Thoughts from the Rooftop

Chapter 21

2011-12-09T14:45:00.000-06:00

The Big Fisherman

    It’s weird how the anticipation of an event is seldom as fun, exciting, lucrative… as you expected. That’s been the case with me. Particularly as it concerned the anticipation of things Dad planned for us to do.

    Dad was going to buy a boat once. Talked about it for a couple of months. He was going to take Dennis, Larry and me to the base of the dam at Lake Houston and we were going to fill our new boat with fish. Fish congregate at the base of a dam. Big fish. I don’t know why that is, but Dad assured us that’s where they gathered.

    The thought of being in a boat at the base of a dam didn’t sound all that inviting to me. I had Niagara Falls pictured in my brain. If the boat got too close, the current would just carry us right over. I obviously had the image all wrong, ‘cause Dad never expressed any fear. Big difference between dams and falls. Apparently.

    Dennis and I thought about the boat forever. About eight weeks. We even got stuff ready for the boat outings. Spent our allowance on a couple of detachable cane poles. A rod and reel was a step beyond our ability to imagine. We were cane pole fishermen… in our imaginings.

We even bought the little fishing rigs with green line, cork and hooks attached. Used a cigar box to store our tackle.

How big would the boat be? How powerful? Do you think we could ski behind it? Would it be big enough to sleep in, or would we have to get a tent? Life jackets! Dad has got to get some life jackets. Not those hokey canvas orange ones with the soft stuff inside. Those are for losers. You never saw Mike Nelson wearing something like that.– Beg pardon? Oh, Mike Nelson. “Sea Hunt?” Lloyd Bridges? Oh, forget it. Enough to know that he wouldn’t wear an sappy orange life-preserver.

When school finally let out in the Year of the Boat, I was even more excited than usual. It takes a big thing to get you more excited than getting out of school for three months. A giant boat would do it.

It was the middle of June when Dad pulled into the driveway with it. He’d was coming home from the day shift. I didn’t even know you buy a boat where he worked. That was strange, but stranger still was the fact that no trailer was attached to the truck. Had he lost the thing in the tunnel? I bet that’s what happened. He crashed it in the tunnel. But, he was okay. Dad had survived the carnage.

But, no. I was jumping the gun. Putting the ol’ horse behind the cart. Had the bear by the horns. You see Dad never had a boat trailer attached to the truck. I just expected he would. “Bringing something big home from work” I thought meant that he was bringing our new boat. He must’ve bought it off somebody from work. A used boat. That’s okay. It was practically new. The guy’s wife didn’t want him spending so much money on a boat, so he had to sell it to Dad. I could see that happening. But, I couldn’t see the boat. It just wasn’t there.

Instead, Dad stepped out of the truck, reached in the bed and pulled out an old outboard motor. A small one. Three horsepower comes to mind. Surely it was more than that, but that’s the number that’s attached to this particular memory. Oh, and did I mention the motor was old? Old and green. I can almost see the thing now.

After supper Dad consolidated all of our trash into two of most damaged trash cans. Back then trashmen were vicious. To make their jobs tolerable, they’d pretend to be The Incredible Hulk. They’d toss trash cans around like they were rolled up socks. Bounced ‘em off the road and the curb. Tough they were. Not the cans. Oh, the trash cans were made of galvanized metal, but they were so bendable and rustable. A can bottom lasted for about a month. Two weeks in, the lids wouldn’t fit. I told you that to tell you this. We had one new can that was leakless. Dad grabbed the water hose and filled the can nearly two thirds full. He then set a two by four along the lip and attached the motor.

Dennis and I were more than a little concerned as to what Dad had in mind. The boat? What about the boat? Base of the dam, big fish, camping… Neither of us had the guts to ask Dad about the boat. The old leaky, smelly outboard pretty much told the story. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was growing more and more apparent.

As Dad was prying out the sparkplug he spilled the beans. Metaphorically speaking. “Boys, I thought I’d get this motor in running order and then rent us a boat. That way we won’t need a trailer or place to park it. This will be a lot better. You’ll see.”

Oh, we saw it all right. What a let down. Two months of dreaming about a new boat, and all of a sudden our big fishing trip takes a nose dive. I took it harder than Dennis did. I think Dennis halfway expected something like this to happen. He had spent three more years with Dad than I had. I still believed.

I didn’t cry out loud or anything, but inside I was dying. It didn’t help to watch Dad struggle with that motor. He reinserted the spark plug, poured in a mixture of gas and oil and then told us to stand back. I don’t know how many times he yanked on the starter rope. I stopped counting at 1800. The closest he got to a legitimate start was about five seconds of black smoke and a loud roaring, churning noise.

Dad tried every spent spark plug he had. And, he had a cigar box full. (We used a lot of cigar boxes back then.) The man never threw away a plug. Nor, do I ever remember him buying a new one. I may be exaggerating a bit there. You’ve got to understand that I was pretty torn up about the old boatless motor. I’m still not completely over it.

Dennis and I never got to ride with Dad in a boat. Not even a rented one. Larry says he remembers one outing with Dad in a rented boat with the old three-horsepower outboard. He said that after they shoved off from the shore there at Lake Houston, Dad started yanking on the rope. According to Larry the motor eventually kicked off and ran long enough for them to get a distance away from the put-in point. Then it died with a a loud pop and a giant black cloud. Dad then started digging into his box of sparkplugs. He never did get it restarted. Dad and Larry took turns paddling to shore with the short-handled oar. I think that’s an old Scottish song. “Paddling my Lassie to shore with short-handled oar.”

It wasn’t long after the motor debacle that Dad did go fishing below the dam. He went with Red Kerns in Red’s boat. Dad came home with a burlap bag full of catfish, too. Big ones. He cleaned them in the backyard using the water hose to turn a portion of sod into a red, soggy mess. Mom fried those bubbas up, and we almost wretched. The things tasted like gasoline… not that I’ve feasted on that much fuel.

Turns out, each time Dad and Red took a fish off the hook, they just tossed it in the bottom of the boat. Unfortunately, some spilled gasoline and oil had mixed with the water that puddled in the bottom. Mom said the fish smelled a little oily when she breaded them. Dad said he smelled something fishy while he was cleaning them. He said he figured the stuff would dissipate during the cooking. I don’t know what kept us from losing Mom that evening.

I couldn’t fault Dad for his dreams. He had great dreams and schemes of boats and tents and camping. Had his plans ever reached fruition, they would’ve been the stuff of adventure. Unfortunately, the anticipation generated by the planning provided the building blocks for disappointment. If Dad hadn’t been so set on making us happy, he would’ve tried less hard. If he had prefaced his plans with “Boys, I’ve got an idea that will probably never work, but let’s talk about it” I would’ve still gone along with it, but I would’ve been so much less disappointed at the outcome.

All of this lays the groundwork for the Texas City Jetty Fishing Experience. You may have read about it in some outdoor disaster magazine.

Before 1962 I had no idea what a jetty was, so it stands to reason that I had no idea that one was near Texas City. Dad knew, though. I’m thinking Red Kerns told him. – “Would I lie to you, Faris? They’ve got red fish, tarpon and tuna by the ton. You could tie a soup can on a line and reel in a swordfish.” -- Can you imagine what Red Kerns’ kids witnessed? Oh, the horror.

It was early August when Dad got the brothers together and told us what he’d heard about the jetties at Texas City. Seems like it was a Sunday while on our way to church. We were going to drive out Thursday morning; fish the whole day; eat what we caught; sleep on the beach that night, periodically checking our lines; get up in the morning, have breakfast and then keep fishing. Might stay an extra night or two.

It sounded good to Dennis and me. Neither of us could grasp the idea of a jetty, but our minds resonated on the water, beach, camping and fishing concepts. The four major fun factors.

We headed out Thursday morning before sunrise. Dennis and I had our gear ready since Sunday. What was so good about being a kid was the fact that you only had to worry about yourself. Food, bedding, insect repellent… that kind of stuff was left to the adults. The more responsible.

We reached Texas City just as the sun’s hairline touched the horizon. By the time its nose appeared I was looking smack dab at a jetty. What the Sam Hill was that? It wasn’t a pier. It was a long pile of jagged granite boulders strewn in a line out into the bay. Strewn a long way. It had a flat, walkable surface on the peak, but a pointy rugged side. I knew nothing about wind and water abatement or safe havens for boats. I just figured it was one weird way to provide a place to fish.

And, the beach! Oh, the beach. Forget the long stretch of sand. It was mostly gray ooze. Oh, we were going to have a blast.

For most of the morning we crawled all over the pink granite. Some of it might’ve been gray. Who can remember? Wet, slimy and slippery as eel snot. Dad and Larry had rod and reels. Dennis and I had the ol’ two piece cane poles. I don’t think we were ever taken that serious.

Normally, I’m a very impatient fisher-person. Can’t stay at one place too long. Just feel like there’s something a few feet over waiting to sink its teeth into some hooked bait. On this occasion the bait was shrimp. Old smelly, shrimp. It was the first time I fished with a crustacean bait. So, you can imagine that it was also the first time I fished in salt water. The scary thing about fishing in saltwater is the fact that a lot of what you hook might have teeth. I don’t like the thought of taking a hook out of the mouth of a toothed creature. Turns out, I didn’t have to like it. The only things that hit my line were tiny catfish. About six inches. I got a lot of hits, too. Just miserable. I tried to de-hook ‘em by throwing my line against a boulder. Sometimes it would free the fish up to… well to roll into the water and lay there. I didn’t like it any more than they did. Well, maybe a little more.

It wasn’t long before I stopped baiting my hook. You can bang tiny catfish against the rocks just so long before the fun dissipates. Dad and Larry didn’t tire so fast. They were casting their line out there to beat the band. They were using lures, too. No smelly shrimp for them. They had spoons and bombers and flashers. I couldn’t tell one from the other. Doubt they could. Most of ‘em looked like a set of car keys held together a by a giant paperclip.

The redfish weren’t biting that day, my friend. In fact nothing was biting but catfish. I think dad called ‘em drums. I couldn’t see it, but, hey, it was saltwater. Any fish that lives in the muck of that saltwater deserves a weird name. Crapfish would not be inappropriate as far as was concerned.

Lunchtime finally arrived, and, needless to say, we weren’t going to be eating our catch. Fortunately, Dad brought along some weenies and buns. That’s about it. Oh, and some Freetos. We gathered up some driftwood and built a fire with some siphoned gas. We found some thick wire planted in the mud and used it to skewer our weeners. If you’ve never skewered your weener on a hunk of wire, you just haven’t roughed it enough.

After lunch, Larry and Dad headed back out. Dennis and I walked around and eventually sprawled out in the car. It was hot, mosquitoey and… hot. After what seemed like three days, it was suppertime. More hotdogs.

Night came way late, but stayed forever. Dad hadn’t planned the camping very well. I guess he figured we’d just sleep in the car, ‘cause… well, it was either that or standing on the muddy beach. Too hot and too many mosquitoes. Every hour or two, one of us would wade through the mud to where the fishing poles were set up. The theory that something desperate might want to bite a piece of smelly shrimp tumbling around in the surf. Hey, I even contemplated the thought. No snacks. Can you believe that? We had no snacks. Still, I trudged out with Dad to check the lines. Anything to get me out of the sweltering backseat.

If you do some research about the happenings of August 3, 1962, you’ll find something about time stopping for about 18 hours in Texas City. Scientists have somehow managed to keep it a secret. Only a few witnesses are left who can attest to the anomaly. You’re reading something from one of ‘em now.

But, as you’ve probably guessed, morning did arrive. It had to. Anomalies can last for just so long before people start getting suspicious. What was sure to make this particular morning a real blessing was Dad’s mention of breakfast. While we were melting in the car, Dad said that he had thought to bring eggs and potatoes for breakfast. We could use leftover weeners for bacon. He was a genius. Oh, and he had a cook stove. I was giddy as a Miss Buffalo runner-up.

“Cook stove” turned out to be pretty much of an overstatement. What Dad pulled out of the trunk was one of those cannonball-looking kerosene road torches, with a welded metal grid for sitting a skillet on. I’m fairly sure Red Kerns invented it. I later found out that the road flare is called a Toledo Torch. I think they’re made in Santa Fe. (I still had the semblance of a sense of humor.)

Dad lit the wick of the TT and the thing started smoking like a burning steel-belted Uniroyal. Dad peeled the potatoes and diced ‘em while the skillet heated. I figured we were in trouble when I observed how long it took the Crisco to melt. We apparently had a cool flame going. Dad chunked the potatoes in and they just sat there. There was no cooking noises at all. No, crack, pop or sizzle. The potatoes just congregated in a bunch and collected particulates from the smoke. Before long the spuds were coated with a black suet. They were still raw, though. Raw and black. Dad figured he’d given ‘em long enough, so he scooped ‘em out into a couple of flimsy paper plates and then so he cracked a bunch of eggs and tossed them in a skillet. The eggs wouldn’t even cook. They would turn a smoky black, though.

Dad finally called time and spooned us each up a flimsy paper plate of rawness. As hungry as I was, I couldn’t eat it. I couldn’t even manage the cold weener.

We stood there in the wet sea mist of morning poked around at breakfast, eventually tossing it into the surf where fish and crabs scrambled to get away. Dad extinguished the road torch, while Larry cleaned the skillet in the surf. Dennis and I just stood around looking sad. Dad must’ve picked up on that ‘cause he said, “Well, what do you boys think?” We gave our usual, “I don’t know” answers. That’s always the safest thing for a kid to say. Dad nodded and then said, “Well, what do you think about going home?” Dennis and I exchanged eye-widening expressions. I believe it was Dennis who said, “Well, if we must.”

Dad grinned and said, “Okay, how about gathering up the poles and telling your brother that we’re getting out of here.

Larry welcomed the news. Welcomed it big time. “Can you believe this? Just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, he pulls out the road flare. What was he thinking?” Dad was too far away to hear anything, so Larry pretty well lit into him. It really did me good to hear him, ‘cause, during the entire experience, I thought maybe I was the only one having a miserable time. I was fairly sure Dennis was unhappy, but he could fake it so much better than I could. So, I wasn’t the only stick in the mud. In fact, maybe I was almost normal. No. I didn’t go overboard with the notion.

    I don’t think I ever felt more grubby and gross than when I climbed out of the ’60 Biscayne in the driveway on Camille Street. I was hungry, filthy, mosquito bitten, smoke-smelling grungy. The ring I left in the bathtub took a half can of Babo to remove. Mom told me that later, ‘cause I was too tired to scrub the tub myself. Mom was a peach.

    Dennis and I ate a couple of tuna sandwiches apiece and some of those cheap pink wafer cookies. Dad’s idea of a snack… a snack that he had left in the cabinet. Then we crawled into bed and slept till late evening. The outing had really taken its toll.

Even after all these years I still unwittingly conjure up the sense of misery we experienced during that outing. Can’t help it. Thoughts of bad stuff can stick like tar on shoe leather. Can with me.

This will likely come across as way too noble-sounding, but I’ve got to say that, after all we went through, I was really more worried about Dad’s disappointment than I was upset at the horrors of that trip. I knew that Dad wanted more than anything for us to have a good time. It just wasn’t in the cards.

Dad was to blame for some of what happened, but mostly it was Red Kerns. What a goobhead. How could we separate Dad from the influence of that maniac? We couldn’t didn’t think we should kill him, but we certainly discussed it.

It was after the Texas City Jetty incident that the name “Red Kerns,” when used as a qualifier to any suggestion, became anathema among the Hayter brothers. I don’t know that Dad ever picked up on that. We didn’t think it wise to make fun of one of Dad’s friends. Even the big nincompoop friend.

I don’t believe I ever met Red. I feel good about that. I always envisioned a redheaded guy who talked a blue streak. The kind of guy who would one-up you on any accomplishment. “Oh, yeah? My Buick gets 80 miles a gallon.” That kind of stuff.

And, he must’ve been a guy who Dad owed money. There was no other explanation.

VERY COOL

2010-09-19T08:47:00.003-05:00

Check this out
[copy & paste}
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=148981611798356

Mark & I tried this but there was too much touching so we stopped.

PULLING TOGETHER

2010-09-02T20:17:00.005-05:00

This was sent to me by a friend in LA, Michael Gregory. An all around good guy.
Dear Family and Friends,
You may have heard me say...
It's not what you say, but how you say it, that turns the switch from "off" to "on."
This new movie is one of those times. In just 3 minutes it captures the power of...Pulling Together in an unforgettable way.
Copy & paste link from below.........
http://www.pullingtogethermovie.com/?cm_mmc=Responsys-_-MO-_-8.30.10-_-PUTGmovie

That hurts..............

2010-08-26T21:46:00.003-05:00

Cement mixer guy discovers his wife with another man
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqWCvHh9zTM

Don't jump to conclusions....
Thanks to Oscar Carles, a facebook friend..............

ARE YOU BRAVE ENOUGH TO TRY THIS?

2010-08-25T19:00:00.002-05:00

What ya think, Can ya do it?

Here's
a new twist on how to serve burgers and if you don't cook, give this handy
little guide to someone that does and request them. Handmade
ground beef patties, topped with
sharp cheddar cheese, wrapped in a
bacon weave, then the next step, add hotdogs as the heads, legs with slits for
toes and tail. Next step.
Place on an oven rack, covered loosely with foil and baked for 20-30 minutes
at 400 degrees. A little crispy, not too crunchy...just how a turtle should
be, no?

Then notify your next of kin.........

Thanks to my Facebook Friend Jeanne Jatzlau Cook

Restaurant review of la Madeline

2010-08-18T10:01:00.002-05:00

Brad Meyer is getting pretty good with the green screen. Check out the latest Restaurant review. I'm beyond sophisticated. You can sure tell.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyaPiKHVPao

WHO?

2010-07-29T17:45:00.001-05:00

OH! Wahlberg!
I thought they were talking about Hayter..........
Mark Wahlberg gets star on Hollywood Walk of Fame
LOS ANGELES – Rapper-turned-underwear model-turned-Oscar-nominated actor Mark Wahlberg has been enshrined in the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
The 39-year-old actor was presented with a star Thursday on Hollywood Boulevard's famed sidewalk monument.
Will Ferrell, who stars with Wahlberg in the action-comedy "The Other Guys" being released next week, was on hand for the ceremony. The comedian got in a couple of digs.
"I'm glad to be here," Ferrell said. "I first became a fan of Mark's when I bought his workout video. And I love all your 'Bourne' movies."
The "Bourne" films star Matt Damon, not Wahlberg.

Wahlberg first gained game in the 1980s and '90s with the group New Kids on the Block, then quit to form Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.
That was followed by a ubiquitous ad campaign featuring him in Calvin Klein underwear.

BBQ place

2010-07-26T14:55:00.007-05:00

Brad and Mark's latest restaurant review. I'm hungry already.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zAX8wVqGC0

James Gammon

2010-07-18T17:16:00.002-05:00

James Gammon, best known for his role as exasperated coach Lou Brown in Major League and its sequel, has died at the age of 70.
Gammon passed Friday at his daughter's home in Costa Mesa, California, surrounded by family and friends, after a battle with cancer of the adrenal glands and liver, according to the Los Angeles Times.
While Gammon was famed for his role as the manager of the Cleveland Indians in the much-loved baseball comedy, he also had notable roles in a variety of film and TV projects, including Silverado and Cold Mountain, and played father Nick Bridges on Nash Bridges for five years.
But the well-known character actor didn't just make a name for himself onscreen.
A Los Angeles theater mainstay, Gammon co-founded the MET Theater and garnered numerous LA Drama Critics Circle Awards for acting and directing.
The MET Theater will be the location for Gammon's memorial service, scheduled for August.

Gammon leaves behind his wife of 38 years and two daughters.

Read more: http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/b190925_major_league_star_james_gammon_dies_70.html?cmpid=rss-000000-rssfeed-365-topstories&utm_source=eonline&utm_medium=rssfeeds&utm_campaign=rss_topstories#ixzz0u4i4tLFN

IS THIS TALENT?

2010-07-17T15:53:00.002-05:00

Are you called "talented" if you create something like this? Where does one wear something like this?

A model wears a creation by fashion students of Berlin's 'Universitae der Kuenste' (University of Arts) presented at the Berlin Fashion Week on Friday, July 9, 2010.

CHUPA-WHERE?

2010-07-14T20:21:00.004-05:00

A barn in Hood County, Texas, has become ground zero in the hunt for the chupacabra. Lock up your goats, you don't want anyone to get your's.
Earlier this week, animal control officer Frank Hackett shot and killed what was unquestionably one of the ugliest creatures to ever walk the planet. That much we know. What's less clear is whether or not the departed creature was the elusive goat-sucking beast.

Interestingly, that wasn't the only chupacabra sighting around Hood County. A second creature was spotted and killed several miles away. Both appear to be either hairless coyotes, extremely ugly dogs, or, who knows? Maybe the thing they call el chupacabra.

The chupacabras[1] (Spanish pronunciation: [tʃupaˈkaβɾas], from chupar "to suck" and cabra "goat", literally "goat sucker"), is a legendary cryptid rumored to inhabit parts of the Americas.

http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/93844

Brad and Mark restaurant review

2010-07-05T14:40:00.004-05:00

It's the first video restaurant review in the history of... uh, at least a couple of counties. The Ukraine doesn't have one yet! Just look and listen to two professional restaurateurs in action. The one on the right just reeks of sophistication.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLeX5tPNpHg

Toy Story 3... or 23

2010-06-26T10:19:00.003-05:00

Kay and I saw Toy Story yesterday and really liked it. I teared up a time or two. There was a little girl named Daisy who was just precious. Take her home I could. (That's what Yoda woulda said.) The movie was sweet as sweet, but also almost scary in places. I think you need to be over 32 to see it. I didn't see how on earth they were going to get out of that giant furnace.

Popcorn was great, there weren't any screaming kids in the theatre (mostly adults at the time we went: 4:40 on a Friday), and we saw it in 3D. I really like today's 3D experiences. So much better than when we were at the Capitan Theatre.

I give the movie experience #### tic tac toe marks and the movie itself ###1/2. My keyboard doesn't have stars.

Any good movies y'all can recommend? I need a good movie.

