hole in the wing.  The old plane seemed to fly fine so I didn't give it any more thought.  When we landed in Owensboro (which only took about thirty minutes because they had priority landing rights there...we didn't have to circle), they set her down and the same guy in the dingy coveralls and cigar stub rolled the gray steps up to the plane and we de-boarded.  I was glad to be almost home but as I saw the plane take off and head for Paducah I couldn't help but feel an attachment to that old plane and flight crew.

Several months ago, I was surfing on the TV and came across some old black and white movie and one of the scenes was of an Ozark Airplane at the airport and I remembered my first flight and the oddball crew that took me off into the wild blue yonder.

And when I hear tales of people who fear flying I can't help but laugh under my breath.

So what's new about technology?

TomToms finally got priced under $100 so I figured it was time to purchase one.  In this technological world, I'm usually the last to get toys that my friends have had for years and that's why they get so "amazed" at my "amazement" about stuff that's probably already obsolete.  In case you're even more "technology deficient" than I am, a TomTom is a device that uses GPS (Global Positioning System) satellites to show you where you're at (at least on Earth) as well as how to get somewhere else.  I guess what amazes me even more than this technology is how they managed to invent a rubber sticker that actually works...for hours.  I remember purchasing things throughout the years that "stuck" to windows such as indoor/outdoor thermometers and they stayed "stuck" on the window about fifteen minutes before crashing to the floor.  They were nasty as heck too because you had to lick them to make them work (this was even suggested in their directions).  Every time you entered the room and it was laying in the window sill or floor, you would just pick them up and dust them off, lick them and stick them back up.  You never questioned who might have "licked" them the last time.

Speaking of technology, that obnoxious "pitchman," Billy Mayes was on TV a while ago pitching some kind of hook that "pokes" through your wall and you hang pictures on them.  If you've ever seen Billy Mayes, he looks like a turkish cab driver (unbelievably black beard) and has a voice that sounds worse than Roseanne Barr when she tries to sing the national anthem.  I suppose he's most famous for a product called "Oxy-clean," which allows you to wash your best white shirt in a drinking glass.  Seems this "hook" he hawks looks like a large fish hook that has been straightened to a "slight curvature," and you simply "push" it gently through a sheetrock wall with your thumb and forefinger (yeah, right...in reality you need vice grips).  Once poked throught the sheetrock, it hangs in such as fashion that you can attach a picture frame that can weigh up to 150 lbs. on it and it's supposed to stay there.  Mayes (whose face is perpetually locked in a smile similiar to "Mr. Sardonicus," a 1961 movie described in the International Movie Database as "A search for a winning lottery ticket in his dead father's grave causes Sardonicus' face to freeze in a horrible grimace"... ), packages these hooks in a pack of four for only $19.95 + S&H, but if you order today, he includes another 4-pack, that's eight hooks in all for the low price of $19.95.  Of course you could purchase some fish hooks that would do the same thing for about a buck.  Anyhow, this got me to thinking of some of the crazy stuff my mother purchased over the years from Ron Popeil (inventor of the pocket fisherman who's still around) and people like him.

One of her friends introduced her to a "cult" called the "Fad of the Month" club.  She would send in about ten bucks to them each month and she'd get a "surprise" craft to build.  She belonged to this club for years so you can imagine how our house was decorated and some of the unusual gifts she gave newlyweds and people celebrating birthdays and anniversaries.  One time they sent her a styrofoam Chicken with a hole in it's back so it could double as something useful....a planter.  She carefully removed this chicken from it's package and following the instructions, she cut newspaper into small strips and mixed up a concoction that looked like and smelled like) a cross between soured milk and "tobacco amber," and dipped each strip into it, layering them over the styrofoam.  On the final application, they furnished what looked like used wallpaper with some "kitcheny" design on it.  When this stuff dried (overnight), you couldn't smash this thing with a sledgehammer.  Finally you applied a coat of some kind of varnish over it and it was done....ready for your favorite plant.  Mom didn't have a plant available but she did have some miniature plastic bananas someone had given her so she stuck these in the hole in the chicken's back and it sat on a shelf in her kitchen for the next thirty years.  It was quite a conversation piece.

She also built a purse from popsicle sticks and actually used it....even took it to church.  All her "buddies" just "doled" over it and bragged on her talent but I'll bet when they got away from her they laughed their heads off.  I suppose this kind of junk should have embarrassed my brother and I but it was so typical of her that we really didn't give it much thought.  I always teased her about the "gawdy" chicken with the bananas growing out of it's back and she'd tease me back by saying she was going to leave it to me when she passed on.  Guess what?  This stupid chicken holds a place of honor in my office and I wouldn't take anything for it.  It even "smells" like our house did when I was growing up.

