A Little Wisdom from the Grave

 

My daughter gave me a book containing many of the, “Great American Speeches”, which I use as a reference book. I can read the transcript of Patrick Henry’s, “Give Me Liberty” speech in its entirety or George Washington’s Inaugural address. Today I was reading Washington’s Farewell Address to the nation. It struck me as particularly important that his thoughts be taken up in discussion as we approach yet another July 4th celebration of our independence.

After having made it clear that he would retire from public office he began with his concerns, much as a loving father would express to his children who are leaving his immediate care.

“Here, perhaps I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your welfare which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all-important to the permanency of your felicity as a people. These will be offered to you with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can possibly have no personal motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent reception of my sentiments on a former and not dissimilar occasion.”

Washington then presented the foundation of his solicitude:

“The unity of Government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support of your tranquility at home, your peace abroad; of your safety; of your prosperity; of that very Liberty, which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee, that, from different causes and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment, that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national Union to your collective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the Palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion, that it can in any event be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts.”

A simple observation, George Washington expected those reading or hearing his words to be educated to a higher standard than much of our citizenry today.

This portion only will I draw from to make my point for the day. It was clear to Washington that “The unity of Government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence…” That being his foregone conclusion as to how the foundation of our nation must be set he went on to explain the means whereby such a foundation could be eroded and destroyed by, “every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts.”

Let’s fast forward to the present day political scene. What kind of American intentionally attempts to undermine the righteous collective efforts of his country? Who is it that would turn class envy into such a division of countrymen as to entice its citizens to walk down a road where one man’s lawfully obtained property could ever be esteemed as “ripe for picking” and redistributed to one who has not earned it? What manner of men divides the public by the color of their skin as a means to cause contention and divert the energies necessary to building a country and instead provide a barrier of hatred to fester and reduce any chance of conciliatory growth?

Are these not the same concerns that Washington had on his mind when he provided us with his wisdom, that wisdom coming to us via the grave?

I would invite you to read the entire transcript of Washington’s Farewell Address as we approach Independence Day, our decision, while made many years ago, hopefully enough of us continue to stand firmly together in an excellent cause to truly be free. Let us listen with our ears open, our hearts and minds contemplating the intent of those who would divide us and to bring our nation into derision.

At the risk of causing some to faint, George Washington’s citizenry were staunch believers in the gospel of Jesus Christ and that His Divine intervention made possible the birth of our great nation.  May we likewise show gratitude to our Creator for extending His guiding hand in the preservation of this nation. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

What Did You Name Your Vehicle?

 

We recently purchased a new Subaru Outback, our first time owning or driving an SUV type of vehicle.  Upon posting a photograph of it parked in our driveway next to our older car and much older truck, a friend of ours on Facebook asked, “What did you name your car”? 

I’d forgotten all about giving cars a name as if they were family members like a dog or cat.  My folks used to name their cars; perhaps to avoid shouting other derogatory insults when those beaters didn’t perform properly; pure speculation on my part.  Mom and dad drove several beaters while I was young, cars that the junk yard wouldn’t accept until fully ripe.

Things began to improve when a French automaker started selling cars in America.  They were known as Renault, pronounced Wren-Ault back then.  In today’s lingo for the more worldly that same French auto manufacturer advertises with a more European sound, Ray-Know.  I don’t think much of either; but my folks bought into having a new car. 

Their first Wren-Ault was a putrid green thing that had trouble keeping water in the radiator.  Mom’s solution was to keep a sixpack of old Coke bottles filled with tap water.  When the moment presented itself, she’d pull off to the side of the road, grab a Coke bottle of water and pour it into the appropriate container under the hood.  Lots of folks believed that car ran on Coke and would pass a lie detector test, their having seen it with their own eyes. That car’s name was Francois. If you’re from Texas, that’s pronounced Fran-Swah.  In French it means the car is overheating and needs more water.

So, what’s this got to do with our new Outback SUV? 

Lucy and I were driving around, discovering how all the fancy electronic gizmos worked; and to be sure, this SUV is loaded with fancy gizmos.  If you’re casually driving down the road and happen to drift over the lane divider stripe there’s a yellow warning light that come on at the base of the windshield to alert you that you are either drifting or that you forgot to put on the turn signal indicators.