Other restaurant reviews

2010-05-11T14:57:00.010-05:00

I know what you're thinking. You're thinkin', "What if I go to Conroe or the Woodlands and get hungry and don't know any good places to eat?" (Not even close, but work with me.) Well here are some reviews of places you may or may not care to visit. Listen and learn. It could save you some serious heartache. Well, moderate, maybe.

http://www.hcnonline.com/media/cheesecakefactory2.mp3

http://www.hcnonline.com/media/dickeys2.mp3

http://www.hcnonline.com/media/sweettomatoes.mp3

FOOD REVIEW

2010-04-11T16:56:00.002-05:00

Check out Brad Myers & Mark Hayter's "Food Review" at
www.hcnonline.com/media/buffalo.mp3

Not a bad job Brad & Mark.

I'm going to try it out to see if I agree with them...

Give us another!

Meinhardt Raabe

2010-04-10T19:19:00.002-05:00

Meinhardt Raabe, who played the Munchkin coroner in "The Wizard of Oz" and proclaimed in the movie that the Wicked Witch of the East was "really most sincerely dead," has died. He was 94.

His caregiver, Cindy Bosnyak, said Raabe — pronounced RAH'-bee — died Friday morning at a hospital in Orange Park, Fla. He was one of the few surviving Munchkins from the 1939 film.

Bosnyak said he complained of a sore throat at his retirement community before collapsing and going into cardiac arrest. He was taken to Orange Park Medical Center, where he later died, she said.

"He had a headful of hair at 94 and he ... remembered everything everyday," she said. "To me he was a walking history book, very alert."

Raabe was one of the 124 Munchkins in the film classic and one of only nine who had speaking parts. He was 22 years old and a show business veteran, earning money for college as a "midget" performer, as they were called then, when the movie was shot in 1938.

Raabe portrayed the diminutive Munchkin official who solemnly pronounces the witch dead after Dorothy's farmhouse lands on her: "As coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her, And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead."

His costume included a huge hat with a rolled brim, and dyed yak hair was used for his handlebar mustache and long beard.

In a 1988 Associated Press interview, he said he had no idea the movie would become a classic, because at the time of its release, it was overshadowed by "Gone With the Wind."

"It was only after CBS got the film in 1956 and used it for their promotions that it became as well known," he said.

Raabe was about 3 1/2 feet tall when the movie was made. He eventually grew to about 4 1/2 feet. He toured the country for 30 years in the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile, promoting hot dogs as "Little Oscar, the World's Smallest Chef."

Last king of France

2010-03-04T13:15:00.002-06:00

Yo, rooftop fans,

Al and I shot a "From the Rooftop" episode last weekend at a flea market near Security, TX. (Between Cut 'n Shoot and Cleveland, TX. Right.) At the shoot, I saw this framed note signed by Louis Philippe, supposedly in 1848. Paid $5 for it. Philippe was king of France from 1830-1848. He was forced to get outta town in 1848. Later died in 1850.

So, why should you care about all this? Because I've got this note that, if genuine, could be worth something, that's why! Sheesh. Problem is, the note is written in French. Can anybody out there read it? (Al, don't even respond, okay?)

And, does anyone know where you take such a thing to get it authenticated? I know Antique Roadshow is a possibility, but those yahoos won't be back to this area until 2023. So, let's do some research, people! Let me know what I've got here. You can start riiiiiiight NOW! I'll be waiting for your findings. Oh, and thanks.

2010-02-16T09:41:00.002-06:00

Okay, rooftoppers. We've got a very narrow window here. So, wash those cars!! You might even vacuum 'em out. No, wait. That was pushing it. Just wash 'em!

Share your Holiday

2009-12-13T18:03:00.005-06:00

http://www.mymtvnetwork.com/vs/view_video.php?viewkey=8b75c294dffdc3e46390

Thanks to the Montgomery County Food Bank

Check out the footage on My MTV Network

Special thanks to Doris M. Golemon Executive Director

of the food bank........

http://www.mymtvnetwork.com/vs/view_video.php?viewkey=8b75c294dffdc3e46390

See Big Al's Commercial -- It's all over the country!!

2009-12-07T20:04:00.004-06:00

Hey, boys and girls, if you've yet to see Big Al's commercial for some Natural Gas association, you need to go to http://www.newnaturalgas.org/ click on "commercials" and then click on Al's picture when it shows up.

This guy is getting recognition from everyone. We were in a coffee shop last Friday, and Al said that this was the first day no one called to mention his commercial. He no sooner got it out of his mouth than an editor for the Courier came up and bragged on his commercial. Isn't that something?

And, get this. I'm not even jealous! Of course, I do wish I had gotten the commercial and Al got a big wart on his nose. That's got nothing to do with jealousy, tho. I'm just that way.

WHO IS THIS?

2009-11-03T05:31:00.003-06:00

Can you figure this one out? Who is this guy?

No hints yet..................

Funny . . . yet sad. ... . 54 years ago!!!

2009-11-01T13:59:00.001-06:00

Comments made in the year ...1955...!
That's only 54 years ago!===========================================

'I'll tell you one thing, if things keep going the way they are, ...it's going to be impossible to buy a week's groceries for $10.00.

=================================
'Have you seen the new cars coming out next year? It won't be long before $1,000.00 ...will only buy a used one.

=================================
'If cigarettes keep going up in price, I'm going to quit.
...20 cents a pack is ridiculous.

==================================
'Did you hear the post office is thinking about charging 7 cents ...just to mail a letter?
===============================

'If they raise the minimum wage to $1.00, .....nobody will be able to hire outside help at the store.

===========================
'When I first started driving, ...who would have thought gas would someday cost 25 cents a gallon. Guess we'd be better off leaving the car in the garage....

'I read the other day where some scientist thinks it's possible to put a man on the moon by the end of the century. They even have some fellows they call astronauts 'preparing for it' ...down in Texas .

=======================
'Did you see where some baseball player just signed a contract for $50,000 a year just to play ball? It wouldn't surprise me, if someday they'll be making more ...than the President.
=============

'I never thought I'd see the day all our kitchen appliances would be electric. ...They are even making electric typewriters now.

==============
'It's too bad things are so tough nowadays. I see where a 'few married women' ...are having to work to make ends meet.

================
'It won't be long before ...young couples are going to have to hire someone to watch their kids ...so they can both work.

==================

LOOK WHO I MET!!!!

2009-10-27T17:12:00.003-05:00

THE COLONEL

Colonel Bob Thompson,

Nice guy, spokesperson for KFC & Ambassador For the World Chicken Festival.

We were staying at the same hotel in New York.

THIS DAY IN HISTORY OCT. 15TH

2009-10-14T17:59:00.000-05:00

1860
Eleven-year-old Grace Bedell of Westfield, N.Y., wrote a letter to presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln, suggesting he could improve his appearance by growing a beard.

1914
With the support of President Wilson, the Clayton Antitrust Act, which made it illegal for companies to buy competitors' stock, was passed.

1917
Mata Hari, World War I spy, was executed by a firing squad in Vincennes, France.

1951
I Love Lucy, starring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, had its television debut.

1964
It was announced that Nikita Khruschev was removed from his positions as premier and secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR.

1966
The U.S. Department of Transportation was created.

1989
Wayne Gretzky topped Gordie Howe's NHL scoring record.

1991
Clarence Thomas got a narrow (52–48) Senate confirmation of his nomination to the Supreme Court.

1993
Nelson Mandela and F. W. de Klerk were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for their work to end apartheid in South Africa.

2003
China became the third country to launch a staffed space mission.

HONOR RIDE 09-20-09

2009-09-21T18:42:00.006-05:00

ZEKE GIVE IT UP HE JUST DOESN'T UNDERSTAND

SARA, THE SEARCH & RESCUE DOG, SHE FOUND MARK . WHY?

RIDERS GETTING READY TO LEAVE

"To honor, directly help and improve the quality of life of wounded warriors and their families
who are recovering at the Brooke Army Medical Center (BAMC) in San Antonio, Texas."

GOOD TIME, GREAT CAUSE.

HONEY-B- HAM SHOOT

2009-09-18T15:08:00.005-05:00

Great time at Honey-B- Ham in Conroe. We shot a segment of "From the Rooftop" there yesterday .
By the way, these guys were voted the best hamburger in Montgomery county two years runnin.
And guess what, the voters are right.
"GREAT BURGERS"
Thanks to the owners Chris & Ashely Hancock.

The owner Chris having to listen to Mark

I'm the cook & Mark takes orders

I learned how to make a shake

TEXAS HONOR RIDE FOR WOUNDED WARRIORS

2009-09-13T02:01:00.007-05:00

Terry Williams & Al

Sgt Ferquson, Tyler, Mark & Al

Mark & Sgt. Ferquson

Mark is in trouble again

Yesterday we shot the 1st half of an episode of "Rooftop" these are pictures from that shoot. Everyone from the base in Conroe were very nice.

Thanks Sarge

We will finish shooting the rest of the episode Sept. 19th at the
2009 Fundraiser and Ride which will be hosted by the West Conroe Baptist Church (at the corner of Longmire and North Loop 336 in Conroe, TX).

Come buy & say HI.

WOW!

2009-09-11T04:26:00.002-05:00

Jeff Bridges, forever beloved as The Dude in The Big Lebowski, is in talks to reteam with the Coen Brothers on a remake of True Grit, reports Variety.

The original 1969 version won John Wayne his very first Oscar.

Based on Charles Portis' sublime and hilarious novel about a young woman who enlists a drunken U.S. Marshall named Rooster Cogburn to avenge her father's murder, the Coen's version is said to be truer to the book, which is told from the woman's comically single-minded POV.

09/09/09

2009-09-09T07:50:00.000-05:00

Have special plans this 09/09/09?
Everyone from brides and grooms to movie studio execs are celebrating the upcoming calendrical anomaly in their own way.

In Florida, at least one county clerk's office is offering a one-day wedding special for $99.99. The rarity of this Sept. 9 hasn't been lost on the creators of the iPod, who have moved their traditional Tuesday release day to Wednesday to take advantage of the special date. Focus Features is releasing their new film "9," an animated tale about the apocalypse, on the 9th.

Not only does the date look good in marketing promotions, but it also represents the last set of repeating, single-digit dates that we'll see for almost a century (until January 1, 2101), or a millennium (mark your calendars for January 1, 3001), depending on how you want to count it.

Though technically there's nothing special about the symmetrical date, some concerned with the history and meaning of numbers ascribe powerful significance to 09/09/09.

For cultures in which the number nine is lucky, Sept. 9 is anticipated - while others might see the date as an ominous warning.

WHO IS THIS ACTOR?

2009-09-06T18:34:00.003-05:00

BIOGRAPHY TRIVIA ANYONE?

Had both knees replaced. [2000]

Had quintuple heart bypass surgery. [1988]

Part Cherokee Indian.

According to an article on TV westerns in Time Magazine (March 30, 1959),stood 6'3", weighed 206 lbs, and had chest-waist-hips measurements of 44-33-40.

Inducted into the Hall of Great Western Performers of the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in 1990.

Before he was an actor, he did everything from work at a gas station to model men's clothing.

Is involved with many humanitarian causes.

Is a volunteer of Save the Children.

Is an avid golfer.

Inducted into the Oklahoma Hall of Fame in 1986

Is a Korean War veteran and began his career as a contract player in 1956 for Warner Bros.
Quit smoking following his quintuple heart bypass on 22 April 1988.

Inducted into the Off-Road Motorsports Hall of Fame in 1978.

Underwent surgery after suffering a severe stroke in May 2008 and is recovering well.

THIS DAY IN HISTORY, AUG.27TH

2009-08-26T17:56:00.002-05:00

1859
Edwin Drake drilled the first successful U.S. oil well near Titusville, Pa.
1883
A massive volcanic eruption on the island of Krakatoa blew up most of the island and resulted in tsunamis that killed over 36,000 people.
1928
The Kellogg-Briand Pact, outlawing war, was signed.
1945
U.S. troops began landing in Japan after Japan's surrender in World War II.
1962
The U.S. launched the Mariner II space probe.
2003
Mars made its closest approach to earth in 60,000 years.
2009
Ms. A didn't make fun of Al Hayter.

FROM CORA BETH

2009-08-24T07:11:00.001-05:00

A little "Potato" logic ... :)
Well, A Girl Potato and Boy Potato had eyes for each other and finally they got married and had a little sweet potato which they called 'Yam.' Of course, they wanted the best for Yam.
When it was time, they told her about the facts of life. They warned her about going out and getting half-baked so she wouldn't get accidentally mashed and get a bad name for herself like 'Hot Potato' and end up with a bunch of Tater Tots.
Yam said not to worry, no Spud would get her into the sack and make a rotten potato out of her!
But on the other hand she wouldn't stay home and become a Couch Potato either.
She would get plenty of exercise so as not to be skinny like her Shoestring cousins.
When she went off to Europe, Mr. and Mrs. Potato told Yam to watch out for those hard-boiled guys from Ireland.
And the greasy guys from France who were called the French Fries.
And when she went out west, to watch out for the Indians so she wouldn't get scalloped.
Yam said she would stay on the straight and narrow and wouldn't associate with those high class Yukon Golds or the ones from the other side of the tracks who advertise their trade on all the trucks that say, 'Frito Lay.'
Mr. and Mrs. Potato sent Yam to Idaho P.U. (that's Potato University) so that when she graduated she'd really be in the Chips.
But in spite of all they did for her, one-day Yam came home and announced she was going to marry Tom Brokaw..
Tom Brokaw! Mr. and Mrs. Potato were very upset. They told Yam she couldn't possibly marry Tom Brokaw because he's just......
A COMMONTATER

Thanks Cora.

OLD MEMORIES

2009-08-19T19:32:00.003-05:00

I HAD FORGOT ABOUT THIS PICTURE, FOUND IT IN SOME OLD STUFF.
THIS WAS TAKEN BACK WHEN I WAS DOIN STANDIN WORK FOR DUKE WAYNE & SOME OF HIS STUNTS.
GREAT GUY, I MISS HIM.

Tales About Foods and Drinks

2009-08-10T21:05:00.001-05:00

Feed a cold, starve a fever.
Wait an hour after eating before swimming.
Coffee stunts your growth.
Fish is brain food.
Spicy foods can cause ulcers.

Are these all true?

WITTY QUOTES, {maybe}

2009-08-05T16:03:00.006-05:00

Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight.
- Phyllis Diller
No make up & go to sleep.
-Al

No pressure, no diamonds.
- Mary Case
That makes sense.
-Al

Start every day off with a smile and get it over with.
- W. C. Fields
I will try to remember that.
-Al

The first rule to tinkering is to save all the parts.
- Paul Erlich
We all know that.........
-Al

If you can't convince them, confuse them.
- Harry S Truman
I have got this one down.........
-Al

IN NEW ORLEANS

2009-08-02T10:21:00.003-05:00

Went to New Orleans this weekend, good trip. We stopped in Baton Rouge at Bergeron's Market, a great place to buy Cajun meats. I love that place {the best}. Coming home today. Hope you had a great weekend....
The Boudin is the best in the world. REALLY!
The cracklins are also great.

THIS DAY IN HISTORY JULY 30th

2009-07-29T18:19:00.003-05:00

1945

USS Indianapolis (CA-35) was a Portland-class cruiser of the United States Navy. She holds a place in history due to the notorious circumstances of her sinking, which was the deadliest single loss of life at sea in the history of the US Navy.

After delivering critical parts for the first atomic bomb to the United States air base at Tinian on 26 July 1945, she was in the Philippine Sea when attacked at 0014 on 30 July 1945 by a Japanese submarine. The ship sank in 12 minutes. Of 1,196 crew aboard, approximately 300 went down with the ship. The remaining crew of about 900 faced exposure, dehydration and shark attacks as they waited for assistance while floating in shark-infested waters with no lifeboats and almost no food or water. The ship was not listed overdue per the secrecy of its mission, and by the time the survivors were spotted by accident four days later only 321 men were still alive. Indianapolis was one of the last US Navy ships sunk by enemy action in World War II.

Unbelievable history.....

Premier Screening of "Return of the Outlaws"

2009-07-22T20:01:00.003-05:00

What's that? Don't have anything to do this weekend! Come to Bandera for the Premier Screening of "Return of the Outlaws" aka "Mexian Gold" at Brian & Charlotte Black's Longhorn Saloon. This is the same weekend that Bandera celebrates the National Day of the American Cowboy.
If you can't make it you must rent the movie to see the great performance my brother Mark gave.

Check out the trailer:
http://www.imdb.com/video/screenplay/vi2165637913/

$2000 CAR?

2009-07-18T09:04:00.002-05:00

Give me two of em, no wait. What does the small print say up at the top "NO AIR CONDITIONING"
As Gilda Radner would say "NEVERMIND"

THE WINNER IS!!!!

2009-07-17T15:09:00.004-05:00

Who's # is this 867-5309?
The winner of the From the "Rooftop" coffee mug is, Drum roll please!
"Linda Carter"
Congrads Linda!!!!!
The mug will be in the mail to you Monday....
Hey, thanks everyone for entering.
This youtube site was e-mailed to me by Colorado Carmen, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axLRUszuu9I
it is Tommy Tutone singing Jenny...
That's who's # 867-5309 is.
Thank you Carmen
Another contest coming soon....
Have a safe weekend.

"CONTEST" LAST CHANCE!!!

2009-07-13T06:51:00.006-05:00

First the question:
Who's number is this "8675309"

Now if you know who's # that is, send the answer to my
e-mail address al@fromtherooftop.net
If we have more than one correct answer I will put them into a hat & pull out the winner. Remember you are playing for a Rooftop coffee mug. Winner will be drawn Friday morning, I will post the name & get the mug to ya right away.
Good luck!!!!!!!

CONTEST NEXT WEEK!!!!!!!!!

2009-07-10T14:44:00.004-05:00

Next week I will post a question & the one who gives the correct answer will win a "Rooftop" Coffee Mug.
Calm down, I will post the question Monday & the winner will be announced Friday. Tell all your friends or your friend, hope it's friends.
If I get more than one correct answer I will put the names in a hat & pull out a winner......

Have a safe weekend.............
I'm soo excited.............................Really!

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

2009-07-09T19:17:00.001-05:00

I am convinced that life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent how I react to it.
~Charles Swindoll

Ain't it true...............
So true

'Alamo' Movie Set Closes After Owner's Death

2009-07-08T18:01:00.004-05:00

BRACKETTVILLE, Texas — For decades, tourists have been able to visit the movie set where John Wayne held off Mexican soldiers in the movie "The Alamo," but the Alamo Village in Brackettville is now closed.
The owner of the village, 93-year-old Virginia Shahan, had kept it open to visitors, trail rides and other movie shoots for nearly 50 years. But after her recent death, the attraction has been closed to visitors until her family determines what to do next.
The movie inspired a generation of would-be cowboys and cemented in people's imaginations an outsized image of the Alamo that dwarfs the real thing in downtown San Antonio.

Miss Virginia was interview by Mark when we were in Brackettville a couple of years ago. After the interview she went back & told everybody that she had just given her best interview ever.

That was during the shooting of "The Man Who Came Back" Miss Virginia saw me on the back side of the old town where we were filming & asked me if I wanted a ride to the cafe. I took her up on it & she bought my lunch & we talked for a long time about her place. She was a hard lady but she was sure nice to me. A piece of history has just passed away.

Thanks Miss Virginia for givin me a ride.............

Sci-fi western has appearance by John Wayne

2009-07-06T15:20:00.002-05:00

Any fan of old westerns would probably say that the 1976 movie, “The Shootist,” was John Wayne’s last film.

They’d be mistaken, according to Dave Burleson.

Burleson, who played minor parts in more than 70 westerns and was friends with Wayne, is releasing an independently produced film that contains Duke’s final unseen performance.

The film, a science-fiction western entitled “Thunder Riders of the Golden West,” was produced by Burleson in 1984, and includes footage that Wayne filmed before his death in 1979.

“It’s not the last movie he acted in, but it’s the last performance to be released,” said Burleson, who now resides in Barksdale, about two hours Southwest of Kerrville.

If science fiction western seems like an unusual genre, that’s because it is. “Thunder Riders of the Golden West,” is a movie set in modern times and tells the story of cowboy truckers who hit the trail in search of $3 million worth of gold in the middle of an atomic bomb test.

Burleson, who stunt doubled for Dean Martin in his westerns, stars in the movie, and with the exception of Wayne’s performance, the cast is rounded out mostly by friends and family.

Being the star was a change for Burleson. Born and raised in the Hill Country, Burleson moved out to New Mexico to make movies. His first movie was “Last Command” in 1955, in which he acted alongside Ernest Borgnine. He was more than happy to play bit parts alongside stars like Borgnine, Wayne, Kirk Douglas, Slim Pickens and others.

“They were the big stars, nobody wants to write about me and that is just fine by me,” Burleson said.

“Thunder Riders” never saw a theatrical release, but thanks to technology, Burleson is finally able to produce and distribute the film himself on DVD.

“After all these years, it’s great to finally get my film out there,” Burleson said. “But it’s really something for people to see one last John Wayne performance.”

A copy of the movie can be ordered by mailing $14.95 to P.O. Box 206 Barksdale, Texas 78828.

I want a copy.................

HAPPY 4th

2009-07-03T20:18:00.004-05:00

HAPPY 4th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From Mark & Al

BE SAFE..............

FAST FACTS

2009-06-30T20:50:00.003-05:00

More personal telephone calls are made on Mother's Day in the USA than on any other day in any other country.

Most reverse charge calls takes place on Father's Day.

One in ten people in the world live on an island.

The opposite sides of a dice cube always add up to seven.

If you count the seconds without stopping, it would take you eleven-and-a-half days to reach one million, and 32 years to reach one billion.

In the US, murder is committed most frequently in August and least frequently in February.

The chance of being born on Leap Day is about 684 out of a million, or 1 in 1461. Less than 5 million people have their birthday on Leap Day.

The odds of being struck by lightning are about 600,000 to one.

About 27% of food in developed countries are wasted each year. It's simply thrown away.

The world average of egg consumption per capita is 230.

In the US, about 280 million turkeys are sold for the Thanksgiving celebrations.