Ron Popeil was the frontrunner to today's infomercial guru.  He actually invented most of his stuff and marketed it himself becoming a millionaire several times over.  Who can forget the "Pocket Fisherman," a rod & reel that actually fit in the glovebox of your car and had surprisingly decent quality.  They still sell it today in those "As Seen on TV" stores.  He invented and marketed "Veg-o-matic," a cheap tool that "sliced and diced" potatoes, carrots, etc.  I don't know how it was done before those things came along.  Same with the "glass froster," a can of freon that frosted a glass right out of the cabinet.  Of course it cost about ten dollars and it took nearly an entire can to frost up one glass, a fact Popeil failed to mention in his early infomercials.  As he became older and developed a "bald" spot on the crown of his head, he invented (and successfully marketed) a can of spray paint in several colors to cover up the bald spot.  I believe that's what Billy Mayes sprays on his face to come up with the beard he has.

Our family was probably the first in the nation to own a Chia Head.  Mom collected these...everything from Chia Head to Chia Pet to Chia Fish and even a Chia "Larry" of Three Stooges fame, where you could pull out gobs of his green hair, just like Moe used to do.

Of course the "plant" portion of these Chias take about ten days to grow and they lasted about another ten days.  No matter to Mom, she thought the "forms" themselves were attractive so we had several Chia planters (with no plants) on various knick knack shelves throughout our home.  I guess she would have purchased some of the "balding head" spray paint and "sprayed" their hair back on if (1) she had thought of it and (2) it had come in Green.

Remember one of the early cartoons that used to come on on Saturday mornings named "Winky Dink?"   Broadcast in glorious black and white, the program featured the adventures of a star-headed cartoon lad named Winky-Dink and his dog Woofer - interspersed with the in-studio antics of a host and an audience of kids.

The gimmick here was that the boys and girls at home were asked to help Winky-Dink out of a jam by drawing whatever Winky needed (rope, ladder, bridge, etc.) on the TV screen. This was done with the aid of a Winky-Dink Kit which was sold by mail for fifty cents. "We sold millions of those kits" the show's host Jack Barry commented, "It was well thought out."

You would place the clear piece of plastic that came in the kit over the television screen and connect the dots to create a bridge for Winky Dink to cross to safety, then trace letters at the bottom of the screen to read the secret messages broadcast at the end of the show. Which I guess makes Winky-Dink the world's first interactive video game.  This show ran on CBS from 1953-57.

I can't imagine how much of my allowance and paper route money I've spent on junk you would order from cereal boxes or Ovaltine jars.  I'd wait weeks to get stuff like "Secret Decoder Rings," or a little car or figurine...stuff you get instantly in McDonald's Happy Meals today.  As an Auctioneer, I occasionally run across some of these antique toys (you've got to be pretty "old" to recognize them) and you wouldn't believe the prices they command today.  A "Captain Marvel" mask that sold for about a quarter and three Kellogg's boxtops would be worth about a hundred bucks now.  Not much of that stuff still around.

Kids today would laugh at the primitive toys we had when we were kids.  Our granddaughter can "surf" around a computer like an expert and has been doing this before she was three years old...before she could read.  Our other granddaughter can "text" faster than most secretaries can type.  I used to brag that my "thumb" was the most muscular part of my body because I used it so much to hitch-hike.  My granddaughters have similiar thumbs but not from hitchiking...from "texting!"  The closest thing I had to an I-pod was a tin can attached to another tin can via a string.  I was in a store the other day (in the toy section) and they had a small plastic carrier that was surrounded by screen wire.  It was pink and had a comfortable plastic handle.  It was a "bug collector" and sold for nearly three bucks.  What happened to taking a used pickle jar, punching a bunch of holes in the top and storing your bugs in there? (made a great night light and it was free).  I get astonished at how many kids have these little jeeps or four-wheelers that are battery powered.  They cost from $100 - $500.  We used to take the wheels off of a trashed lawn mower, find a scrap two by eight and two 2x4's, a piece of rope and would build a downhill racer that would run all day with no power.  They were also free.

Holy cow it's getting late so I had better end this chapter.  I didn't have to look at my watch to know this.  The TV's on behind me and I hear Billy Mayes squawking and hawking his Oxy-Clean.  I think I'll remove my shirt from my drinking glass, get a drink of water and go to bed.