Mom would have said something like, “Hey, Pay Attention”, or maybe “Stay in your lane”, or perhaps she would have reminded me, “Use your blinker, you’re not sharing State Secrets”.

If you happen to be using Cruise Control and casually advance toward a vehicle that’s going slightly slower, a green light comes on at the base of the windshield while at the same time your SUV gently slows down so that you don’t accidentally tailgate the other vehicle.

(Image courtesy of Subaru)

Mom probably never used Cruise Control; but were she to be in our new Outback, she would caution against becoming too comfortable behind the wheel, that safe drivers wouldn’t consider turning that responsibility over to a mechanical machine.  “Slow down, no need in becoming an Organ Donor today.”

The last item I’ll share at this time, understanding that there are so many other fancy gizmos that could be listed; but the last one for today would be the Blind Spot Indicator located in the side view mirrors on either side of the Outback.  These Blind Spot Indicators light up anytime a vehicle is next to your vehicle or your presumed Blind Spot. 

Mom would have reminded me that driving is a serious responsibility, that it’s up to me to know where all the other vehicles are in relation to my own vehicle prior to making any lane change.

With all this information coming to our attention, Lucy and I looked at each other and agreed, our new Outlook SUV’s name must be…Mom.

Honoring My Father

 

The movie, Big Fish, caught my attention while looking for a DVD to watch.  We’ve watched this one several times, so I’ll skip to the part that relates to my thoughts today.

Near the end of the movie, where the son arrived at the hospital, finding his father was near death after he’d suffered a serious stroke.  The young man volunteered to sit by his bed all night and gave his mother a chance to go home.

If you’re familiar with the movie; his father woke up momentarily and sat up wild eyed saying something that sounds like, “the river”.   His son reached as if to hit the Call Nurse button but instead waited to find out his father’s request. 

“Tell me how it ends”.  The young man wasn’t prepared with a response because his father never told him what he’d seen in the old witch’s eye so many years earlier, a prophecy of how he was going to die.

The son, being familiar with the many fantastic yarns his father had shared, began to carefully create the vision his father never told him about, pausing as details sprang to mind in such a way as to fit with other stories his father conjured up throughout his life; all having to do with the river.

According to his son’s interpretation his father was no longer constrained by oxygen tubes, able to move about and pointed to a wheelchair and stressed the need to escape from the hospital in order to return to the river…

 

Interestingly, I found tears streaming down my cheeks, an uncontrollable transference of emotions as thoughts of my own father came crashing down on my consciousness.  

One of the earliest memories of my father is linked with a trip to Jones Beach out on Long Island, New York.  We’d gone to the huge Olympic pool and dad was standing in the water making sure I didn’t drown; but the memory had to do with how much hair covered his chest and back, more like a friendly bear than a human to my young eyes.

Dad’s physical strength and mental awareness were cause for concern as Alzheimer’s robbed the best of him.  When mom died dad was in the hospital and they were reluctant to tell him that his wife of 67 years had passed away, leaving that task to me when I arrived a couple of days later.  Dad was really upset, thinking she was avoiding him when she didn’t show up with his newspaper each morning. 

Dealing with these feelings, the movie progressed; but I was already lost in my own thoughts.

I can’t turn the clock back. My father passed away about eight years ago, complications from old age and a used-up body.

For a few moments I can visit an earlier time, like when I first saw him playing ball with other young fathers on a field of dreams, a battered old First Baseman’s ball glove on his hand.  From then on I wanted a First Baseman’s glove, to be just like dad.

One chilly winter day, my father attempted to get me off to meet the school bus and noticed I had no jacket.  He grabbed a brown jacket belonging to my brother; but my jacket was blue, certainly dad should have known my jacket was blue, so I refused to wear the brown one.  Getting chased around the house was going to make me miss the bus so I ran out the door before dad could catch me; I wasn’t wearing that brown jacket and he couldn’t make me.

Many years later I recall sitting down for lunch at Sharpstown Mall with dad and some of his friends from work to tell him I’d joined the Houston Police Department; now that was a day to remember.  Dad wanted me to be an accountant; he’d paid for the first two years of college and was totally blindsided by my decision.  It was the first, perhaps the only time dad was unable to speak a word.