100% of the people that watch the Rooftop trailer fall in love with Mark & Al {is it "who" watch or "that" watch"?} Hey, if you don't believe me check it out for yourself.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXS4VyNRZeQ

THIS DAY IN HISTORY

2009-06-25T15:18:00.005-05:00

1788
Virginia became the 10th state in the Union.
__________________________
1876
Lt. Col. George A. Custer and all his men were killed by Sioux and Cheyanne Indians at the Battle of Little Bighorn in Montana.
__________________________
1950
Communist North Korean troops invaded South Korea, beginning the Korean War.
____________________________
1951
The first commercial color TV program was transmitted by CBS from New York to Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington, DC.
__________________________
1991
Croatia and Slovenia proclaimed their independence from Yugoslavia, beginning the Yugoslavian civil war.
{i didn't known that, but i bet Mark did}
_______________________
1997
Oceanographer Jacques Cousteau died.
{I liked him}

HOT

2009-06-24T15:24:00.000-05:00

IS IT HOT OR WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-06-24T08:26:00.000-05:00

DEEP THOUGHTS

2009-06-23T22:00:00.002-05:00

If a man is standing in the middle of the forest speaking and there is no woman around to hear him - Is he still wrong?

?

Slumber party time

2009-06-17T16:15:00.003-05:00

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 17, 2009
“Slumber party”

Are we all here? I see there are a few stragglers coming in. Okay, everybody, hold it down. I’m gonna make this short and sweet today. I’ve got a retraction to make from last week’s article. I don’t like to retract, so I’m saying this once.

Ready? Okay, three of you may recall that in last week’s article I said that the Hayters were having the June get together at the drive-in theatre in Tomball. Near Tomball. I don’t know where it is. And, I won’t find out, at least not in June, ‘cause we’re not going.

That’s it. That’s my retraction. Sorry to mislead. It’s just that I understood we were going, and now I find out we’re not.

All right, that’s all I’ve got. What do y’all wanna do now? No, I’ve got some stale chips and a DP or two in the fridge. You could make a sandwich, but we’re low on bread. Why don’t we just— Beg pardon?

Oh, the drive-in theatre? I don’t know why we’re not. Jill sent an e-mail this morning saying that in lieu of the drive-in we’re having a slumber party at her house. Didn’t even consult me. Just made the decision on her own.

I figure it’s too hot for the drive-in. That’s what I figure. So, since Jill is the ringleader of everything, she decided to have something indoors. I can deal with that. Kay can’t.

When I told Kay about the switch she said she wasn’t going. She doesn’t like slumber parties, never liked slumber parties and doesn’t care a whole lot for Mickey Rourke. I don’t know why she threw in Rourke. Pretty sure he wasn’t invited, but I guess she just wanted to make sure.

I told Kay that she had to go to the slumber party, ‘cause it would be fun and ‘cause Jill is having it. Kay’s answer was cute as all get out. She said, “Jill’s not the boss of me.”

Isn’t that cute? I haven’t heard that in almost forever. “You’re not the boss of me.” I musta told Dennis that a thousand times when we were kids. Thing is, he was the boss of me when Mom wasn’t around. If your brother can beat you up, he’s the boss of you. That’s just the way it is.

I don’t know who would win in a fight between Jill and Kay, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not likely to see such a spectacle. The two of ‘em get along too well. Kay was just being silly. “Jill’s not the boss of me.” Can’t wait to tell Jill what she said.

It will take some effort, but I’ll get Kay to the party. I’ll hafta give up a buncha stuff, but it will happen. There’s a chance. I’m thinking 20 percent.

In the meantime, I need to plan some stuff for the party. Been my experience that if you don’t have a lot of things planned at a slumber party, you’re gonna lose some people. Along about midnight, people start wondering whose idea this was. You’ve just gotta keep ‘em busy so they won’t have time to think.

The last slumber party I went to was one of those high school graduation lock-in things. Being a teacher, I agreed to chaperone. I was more or less pressured into it. It was okay at first. But, you can eat just so much fun. It was the first time I ever played volleyball at one o’clock in the morning.

By two o’clock I was done in. “No, I don’t want to. This is your party, so leave me alone. If you wanna do something, why don’t you find your ol’ history teacher some coffee. I’m dying here.”

Yeah, I wasn’t used to slumber parties that actually went on all night. Usually, they die way early in the morning. I doubt Jill’s party will last even that long. Larry will be home in bed by ten. In fact, he’ll head home just as it gets dark. The eldest Hayter boy has turned into the biggest panty waist you ever saw.

What? Panty waist? Uh, I don’t know. Just something we said as kids. Means he’s a sissy boy. I’ll retract it next week.

I think I’ll liven things up at Jill’s with a get a keg of root beer. I saw ‘em at World Market awhile back. Cost way too much, but it’ll look neat. We’ll have a game where if you say something that grates, you’ll have to down a whole mug of root beer.

Like, if you say, “Been there, done that.” you hafta drink a mug. “Don’t go there.” Drink another mug. “You don’t wanna go there.” Drink a mug and get hit with a bopper bat.

Speaking of which I’m gonna hafta pick up some of those Nerf bopper bats. Those things that you can swing as hard as you want and you only stun the person for a few seconds. Maybe a minute of two.

I’m thinking a blindfold bopper bat melee. That’ll keep people awake. One of the most exciting times I had was a blind man’s pillow fight. It was midnight and darker that dark. We got in bedroom closed the door and pulled the blinds and had at it. You would not believe the screaming. We would’ve used blindfolds, but we couldn’t each other. I tell you, we were ruthless… in the day.

That’s what I’m thinking. We’ll get stuff to throw at each other with, maybe rent a couple of scary movies, eat a buncha junk and drink a lot of root beer.

Oh, and we have to have popcorn. That’s the main reason I wanted to go to the drive in theatre. I like the popcorn. Home popped isn’t as good, but it’ll hafta do.

Yeah, that’s on our agenda for the June family get together. I’m really looking forward to it. Kay’s not. I think I’d better go ahead and get my bopper bats before I confront her about this. I’ll wait till she says, “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not the boss of me.” No worry. The girl swings a bat like a girl. I could beat her blindfolded. I’ll pulverize her.

You can contact Mark Hayter at mark@fromtherooftop.net

END

A firefly night

2009-06-08T10:01:00.007-05:00

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 8, 2009
“Firefly night”

ROOFTOP – Good evening. Pull up a chair. If you had showed up just a little sooner, you would’ve seen Kay. She came outside after I told her about the fireflies. She told me to stomp on the roof if there were any out tonight, but I brought my cell phone up here instead. I hate to roofstomp. Attracts attention. Most times.

After spotting the second firefly, I called and Kay, and she just picked up and said, “I’m on my way.” She’s crazy about fireflies. I like ‘em too, but I don’t get quite as excited as she does. Occasionally, I’ll skip her late evening firefly watch, but usually I join her.

You’ve got to respect a person who appreciates the wonderment of fireflies. It’s an attractive character trait. In fact, I recommend one apply the firefly factor when choosing a prospective mate. Don’t apply it solely, but give it consideration.

Of course, I’m only speaking of women here. I doubt you’ll find that many men who get excited about fireflies. My three brothers would probably beat me senseless if I suggested we look for lightning bugs. We used to do it as kids, but they’re way past that now. I never got past it. Kay, either. Or neither.

Anyway, Kay only saw about four or five fireflies tonight. She even followed one down the driveway. She wanders sometimes. Almost as much as my thoughts do when I’m up here. Well, maybe not that much.

Speaking of which, just before the firefly chase, Kay told me that one of her friends at work made some potato chip cookies. She meant to bring me one but forgot. They were sweet, salty, and crunchy. “They were the best, Jerry.” That’s what she said.

They were the best, but she forgot to bring me one. Why would you tell somebody that? I’d just as soon not know. A sweet and salty cookie? I’m really craving something like that now. Normally, I like chewy cookies, but if it’s sweet and salty I’ll try a crunchy one. It’s an interesting combo. A paradox, you might say. I’d sure like to find out if I like ‘em. But, the firefly girl forgot.

After a few minutes of firefly chasing, Kay went back into the house. She got too hot and sticky. That wouldn’t be bad for a cookie, but it’s not so good for a person. I could’ve thrown down my fan to her, but hated to part with it. Here, I’ll unclip it from my apron and show you.

See? Isn’t that a neato fan? About the size of a deck of cards. The fan blade is made of thin foam rubber. And, look at this. You can squirt water right through the blade. It’s a weapon as well as a fan. And, it won’t even hurt if you stick your tongue on the blade while it’s spinning. Wanna try? Well, if you change your mind.

The thing cost a dollar! A fan-water-gun for a dollar. They probably sell for a penny in China. That’s obviously where it was made. I don’t even have to look.

I got a green one for Jill, ‘cause Jill doesn’t handle heat well. Neither do I, but I’m not quite as big a sissy as Jill. I cried about the cold once, but not the heat. I just sweat and bear the heat. Now, it’s so much easier to bear with my new water-gun-fan. It provides both comfort and firepower. It’s genius. Did I mention it cost a dollar?

Oh, and speaking of Jill, you wanna know what she said to me? Quit shaking your head. That was rhetorical. My kid sister told me that my legs are whiter than hers. We invited her up last weekend, so I put her to work sanding some furniture that Kay plans to paint. I’m headed outside in my sanding shorts and she makes her white-leg comment.

Can you believe that? Is that something you tell your big brother? It’s true as all get out, but it’s way past rude. Kind of like the news of the potato chip cookie I’m not getting.

Because of Jill, I’ve been wearing shorts all week. No, not the same pair. That was more funny than rude, but be careful.

Regardless, it’s gonna be a shorts summer for Mark. I’m gonna macho-up these legs or know the reason why. I even mowed the yard in shorts yesterday. I don’t usually do that ‘cause of the chiggers, mosquitoes and sticker weeds. I hate sticker weeds. But, I mowed the whole yard without messing myself up. My legs are still marshmallow white, but there are a few scratches on ‘em now. Makes me look tough. Like I’m a Cat Whisperer or something.

I just said that, ‘cause of Kay’s favorite show. She’s probably watching one of her dozen or so taped episodes at this very moment. “Dog Whisperer” not “Cat Whisperer.” The world’s only Cat Whisperer blew his brains out back in ’87.

If anything ever happened to me, I’m pretty sure Kay would marry Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer. She really likes the guy.

Mostly she likes the dogs. We don’t have a dog, but if we did, it would be the best-behaved pet on the planet. Kay has learned a bunch from Cesar. I think she could even tame a pit wolf. She’d show that bubba who was the pack leader.

As soon as Kay went inside, the breeze picked up. Feel that? I don’t even need the fan. That’s why I had it clipped to my utility apron.

We’re gonna need this breeze in a couple of weeks. That’s when the family is planning to go to the drive-in in Tomball. I didn’t even know there was one. Clint, Big Al’s boy, suggested the venture. He takes his family there regularly. He’s got three small kids, so a drive-in is the best place to see a movie.

To be honest, I’m not crazy about the idea. The drive-in was great when I was a kid, but it holds a less appeal now. I’m only going ‘cause of the nostalgia factor. And, ‘cause it’s one of the few things the family can do together that doesn’t require a Nerf Football.

I just hope the fireflies don’t come out at the drive-in. If they do, I’ll probably have to put a leash on Kay to keep her from wandering off. Every once in awhile I have to act like I’m the pack leader. Rarely, but it happens.

END

Conroe over the years

2009-06-01T11:00:00.008-05:00

Jasmine, an absolute doll... and super interviewer

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 1, 2009
“The changes that are Conroe”

A top-level rookie reporter interviewed me last week. Her name is Jasmine. She’s almost nine. They’re getting younger all the time.

Jasmine is my grandniece. I think that’s what you call your brother’s granddaughter. She’s a grandniece. Like I said, she’s almost nine. All youngsters are almost the next year old. Seems important to them that you know that.

The interview had to do with a school assignment. Jasmine had to interview someone who had lived in Conroe for over five years. She was supposed to get the interviewee’s take on the changes in the area.

She interviewed Big Al last year about something else. This year she chose her favorite uncle. I can only assume that she was looking for some interesting answers this time.

The teacher made Jasmine’s assignment much easier by supplying the questions. All Jasmine had to do was write down my answers. Some of the questions could’ve been answered with a yes or no, but the teacher left several lines on the questionnaire to fill in. I had to remind the reporter that her teacher probably wanted more than one-word answers. Just a guess.

Jasmine is a very shy reporter. Each question started in a whisper and tapered off. “How long have you lived in Conroe?” – “How long have I killed a toad?” – “No, Uncle Mark. Here, see?” -- “Oh! Lived in Conroe.”

“Let’s see. Your Aunt Kay and I have lived in the Conroe area off and on for 38 years.” Jasmine started writing. The girl has great pencilmanship, too. So much better than I had. At almost nine, I think my interview would’ve been funnier than Jasmine’s, but it wouldn’t have mattered, ‘cause nobody could’ve read it. I was a messer. Still am.

The next question dealt with the changes I’ve seen since moving to Conroe. I told Jasmine that there are more highways now, but also more traffic. As Jasmine wrote this down, I started explaining stuff to my nephew Clint, Jasmine’s dad and Big Al’s son. Clint is so much nicer than his old man. And, no. You should not tell Al I said that. The guy will hurt me.

I went on to tell Jasmine that there are more banks, too. Hundreds of them. Maybe millions. If you set me on the outskirts of Conroe, and gave me a bag of rocks, I could walk from one side of town to the next by throwing and hitting either a bank or a Mexican food place. I’d walk to the place I hit, grab another rock and hit another bank or Mexican food place. Probably make it all the way to Montgomery like that. Location of just a few of the Mexican food restaurants in Conroe. All the banks, wouldn't fit.

I’ve been with the same bank ever since living in Conroe. But, that one bank has had at least six different names. I don’t really know what that means. Doesn’t sound good, though, does it?

I told Jasmine that I lived in Conroe during a time when there was only one Mexican food place. It was El Pollino or nothing. The only other “big” place to eat was The Moon Palace. It was south of town. It was a Chinese place that had great fried shrimp. We ate there about once a year with the Plilers. It was expensive, and I couldn’t get the Plilers to buy our meal. Best friends. Big Whoop.

Other than those two places you had only burger joints. Good, burger joints. The Oasis was super. It had carhops. They’d put little umbrellas in some of your drinks. That meant a lot to me for some reason.

There were two movie places in town, but neither could hold a candle to what we have now. Stadium seating is the only way to go. With the mall there in the Woodlands and The Grand just north of Conroe… well, life is good.

Speaking of the Woodlands. When I first moved here I was working for the Texas Forest Service. I remember standing out in the middle of the woods in ankle deep water talking with a representative from Mitchell Industries. The guy was telling me about all the plans for the area. He told me that where we were standing was gonna be a high school. I thought, not in my lifetime. I was in the woods! Standing in water! Low and behold when I became a teacher a few years later, my first job was at McCullough High, the place in the middle of the woods.
McCullogh High in The Woodlands. (It's now a Jr. High. I hate that.)

Speaking of forest, that’s what much of the Conroe area was when I first saw it. Not anymore. When we build around here, we like to start from bare ground. So much easier to build when you don’t have to protect vegetation. And, we end up with businesses that are so much easier to see from the highway. Any highway.

When you drive to the west side of I-45 at 105, you can find Schlotzsky’s right over there across the massive expanse of concrete parking lot. It’s in that strip mall that’s just in front of the apartments. There’s not a tree or shrub to obstruct your view.

You go to The Woodlands and ask someone where Schlotzsky’s is and they’ll point to some trees and tell you that it’s just behind them. Can’t see the place for the trees. Harder to find, but the getting there is so much nicer.

That was the plan from the beginning. That’s why they call it The Woodlands. Foresight was taken. Since not much planning was involved during the growth of Conroe, an appropriate name might be “The Concrete.” Looks a lot like what we got.

Of course, love it or leave it some will say to me. That’s a ready answer to complainers. I happen to love it. The Conroe area is home. I particularly like what they’ve done to the downtown. I remember on election night in 1972 when they closed downtown to traffic, so they could post election results on big chalkboards on the Town Square. I wasn’t pleased with the outcome of the election, but I did enjoy the closeness of community. The new facelift shows a greater sense of pride. Gives us a sense of community.

Of course, Jasmine didn’t get a fraction of this written down. While her writing is neater and she can spell better than I can, she can’t write as fast. Fast is good. But, she did end up with some sweet, non-controversial answers. I think that’s what her teacher wanted.

I’m pretty sure that Big Al’s interview last year was just a bunch of yes’s and no’s. Not an easy interview. You don’t want to press the guy for details. While he wouldn’t get upset at Jasmine, he’d hurt me. “Love it or I’ll hurt you” is his motto. The big goob. No, you don’t need to tell him I said that.

END

A sense of May

2009-05-26T09:12:00.007-05:00

MARK’S ARTICLE – May 26, 2009
“Crossing that stage”

With the possible exception of December, the month of May has the greatest feel of any month of the year. It’s got that end of school feel. Is there any better feel? I leave you to ponder.

For 45 years of my life, the end of school meant something to me. I spent 12 years in primary and secondary schools, seven years in college, and then 26 more years back in high school. Kept losing my diploma. I mean, I was a teacher. That’s what I meant.

Today, it generally takes more time to get out of primary school. That’s because of kindergarten. You’ve gotta go to that. They’ve also got Pre-K for those way eager to start school. I think there’s even a Pre-pre-K. That’s where they teach you not to eat dirt or stick your tongue on lightbulbs. Boy, could I have used that course.

Like a few of you, I lived in the day when kids didn’t have to start learning stuff till they were six. Kindergarten was optional. No one in our neighborhood opted.

Regardless, I knew the important stuff. Like the story of your toes. Before I started school, I already knew which toe went to market, which one stayed home and which cried “Wee, wee, wee.” I didn’t understand why the toes did that, but I knew which did what. You could even mix my toes up and I still knew. It would hurt when Dennis did that, but I could still tell them apart.

I don’t know how far I could count at the age of six, but it was probably way up there. Up to maybe eleventy. Oh, and I could sing the theme song to “Have Gun Will Travel.” Still can. Wanna hear? Well, that’s not very nice.

Just about everything else I know I had to learn at school. Adding and taking away apples, making a vase out of a Windex bottle, tracing somebody’s profile by using a lamp and piece of paper stuck to the wall. Important stuff like that.

Oh, and finding how much “x” is, learning the importance of photosynthesis, and determining how Imperialism helped push Europe into World War I. The kind of stuff that doesn’t stick with you for long.

Yes, it took me 12 years to get through public school. That’s 12 months of May. Each was an absolute joy. The only worrisome part of the month was the part during finals. You never wanted to bomb so you’d have to go to summer school. That’d be way beyond bad.
The football players shaved their heads before the Rayburn game. It was a tradition. We won that year, too. Yea, Eagles!

The best… and the scariest May of my life was the May of ’67. That was the year I graduated from Pasadena High. Yep, I’m that old. I can remember how excited most of us were during graduation. That’s when school always ended before Memorial Day. It was the law. I guess.

At graduation we felt so special. Acted as if we had accomplished something that few had. Like, from that moment on, life would run in greased grooves. The worst of it was over.

Boy, were we dunderheads. Looking back, I can’t say that my school years were the worst or the best of my life. I will say they were the most influential and memorable.

Have you signed up with “Classmates.com”? I haven’t joined, but I registered my name. If I really want to trade info with any of my old classmates, I’ll have to get serious enough to fork over some money. It’s not much, but I don’t see the good that would come of it. I really liked most of my classmates, but I liked them the way they were. I’m curious as all get out about how they turned out, but it’s probably best I don’t find out.

It’s so weird how the friendships we thought would last for years and years just fizzled after graduation. On graduation night we were laughing and hugging one another like we were friends for life. Then it was over.

Most encounters I’ve had with ex-classmates over the years have been a bit awkward. After a few minutes we discover that about the only thing we have in common is high school.

That’s understandable. It’s sad, but understandable. The things we managed to keep are the memories. I’ve got a bunch. On my deathbed I can see me remembering my high school buddies, football games, the teachers who influenced me… It’s hard for a teacher not to influence you one way or the other. I’ve got some good and bad teacher memories. Mostly good.

Mr. James Massey (1967), my Sociology teacher. Responsible for sending me on a journey that put me where I am today. And, he never knew. It's the way of things.

Unless I die with Alzheimer’s, I’ll remember Mr. Massey. I wouldn’t be living where I am or doing what I’m doing had he not given us that one brief assignment 42 years ago. The outcome of that assignment sent me in a direction that took a lot of twists and turns, but it eventually put me in Montgomery County where I ended up teaching, writing and meeting the people I now know. I’ve probably mentioned the experience more than once. Can’t say I won’t write about it again. Just not today.

Yes, so many thoughts, dreams, and decisions were born in our school years. Everything that happened seemed to stick right to me. I suppose it had to do with being so self-conscious. So unsure. If just a few of the things I worried about had actually happened to me, I’d… well, I’d be a much bigger mess than I am.

Too many thoughts of too many fears. Probably the big reason I was so happy in May of ’67. Well, as I think back, I was also a little sad. I guess you could say I was happy sad.

Leaving most of the friends of my youth was a pain. But, fortunately, I got over it. Most of us do. But, leaving the memories has been impossible. They stick forever.

And, what of that May feeling? Well, it’s pretty much gone. There’s still a hint of it in the air, just not like it was. It’s a feeling of… Oh, of being happy sad.
END

Sorting dreams and container lids

2009-05-18T10:09:00.005-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – May 18, 2009
“Need some help here”

Two big mysteries have cropped up of late. I wouldn’t bother you with ‘em, but where else can I go? Kay is of no help. Doesn’t see reason for concern. She’s like Nero without the violin.

One mystery has to do with a dream I had last night. The other is about plastic food containers. No, not containers for plastic food, but plastic containers for real food. Please take this seriously. Some of you are apparently taking Kay’s side on this.

Okay, which mystery do you want first? No, I’d rather start with the dream. It’s a weirdity wrapped in a puzzlement.

First off, though, I must give my qualifier. I’m big on qualifiers. Have you noticed? I’ve made no mystery of the fact that I don’t think you should place much significance in dreams. Your dreams. As you sleep, your mind goes all over the place. Tries to catalog the incidents of the day. Stuff you heard, thought you heard, glanced at, ogled, tripped over… Your brain has to file all of that stuff somewhere, so you can recall it when you get old and your short-term memory goes to pot.