These thoughts and a thousand more rushed through my mind as the movie played on. The young man carried his father, placing him in the magically restored factory new Charger’s passenger seat for a crazy drive to the river as everyone waved goodbye, the river where it all started, the river where it all must end.

So, this is how it is and as it should be…

Not too long before my father died, as his mind wandered into dementia more and more, I grew concerned that my father hadn’t shared his last wishes with me.  He’d mentioned that he wanted to be cremated but hadn’t indicated where he wanted his ashes to be spread.

That’s an awkward topic to bring up. I asked him straight out and watched his reaction, his shoulders rising in unison to match his eyebrows indicating he hadn’t really considered the thought.

“How about Lucy and I sneak your ashes out to Northgate Golf Course in the middle of the night and scatter your ashes there?” My dad’s eyes showed signs of excitement as he became part of an event we could get in trouble over. “Now, you realize…” I paused and then continued, “…we’ll have to scatter you in the rough since you hardly ever landed on the fairway.”  Dad actually smiled and enjoyed my making fun of his golfing abilities.

“I have a better idea.  We could scatter your ashes on the river in that same spot we placed mom’s ashes.”  Dad may have been aware of the special location on the river mom had picked, a secluded place among the Mangroves in a recess tucked away from the main portion of the river.

Dad took a deep breath, picturing in his mind the exact location.  I watched a few tears trickle down his cheek.  Yes, that would be a better place, there, on the river.

So, this is how it is and as it should be…

And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.   Malachi 4:6  

In the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ.  Amen

 

The Power was Out on Memorial Day

 

We had some more thunderstorms bust on through knocking the power out, not just once, but twice in a twenty-four-hour period.  The first time was in the morning around eight o’clock on Memorial Day.  Lucy had started the crock pot getting her Cowboy Beans ready for the church social that was to begin around one o’clock.  Without a blink or a worry, we got out the emergency solar powered generator/battery unit, hooked the crock pot up and cooked the Cowboy Beans all morning using the power supply in that battery unit.

We’d looked at the KPRC weather radar forecast and could only hope that the line of thunderstorms would pass and permit the social to happen.  On that we were truly blessed as the sun came out and everyone had a great time.  When we got home around four in the afternoon the power had come back on; but for some reason the main air conditioning unit wasn’t working.

That evening, with our emergency window AC unit keeping the living room nice and cool, we were watching a movie on Amazon Prime about time travel, not a great movie; but I’m a sucker for that kind of movie.  Around ten o’clock, only half an hour or so into the movie, the next line of thunderstorms pushed over us and the power went out again. 

We have battery operated emergency candles scattered all over the house and so it was no big deal.  Lightning and thunder made the puppies nervous, so Shadow jumped into our bed while Max shook and trembled, hiding in our bathroom.  The power was out all night, and we started Tuesday off with the idea of cranking up the outside generator. 

I hooked up some extension cords that ran from the porch and into the kitchen area. Used a splitter so the refrigerator could be plugged in and ran a second line to the freezer unit.  I also took a small fan out onto the porch to keep the exhaust away from the house and the generator, making sure not to let the carbon monoxide accumulate. 

While this all worked as it should, I took the time to place the solar panels for the other generator out and recharge that storage unit.  We try to be prepared for emergencies, learning a little more each time we get caught short.  While the power was out, I ran another extension cord from the generator over to the window air conditioner unit, the emergency AC unit we use when the main AC unit for the house goes out.

While the refrigerator was pulled out from its regular place in the kitchen, I mopped that portion of tile floor.  When I went to scoop up some dirt that was in the corners, using only my index finger, that’s when I found a small piece of glass mixed in with the dirt; probably from a glass that fell long ago but a small piece disappeared under the refrigerator.  That sliced the tip of my finger, and I dripped blood all over the freshly mopped area of tile floor.  This was becoming a Hollywood movie script as I went to the bathroom to clean the cut, put triple antibiotic ointment on it and cover my finger with a small band aid. 

When the power to the house returned thirteen hours later, it was time to put all the emergency power stuff back where it belongs.  The extension cords were unhooked and the refrigerator and freezer plugged back into the wall outlets.  I pushed the generator back to its storage location on the porch. I then went to hook up the trickle charge unit to the generator’s battery.  I felt a stinging on my right hand and, at first thought it might be electrical in nature; but quickly realized that I was being attacked by several Yellow Jackets. 

I’d shot long-distance wasp spray at a nest on the porch earlier in the morning and assumed it had wiped them out; I was mistaken.  Apparently, several wasps had been off and away in the morning; but upon returning were upset to find their nest had been sprayed.

When I got close to their nest, not thinking of looking for any wasps, they took their anger out on my thumb and wrist.  They got me about seven or eight times before I could pull my hand back and exit the area. I returned to the bathroom, applied Bactine pain spray on my thumb and wrist, which now were bright red and swollen.  Later Lucy put some essential oils on the area, and took a Benadryl intended to reduce the swelling.  I slept for half the afternoon as a result.

We left a text message for our AC repair company to see about fitting us into their schedule, knowing that this company had invested several hours of time attempting to get our heat pump system to work.  The heat pump system was still under warranty, and they replaced almost every part of the system, some parts were replaced twice; but the heat pump system never did work the way it was supposed to.  The AC company are people of integrity and never charged us, not a penny even after they spent considerable time working on it. 

Today, Wednesday, we got a call from the AC serviceman telling us he was on his way and would see what’s going on with our unit.  I didn’t recognize him so I explained some of the history of our AC/Heat pump unit as best I could since I really have little understanding of what all didn’t work. 

The AC repairman was in the attic for a long time working on things while he was on the phone talking to someone at his office trying to figure things out.  He eventually got the unit to push cold air through the vents; but explained that it was a temporary fix for a problem that required replacing some electronic control panels in the main unit.

All the parts are still under warranty; but it sure makes us wonder about our decision to have an AC/Heat pump unit installed when we built our house in the country.  So, how’d your Memorial Day go?

Those Premonitions are Serious Stuff

 

I’d almost forgotten about the little old lady who had serious premonitions about evil going on outside the window of her bedroom; that is until someone posted a photo of a fellow in bed with his shotgun laid across his chest, just in case.

The little old Black lady lived in a rough neighborhood and didn’t want anyone to come in and take advantage of her frail body.  That’s why she kept her 22 cal. Saturday Night Special on her nightstand, just in case.

We’d gotten a dispatched call regarding a kid who’d been shot at while on his way to the local convenience store.  He cut through the breezeway that ran between two houses and the next thing he knew some lady was shooting at him through the screen that covered her bedroom window.

Sure enough there were several holes in the screen, many more than had been added that particular day.  We were glad the kid hadn’t been injured as we talked to the little old lady.

“I get these premonitions, you know, the ones where I’m being warned that evil is outside my window.  That’s when I had to grab my gun and started shooting to scare it away.”

“You almost shot a little boy who was walking by. Aren’t you glad you didn’t hit him while you were shooting out the window without looking?”

“He shouldn’t be cutting through like that, Scared me half to death.”

I’m guessing the word got around the neighborhood, don’t cut through that little old lady’s yard. Those premonitions can be deadly.

A Little Traveling Music

 

I used to visit the Abracadabra Magic Shop, which we were told was owned by several police officers. On Saturday mornings working in the downtown business district of Houston things were extremely slow.  My partner and I found ways to amuse ourselves; what better way than having amateur magicians practice their sleight of hand in preparation for their next show.

These young men let us practice a bit of sleight of hand if we purchased a silly magic trick suitable for fooling kids.  One trick they taught me was how to make a card disappear or seemingly disappear.  It was a dexterity challenge where the target card was held in place by your index finger and pinky.  The two middle fingers would be bent and act as a spring while you brought your hand down.  It was a neat trick; but harder to master than I’d anticipated.

The rest of the afternoon while walking around across the street from Foly’s I kept practicing and practicing trying to get all the functions coordinated.  Right as I was passing in front of the parking lot entrance for the Foley’s garage, it all came together.  I’d made the card look as if it had disappeared. I hadn’t considered the lady driving into the garage at that moment as she nearly lost control of her car.  I must have really done a good job with that trick; but in the future it was to be practiced out of the public’s eye.