So, your dreams mean nothing. Don’t try to make sense of ‘em. It will only frustrate. I remember Mom used to get sad, and I’d ask what was wrong. Sometimes her gloom would be caused by a dream. One time she said she dreamed that Dad was dating the Miller girl at high school. I said, “Mother, Dad’s been dead for 20 years!” She said, “I know that, but the dream seemed so real. And, watch your tone, young man.” There was no reasoning with her.

I think the best policy is to just keep your dreams to yourself. No one really wants to hear about ‘em. Least of all me… or I. Neither of us.

With the qualifier out of the way, let me tell you my dream. My dreams usually mean something. Try to figure this one out, okay?

In the dream, I’m teaching school again over at Oak Ridge High. In one of my classes I only have four students. -- Are you ready for this? -- My fourth period class consisted of the Nelson family -- Ozzie, Harriet, David and Ricky.

That’s not the scary part. The scary part is that the semester is coming to an end and I have no grades for the Nelsons. My grade book for fourth period is blank. I only gave the family one assignment the whole semester. It was some stupid report, and I lost their papers.

All we did the whole year was eat ice cream and talk about their TV program. (For my younger readers, let me say that the Nelsons had a sitcom back in the 50s and 60s. “The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet” was a non-threatening, whimsical, wholesome 30-minute sitcom. You had every assurance that at the end of each episode nothing bad would’ve happened and everyone would still like each other. Pure fiction… and a wonderful escape.)

In my dream, I couldn’t really enjoy my time with the Nelsons ‘cause I was so worried about not having any grades for them. I don’t think Harriet or David minded. They were both nicer than nice. But, Ozzie and Ricky seemed a little upset. Disappointed even. I couldn’t handle that.

Fortunately, I woke up when Kay elbowed me. Apparently I don’t talk in my sleep. I just moan with an occasional gurgle. That’s what Kay says. Let’s see if her elbow left a mark. Do you see anything?

Okay, back to the dream. What does it mean? What could it mean? It’s too stupid not to mean something. David is the only Nelson still alive, and he’s not gonna care to talk to me about the experience.

What is my mind trying to tell me? Am I gonna get a call to teach old actors? If I do, I need to come up with assignments that I can grade. I don’t want Moochie or that kid on “Fury” to look at me real sad.

If you will, a couple of you – uh, Sandy and Louis – how ‘bout working on the explanation of that dream, while I tell the others about the next mystery. Has nothing to do with dreams. I thought you’d all be happy about that.

No this next whatsit has to do with lids of food storage containers. Not as bizarre as the Nelson mystery, but much more frustrating. Seems my containers outnumber my lids by at least two to one. Something is happening to my lids, and I can’t imagine what it is.

At no time in my life have I ever kept a container while tossing the lid. Only crazy people do that. Non-lidders they’re called. I’m not like that, yet my lids keep escaping the perimeter of this domicile and I’d like to know how and why. Or, where. Yeah, where are they going? Is there a pile of ‘em in the attic? Are they sitting there with my missing spoons, pocketknife and red jacket?

Kay doesn’t have any answers. What’s more, she doesn’t seem to care. Get over it, Boo-key. Sometimes she calls me “Boo-key.” I don’t know how she spells it in her mind, but that’s the way it sounds. Another big mystery.

I may have to hire a private investigator for this one, ‘cause I see that none of you give a small rodent’s posterior.

I guess we might as well check on Sandy and Louis and see what they’ve come up with on the Ozzie and Harriet dream. Hey, guys what have—Where are they? Didn’t even stick around for the end of the article. Now, that’s just rude. Not mysterious. I can see why they did it. But, rude. Really rude.

Okay, tell you what. For those of you who stuck with me through this, I invite you to e-mail any of your weird dreams to Big Al at brothers@fromtherooftop.net. He’ll be glad to interpret them for you. Include any and all other problems, too. Don’t mention my name.

Oh, and if you’re the one stealing my container lids… well, cut it out, okay? And, if anyone is missing some container bottoms… well, we need to talk. – Next time.

You can contact Mark Hayter at mhayter@consolidated.net.

END

Cheyenne: The perfect figure of a cowboy... or anybody else for that matter.

2009-05-05T09:03:00.012-05:00

MARK'S ARTICLE – May 5, 2009 (Cinco de Mayo) “Cheyenne Bodie”

My best time of day is when Kay and I sit down for supper in the living room and watch “Cheyenne.” If you can’t lose a few worries while watching a good ol’ black and white Western… well, you’re way too focused.

After we’ve seen all of the “Cheyenne” reruns, suppertime is really going to take a dive. I hate losing a good routine.

I quit taping “Cheyenne” after I noticed our DVR had collected 33 of episodes. The series aired from ’55 to ’63, so I figure there are a bunch more coming.

Big Al got me so tickled once that I spit Dr Pepper outta my nose when he said that Cheyenne looked so good that he (Al) would almost consider switching teams. Don't tell Al that I told that on him.

By the way, if DVR is not the greatest non-lifesaving invention in the world, it’s one of the top three. For readers not aware of this television wonder, let me say that DVR is a rather cheap feature of cable and satellite TV that allows you to tape programs without the tapes. Hey, I had trouble believing it, too.

With DVR, you can pull up a TV guide looking schedule on the screen, highlight a program with your remote and easily program your TV to tape all episodes, only new episodes or only the one episode. Probably have another choice in there somewhere, but I can’t remember. If you hit “all episodes” it doesn’t matter how many times or at what times that program airs on that particular channel, it’s gonna be recorded for you.

That way you can watch what your recordings anytime you want. You can even start watching a feature that’s not through taping. Is this a good life or what!

With DVR you’ll never have to watch another commercial. The gross commercial with the gobs mucus talking? Zap! I refuse to listen to snot. And, get this, if someone calls while I’m watching a football game, I just freeze the picture, and start it up again after I’ve told Dennis that it was a 1965 Pontiac Tempest that we used to have. I don’t know why he comes up with these weird questions.

But, back to “Cheyenne.” What I like to do is to slow them down some of the scenes to pick up on some of the production problems. There have been several shootouts where Cheyenne draws his gun and fires right into the ground. The bad guy he’s facing will grab his chest and fall. That kind of stuff was seldom apparent on our old Philco.

You’ll see a posse charging down a road. They’ll pass a tree leaning to the right. After traveling 20 miles, you’ll see the same posse riding down the same road, but the tree is on the other side. The guys just stopped, turned around and rode back. So much easier than moving your camera crew all across the country. Just travel over the same ground several times.

In yesterday’s episode, Cheyenne approached a fort. At the entrance there were two chains hanging above the gate. They were used to support the sign that held the name of the fort, only there was no sign. What they did was take the sign down so the scene could be used in multiple episodes. It could be Fort Smith one week, Fort Griffith the next, and Fort Laramie after that. They didn’t have to keep coming back and pay extras to look like they’re manning the walls. Just use the same footage for all fort episodes.

Cheyenne might ride into a town called Zachary Hills. Later in the episode he comes into Laredo. It’s the same town.

You’ll see a building at the end of the street that will have a fake tree in front. When they change the town name, they’ll remove the tree and put a horse trough. No way were they going to construct a new town for every episode. Today, they use computers to change the appearance. Back then they used fake trees, barber poles, hotel signs, horse railings, people wearing sombreros… Gave the town a completely different look.

Regardless of the production quality, Kay and I are really enjoying “Cheyenne.” I’m pretty sure Kay likes it ‘cause Clint Walker is probably the greatest looking cowboy ever rode the West. Walker is 6’ 5” to 6’ 7” depending on your source. Built like an Austin water tower. Has a tenor voice that practically sings the lines. And, get this; he’s got good hair. A lot of hair. That means so much… to some. Take my word.

It was really a hoot the few times Jill watched Cheyenne with us. Each time a female interest came on the scene, Jill would make a comment representing what the woman was thinking. A sweet little town girl would walk past Cheyenne and Jill would have the girl thinking, “Hoochie mama, I’d like to lasso that and drag it home.” Jill can be so crude.

Of course, Cheyenne is more than good-looking. The man is a good guy. He seldom drinks, doesn’t gamble, and usually takes the first punch. He’ll just stand there while some thug telegraphs one of those roundhouse punches. After the first hit, Cheyenne comes alive. All of the people he fights are smaller than he is, so he has to act like he’s getting beat up for a second or two, just to make it interesting.

The fight scenes are almost laughable. When I slow the scene down, you can see that they’re missing each other by a mile. And, it’s always easy to spot Clint Walker’s double. I believe it’s the same guy who was Rockford’s stuntman.

Regardless of it all, each episode ends well. The good guy wins; the bad guys are either in jail or taking the proverbial dirt nap. When it’s over you just sense that all is right with the world. If only for a minute or two.

Then Kay and I put away the dishes, clean up the kitchen and come back to watch the news that had been taping during “Cheyenne”. We’ll zip right through the commercials.

Yes, DVR has really revolutionized TV viewing. It saves so much time. Last December I watched two football games in one hour. Lost a lot of commentary, but I think I’m better for it.

And, yes, a lot of TV is bad. That’s why I watch only the good stuff. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that they quit watching the news, because it’s always bad. You’ve gotta follow the news just to stay informed. But, you also need a good black and white Western every now and again just to get your mind off the news.

I recommend Cheyenne. Don’t know if you picked up on that. I’ve got 30 more episodes before I have to tape again. Life is good.

You can contact Clint Walker by visiting his website at www.clintwalker.com. Oh, and there is a great interview with Walker at: http://www.classicimages.com/past_issues/view/?x=/1999/april99/walker.html

END

Rooftop's first political statement

2009-05-02T09:58:00.003-05:00

Kay and I attended a gathering for Houston Mayor Bill White in Montgomery County recently. We're hoping he'll take over Kay Bailey's Senate seat when she bails. The lady in front of me is friend and movie producer Bea Rouse. She's a peach.

Notice how Mayor White acts like we're old friends. Not sure he knew Kay and I were behind him. He was being besieged by so many people that he didn't pay attention to me much until Bea told him I wrote for the paper. He didn't know that I write silly stuff, so he seemed impressed. The red dot back there is a balloon. Cute. Took me 20 minutes to get it situated just right.

By the way, Al couldn't make it to the fundraiser, but he's a big Bill White fan, too. Pretty sure.

Grandparent Phenomona

2009-04-29T14:19:00.012-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – April 29, 2009
“Grandparents”

The guy who mathematically proved that “life is not fair” died last week. Don’t know if you knew that. Gull Bernard was a retired physicist from Montana Tech. Go Diggers!

Gull was killed at an old folk’s home in Four Buttes while singing “Tambourine Man” during “Dancing with the Stars.” Blunt force trauma they called it. Tragic.

Obviously, Bernard didn’t display a great deal of common sense at the Four Buttes Nursing Home, but he was genius. No denying that. If you ever questioned the fairness of life, you certainly didn’t after GB published his works. Because of him, we can now say with all certainty that life stinks. Sometimes. Math doesn’t lie.

Eeyor was an inspiration for Bernard.

Society owes Bernard so much. Teachers, parents, investment brokers… Where would we all be without the one answer that negates any comeback? Just imagine the time that has been saved, the arguments ended, the frustration snuffed out by GB’s finding. And, the guy didn’t even win a Nobel… which adds irony to his finding. I’m sure Bernard would’ve rather had the Prize than the irony. Who wouldn’t?

I don’t really know what gave Gull Bernard the passion for his quest. What made him so tirelessly seek the solution to the Holy Grail of human aggravation? Who knows? Who cares? And, where on earth am I going with this?

Well, I’ll tell you. Grandparents! I’m really ticked off at Mawmaw’s, Pawpaws, Daddaws and the whole realm of grandparently behavior. It’s just not fair, I tell you! It stinks in fact.

Kay, Jill and I went to the 3-D movie last week. Uh, “Monsters and Aliens” I think it’s called. Great flick. I dare you to watch it without a big smile on your face. Turn around and look at everybody wearing the 3-D glasses, and you’ll add a giggle to your smile. So, go see it, but not with your grandkids.

Grandpa Al with Cash and Jasmin
I don’t know how many grandparents there were in that theatre. Probably thousands. And, each pair had grandkids with ‘em. About a million. Oh, the horror.

Some grandparents should not be allowed in public with their grandkids. No movies, no grocery shopping, nowhere with a waitress or buffet line. If you want to take them somewhere,
take them to a park or for a walk down a railroad tracks. Somewhere less peopled.

I don’t mean to hurt your feelings
GPs, but some of you don’t know how to discipline your grandkids. Just don’t. I don’t even think you try. While I got a big kick out of the 3-D movie, the younger kids lost interest about 15 minutes into the flick.

The two old peop— uh, grandparents sitting in front of us had no clue. Not a one. They gave the kids popcorn, candy and drinks. The kids ate some, played with some, and then started roaming. “Uh, Madison, maybe you shouldn’t run up and down the aisle like that. Uh, Modesty, no I can’t stand in the chair and jump like you, Darling. I might hurt myself.”

From this one example, you’re probably thinking that I’m upset at the kids for ruining the whole movie for me. I’m not and they didn’t. Not close. I tell you, there was stuff coming out of that screen that you could reach and grab. I had a blast.

Faolan and Rowan with Gamma Jill
No, what I’m upset at is the fact that I didn’t have any grandparents who doted on me. No one in my neighborhood did. I never got a birthday gift, a Christmas present, or taken anywhere by a grandparent. I don’t even think it was expected back then. Grandnieces and nephew at Unca Mark and Aunt Kay's house

Grandma and Grandpa Teegarden had too many grandkids to buy stuff for, and we only saw them a few days out of the year. If they had ever thought to take us to the movie, they would’ve had to drag all the cousins along. Popcorn and soda pop? I don’t think so.

I wish you could’ve seen those kids at the 3-D movie. They had so much to munch on that they didn’t even care. There was a time when I would’ve crawled under the seat across that sticky floor and scavenged. A time not too long ago.
Do you know what my brothers and sisters give their grandkids at Christmas and on birthdays? Everything. They give them everything! When I was a kid, we had one toy box for seven kids. My grandnieces and nephews each have an entire room and part of the house for a toy box. There’s nothing fair about it

You take one step into the Plilers’ house and you’re going to think the place is a shrine to grandchildren. – “Okay, this wall is for pictures of Ryan. This one is Emily’s. And they both share the wall around the TV. Let me take you to their guestrooms. No, don’t touch that.”

Compare that to Grandma and Grandpa Teegarden. When we arrived in Bristow, my grandparents made us stand in the yard so they could figure out who was who. -- “Now, is Dennis the older one, or— No, you’re Jill, right?” -- As swe et a couple as you’d ever meet, but they had too many grandkids to get too excited about any one of us

I’ve heard more than one grandparent -- No one I’ve mentioned in print. I’m covering part of my anatomy here. – tell me that if they could have just skipped the kids and gone straight to the grandkids, they would have.

Why is that? What is it that comes over a reasonably sane older person when a grandchild arrives? Whatever it is skipped a couple of generations. Most children today have one set of parents who treat them reasonably well, and two sets of grandparents that are way, way too generous and giving. They’ll take ‘em anywhere and buy them anything.

And that really ticks me. It shows a massive lack of fairness. I missed out and I’m in major sulk mode. I may not be smart enough, like Gull Bernard, to mathematically prove the unfairness of it, but I can sure feel it. It hurts.

Not as much as the oak TV tray Gull took to the side of the head at the Four Buttes Nursing Home when he started his Bob Dylan tune. No one even knows if he was aware it was “Dancing with the Stars” night. Not a Dylan fan in the crowd. Tragic… with a touch of irony.

Gull Bernard the day before the Mr. Tambourine song.

END

FRIDAY

2009-04-24T07:38:00.004-05:00

LOOK OUT WEEKEND HERE WE COME.
Folks be safe and have a good one.............
If you go to the movies let us know what you saw and how you did or didn't like it.
Call your family, say hi.
One more thing, our sister Jill is havin a birthday today.....

All together group!!!!

"HAPPY B-DAY JILLY-DOG"
We love you..................

FROM THE ROOFTOP

I woulda been a great lizard monster

2009-04-20T15:02:00.008-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – April 20, 2009 “Alien lizard monster”

I’m not a real monster, but I sounded like one in at audition last week. I was trying out to be the mean alien creature voice in one of those Japanese animated monster series. The Japanese are big into monsters. I’m not even sure they know why.

The audition was at a building down in the bowels of Houston. One of the shady areas. A part of town where doors only open after you’ve been given the once over by a guy lookin’ at a monitor.

The people in the studio acted genuinely nice. They probably really are, but it’s hard to tell with show business people. Been my experience they’ll act just sweet as can be, all the while they’re wettin’ on your foot.

I was most impressed with the inside of the studio. State of the art… whatever that means. However, like I say, the area was scary. I sure wouldn’t set up a snow cone business in the parking lot. -- “I’m sorry, Sir. Did you say ‘You want it in a cup’ or ‘Stick-‘em up?’ You kinda mumbled there.”

I had about two days to prepare for the audition. I was going for the part of either the alien or a Marine Colonel. I really wanted to be the alien. My instructions were to “Sound like an alien lizard monster reading Shakespeare.” How hard can that be?

When I showed up for the audition, there were two other actors in the waiting room. Most of the time actors pretty much ignore me. Ignore each other. But, I had seen one of the guys at a few other auditions. In fact he stole a part in a Kia commercial from me. I was a shoo-in, but noooo. Those Korean guys wanted the professional looking actor. Couldn’t see my potential. They had no vision. No snacks, either. I hated that.

Bob was nice as could be. He always is. Here we’re competing against one another, yet, he’s always free with advice. He’s taken a bunch of acting courses. In fact, he was right out of an audition class. He knows his stuff.

Did you know that at an audition you’re not supposed to shake hands with the casting director? I had no idea. It’s apparently not acceptable in the acting field. I am so stupid. One can only imagine the number of roles I didn’t get ‘cause of my stupid hand. – “Hello, Fredrick. I’m Mark.” -- Yaaaaaa! The hand! Not the hand!

It’s so hard to know what to do sometimes. Isn’t it? Weird thing, when the casting director came out to get Bob, he held out his hand and Bob shook it. That really threw me for a loop. What’s right? What is truth? I didn’t know, but I was bound and determined to slap his hand away when my turn came. I wasn’t gonna be tricked into an etiquette faux pas. – “What are you doing taking my hand, you idiot? Didn’t you take the class?”

When my turn came, I didn’t really slap the guy’s hand away. I was on the edge, but opted for civility. After all, I really wanted the role of the horrible alien lizard monster.

When I got into the sound booth, I asked if I should sit on the tall stool. The sound technician guy said, “Why don’t you stand?” Ah. I read better when I’m seated, but I didn’t wanna push. The guy then adjusted the screened microphone to my height.

Before leaving the booth, he gave me a pair of big ol’ earphones. I acted just like I knew what was coming, ‘cause I did. Remember the cave monster movie I was in? Well, it hasn’t come out yet, but it’s gonna. It has to. Anyway, I had to do voiceovers for that thing. Three years after they shot it, they called me to Arkansas to do some screaming and yelling in a sound booth. During the filming my screams apparently were not picked up as well as they needed to be. And, let me tell you, I screamed big time on camera. In the booth, I about ripped my vocal cords.

I was all ready to do the menacing Shakespearean alien lizard voice, when the director’s voice came through the earphones. “Read the Marine officer part first. “D’oh!” I think I hurt his ear. He asked if I was okay. – “Yes, I just— forget it. Let me get in the mood here.”

So, I read for the Marine guy. I growled and yelled and sounded really tough and in charge. “Hank, you try to flank ‘em on the left! Miles, you go right up the middle and rip some serious alien—“ That kind of stuff. I can’t tell you the real lines ‘cause they’re supposed to be top secret. If the script gets out, the Japanese will do a Godzilla on the studio. Another reason not to set up a snow cone booth in the parking lot.

“Okay, Mark. Read the last three sentences again, but put more ‘mean’ into it.” – “Grrr, rrrraaaaa. Maaaka maaaka boom boom.” I was fierce.

“Great. Okay, now do the alien part. Don’t do it too high, though. Everybody’s trying to pitch their voice high.” Pitch their voice high? An alien lizard-like creature with a high voice. Get real!

So, I got into it. Nearly scared myself. “Now, go out and destroy them! Eat their gizzards and play with their hinter-most parts!” During the read I could see the director and technician laughing. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not.

When I exited the booth, the director said, “That was great, Bad Boy. We’ll call you.” Right. That’s what they always say. They brag on you and pat you on the back. Tell you you’re a shoo-in and that they’ll “call you.” It’s the foot-wetting thing.

I’ve always wondered what they tell the person who really gets the part. “Well, you stunk on ice, but you were so much better than the last guy. Whatta joke! The idiot even shook my hand.”

Acting. Who knows what’s right. Boy, I sure wanted to be that alien lizard-like monster. Those Japanese know how to come up with great monsters. Except for Rodan. Whatta hoot. That big bird actually had fire coming out of its tail. I don’t even think they now why.

END

Rooftop garden call

2009-04-15T11:55:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – April 15, 2009

"Garden time"

ROOFTOP -- This has got to be the coolest and clearest day we’ll see for many months. I’m thinking till late fall. After this cool spell leaves, we’re bound to be looking at nothing but heat.

Do you see a cloud up there? Not a one. And, look at this. I’m wearing long sleeves and it feels comfortable. The sun is right on my shoulders, I’m in long sleeves, sitting on a metal roof and I’m comfortable.

It could stay like this the rest of the year and I’d be happy. That’s ‘cause I don’t plan to participate in many water sports this year. Last year? Hey, I was out there. I wore my Speedo up until late October.

You’ll be glad to know that I was just joking about that. But, I did wear my shorts a lot. So much that you’d think my legs would show at least the hint of a tan. Nothing.

By the way, before we get too far into this, why don’t you walk to the edge over there and wave at the neighbors’ dog. It’ll take him just a few seconds to get his barking taken care of.

The dog is three-legged, one eyed, and has an infected ear. His name is Lucky. And, yes, that was another stab at humor. His name is Lucky, but my new neighbors, Diane and Jerry named him Lucky after they rescued him from the pound. Lucky has a good disposition, but enjoys barking. It’s what he does. Go ahead and wave.

There you go. A few more seconds and… Okay, he’s through. If you were a lizard or a leaf or something like that, he’d bark for a good while longer. With people, he just wants recognition. "Hey, I’m over here. A little more to your left. Arf, arf! See? Okay, I’m through. Go back to your business." Nice dog.