One autumn day after a dry ‘Blue Norther’ had pushed through we happened to stop by for a visit with our young magicians. They were eagerly anticipating a visit from a prospective out of town magician, one who could make their cash register sing if they could show him enough stage props to make it worth his while. There were all manner of incendiary devices placed strategically on their display case’s glass top which were used as distractions while other sleight of hand tricks were going on; nothing like show business.

Unfortunately the lack of humidity had not been taken into consideration. An accidental static discharge from our friend’s fingertip set off a chain reaction of flash paper which happened to be next to an aerosol can of spray paint. The heat generated was sufficient to explode the can, breaking the glass display case top and so on down the line until all the incendiary items had ignited and filled the shop with smoke.

Our friend lost an eyebrow and small patch of hair as the momentary blast of flames shot past his forehead. All his hard work went up in smoke, literally. Adding insult to injury, some busy body called the fire department to report an explosion.

The arson team came out looking for violations of the city code; samples of residue were collected and marked for future criminal prosecution. My friend was eager to assist while trying to explain what each item had been prior to being set off; but the investigator was a hardnosed veteran and wanted to be left alone.

There was some sort of residue, a grayish-white blast pattern on the wall directly behind where the display case had blown up. The investigator scrapped off a small portion and placed it into a clear plastic envelope; my friend desperately tried to explain what it was, only to be told to be quiet. The fellow then placed the tip of his finger on the residue, took a sniff while lifting his brow to the unknown substance he’d been unable to identify. He placed the fingertip on his tongue hoping for a telltale trace of illegal evidence that could be used against the Abracadabra magicians.

It was at this moment I noticed my friend breaking out in uncontrollable laughter, holding his stomach as he bent over in a horse laugh. The arson investigator didn’t see what was so funny; this was a serious criminal investigation.

“That’s where the show doves were caged. When the stuff went off it scared them; I mean they were really scared.” The blast pattern was the natural elimination caused by scared doves sprayed on a wall.

(Image of Magician Dove  courtesy of School of Illusionism)

9 or 10 at Rush Hour

 

This is a partial reprint from long ago.

In the mid-1970s I was directing traffic at one of the busiest intersections in downtown Houston, Walker Street at Bagby. It is a major freeway entrance to I-45 North.  Traffic was heavy from both streets trying to exit downtown during evening rush hour. Bagby street had traffic moving North and South while Walker was Westbound only. There was always heavy pedestrian traffic as well, it being next to City Hall and some large parking facilities.

My approach to working traffic was to let Walker run wild and fast to clear out as many vehicles as possible. When the lights would change it was important to let the pedestrian traffic cross; but only until their “Wait” sign lighted, at which time I was quite forceful in halting anyone from crossing while at the same time directing those drivers in the turning lanes to begin the mad dash to the freeway. I stood in between, much as a matador directs a bull fight, intimidating drivers to turn the steering wheel to accommodate traffic from both directions at the same time. It was challenging, maybe that word covers how I managed to stay alive each time the lights cycled and the process was repeated.

One day, a light and breezy mild afternoon with clear blue skies, I was in full swing directing traffic when a drop dead gorgeous young woman began to cross the street. You may recall the movie with Dudley Moore, “10”; perhaps I should rephrase that, the movie with Bo Derek, a young woman of exquisite form, perhaps beyond belief. The point being that most men have never seen a perfect 10; a few 7’s or 8’s that made them forget their names and maybe a 9 but they were too blown away to remember any of the details.

The young woman crossing the street at Bagby and Walker that afternoon was somewhere between a 9 and a 10. How do I know this; because I was temporarily removed from my mortal body, not a good thing to do while standing in the middle of moving traffic. I remember directing two columns of opposing traffic into each other, one from Walker Street and the other from Bagby. The only thing that kept everyone from having a terrific accident was luck; either that or the fact that all the male drivers had stopped observing my orchestrations, their attention diverted to something quite a bit more appealing. I caught myself, forcing my arms down, a sheepish grin on my face for having proven once again that I was a victim of hormonal influences.