Now, if you were trying to break into the house, Lucky would climb that fence and run over here and sink his incisors into your right calf. Might even get some molar action going. A great watchdog. If you were a lizard breaking into the house… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Beg pardon? Yeah, I need to mow. Great subject change. Sure hate to mow over all the wildflowers, though. I’ve got some weeds about to take over the east side of the house, but they have such pretty blooms. Oh, I’ll go ahead and mow, but it’s gonna bother me.

I’ve got Kay’s bluebonnets staked out on the west side of the house. They came out just beautiful this year. Tall as all get out. And they’re covering so much more—Oops, it’s the phone. Give me a second. No, don’t wave at Lucky again. He’ll think you’re messing with him.

"Yes, Sweetie. You betcha. Sounds great. All right. Love you, too." – Oh, brother! Give me another minute. Might wanna plug your ears. - - "Khaaaaaan!"

All right, I’m better now. That was my Captain Kirk "Wrath of Khan" yell. You’re bound to have picked up on that. Did you notice the way I was looking up during the scream? I use it to vent. Sometimes it helps. Not so much this time.

Where was I? Oh, the phone call. It was Kay. The only other person I call "Sweetie" is Big Al. Kay said she would be coming home from work with 12 tomato plants. Asked me to dig a garden plot for ‘em just this side of the hedge over yonder. In the front yard!

I really thought I was going to make it this year without digging a garden. Kay would mention planting something, and I’d segue into grocery shopping or eating out. -- "Garden? That reminds me we’re about outta bread. Think I’ll start a list." -- That kind of stuff. I’m pretty good at segueing. I like saying it, too. Segue.

I want you to look down there where she wants the garden. Do you see how far it is from the faucet? I’ll be dragging that hose 100 feet to water tomatoes. Then I’ll hafta roll the thing back up. Gotta get a better hoseroller. -- Bound to be one word. Hoseroller.

If it were radish sprigs she was bringing, I wouldn’t mind. I could plant radishes on top of the turbo vent right there. Those things defy nurturing. Defy reasoning, too. Why did God give us radishes? You’d think the first person who tried one would’ve thrown the rest of ‘em at monkeys.

All through the summer Mom had a bowl of radishes on the table. About every other week I’d bite into one just to make sure I wasn’t missing something. A bitter, round crunchy thing. I don’t even know if you can get ‘em at the grocery store. I don’t even know why I’m talking about ‘em. It’s tomatoes I have to plant.

I love tomatoes. Other peoples’ tomatoes. Kay’s friend Linda is going to have a big ol’ plot of ‘em. Linda is the lady with the fishing pond. She and her husband let us fish on their place and eat fried chicken. Remember? I’m sure I could finagle some tomatoes out of ‘em. But, nooooo. Kay wants us to grow our own. Wants ME to grow our own. -- Memo to self: Never bring the phone to the roof again.

Okay, everybody climb down, but nobody leave. We’re digging a garden, people! And, I don’t wanna hear gripe one.

Beautiful day like this, and I’m gonna be digging in the yard. WE’LL be digging in the yard. Let’s see, 12 plants? I’m thinking two plots of six. Two really small plots. Maybe we should— Beg pardon? Yeah, wave at Lucky! Whistle at him, even. I’m way past caring. – Khaaaaaaan!

Mark Hayter can be reached at mhayter@consolidated.net.

END

Fishing with the girls article

2009-04-02T11:29:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – April 2, 2009 “Girls’ fishing trip”

Last weekend I went fishing with Kay and the girls. Originally, just the girls were supposed to go, but after my article about Kay and me buying fishing gear, I got invited. They made it sound like I was invited all along. Girls are so tricky. Have you noticed that

Linda, one of Kay’s friends, is the one who orchestrated the outing. Linda has a pond in the family. The Hayters have nothing like that. No fishing pond, no bowling alley, no income tax service… Nothing in the family. It’s so sad.

Uh, the other fisher women were Linda’s daughter Jamie, Jamie’s friend Bridget, and K-2. We all—Beg pardon? Oh. K-2 is Linda and Kay’s buddy who is also named Kaye. Even though her name has an “e” on the end, it still sounds just like Kay. Weird how that works.

Here are Kaye, Kay and Linda at Linda's family pond.

So, to keep things from getting confusing, Kay-with-an-“e” said it was okay if I called her K-2. Now we all know that K-2 is the mountain in the Himalayas that keeps trading places with Everest as the tallest mountain in the world. But, Kay’s K-2 friend isn’t tall at all and doesn’t live anywhere near the Himalayas. See how complicated it gets?

Here are Bridget and Jamie. Each is an absolute peach!

Back to fishing. The really good thing about the outing was the fact that Linda’s husband Mike was there. I don’t like fishing with just girls. Never

have. I’ve got this misguided sense that girls depend on the guys to do the icky work. Just been my experience. So, I like at least one guy there who is more of a fisherman than I am, ‘cause I don’t want to be depended on for anything.

Truth is I’d much rather not handle worms. I can, but don’t wanna. And, I don’t like de-hooking live things. I don’t mind de-hooking a tire or, say, an okra pod, but I don’t like wrestling with a hooked fish. Fish just can’t grasp the concept. One minute you’re swimming around, and the next you’re hoisted outta the water by your mouth. Grandpas and people who are supposed to have an air of respectability say it doesn’t hurt the fish. That’s what they say… with a straight face.

The family pond was right across the street from Linda and Mike’s house. Just as scenic a place as it could be. It is horseshoe shaped and rimmed by pine, cypress, oak, sumac and poison ivy. Lots of poison ivy.

The ivy didn’t bother me all that much, but the trees sure did. They kept grabbing my fishing line. Took a bunch of my hooks. Used to, you could buy a whole see-through box of hooks for a buck. I paid three dollars for six hooks. Yeah, you heard me right. We’re talking 50-cent hooks! If they had been golf balls I wouldn’t have minded so much. But fish hooks! Platinum they must’ve been.

The trees loved the hooks. Loved the corks, too. The corks were more expensive than the hooks. Academy at one time might’ve had cheaper hooks and corks, but everything had been picked over by the time I got there. It was right after spring break, and every yokel and water-slapper in the county had been in there grabbing stuff.

I saw one guy with a gigantic rod and reel. The kind you take deep-sea fishing when the Great Whites are running. I asked him where he was going and he told me Lake Conroe. “I really wanna be able to cast a long ways,” he told me. I didn’t think he cared to hear advice from a guy who doesn’t like to touch worms, so I kept quiet. Felt sorry for the guy, though. Sure did.

Well, you don’t care about all of this. What you want to know is if we caught anything. Don’t you wanna know? People, work with me here.

(This is Mike. His fish is much smaller in person.
Notice how he's holding it right at the camera.)

Okay, we caught nothing in the afternoon. Not even any nibbles. I used a rubber minnow looking thing for about 15 minutes, and then a purple rubber worm for about an hour. Nothing.

I would’ve used minnows, but we didn’t have any. Mike said there weren’t any in the entire county. Maybe the state. Seems most of our minnows come from Arkansas. I didn’t know that. Mike said a big truck of minnows had been stopped at the Arkansas border and was being detained. Everyone between here and there was waiting for bait.

I don’t know what the big deal was. I guess they were trying to make sure there weren’t any of those flying carp in the batch. You know, those fish that jump out of the river when they hear a boat motor? They’ll jump out of the water and hit you right in the head or the groin. Those are the two places they always hit. Hey, I’ve seen it on TV.

Mike did manage to buy a few goldfish. I had never heard of people fishing with goldfish. I didn’t know how much he paid for ‘em, so I didn’t use any of ‘em. Kay didn’t mind. She put a big ol’ bubba right on her hook. Put it on herself. The girl surprises me sometimes.

Since the artificial bait wasn’t attracting anything, I finally grabbed a slimy ol’ worm and stuck him on the platinum hook. A big ol’ thing. The worm, not the hook. Talk about a struggle.

It was not until late evening when the fish started biting. I had already put my gear away. Not to worry. The only thing biting were small perch no bigger than your hand. No keepers. Kay didn’t mind. She hooked a bunch. She didn’t ask, but I kept de-hooking her catch just to make up for whining every time I had to put a worm on a hook. I figured I needed to show the girls at least the semblance of masculinity.
Kaye and Kay are watching corks at Linda's family pond.

At about dusk, we went back to the house where Mike fried up two gigantic platters of chicken. I pretty much made a pig of myself. I never got enough chicken when I was a kid. I might’ve mentioned that.

All in all, it was a terrific outing. While it’s true I left a lot of corks and hooks in the trees, it’s also true that I didn’t have to clean any fish, and I made it home with leftover fried chicken. Makes me glad that the minnow truck got detained. I’m thinking it was flying carp they were looking for. Those things will hit you right where it hurts. It’s known in the fish world as payback time.

Mark Hayter can be reached at mhayter@consolidated.net

END

HALFWAY TO THE WEEKEND

2009-04-01T08:34:00.000-05:00

It is Wednesday. The weather is nice, so have a good day!!!!

Mark's home remedies article

2009-03-23T10:14:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – March 23, 2009 “Home remedies”

Kay went to sleep last night with a bar of soap tied to her foot. A lovely, intelligent, talented woman with a bar of soap stuck to her foot. Just makes you want to read more, doesn’t it? Well, force yourself.

Kay got the bar of soap idea from Virginia. Seems our friend read this cockamamie story about a bar of soap at the foot of the bed preventing leg cramps. Well, I researched this and discovered that the remedy was pulled outta the air in 1833 by a Chinese philosopher given the name Tink Em Fun Nee Man. That’s the closest I could get to the proper spelling. By the way, to this day, you don’t wanna mention the guy’s name in certain regions around Shenyang.

But forget about that. I’m here to tell you that Virginia is confident that a bar of soap at the foot of the bed will prevent leg cramps. It worked for her. Took about a week, but it worked. She says she doesn’t care if I believe her or not. What she says.

There are few “sensible” remedies that I would keep trying for a week without results. Soap on my foot? I’d give it maybe 30 minutes. And, I’d tell no one about it.

Kay said she got immediate results. It was her toes that had been cramping. I thought that strange. If I cramp, it’s always my calf. An excruciating pain it be. I have to jump out of bed and stand firmly on the cramping leg or else I’ll die. I don’t know that for sure, but the pain is intense enough to make me believe.

Of course, if my leg is wrapped up in the sheet, a battle will ensue that is not for the faint of heart. I’ll fight sheet, pillow, lamp, Kay… Hey, I’m coming outta the bed. Did I mention it would kill me?

Kay has the same problem with toe cramps. I don’t think they hurt her as much, ‘cause she has yet to wake me up with a cramped toe. I defy anyone to stay asleep in the same house when I have a leg cramp.

But, the soap seemed to help. Of course, it didn’t stay attached to her foot. The next morning it took a massive search to find it. It ended up behind the dresser. There are weird creatures who roam our house at night. Wait till we’re asleep and then they shift stuff around. Most aggravating.

Virginia doesn’t tie the soap to her leg. She just sets it at the foot of the bed. Our night creatures would replace it with a can of corn if Kay tried that.

The soap not only helped Kay, but it might’ve been a remedy of sorts for me too. Last night I didn’t get the hiccups in my sleep, didn’t hide my pillow, wet the bed or dream of horse sweat. While I don’t normally do those things, I can’t discount soap as the reason for last night’s victory. So Tink Em may just have something.

My extensive soap research peaked my interest in other home remedies. I thought it worthwhile to share what I found for those six of you still here. If I can help just one of you go through this life a little less pained… Well, you might wanna send me some money. Just a thought. Okay, let me find my notes.

While I’m looking, let me say that these are not my ideas. I’m not even recommending them. If you try any of these oddities and end up really sick, you might give me an evil smirk when you see me, but don’t sue. That’s what mean people do.

Okay, here we go. If you get a burn, mash up a boiled egg and apply it right to the burn. I think the egg is boiled. It says to mash the egg, and I don’t think you can mash a raw egg. Big drawback, besides the possibility of infection, is the fact that you’re gonna hafta wait 15-20 minutes for your egg to get done. I don’t wait well when I’m burned… or when my leg cramps. It’ll kill you, you know?

If you have a stomachache, bad breath or nausea you’ll need some cinnamon. You can make a tea of the stuff or just put it in a roll or an apple pie. Cinnamon is good for a lot of stuff.

Hiccups? Get a small glass of club soda, light a match and toss it in. Oh, and then drink it making sure you don’t swallow the matchstick. – “Mr. Hayter, did you at any time mention for them not to drink the matchstick? Did you?!”

Hemorrhoids? This can’t be right. Says to apply the underside of a banana peel to the affected area. Probably learned this from baboons. Seems to have served them well. Give me a break.

You want to quit smoking? Do you really? Well, each time you get the urge, stick the tip of your tongue in some salt. Supposed to do something to curb the urge. I imagine better results would come from hitting your toe with a hammer. If you’ve got the discipline to do that with every urge, you could stop smoking, drinking, overeating, talking…

Smelly feet? Soak ‘em in some strong tea. No sugar. Maybe some lemon. Do this everyday until your feet don’t stink. Or until your spouse mentions that the tea tastes as if it was grown in the loamy soils of Peru.

Do you have a nagging cough? Take eight laxatives with a half gallon of water. It won’t stop the urge to cough, but it’ll make you afraid to. Not only is that unoriginal, but it’s also a good place to end this thing. Just went over the line there. I don’t know what I’m thinkin’ half the time.

Remember, we have Kay’s toes to thank for this week’s article. I don’t know which toe was the most responsible. The one that went to market or the one that stayed home? Bound to be one of those two. The toe that had no roast beef? I don’t even know why it’s there. You never hear anything about it. It’s even less known than the one that cried wee, wee, wee, all the way home. At least it gets stumped now and again.

Wait. This could be stuff for another article. Unfortunately, it demands study. Why was the first piggy going to the market? Sounds odd, doesn’t it? Roast beef? What’s that all about? More research! Uh, I’ll catch you later. – Next time.

END

5 FACTS ABOUT FRIDAY THE 13th

2009-03-13T05:10:00.000-05:00

If Friday the 13th is unlucky, then 2009 is an unusually unlucky year. This week's Friday the 13th is one of three to endure this year.
The first came last month. The next is in November. Such a rare triple-threat occurs only once every 11 years.
The origin of the link between bad luck and Friday the 13th is murky. The whole thing might date to Biblical times (the 13th guest at the Last Supper betrayed Jesus). By the Middle Ages, both Friday and 13 were considered bearers of bad fortune. In modern times, the superstition permeates society.
Here are five of our favorite Friday-the-13th facts:
1. Fear of Friday the 13th - one of the most popular myths in science - is called paraskavedekatriaphobia as well as friggatriskaidekaphobia. Triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number 13.
2. Many hospitals have no room 13, while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor and some airline terminals omit Gate 13.
3. President Franklin D. Roosevelt would not travel on the 13th day of any month and would never host 13 guests at a meal. Napoleon and President Herbert Hoover were also triskaidekaphobic, with an abnormal fear of the number 13.
4. Mark Twain once was the 13th guest at a dinner party. A friend warned him not to go. "It was bad luck," Twain later told the friend. "They only had food for 12." Superstitious diners in Paris can hire a quatorzieme, or professional 14th guest.
5. The number 13 suffers from its position after 12, according to numerologists who consider the latter to be a complete number - 12 months in a year, 12 signs of the zodiac, 12 gods of Olympus, 12 labors of Hercules, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 apostles of Jesus, 12 days of Christmas and 12 eggs in a dozen.

A ring for fishing

2009-03-11T10:10:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – March 11, 2009
“Fishing ring”

I’m not buying Kay any more jewelry. I told her that. She took the news well. I guess I should be happy about that.

The reason for my jewelry boycott has nothing to do with Kay already possessing an abundance of jewelry. She doesn’t. It has everything to do with the fact that I can’t pick out stuff to save my life. Used to could, but I’ve somehow lost touch with what women want. Uh, what Kay wants. You knew what I meant.

The final straw happened because of the Valentine’s gift. (As usual, I’m taking you all over the place with this, so grab something and hold on.) For Valentines I went on-line and ordered Kay a ring from JC Penny. It looked nice in the picture. Had a broad pink face with little baby diamonds all around it. Microscopic diamonds. But, it was priced right. And yes, “right” is a relative term. Women would call it cheap. Men would scream, “Hokey Smokes! It’s only Valentines!”

While I did order the ring for Valentines, it didn’t arrive till a couple of weeks after. That’s largely because I ordered it the day before Valentines. I’d already been to two Penney stores, and neither had the ring in stock. I really wanted this particular ring. It was perfect. And, was priced right. Remember?

On Valentines Day, I told Kay that I had ordered the ring and that it should arrive any day. Kay gets real excited over the anticipation of a gift. That means she can only be disappointed in whatever I get, 'cause there’s no way I could ever get anything as good as she can anticipate. The girl is the most zealous anticipator I’ve ever seen. It’s so sad.

Well, we all know she didn’t like the ring. Too big, too heavy, too uncomfortable. Of course, Kay was sweet as all get out, ‘cause that’s how you act when someone who means well disappoints the daylights out of you.

Though I bought the ring on-line, I returned it to the store. You can do that. I didn’t know till Kay told me. She also told me not to try to replace the ring with another. That’s when I announced my no-jewelry-as-a-gift policy. Kay just smiled and said, “Now, Darling.”

That’s it. I ask you, what does “now” in response to a comment mean? It didn’t even have a “don’t be that way” attached. It just hung there. “Now, Darling.”

The little girl at the store was sweeter than sweet. “I’m so sorry, Sir. Was there anything wrong with the ring?” I told her about it being uncomfortable, so she tried it on while the computer looked up the order. “Good grief. I can see where she’s coming from.” She had small, skinny fingers like Kay.

The girl didn’t even ask me if I wanted to order a different style ring. It’s probably store policy to ask, but she knew it’d be a mistake. Just a cute, polite little girl. I want to take all my stuff back to her.

When Kay told me what she wanted to get with her returned ring money, I thought she was joking. She can be a hoot sometimes. She said she wanted to get a rod and reel.

“Return the ring and get a rod and reel?” I asked. – “Yes.” – “A rod?” – “Yes.” – “And a reel?” – “Yes. And, some fishing gear. Lures and stuff. Pop hoppers and gum hustlers.” I don’t remember the real words, but she sounded like she knew what she was talking about.

Mark and Kay after a fishing outing in '72. Isn't she cute as a bug?

True, Kay and I used to do a lot fishing. That was, oh, 35 years ago. Our rent house was situated near a few small lakes. Several times a week, we’d stand on one of the piers and cast our lines. I’ve got the pictures.

But, we gave it up. I eventually sold our fishing gear at one of the Pliler garage sales. Got about a dollar for it all. Sentimental value means nothing to prospective buyers of old stuff.

And, she's still got it. Got my rod and reel, too.

So, Saturday we went to Academy. I steered Kay over to the Zebcos. My old reel was a Zebco 808. I don’t know if they make ‘em anymore. I actually caught mine off the jetties in Texas City. Or, Galveston. I can’t remember.

I just cast my line out there and reeled in a relatively new rod and reel. You can call Mr. Cromeens in Conroe if you don’t believe me. He was there. I was using his fishing rod when I reeled the thing in. Didn’t own fishing stuff of my own, but caught me some at the jetties. Texas City, I think.

The guy at the garage sale didn’t care two hoots for that story. “I’ll give you a dollar for the whole lot.” A heart of stone, I tell you.

At Academy, Kay saw a Zebco 202 she liked. I told her it was perfect for her. Cute as it could be. Then I told her I was getting a 404. A little more manly. Not as manly as the 808, but I couldn’t find an 808, or 606 for that matter. By the way, those numbers mean something. Bound to.

We ended up getting two fishing packages that included a 404 and a rod each, and a bunch of fishing stuff -- rubber bugs and hooks and corks. I really stepped into something good, because all the gear came to about $30. That’s many times less than the ring. A few times less.

Problem is, I don’t know what to do next. Kay says she knows a lady at work who has a pond on her property. She said that some of the girls are gonna fish in it. Didn’t mention me. I’m not sure she even intended for me to get a rod and reel.

I should probably just take my fishing stuff to Academy. Of course, I already opened everything and played with it. Part of the fun of fishing has always been the anticipation. My anticipation is a bit more grounded than Kay’s, but it’s still there.

No, I’ll wet a line or two when I get the chance. But, eventually the ol’ 404 will end up in another garage. I might even show this article to a prospective buyer. I’m pretty sure it won’t hold any sway, but I’ll show it anyway. That guy who got my 808 was cold, I tell you. A heart of stone.

END

Caught on the roof

2009-03-04T10:07:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – March 4, 2009
“Caught on the roof”

ROOFTOP – Well, what did you think of winter? Wasn’t much was it? I know we’ve got a few weeks left, but we’re pretty much out of it.

Third year in a row that I didn’t need to wrap my pipes. And, I only got to wear my new wool jacket twice. I like that jacket, too. I look almost sophisticated in it. Well, less dorky.

Yeah, our winters are every Northerners dream. Just once I’d like to get snowed in somewhere. As long as I had food and coffee, I’d enjoy the experience. At least for a few a days.

The biggest worry I have at this late February moment is mosquitoes. The wind kept them away most of the day, but now at late evening it’s calm and the mosquitoes are swarming. Even at rooftop.

I might as well warn you right now that we’re gonna have company in a bit. My neighbor’s son, Michael, saw me climb up here. The four-year-old is driving around in his battery-powered toy John Deere four-wheeler. Night is beginning to edge in and he’s having trouble finding us. He’s looking way too low. Doesn’t expect to see anyone sitting on the peak.

Kay shouldn’t be a worry ‘cause she’s in the living room watching a movie. She rented a Chick Flick. -- Uh, I need to apologize for that. “Chick Flick” is way over used, but more than that it’s insulting to women. No excuse for that. From now on I think we should refer to Chick Flicks as Sissy Movies. Let’s make it a rule.

I am so in touch with my femininity that I don’t mind telling you that I like some Sissy Movies. Kay hated, “Bridges of Madison County,” but I really got into it. There at the end when it was raining and Meryl Streep was in the truck with her dippy husband, I yelled, “You go, Girl!” when she reached for the door knob thinking she might go join Clint Eastwood. Well, I yelled more to myself. What few husbands there were in the theatre would’ve beaten me senseless had I yelled out loud. They seemed to want to beat up on somebody.

Right now, Kay’s watching the movie with Richard Gere and Diane Lane. It’s got a weird name. Uh, “Road to Rhododendron.” Something like that. Tell you what. I brought the cell phone up here, so I’ll call her for the name. I know some of you are dying to know. – “Hello, Sweat Pea. No, nothin’s wrong. I just wanted to know the name of the movie you’re watchin’? Oh, right. How do you spell that? Thanks, Doll. No, I’m fine. Get back to your Siss— uh, movie. Later, Lucy.”

The movie is “Nights in Rodanthe.” I think I even pronounced it right. You couldn’t pay me to watch it. If it were Robert Duvall and Diane Lane, I’d be right next to Kay on the couch. Richard Gere? I don’t think so.

Oops, we’ve been spotted. – “Hello, Mr. Mark!” (Oh boy, it’s Michael. Give me a minute.) “Howdy, Michael. Please call me Mark.” -- “I love you, Mr. Mark.” – “I love you, too, Michael.”

(Sheesh. The kid doesn’t have two words for me at ground level. I climb up here and he loves me.) “What are you doing up there?” -- “Buddy, I’m just sitting here thinking of stuff. It’s getting dark, so you should probably drive back home.” – “See this on my key?” – (Does anybody see what he’s holding up? I can’t make it out.) “No, Michael, I can’t see it.” – “It’s an alligator.”

(Ah, that would’ve been my 128th guess.) “That’s nice, Michael. Look, I think I hear you Mom calling.” (I really do. You can hear that, can’t you?) -- “I think you should let me climb up there.” – (Oh, shoot.) “Uh, Michael, I’ll talk to you later, Partner. Drive home now.”

Twenty years I’ve been climbing to the roof and this is the second time I’ve been spotted… To my knowledge. And, by a four-year-old a four-wheeler.) “What are you fixin’?” – (What am I fixin’? What’s that mean?) – “Michael, get over here!” ( Hey, you heard that didn’t you? Mom is definitely calling.) “Bye, Michael! Your Mom wants you.” – “Bye, Mr. Mark.” – “Call me Mark!” – “What?” – “Bye, Buddy.”

Okay, we’ve only got a few minutes. If I know that kid at all, he’s coming back. Speaking of which, Dennis and Big Al should be back by the time this piece hits the streets. What? Oh, I thought I mentioned it. Two of the brothers took their wives on a seven-day cruise. Jamaica, and a couple of Mexican ports. They invited us, and we would’ve gone had they invited to pay our way.

We did all go together last year on a cruise. It was a blast. We went snorkeling and dune buggying and eating. Serious eating. They even had a midnight meal on the ship. One night it was an all chocolate feast. I didn’t go, but I could’ve if I wanted to. That’s the beauty of a cruise.

And, get this. You can have all the coffee you want. There’s a pot every 20 feet on each deck. And, it’s good coffee. I normally drink only two large mugs a day, but on that cruise I drank a boatload. I had to. They were flaunting it.

An hour or two each night Big Al, Dennis and I sat outside and talked while looking at the stars and the little glimmers on the waves. Oh, and I watched out for sea monsters that might surface by the ship. Dennis and Al weren’t all that interested. We smoked cigars, laughed and cut up. Had a bunch of fun. Of course, we spent most of the cruise with the wives. We’re not complete idiots.

Right now, I’ll bet Dennis and Big Al are sitting aft and smoking big ol’ stogies. They’re having a great time. But, they have no one to look for sea monsters, ‘cause I didn’t get to make the trip. I’m still enjoying our visit up here, though. The breeze is even beginning to pick up. It’s going to be a nice night.

And, as I expected, Michael is now approaching on his John Deer. I think the battery-powered vehicles make more noise than the real ones. Well, we’re outta time anyway. You guys can run along and I’ll stay and chat with Michael awhile. Don’t know that many four-year-olds who say they love me. I can’t buy a word from him when I’m at ground level. When I’m up here, he’s a talker. A cute talker. Just wish I could get him to quit calling me Mr. Mark. – Next time.

END

The sitcom family

2009-02-23T09:57:00.000-06:00

Back row Left to right-- Larry, Lynda, Susan -- Dennis, Mark, Jill, Li'l Al

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – February 11, 2009
“Coulda been an episode”

When you were growing up did you imagine a TV series centered around your family? Your little brother was dumb as dust; your big sister a nag; your dad had these harebrain ideas about how to store stuff? Did you ever think someone should recognize the potential for a series?

The Hayters sure did. Not so much Mom and Dad, but the kids were on board. We had episode potential everyday. Waiting for the school bus? That’s an episode. Building a fort in the vacant lot? That’s a mini-series.

We obviously got these programmable notions because of what we watched on our 18-inch black and white, horizontal-hold challenged Philco. Among our favorite programs were Leave it to Beaver, Andy Griffith, Father Knows Best, The Real McCoys… Too many to list.

The families portrayed on the screen were fun to watch, but not nearly as fun as the Hayters would’ve been. Our family did stuff that got us so tickled that we just about cracked ribs laughing. Of course, what sparked the laugh would occasionally not be proper for prime time in the early 60s.

I doubt they would’ve gotten far with an episode of two kids getting tickled in church. That probably wouldn’t clear the censors. Every Sunday would be an episode for Dennis and me. The time I laughed and my gum came out and landed in the seat of the guy in front of me. My brother could look at me and I’d start laughing.

Dennis can still give me a look that cracks me up. Not an exaggerated look either. Somebody will say something weird and I look over at Dennis. He does something with his eyes, and I’m gone.

It’s not so bad when that happens nowadays, but back when we were kids? Mom would yank us up, take us in the back and “blister our bottoms.”

I don’t know how many times I heard “Mark Scott, I’m gonna blister your bottom!” And, she acted like she didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard. I’m pretty sure she would’ve served 50 to life in today’s society. Fortunately, there was a time when threats of bodily harm were pretty much the norm. “I’m gonna slap you silly, Little Mister!” -- “I’m gonna pinch your head off!” – “You won’t be able to sit down for a week!” The neighborhood used to ring with stuff like that.

If Mom were here, she’d want me to mention that she never slapped me or pinched my head real hard. And, I was always able to sit down a few minutes after a spanking. But, Elsie had a way with threats. All Moms did. The Moms in our neighborhood.

Yeah, TV sponsors didn’t like real moms. They wanted TV parents to be sickly sweet. So, we heard dialog like, “Ward, you’re not going to yell at The Beaver are you?” That was always good for a laugh at our house. One week at our house and June Cleaver would’ve been making some serious threats. “Dennis Ray, I’m gonna knock you into tomorrow if you don’t stop pestering me!” I would love to have heard June say something like that.

“Ozzie and Harriet” was another sickly sweet series. As a kid, I probably only got to watch two complete episodes. It aired on a church night and we only got to see the last five minutes or so. Then, only if we hurried home from church. – “Mom, please stop talking to people, and let’s get home!” -- Yeah, that always worked.

Since we didn’t get to watch O and H much when we were young, I recently bought a 100-episode DVD pack of the series. I’ve seen about 20 episodes. I like to save ‘em for when I get down. The most harmless TV series ever made. You knew nothing worse than Ozzie running out of ice cream would happen. Filmed fifty years ago and they still make me laugh.

Like Harriet Nelson, most TV Moms acted and looked way too nice back then. They did chores while wearing dresses and heels and a lot of jewelry. Dads came home in suits and ties. They lounged around the house in suits and ties.

Kids said stuff like, “May I be excused?” If I had ever asked Mom or Dad if I could be excused, I would’ve probably gotten laughed out of the house. Or spanked. Sometimes there’s a thin line between humor and disrespect.

As I remember, the one show that came across as a rather dark comedy was “The Honeymooners.” We watched it mostly because of Norton. Art Carney was funny as all get out to us. Ralph was too mean to be funny. The guy scared me. I didn’t enjoy it when he threatened to knock Alice to the moon. The audience seemed to think it was funny. Me, not so much.

I didn’t enjoy shows so much where one of the parents was too stupid for words, or unrealistically nice. I preferred the kids be the main attraction. Father Knows Best? Jim, should’ve just stepped aside and let Bud do his thing. I thought Joel Gray was one of the coolest kids on TV. Dennis and I could’ve topped him, but we obviously never got the chance.

I think Mom and Dad would’ve been the most believable and the best parents on TV. And, without question, Lynda, Larry, Susan, Dennis, Mark, Jill and Big Al would’ve been the funniest kids. We were a series waiting to happen.

It never did, though. We would’ve never found a sponsor. Sponsors wanted people to think that kids never got spankings and parents never lost their temper. Moms didn’t open the front door and yell across the neighborhood for their kids to come home of a night. Dennis, Larry and me attempt a daring swimming pool pyramid with Jill and Al the second tier. Kay was to be next followed by Mom. Unfortunately, it remained a two tier pyramid. Duh. Coulda been an episode.

No, that kind of stuff would’ve never gotten on TV… back then. Today, a family like ours would be way too tame to be in a series. Makes me want to have an Ozzie and Harriet Marathon at the house. Have some of the younger readers over. They wouldn’t see the way it really was back then, but they would see some of our life’s examples. And, they would get more than a sarcastic laugh or two out of it. That Ozzie was a hoot sometimes. – “Uh, uh, Harriet. I think I’ll go, uh, to the Malt Shop and, uh, get some more ice cream.” And, that’s an episode.

END

Roof gathering

2009-02-20T14:50:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE –February 20, 2009
“Crowded on the roof”

ROOFTOP – Everybody slow down! No running on the roof. There are plenty of lawn chairs to go around Well, that’s a lie, but you still shouldn’t run. I’m not even sure my insurance would cover ME in a fall. A lot of small print on that policy.

Those without chairs will need to sit over there on the edge of the roof. Dangle your feet over. Oh, and those in the back, how ‘bout cleaning the leaves out of the gutter? Make yourself useful, people!

I do hope you appreciate all that I go through to get us up here. It’s not easy, you know? The lawn chairs are killer to get up here. Each of you who got one may want to look at that bubba. Neat, isn’t it? There is a place for your mug there on the armrest. You’re gonna spill the coffee all over the place when you try to pull the mug out of the webbed holder, but it’s still a sharp looking feature.

Unfortunately, each chair weighs a ton. Maybe a little less. As you can see, I’ve invested in those contraptions with the foldout metal rods strung to canvas. I have to throw ‘em over my shoulder to get ‘em up here. I hate climbing a ladder into a tree and onto a roof while balancing a heavy metal maze on my shoulder. Some of you were struggling just carrying yourselves up here. Hey, you’ll develop cat-like instincts in no time. You learn from your falls. I’m speaking from experience here.

I just about knocked myself out on my first trip up this morning. I was trying to balance my coffee in one hand while opening one of the lawn chairs with the other. Opening a lawn chair at ground level with one hand is a danger. On the roof? Well, it just shouldn’t be attempted. Anyway, I gave the thing a jerk, and one of the legs came up and hit me in the jaw. Right here. I don’t see a thing funny about that, Herb.

By the way, those of you without chairs are low maintenance. I’m really glad you’re here. Would like it if you whined less, though. Get here earlier next time.

I must confess that I occasionally come up here by myself. Nothing personal. I just sometimes get an impulse to get away from it all. Don’t we all. Keep in mind, you should never climb to the roof without a training course. You’ve all had one, haven’t you? Close enough.

The weather during the last two roofsits has been terrific. And, right now it’s absolutely beautimous. And, I don’t use that word very often. You couldn’t see a bluer sky if you were lookin’ through one of those Milk of Magnesia bottles. Especially a full one.

Since the foliage has finally left the oaks, our view is greatly improved. Unfortunately, it’s left us exposed to any drivers that happen by. If you will, try to blend into the roof. Don’t make any drastic moves… unless you’re falling.

Uh, Bernice, I realize that without a chair, the pitch of the roof is painful on your rear. But, it’s best not to lean back, Sweetie. Your husband might catch you as you roll past, but at the moment he seems preoccupied picking sweetgum balls outta the gutter. He doesn’t get out much, does he?

I see a few of you opted for heavy jackets. Not all that necessary, but it’s okay. If it were nighttime I’d have on my apron. The one with the flower pattern. It’s got the best pockets. Big ol’ things. Room for a clipboard, pens, snacks, flashlight… I could haul a frozen turkey up here in one of those pockets. Haven’t seen the need, but I could.

As you’ve noticed, I don’t wear the apron when it’s daylight. If just one of the neighbors saw me, the laughter would draw a crowd. That’s why I’m wearing the Air Force jacket. My brother-in-law gave it to me when I was in high school. It’s a mult-layered green khaki. Pockets all over the place. Only, they’re small pockets. Might hold a Cornish hen. No turkey.

Here, everyone gets a wad of gum. Saved from Halloween ’06. They’re in one of these pockets. Let’s see… Oh, forget it. We’re burning daylight. The gum is hard as a brick anyway. Might’ve been Halloween of ’04.

Time to notice the sights and sounds. First of all, I want you to name that bird. The one making that cackling yodel. Yes, it’s a blue jay, but you weren’t supposed to look. Just listen. They’re out in force this morning. I didn’t know they sounded like that. A little bit of a gurgle in that call.

Earlier in the week there were about 1000 black birds visiting my yard and the one next door. I expected to see Tippi Hedren running down the road. That’ll mean something to a couple of you.

If all those birds had hit my birdfeeder at the same time, the tree would’ve toppled. And there would’ve been a lot of poked out bird eyes. Can you imagine if we had pointy beaks and no hands, how bad it’d get at Ryan’s? Or any other buffet? Let’s not think about it.

The humidity must be in the single digits. If you stuck your tongue to this metal roof right now, you’d probably get a shock. There’s a direct relationship between low humidity, cool air and static electricity. I’d explain it to you, but then I’d have to read up on it first. Something about electrons. Let’s let it go at that.

All I know is that my car is shocking the daylights outta me. I’ve been shutting the door with my elbows. Never my tongue. That’d probably knock me to the ground. Herb, why don’t you try it and get back to us?

In fact, Herb, what say you give your chair to Bernice. She’s scaring the daylights outta me. And, here one of you over yonder take mine. I think I’ll go down for some more coffee. Anybody want anything? -- Well, that’s tough. I can’t climb the ladder with more than one cup of coffee.

Tell you what. Let’s all head down. We’ll use the facilities and get some more coffee, maybe a piece of pie. Buttermilk. Kay made a dandy. We’ll regroup down there by the jungle gym. Not as good a view, but so much safer. You’ll all get better in time, but like I say, some of you are scaring me.

Uh, Mr. Bernice’s husband? Lou, is it? There are plenty more sweetgum balls at ground level. – Yes sir, you’re right. It is more fun digging ‘em outta the gutter. – Strange man. Reminds me of me. -- Next time.

END

I guarantee that...

2009-02-12T20:30:00.000-06:00

Joaquin Phoenix's recent antics are a hoax. I could see "it" in David Letterman's face throughout the interview. It was like watching a staged America's Funniest Home Videos -- like, why are they filming that guy chop down that big tree right by that old house? Ooooh.

Whatever Joaquin is up to

is for a good reason.

He's so cool!!

Anybody see it differently??

A technological dweeb

2009-02-09T09:37:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – February 9, 2009
“Technology”

About twice a day I run across something that makes me feel technically inadequate. I am adequate in so many other ways that it’s pathetic. But, with regard to technology, I’m a real dimwit. Hey, I’ll be the first to tell you. Maybe the second.

The Plilers’ grandkids were over last Saturday. Virginia told Emily to show me her new iPod Touch 2nd Generation. No, I didn’t make that up. Emily reluctantly let me look over her shoulder while she poked around on this tiny credit card sized screen. She’d flip it sideways and the screen would follow the flip. She’d drag her finger and get on the Internet. She’d touch something and make the device sing. Even started typing stuff on it. All the while, I was freaking.

I didn’t know what all was happening and certainly couldn’t figure out why it was happening. After about 42 seconds, Emily shut the thing down and set it on the table. Too much of my inadequacy was getting into her space. In teen-speak she was telling me to back away. I gave my little stupid giggle before sitting down.

A really smart person could sit me down and explain how the Touch thing works. Explain it to me for, oh, two years. It wouldn’t matter. I’d never pick it up.

Of course, I could learn to use the device in a couple of days. A week at most. I’d have absolutely no use for a 2nd Generation Touch thing, but I could learn to use it. Couldn’t learn on Emily’s device, though. The kid wouldn’t even let me touch it. I got the eye-rolling, whatta dweeb look. I hate that look.

I wish Uncle Ray could’ve been around to see an iPod Touch thing. Kay’s dad loved gadgets. He had a HAM radio set that he’d use to talk to people all over the world. Maybe not the whole world, but pretty far away. The HAM radio was like an Internet chat room where you actually talked. Uncle Ray was a techno-guru. His son-in-law? Not so much.

I sure wish Uncle Ray had been around to see the thing that Kay just bought. It’s a TomTom. A TomTom is one of those small GPS devices that helps you get where you wanna go. No idea why it’s called TomTom. If I thought it germane to the story I’d research it.

I do know that GPS stands for “Global Positioning System.” I had to look it up, ‘cause I never can remember. If it were called a GUT, I could remember it better. “Get U There.”

Kay paid $100 for our TomTom. That’s pretty cheap considering what it does. The thing will replace every free map you’ve got in the house. And, once you learn how to use it, you’ll find it better than a map. You see, a TomTom literally tells you where to go. It talks you in. Really.

Kay will key in a destination on the little handheld thing, set it on the dashboard of the car and then tell me to head out. I get to the end of the driveway and the TomTom lady says, “Turn right.” I’ll drive on for a couple of miles and then she says, “In 500 feet, turn left.”

Our TomTom is a girl, ‘cause Kay made it so. We can select from different guy and girl voices. The guy voices sound too mean to me. One of the girls sounded like a machine and another sounded too snooty. Mandy sounds just right. Sounds like she cares.

The problem I’m having with Mandy is the fact that she seems to want to take me to the place Kay keyed in last. I haven’t learned how to erase the last destination. That’s a problem unless you want to keep returning to the baby shower over on Manchester. I’m headed for Pasadena! “In 200 yards turn left? No, way, Mandy! You’re nuts!”

If you miss your turn, Mandy will give directions that will have you circling back around till she gets you to your programmed destination. I don’t care if you’re in Albuquerque, she’s gonna try to get you back to Manchester Ave. in Conroe.

As sweet as Mandy sounds, sometimes she needs to be a bit forceful. When Kay keyed in a new place for us to go, Mandy told me to turn right in 700 feet and then go straight.” Problem was, I was headed east on the 336 Loop South, about to turn onto I-45. Are you still with me? I wanted to jump over to the inside lane the minute I turned, but Mandy told me to turn right and go straight.

As soon as I turned right, Mandy said for me to ease into the left lane and enter the express way. Ease my foot! I’ve got only 30 yards to fight traffic into the left lane. Mandy should be screaming. “Quick, quick, veer left! Don’t worry about him, he’ll slow down! Turn already!” No, she calmly says, “Ease into the left lane and enter the expressway.” She may have known where I was, but she sure didn’t act like it.

That kind of calm talking is okay when I know where I am, but if I’m in a strange town and Mandy says to ease when I need to put the pedal to the metal, well things will get scary.

But, I’ll catch on. Like I say, I’m an adequate user. I’ll never learn how the GPS device works, though. As I’m driving along, there are satellite signals constantly hitting my car and then bouncing back into space to tell the satellite where I am. The signals come back down again to get Mandy to tell me I should turn left 300 feet ahead. All the while a few thousand other TomToms are bouncing signals off the same satellite.

And, then there’s Emily’s iPod Touch thing sending signals to the satellite (or another satellite) to get it to send down a message to play some really weird music.

I wonder if young people think much about how this kind of stuff works. Me? It just blows my mind. Makes me feel like I’m the Amazing Shrinking Man. Each time I find out about some new device, the discovery makes me feel smaller than I did the day before.

Things had better slow down, or I’m gonna disappear in a year or so. – Where’d Mark go? – I don’t know, He typed something into the TomTom, started the car and then never came back. We found the car on Manchester Ave., but he was no where around.

END

Always drawing attention to the bad stuff

2009-02-02T11:11:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – February 2, 2009
“Drawing attention”

For a year or so, I’ve been hoping to finish off the last of these pens. It’s a brand called Foray. They’re made by… I don’t know. I’m guessing a few thousand underpaid workers in China. I could be wrong.

The pen is one of a gross that I bought at Office Depot two, three years back. I bought 144 gel-writing pens for $15. Couldn’t pass it up. That’s a dime a pen.

I think Foray was about to come out with a new, improved pen, and wanted to make a few bucks off the old sub-par ones. Not the wisest thing for a business to do, but what would a consumer know about wise business decisions?

One thing I found out about the cheap sub-par model is the fact that every third one is a scratcher. The point cuts into the paper. It’s like the roller ball thing has been forced into the barrel and the only thing touching paper is a metal shard. Most aggravating.

Of course, that happens with only every third pen. That alone wouldn’t bother me much. Remember, the things only cost me a dime apiece. The most aggravating feature of the pen is the fact that about every tenth one leaks. I don’t want a leaking pen at any price. I don’t even want you to give me one. In fact, I might pay you a dime, not to.

The one good thing about the leaking pens is the fact that they have led us to today’s topic. And, that would be “drawing attention.” If the pens worked well, we’d be talking about something else. Something happy. Something like piecrust. I like piecrust. You stick a “crust” right after “pie” and you’ve got a happy word.

But, we’re not talking about pies. Get ‘em outta your mind. Instead, we’ve got the bad pens and we’ve got the “drawing attention” topic. So, let’s get after it.

I first discovered that my black Foray leaked while at an audition in Houston. I showed up at the audition place looking fairly sophisticated. That’s a real challenge for me. The role was that of a sophisticated businessman. Why do I even try?

Anyway, I pulled out my pen to register, and noticed a giant black splotch on my shirt pocket. White shirt. I think I could’ve buttoned my jacket and hidden the spot, but I didn’t. When something isn’t exactly right with my appearance I tend to draw attention to it. It’s a sickness.

The director said, “Slate!” which is director-speak for “give your name.” I said, “Mark Hayter. By the way, I’ve got a big splotch here that wasn’t really my fault. The point of my pen was retracted, but it still leaked. I can’t believe it. Look at this. It only cost a dime. The pen, not the shirt…”

The director didn’t crack a smile. Boy, he was a good actor. I’m sure he was busting up inside. Regardless, I didn’t get the part. And, why not? Did I give a bad audition? No, way! What I did was just draw attention to something that might’ve slipped by unnoticed had I kept my mouth shut.

I had three other such encounters with the cheap pens. Sometimes it takes me awhile to catch on. Now, I just carry one of the pens with me when I’m wearing a bad shirt. Like this one.

But, back to drawing attention to my messes. Big Al and I both had an audition at a fancy Houston hotel a couple of months back. Again, I looked as sophisticated as all get out. Worked to make it so. Problem was, earlier in the day I had been cleaning up Tracy’s garage. Tracy is Kay’s brother. And, boy, was his garage dusty. But, no problem. After the job, I cleaned up well.

However, when Al and I made it to the hotel, I headed to the restroom ‘cause I like to visit the restrooms at fancy hotels. They’re swell. Don’t know if you knew that. So, I was standing there at the sink looking into the mirror when I about freaked. My eyes were horribly bloodshot. I looked like a nice-dressed wino. It was the dust in Tracy’s garage!

Big Al hadn’t said anything about my eyes, so I went out and pulled him into the restroom. Told him to take a gander at my eyes. Al took one look and said, “Whoa.” You seldom get more than a word outta Al. He could be on fire and he’d just say, “Hot.”

So, I asked my kid brother if he thought the director would notice my eyes. He gave me a multi-word response. I was impressed. He said, “He probably won’t notice if you go in there with your pants unzipped.”

Even though Al had never noticed before, it was now impossible for him to look at me and keep a straight face. So, what did I do? The minute I signed in at the audition, I mentioned my eyes. -- “Uh, you might notice that my eyes are all red. You see, I was working around a lot of dust today and my eyes got real bloodshot. I don’t drink or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I mean, if you like to drink I think you should…”

That was another role I didn’t get. They didn’t want Big Al, either. It was one of several times he got dragged down by my failure to shut up. I probably should’ve just unzipped my pants and kept my mouth shut. Who can know?

Point is I’ve got a disease. I got it from my Mom. At least I blame her. Seems I never could get anything past Elsie. When I was a kid, she could tell from across the room that my ears were dirty. – “Mark, go get in the tub.”

The minute I came in the backdoor, she’d know that I had left my jacket at school. – “Mark, what’d I tell you about your jacket?” I could never successfully lie to Mom. -- “What do you mean you couldn’t hear me calling you? They heard me over on Patrick Street.”

I couldn’t get anything past Mom. So, at an early age I began to just confess the minute I saw the woman. “Mom, I threw a pillow at Dennis and broke the donkey vase on the coffee table. If he hadn’t moved so fast, we wouldn’t be talking about this. You may want to spank him, too. Just a thought.”

Yep, it was Mom who made me draw attention to myself. It’s gotten so bad that when Al and I go somewhere together he’ll say, “Remember, you don’t know me.” Like that’s going to make me less self-conscious.

END

Bubble bath trip

2009-01-23T08:13:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – January 23, 2009
“Bubble bath quest”

Saturday, I went on a 183-mile quest for some bubble bath. The good stuff. The more than two dollars a gallon stuff. I wanted the bubbles. Wanted ‘em bad.

A few of you, if not all, are thinking that I may be a girly man. A macho-looking guy like me using bubble bath? Hey, I’m all man, Sister. It’s just that when I get headachy, I fill our deep, claw-foot tub with bubbly hot water and then soak… with the lights off. You need to get a headache and try it.

With that cleared up, let me say that Kay and the Plilers accompanied me on the bubble bath quest. They didn’t give two hoots for the tub suds, though. Virginia and Kay were selfishly looking for places to spend their $15 birthday money.

You see, things got so weird last year that we didn’t get a chance to properly celebrate each birthday with our usual day trip and $15 spending spree. There was some sickness here and there, some family obligations, and, of course, Judge Judy. We have to schedule our trips around Judge Judy or else Virginia will freak. It’s a disease, you know?

So what we did was combine three of the missed birthdays (those of Kay, Virginia and me) and celebrated them with a single day trip. We didn’t miss Freeman’s birthday last year, so he got to drive. That gave me a chance to keep a lookout for bubble bath stores. There aren’t that many spaced along rural roads. Don’t know if you knew that.

The trouble we always have on these trips is figuring out where to go. Over the years we’ve been everywhere you can go, in every direction. This time we decided to head west… for the umpteenth time. All roads west lead through Navasota or Hempstead. Take your pick. We chose Navasota this time. I don’t even think the people knew we were there. Just buzzed on through. Kay waved.

Went on to Brenham and then to Somerville. We drove around the lake and visited one of the parks where we used to camp… back in the day when we camped. We don’t anymore, ‘cause we lost the zeal, the outdoorsy spirit and the friend who always loaned us his camping trailer. Doesn’t matter. It was a small trailer. We never could get him to upgrade. He seemed to lack incentive. Some might call him selfish.

As we drove through the park, Virginia had to bring up the time I tried to park the trailer. We wanted to get things set up for when Freeman showed up after work. After about an hour of careful maneuvering, I ended up with the trailer teetering on a tree stump. I have backing issues. Freeman arrived and straightened the thing up in, oh, about 30 seconds. Everyone got a big laugh out that. In fact, they’re still laughing. They lack sensitivity. Some might call them mean

After discovering there was no bubble bath anywhere around Lake Somerville, we drove on to Dime Box. Dime Box has a cool name. The story about how it got its name is less cool. I don’t care to explain it. It’s like a guy finding a can on the road and calling the area Can Road.

To Dime Box’s credit, it has a railroad track, water tower and museum. No bubble bath to speak of. A great town to drive through, so we drove on to Caldwell for lunch. Kept going to Bryan where we actually stopped for lunch. Ate at a steak house that bragged on its chicken fried steak. I got the hamburger steak. The menu didn’t brag on the hamburger steak… for reason. Freeman said his chicken fried was one of the best he ever had. The guy could order burnt toast and it’d come out biscuits and gravy.

I didn’t look for bubble bath in Bryan, ‘cause I was out of the mood. Freeman tried to cheer me up by driving us north to Calvert. Calvert is a pleasant town. Has a bunch of restored old houses and several shops along the main drag. One of the shops specializes in chocolate.

I like chocolate. Problem is I can’t eat it cause I’ll get a migraine. I told the man behind the counter that very thing. The man grabbed a dainty napkin and on it placed a cherry-sized ball of sugar-dusted ambrosia. Told me not to bite it in two or it’d go all over the place. Just plop it in my mouth.

A raspberry, citrusy juice exploded in my mouth. It was delish. The British-sounding counter man told me it was white chocolate, and shouldn’t give me a headache. It didn’t. I think they should call white chocolate “Oreo middle.” That’s about as close as it comes to being chocolate. You put that citrusy flavor in the middle of Oreo middle and you’ve got something.

Kay and Virginia both sampled some of the real chocolate balls. The guy was handing ‘em out like candy. Freeman has diabetes issues, so he just watched.

Virginia and Kay ended up each buying a box containing four chocolate balls. Each box came to $13. That means we had eaten up about $30 worth of free samples! I felt guilty about that so I ordered a cup of coffee. Had to buy something. Turned out to be the best coffee I may have ever had. Only cost $2. I was expecting to pay $20.

The British owner told me a story about the coffee. I think he took me to Brazil. Might’ve been somewhere in Africa. I zoned out during the story. Looks like most of you are about to do the same. I get the hint.

Okay, let me cut to the quick. During our travels, Kay ended up getting a micro-plane. It’s something you zest citrus with. A file, rasp…sissy implement. Virginia couldn’t find a Judge Judy shirt, so she bought some scented candles. Whatta loser.

And, me? Well, I got a neat-looking, wooden-barreled ballpoint pen that skips. And, a pair of reading glasses with a nice case. It all came to $15.08. You’re not going to believe this, but the glasses and case were made in China. Cost me seven bucks. How doooo they do it?

As you can see, I found no bubble bath. Decided I’d use up my old jug of cheap bubbly. The stuff leaves a burnt orange residue in the tub and makes me smell like cheddar and coffee. You wouldn’t think something called “Mango Honey” would make you smell like cheesy coffee.

Freeman could probably use it and come out smelling like Jasmine in a bed of Lilac blossoms. I don’t know how he does it. Some would call it a gift. I call it the biscuits and gravy syndrome.

END

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OLD WESTERNS

2009-01-21T16:43:00.000-06:00

Ty Hardin sent this to Michael Gregory, who then sent it to me. It's kinda neat, a little long but interesting.

Check it out.
http://www.oldfortyfives.com/thoseoldwesterns.htm

I resolve to not

2009-01-15T09:30:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – January 15, 2009
“Resolving to not”

So, how is the New Year treating you so far? Are you pretty pleased about the direction you’re headed? A lot of plans working out for you, are they? Yeah, I can’t tell much difference either.

But, hey, I’m used to it. Over the years, I’ve been teased by a bunch of resolutions before I finally put ‘em to rest. I can’t remember what I resolved two years ago any more than I can remember who won the World Series. Best to forget stuff like broken resolutions. Don’t beat yourself up.

So, I quit New Years resolutions. Feel good about it, too. Let’s face it, “to resolve something” is serious business. Do you have any idea what it means to resolve something? Do you? Well, then one of you look it up and let us know. I’m too busy writing.

I think what you’ll find is that “resolve” is tied to determination. You resolve only when you’re way serious about something. You’re going to either be a better person, a skinnier person, a more famous person or a richer person by the time the next year hits. And, you’re nothing short of serious. That’s why you resolve it.

The problem with resolving something is the fact that you’re pretty much on your own. You don’t say, “I resolve that someone is going to take charge of my life and not let me eat so much.” Hey, Oprah can’t even pull that one off.

Me? Well, I’ve found it’s just about impossible for me to take anything serious for an entire year. Oh, I’m serious about paying bills and mowing the lawn, stuff like that. But, if it’s something I’m not used to doing, like changing my personality, I doubt I’ll stick with it a whole year.

Depending on whose list you read the most common New Years resolution is either to lose weight or stop smoking. I don’t know many people who still smoke, so I’m thinking it’s the lose weight one.

I read somewhere that 30 percent of the people in the country are overweight. I don’t know in what country the survey was done, but it wasn’t this one. You watch the news and you’re gonna think it’s closer to 93 percent.

Hey, even I’m overweight! Can you believe that? According to the chart I looked at, I’m about the right weight for a guy four inches taller. And, I have every confidence that it’d be easier for me to gain height than to lose weight.

At this very moment I’m snacking on Spanish peanuts. In fact there’s one under my foot right now. Give me a second. -- You get towards the bottom of the can, and those things start flying. Those stupid brown hulls are murder to pick up. – Okay, I’m back.

But, and get this, I’m drinking a diet A&W Rootbeer. You know what that means? I was able to eat twice as many nuts. So, I’m holding my own on this weight thing. I’ll never match the fancy weight chart, but that’s ‘cause it was drawn up for Neptunians. Those people don’t even have butts! Hey, somebody look it up.

I suppose we should consider it a real blessing to live in a country where the number one goal for the New Year is to lose weight. Over half the world would love to have that problem. We’re lucky ducks. Large and lucky.

Fortunately, not all resolutions involve giving up something -- food, tobacco, golf, tickle fights… In fact, most of my resolutions were about doing something positive with myself. Be more pleasant, more organized, more disciplined, more confident… And, those all crashed and burned. Hey, I once said only nice things for a whole hour and a half. You can ask Kay. I kept squelching the sarcasm until I exploded. But, for a little over an hour I sounded nice. Fairly nice.

But, I don’t even resolve positive things anymore. I hope for ‘em, but don’t resolve. When you resolve and fail, it sounds bad. “Mark, didn’t you resolve to handle this situation?” What can you say to that? “Uh, yeah, but I’m a loser.” See, that stinks.

But, what about this? “No, I hoped I could handle it. But, I didn’t. I hoped for world peace, too, but missed it this much.” That you can get away with and still retain a modicum of dignity. Modicum? Somebody look it up.

“Hope” is the better word. You add “prayer” to hope and you’ve got something better than a resolution.

Last year I managed to save a quote from Mark Twain. Ran across it in one of those little encouraging booklets. One can only imagine how sarcastic I’d be if I didn’t find something encouraging to read everyday. Anyway, Twain supposedly said,

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

Doesn’t that sound nice? Doesn’t even sound like Twain to me. Regardless, the words certainly have a ring, don’t they?

I hope and pray we all do a little more exploring, dreaming and discovering this year. However, if you depend on just you to do all that, you’re not going to like the results. You’re going to need some encouragement.

And that brings up my New Years Hope and Prayer. Ta da! I hope and pray to be a better encourager. The people I most remember are those who picked me up just as I was about to give up. Weren’t asked. Weren’t forced. They just made the effort to notice, and then acted.

The good thing about giving someone encouragement is the fact that it doesn’t cost a thing. I’d come close to making it a resolution, but, as I’ve mentioned, I don’t trust my resolutions. Don’t seem to take them nearly as serious as I do my hopes. Resolutions involve just me. Hopes bring into play so much more. Life’s weird that way. – Next time.

END

Let's not sing on the roof.

2009-01-09T10:16:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – January 9, 2009
“Rooftop singing”

ROOFTOP – Just look up there. The stars are mighty bright tonight… bop, bop, bop, bop, over the roof of Mark’s house. -- Everybody sing! -- The near-quarter moon , the night bird that sounds like a loon – bop, bop, bop, bop, over the roof at— Okay, that’s enough!

That was nothing short of embarrassing. Sheesh! Is that what we can expect in ’09? I don’t wanna ever experience anything like that again. You hear?

Okay. Still a lotta stars up there, though. Probably as many as any other night, but just more of ‘em are visible. So visible that they sparked a stupid made-up song. Embarrassed yourself is what you did.

But, while we’re focused on the night sky, I just wish you’d look at Venus. Brightest thing up there. Brighter than the skinny moon, even. Remember when we had the Venus/Jupiter/Moon thing going a few weeks back? They were aligned in a tight triangle. I was so impressed that I called Big Al to tell him. And, get this! He didn’t laugh at me. In fact, he thanked me for telling him. Called back to let me know how great it looked.

If my kid brother can keep up this nice charade the rest of the year, I’ll be one happy guy. A happy guy with fewer knots on his head.

(By the way, that's not really a picture of the Moon and Venus. My camera's not that good, so I had to improvise. Cool, huh?)

Hold on a second. Just thought of something to jot down in my tablet. If I don’t make a note it’ll be gone. Just flip the switch on my head here and—viola! Isn’t that neat? It’s my headband light. It’s the one my friend Gary gave me right before Ike. Remember Ike? Well, it’s when this headlight proved its worth.

Kay and I lucked out big time during the hurricane. Just lost power for a week. I used this here headband light to read, cook, find the toilet, scare off monsters… It was invaluable. Now I’m using it to see what I’m writing. I’ve found that it helps if I can see as I write. Of course, while I was bragging on my light here, I already forgot what it was I wanted to jot down. Not a good sign.

Notice this feature of the light. See what happens when I flip the switch the other way? Can you believe that? It’s red. I don’t know if it’s infrared. If it’s infrared I think that means nobody can see it. Doesn’t it? I don’t know how that works. I’ll bet people could look up here and not see us. We could make faces and point. – See? Now you’ve made me embarrass myself. I don’t know what’s got into you tonight.

Oh, now I remember what I wanted to jot down. It was about the new constellation I discovered. And, since I’m the discoverer, I get to name the celestial configuration. Are you ready for this? I’m pretty excited. I’m calling the new constellation “M.”

See it? Just to the left. If that’s not an “M” I don’t know what it is. The Greeks would probably say it’s the back leg of Taurus. They were so out of it. “Yeah, that looks like a crab, and there’s a scorpion. We’ve got a goat right over there…” They knew beans. Just made stuff up. Orion the hunter? You take away the guy’s belt and he could be a typewriter.

But M? Hey, it can’t be anything else. Of course, now I don’t have to jot it down in the tablet. I’ve talked about it enough.

By the way, in the short time I had the light on, I noticed four words at the bottom of this tablet. Weird. Three of the words start with “O” and one with “F.” Let’s have a guessing game. Jack, you go first. – No. No. No. Okay, you got one.

All right let’s stop this. Y’all are just too silly tonight. I’ll flip over all the cards. The words are olive oil and onion flakes. I apparently started a doctoral thesis on this tablet. Or a grocery list. I’m pretty sure I bought the olive oil. But, not the onion flakes. Ended up with onion powder. A big difference. Scary, even.

By the way #2, we got a letter from CJ yesterday. I almost brought it up here to read to you. Another big reason for the headlight. I remembered the light, but forgot the letter.

CJ is our nephew in Afghanistan. It’s his fourth tour to the Middle East. He’s in a small group on a mountain near the Afghan/Pakistan border. I don’t think I’m giving away any top-secret stuff. I can’t see one of the bad guys finding this and sending a message – “At least one American soldier on border near Pakistan. Something’s afoot.”

CJ seemed in good spirits. Said he got our package. The letter was dated back in November. He said he appreciated the socks. CJ doesn’t get to wash his clothes all that much, so he wears socks until they die. Hey, socks can die. I’ve seen ‘em. Anyway, feet are important no matter where you are. On a mountain in Afghanistan, especially so. I can only imagine.

Whoa, another subject change! Did you see that? The neighbor across the street has one of those motion-sensitive lights. Apparently, something got its attention. Hopefully, not one of those night monsters. They’re the worst kind. Hold it. I’m gonna flip on the headlight again. Okay, it’s gone.

You didn’t ask, but I installed one of those motion-sensitive lights on Tracy’s back porch just yesterday. Tracy is Kay’s kid brother. He’s so much nicer than my kid-brother. Seldom mean to me. I wired the light, stuck it to the wall and everything. And, get this – It works! I’m not kidding. I mean it comes on. Not sure the motion part of it works. I was supposed to flip two switches different ways, I couldn’t get it straight in my mind, so I just left it alone. Probably a big night monster could create enough motion to turn it on.

Oh, no. Where’d the time go? The boss is giving me the cut-off sign again. The first one came during the song. And, we’ve still got so much to talk about.

Tell you what. Let’s stick together this New Year and we’ll cover a multitude of fascinating topics. Eerie fascinating. You just wait. No singing, though! That was pathetic -- “…over the roof at Mark’s house.” -- Embarrassed yourself is what you did. -- Whoa. Third cut-off sign. We’re gone.

END

WORD OF THE DAY

2009-01-08T21:06:00.000-06:00

WORD OF THE DAY JAN. 9, 2009

ENNUI

Which of the following is most likely to lead to a raging case of ennui?

a.) drinking from a polluted stream

b.) a five-hour tax seminar

c.) a blaring heavy-metal concert

Linus Shirt

2009-01-01T10:11:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – January 1, 2009
“The Linus shirt”

Do you get sidetracked often? Boy, I do. Have you noticed? Start talking about Santa Claus and end up spending time on the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny. I can almost hear you slapping your head while reading. “Where’s he goin’ with this?”

Yeah, I find myself doing that more and more. Take now for instance. I fully intended to rehash some of the events of 2008, and that’s exactly what I would’ve done had I turned on the light in my closet before grabbing my shirt. That’ll mean something in the next sentence or two. Probably.

You see, before taking my bath, I grabbed some clothes from my closet. After my soak, I hate to run-upstairs with just a towel wrapped around me. Too cold. Normally, I’ll make a run for it and— Right. I’ve just entered into the area of stuff you’d rather not know. Another problem of mine.

Anyway, when I was in the dimly lit closet I grabbed my light blue T-shirt. Has a pocket for my glasses, pen…sunflower seeds. After my bath I picked up the shirt and found that it had somehow turned into my gray Linus shirt. I hadn’t worn the thing in years. Only during my really down moments. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna grow right out the thing.

Yes, there’s a story behind the Linus shirt. So, hold on, ‘cause here it comes.

Several years back, Kay and I moved from Conroe to the Austin area. I had decided to quit teaching and make a living writing. I had visions of being a novelist with a syndicated humor column. During what turned out to be a two-year sabbatical, I made a little bit of money, but not nearly enough to live on. The writing experiment ended up being financed by a hard-working Kay. I owe her big.

In the fall of 1994 we were back in Conroe, and I was again teaching at Oak Ridge High. Only this time, I was low teacher on the totem pole. I was given three preparations. I would be teaching World Geography, World History and American History. That means something only to a teacher.

It was a tough year. I thought I was gonna crash a time or two, but I made it. One of my near-crashes involved my fifth period World Geography class. They were juniors, which, incidentally, didn’t make sense. You were supposed to take Geography your freshmen year. These kids were either re-taking it or they were transfers from a school district that taught geography to 11th graders. Whatever the case, some of ‘em were wilder than wild. A formula for trouble.

I remember coming home and telling Kay, “Well, fifth period almost killed me today.” I can’t tell you the number of times I stood in front of that class, looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer. “God, please make this go away.”

It was late October, early November when things started to turn. I began to realize that the kids were not the enemy. We all actually had the same goals for the class. Regardless of their behavior, they really did want to learn something. And, they hoped to make good grades. I wanted both of those things for ‘em. And, I wanted us to have some fun along the way.

So, with my attitude adjusted a bit, I began to see each of my students as an individual. I attempted to get to know them without befriending them. That’s hard to do sometimes. But, I knew they didn’t need a middle-aged friend. They needed a teacher who listened as he taught.

Long story short, fifth period became my favorite class. I had to give them more leeway than my other classes, and they, occasionally, took advantage. If my other classes had seen how I acted with fifth period, they would’ve thought I was a different person. And, I was… I guess.

I remember right before the Christmas holidays I got us on the topic of characters throughout history. I mentioned that one of my favorite persons was Linus. Of all the Peanut characters I loved Linus the most. I mostly felt sorry for Charlie Brown, but I loved Linus.

Among other things, I mentioned about how upset Charlie Brown got during the “Charlie Brown Christmas” episode. How Linus walked out on the stage of the empty school auditorium and quoted the passage “And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy…’”

Each time I hear Linus say “behold” I tear up. I can’t spell how it sounds, but he says the word so sweetly.”

Well, I mentioned Linus just to open the class up to discussing some of their favorite characters (real or fiction). Didn’t have a great deal of thought in bringing up such a lesson. Just wanted to have us talk a bit.

Throughout the year we did a lot of discussing during fifth period. Wish I could tell you some of the episodes that were funny as all get out too me. And, one or two that brought tears. They were… well, it sounds trite as it can be, but they were a special group.

The last day of school that year, right after their final exam, Nicole walked to the front of the class and handed me a package. She told me it was something from the class. I’m sure it’s no surprise to you. What they gave me was this Linus T-shirt. The one I’m wearing now.

Nicole had drawn the picture of Linus holding his blanket. The students’ names were written along the hem of the shirt. In front of the names was written—To our Mr. Hayter: May all your Peanuts be Linus.

And, that’s the story of the Linus shirt. If I had turned on the closet light, I wouldn’t have mistakenly grabbed it, and I would now be wearing the blue T-shirt… the one with the pocket. And, you would’ve read a rehash of 2008.

I just got sidetracked. I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but… Well, in 2009 I’ll try not to drift quite so much. We’ll see. – May we all have a blessed new year.

END

Christmas Eve Short Story

2008-12-23T22:42:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S CHRISTMAS SHORT STORY – December 24, 2008

Each Christmas I come up with a holiday short story in place of my usual weird stuff. Hope you enjoy it. I do thank you all for showing up to read it. -- Merry Christmas from the Hayters!!

“A Christmas Eve Walk with Ed and Mason”

Too many aunts and uncles, too many cousins, too much giggling… too much family. And, it wasn’t even his.

“Oh, and remember the time Fran tried to climb the--” That’s all it took to kick off another round of laughter. The laughing and constant gabbing started the minute he entered the front door and continued through supper, into dessert and beyond. At one time he counted five conversations at the dinner table at once. Who the heck was listening? Somebody had to have been. How else could you explain the laughter?

The living room, the kitchen, dining room… there was no escape. The night belonged to family.

In truth, he was jealous. He was an only child whose parents had decided to take a cruise during the holidays. They’d celebrate Christmas with their son when they returned. So, it was perfectly logical for him to accept an invitation to a Christmas Eve gathering. Logic… bah.

After a couple of grueling hours, he casually made his way to the back guestroom where he located his jacket beneath a pile on the bed. He walked down the hallway and out the front door, careful not to draw attention.

The cold hit him instantly. He folded his arms and leaned against the porch railing. He was tempted to go back inside, but wanted to tough it out as long as possible. He was looking at the lame Frosty display on the lawn across the street when he heard, “So, which one are you?”

He hoped his frightened jerk appeared comically exaggerated. To add credence to the false notion he quickly assumed a martial arts pose. “You about scared me to death.”

The old man sitting in the porch swing, smiled, but just barely. “So?”

“Oh, I’m with Allison, your granddaughter.”

“I KNOW who she is.”

“Well, yeah. Anyway, I’m her boyfriend, uh, date… uh, she invited me. I’m Mason.” He walked over and shook hands with the party’s supposed host.”

“So, you gonna marry her?”

“Am I gonna… Sheesh! Uh, no. At least, not after this. I’m pretty much invisible here.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much to take, isn’t it? That’s why I’m out here. Through the years they’ve pushed Grandpa to the side. I apparently repeated my old stories a few too many times. I’m outta the loop nowadays. So, I thought I’d come out here to sulk.”

“Yeah, I think we’re both feeling a bit superfluous.”

“Superfluous?”

“Yes, sir. Without perflu.”

“I know what the word means, smarty-pants. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

This comic banter went on for several minutes before it gave way to topics of sports, politics… life. What’s that all about? And, in time the conversation took them off the porch and on a trek down the sidewalk that skirted the street. Needed the walk to stay warm.

“So, Grandpa, uh, Ed, what was it you retired from?”

“Worked at a refinery for 32 years. Thirty-two mindless years. Hated every minute of it. There was this horn that went off everyday at--”

Tom Edwards had really wanted to be a writer. He told Mason so. He had even written the beginnings of a half dozen novels. Mostly westerns. It was his cruel self-criticism and the reality of raising a family that caused him to drop each project. He hadn’t written anything in years.

“You’re not too old to start up again.” Mason told him. “Look at Grandma Moses. You know how old she was when she started writing? Uh, painting? What was it she did?”

“Hey, it’s your analogy. Or, metaphor. Uh, what would you call that?”

“An example, Ed. Work with me here. A decade from now you’ll be walking down this same road on Christmas Eve with some other granddaughter’s date, and you still won’t have a novel. Such a waste.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, you’re the one about to get a law degree, and you don’t even wanna be a lawyer!”

He didn’t, either. Mason was going through the motions for his dad. His dad longed for the day when Mason would be a partner in the firm. Problem was, Mason wanted to be a teacher. Wanted to teach English Literature, if you can believe that. Didn’t have the guts to tell his dad. Telling Ed had been so much easier.

The two of them walked and talked for well over an hour when Ed noticed they were on a cul-de-sac. He didn’t remember any cul-de-sac in the neighborhood. He knew that they could eventually find their way back, but he was too pooped to go much further. He scolded Mason for not paying better attention as to how they got there.

Mason refused to carry even a token of the blame. He did come up with an answer to their dilemma, though. He actually borrowed part of the answer from Ed. Ed suggested they knock on someone’s door and ask for directions. Mason thought that idea was unacceptable. Two guys late at night knocking on doors asking directions. They’d end up going home in a squad car.

No, Mason suggested they go over to the third house on the right-- the one with lights and a big Ford in the drive. -- and sing a Christmas carol. Someone would come to the door and surely ask ‘em where they were from. They’d answer Pinewood, and the person would say, “Wow, Pinewood is four blocks east of here.”

Yeah, it was pretty lame, but Ed was too tired to argue. When they got to the house, they did argue over the song to sing. “Jingle bells” was not happening. Ed hated the song. Way over done. Finally, they settled on “Frosty the Snowman.”

It started out, “Frosty the Snowman—“ Then it got crazy. Ed sang that Frosty was a “… fat old jolly soul.” Mason called him a “big ol’ pile of snow.” It wasn’t working. They were dying right there on the porch. They stopped, looked at each other for a brief moment and then both, at the top of their lungs, sang, “Jingle bells, jingle bells...”

They kept repeating the first verse until Morris Federman turned on his porch light and opened the door. Federman lived in the yellow Victorian across the street. Mason and Ed waved big and then crossed over to speak with Morris.

“That was pretty pathetic, gentlemen. But it was loud. Unfortunately, not loud enough for the Buckleys, a sweet, but near-deaf couple.

Mason explained that they were not really caroling as such. Federman said, “No, joke.” Ed went on to tell Federman that they had walked all the way from Pinewood. Federman said, “Okay.” When asked if he knew where Pinewood was, Federman said, “Over off Richey, isn’t it?”

Federman told the two weary, sidewalk vagabonds to come inside for some wassail that his wife had just made up, and then he would drive them back to Pinewood. Mason resisted, saying that they merely needed directions. Ed told his walking partner to be quiet that he wanted the wassail, but really NEEDED the ride.

After a hilarious ride, Federman dropped Ed and Mason off at the corner of Cascade and Pinewood. Ed refused to be driven all the way to the front door of his house. He was feeling better after the wassail and ride.

As they walked to the porch, Ed explained to Mason that the family was probably waiting for him to hand out the presents. Mason questioned the opening of gifts on Christmas Eve, but Ed told him they were the gifts from family. That they’d open Santa’s gifts the following morning.

Mason tried to explain to Ed that Santa was merely a myth. Ed told him to stop with his silly talk. The two of them were laughing as they entered the house.

They entered to applause and hugs from the crowd and to stern looks from two of the women in the group. Allison was a bit perturbed that she had not been informed of the caroling excursion. Grandma Edwards was upset with her husband for making up such a story.

Mason was one of the few to leave the Edwards house that night. Most of the family would stay till morning to open Santa’s gifts. Mason explained that Santa wouldn’t know where he was, so he had best get back to his place.

Ed followed Mason and Allison to the porch. He told Mason to come back soon. He was stern about it. “We’re having a New Years party and expect to see you. It will eclipse everything you witnessed here tonight.” Ed told his granddaughter to see that Mason was there for New Years. She seemed to need no coaxing.

Mason told the old man that the next time he saw him he expected to read his first chapter. Ed told his young friend that life was too short to work at something you don’t enjoy. Told him not to follow his example… or metaphor. They both grinned at that.

After her grandpa went inside, Allison felt left out in the cold, both physically and figuratively. Mason told her that Ed and he were just having some guy talk. Allison asked why he called her grandpa “Ed.” His name was Thomas. Thomas Edwards. Mason said he knew that, but “Ed” was what the semi-pro baseball players used to call him back in the day. Allison knew her grandpa played ball, but didn’t remember the particulars.

Before he left, and immediately before the goodnight kiss, Allison apologized to Mason for what had to have been an agonizing evening for him. Mason told her it was the best Christmas Eve he had ever had.

It had been, too. But there would be others… as good and better. And, they would be enjoyed right there in that house on Pinewood.

And, the New Years party? Grandpa had a new story to tell the family. Mason and he thought that the event needed to simmer for a couple of weeks before the telling. The story about brought down the house.

THE END

Christmas gift article

2008-12-21T23:05:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – December 21, 2008
“Gifts”

This morning I decided to write something that will likely offend a lot of you. Should I continue? Of course. Hey, it’s the holiday season. Aren’t we all just a bit anxious to again say “Well, that’s just not acceptable.”

So, are you ready? Hold on, ‘cause I want to discuss gift giving. What’s that all about? I’m not talking about gifts you weren’t expecting. Say, it’s the middle of March, it’s not your birthday, and your Dad comes home from work and gives you a bicycle. That’s good. That’s more than good. That’s so good it’s not gonna happen.

So, “out of the blue” gifts? Good if you can get ‘em. Good for kids. Husbands don’t pull something like that on your wives. Too scary. Wives need to be prepared for something like that… which pretty much negates the whole “out of the blue” concept.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah, gift giving. The seasonal kind. That’s what I’m talking about. The gifts you’re expecting, but you’re not real sure what they’re gonna be. That’s just silly stuff.

Do you have any idea what the chances are that you’re going to give a gift that somebody really wants? According to a study done at Cornell University back in ’03, there is only a 23 percent chance that an adult will get any use at all out of a gift. For children it’s only six percent. (Notice how believable a load of hoohaw sounds if you attach the name of a university and year?)

Bottom line? You end up spending a lot of time and money trying to make someone happy, but end up failing miserably.

I know what you’re thinking. Hey, it’s the thought that counts. Well, then save the money and time and give the thought! -- “Hey, I was gonna get you a red purse with a bag on the side for your umbrella, but you wouldn’t have liked it. Embrace the thought.”

I realize you’re not going to want to do this with kids. They’re different. In so many ways. Children generally make a wish list and give it to you… uh, to Santa. They give it to Santa. Adults don’t do that. We’re too selfless. – “Oh, I don’t really need anything. Just surprise me.” -- Ka-bloooooie!

Children are actually expecting something in particular. Hey, they made a list. So, their disappointment doesn’t come so much come from not getting what they asked for, but from the fact that what they asked for is a load of hoohaw. -- “I wish Santa would’ve got me the tank instead of this stupid robot. The tank could go through a wall and fire a rocket 200 yards.” -- Right.

The whole Santa thing is just too troublesome. (If you still believe, skip down to the last couple of paragraphs. I’ll give you a second.) The rest of you want some coffee? You take sugar? The stuff in the yellow packet or— Okay, they’re gone. -- There was not a time in my life that I believed in Santa Claus. Mom and Dad didn’t do a great deal to promote the myth. Wouldn’t have done any good. When you’ve got a bunch of older brothers and sisters… well, they’re gonna humiliate the Santa right out of you. It’s their job.

However, according to a study done at Cal Tech last year, 68 percent of all children under the age of 10 believe in Santa. That’s Cal Tech, and that’s impressive. The study went on to show that absolutely no child believes in the Easter Bunny. A large rabbit hiding hard-boiled eggs? As soon as a child is able to focus its gaze it, is able to see right through the Easter Bunny load of hoohaw. (I’ll not use the hoohaw word again today. Wait a minute. Hoohaw. Okay, I’m through.)

The only weird enchanted beings I ever believed in for any duration were the Tooth Fairy, the werewolf and Tinkerbell. Not sure the werewolf is considered an enchantment, but it’s something.

As far as Tinkerbell goes, I was one of the ones who saved her life when she about died. Hey, we all did. Fess up.

I believed in the Tooth Fairy up until the time my best friend David told me he got a whole dollar for his tooth. No, bona fide fairy is gonna leave one kid a dollar and some other little kid a dime. When I asked Dad about it, he said, “Tooth Fairy? Go ask you mother.” That’s all he needed to say.

Where was I? Oh, Santa Claus. Right. Just ‘cause I never believed doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep the myth alive. I enjoy observing the gullibility of youth. Sorry I missed out on the Santa part of it.

But, for adults and for kiddos who don’t believe in Santa, I say end the gift giving effort and disappointment by negotiating a budget for each person. Each is responsible for selecting stuff based on the funds allocated. For the kids, the economic lesson will be most beneficial. They can be there to pick stuff out at the store, but can’t get it till Christmas. By then, it’s too late. “Hey, you bought the stupid air guitar. Not me.”

For husbands this process will keep you from wondering what made your wife think you wanted a karaoke system for the shower. And for wives… well, I don’t even need to paint a picture for you. You’ve seen it all. -- “Yeah, it’s orange all right. Kind of a greenish-orange. I’m, uh… no words. I’m without words here. Except for one. Receipt!”

In conclusion -- since we’re here at the last two paragraphs, and since all of the Santa believers are back on board— let me say that Santa does his very best. But, he’s gonna make mistakes. You would not believe his record keeping system. Santa still uses paper and quill! So, any way we can help the old guy out, I say go for it. That’s all I’m sayin’.

For some, this will be unacceptable. For others, the idea comes too late to implement. The mistakes have already been made. Well, sorry ‘bout that. I just came up with this plan last week. And, like I say, it took me awhile to get Kay on board. About 30 seconds. Maybe less. Hey, she’s already cutting into my budget. I’m not shopping fast enough.

END

YOU MIGHT HAVE SEEN THIS

2008-12-17T18:45:00.000-06:00

XEROX IS DOING SOMETHING COOL

If you go to this web site, www.LetsSayThanks.com you can pick out a thank you card; Xerox will print it; and it will be sent to a soldier that is currently serving in Iraq. You can't pick out who gets it, but it will go to a member of the armed services.
How AMAZING it would be if we could get everyone we know to send one!!! It is FREE and it only takes a second.Wouldn't it be wonderful if the soldiers received a bunch of these? Whether you are for or against the war, our soldiers over there need to know we are behind them.
This takes just 10 seconds and it's a wonderful way to say thank you. Please take the time to pass it on for others to do. We can never say enough thank you's.
Thanks for taking time to support our military!

Family hayride article

2008-12-14T16:40:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – December 14, 2008
“Hayride and ice sculpting”

ROOFTOP -- Don’t know that we’ve ever had a better morning for roofsitting. Isn’t this the best? We’ve got a blue, cloudless sky with the sun not yet clearing the treetops. Anybody bring a camera?

I wanted to come up here earlier, but this metal roof was dew-wet and slippery as all get out. I couldn’t be responsible for you. I’m barely responsible for me. I remember back when I was indestructible – oh about a year ago – I climbed up here when it was damp to clean the gutters. No worry. I’m like a cat up here. Anyway, I slipped and about broke my tailbone. Saved the leaf-blower, though. That means more now than it did at the time.

So, I thought it best that we wait a bit for things to dry. The low humidity helped us a bunch. The thermometer sticking in the ground over by the birdbath says 61 degrees. Feels cooler. Probably the breeze. Not nearly as strong as yesterday’s, but it’s mildly balmy. That’s what I’d call it. Winnie the Pooh would call it mildly blustery. Silly bear.

Okay, everybody look at that small, white dart way up yonder. It’s pulling a contrail just straight as a laser. Apparently the low humidity is causing the trail to disappear before it has a chance to puff out and drift. Not a day for skywriting.

Beg pardon? No, it’s a cup of cocoa. I already had my coffee this morning. I would’ve offered you some of this stuff, but I only had three envelopes. There’s a box of cocoa somewhere in the house, but I can’t find it. I mostly find stuff when I don’t need it. One of life’s cruel jokes. Or, maybe it’s house imps. They’re the worst kind.

By the way, you’re not missing anything. This is bad cocoa. It’s got what I would call a slippery taste. “Slippery” is not a selling feature for most beverages. “Yes, it’s grayish and slippery. Get some today.”

I almost bought some hot chocolate when we visited the Ice Cutters Christmas last weekend. I’m sure the cocoa would’ve been a lot better than this brew. When the girl asked me what I wanted I was all set to say cocoa, but the word turned into “coffee” at the last minute. There was a pot right next to me. It was a reflex. Good coffee, too. But, now I’ll have to wonder about the cocoa.

Have you been to the Ice Cutter place yet? It’s out on 2854 near Raybon Chapel Road. We made the outing because of Big Al. The article in “The Courier” peaked my little brother’s interest, so he decided the family should pay a visit. Al seldom suggests stuff, so we couldn’t say no. And, I’m glad we didn’t. Had a great time.

Let’s see, we went on a hayride and saw a bunch of Christmas lights, visited the ice-sculpting exhibit and even got to watch Jay Maclaskey sculpt a snowman. I couldn’t draw a convincing snowman with pencil and paper. Maclaskey can create a great looking one with a chainsaw and a giant chunk of ice. The man’s an artist.

Speaking of something different, how many Christmas songs can you sing all the way through? I thought I could do a bunch. Not so. I’ll get a verse out and then sing “…something, something, fa, la, la.” Or just hum.

The reason I bring it up is ‘cause on the hayride Al suggested we sing Christmas carols. Like I say, I don’t know what he was on. After Jingle Bells we were stumped. Every song we tried ended about as quickly as it started. Kind of like our contrail up there.

When I suggested “Good King Wenceslas” (pronounced When’s-his-sloths.) Kay gave me one of her I-married-a-goober looks. I’ve got a picture of the look right here-- Oops. I left my wallet at ground level. I’ll get her to do the look for you later.

Eventually, we tried to sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Al and I started out “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…” We had no idea. We were stumped. Can you believe that? Dardon Ann said, “A partridge in a pear tree, you dimwits!” I think the “dimwit” part was anti-holiday spirit. What I’m thinkin’.

Boy, that song was a struggle. We got tied up at days three, four, six, eight, nine, eleven and twelve. We really knew what most of the gifts were, but not the number associated with each. Al would say stupid stuff like, “Six pipers milking.” He was a hoot.

When we got back from the hayride it was about time for the snowball fight. Two boundary lines about 20 feet apart had been marked off and the kids divided into two groups. Maclaskey dragged two large ice chests from his truck and placed one on each side of a boundary.

When he gave the word, the kids reached in, grabbed the finely shaved ice and started tossing it at the group across no-man’s land. The kids were lousy snowball makers. They were just throwing powder. One by one the grownups got involved and pretty well took over. Things got a bit too competitive. Adults can be such dopes. Have you noticed that? I was so glad I didn’t have to drag Big Al away from the fight.

This being the first event of the year, I’m sure grownups will be tied to trees during future snowball fights. Too much pent-up rage.

After the fight, we sat around the bonfire and did some marshmallow roasting. I had never tasted an open-fire smore before that night. Still haven’t. My nephew Clint just brought enough fixings for him and his family. How selfish is that?

All in all, it was a great outing. I highly recommend it. Makes me think… why don’t we find a big building somewhere and have our own Holiday Roofsitting. At the fairgrounds or downtown. Somewhere I’m not responsible. Maybe your house. And, we can have hot chocolate. The good stuff. Not this slippery brew I’m drinking.

We should probably schedule the rooftop thing for next Christmas. That’ll give us time to forget about it. Pretty sure that’s what Kay would suggest. Hey, I’ll have her do that look for you later. It’s cute. Not for me. I’ve seen it too much.

END

Big Al's movie is finally out!!!

2008-12-10T09:11:00.000-06:00

Yes, Rooftoppers, "The Man Who Came Back" is now at a video store near you... depending on where you live.

Big Al plays The Preacher, or as George Kennedy liked to call him -- "The Reverend". The DVD was rented-out at the few Blockbusters I checked. They should have a copy at your nearest "redbox". Larry is the only one I know who has gotten his hands on a copy. He really bragged on Al... according to Al. What Larry told me was, "Boy, Al had a couple of great scenes." I think he bragged more to Al. That's what I would've done.

Anyway, get your hands on a copy and post your comment. Be honest. Al can take it. Well, that's a lie, but still be honest. -- I can't wait!!

Thanksgiving article

2008-11-28T11:06:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – November 26, 2008
“Thanksgiving”

It’s pretty obvious that Elsie was the glue of this family. That woman kept us all together. She’s been gone two years now and everything is just shot to pieces.

A few minutes ago I looked to see what I wrote about Thanksgiving last year. You know what I found? Nothing. As I remember Kay and I hosted the event and only Big Al and Jill showed up. I must’ve been too depressed to write about it.

Larry and Dennis and their families spent last Thanksgiving with their in-laws. So, there were only four of us here. Four people and a ton of food. Let me tell you there were some serious leftovers.

When Mom was around, something like that would never have happened. If I were to tell Mom that I couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving, she’d say, “So, which hospital will you be in?”

Oh, you could spend half the day with the in-laws, but you had to show up at Mom’s at some point, or else that woman would’ve… Well, she wouldn’t have done anything. It would’ve disappointed her is all. None of us wanted that.

Let me tell you, Mom could put on a feed. Each family brought along stuff, but Mom did the bulk of the cooking. We’d have a house full of people, and each of us would go home stuffed to the gills. And each of us would load up a bunch of leftovers. That woman could cook.

And, she did the cooking up to her very last Thanksgiving. Watching that 86 year-old woman grab a vat of dressing out of the oven was a sight. “Mark, leave it alone. You’ll drop it.” What a blessing that was.

There is no telling how many people over the years attended the Hayter feasts. Seemed each year the grandkids would have new boyfriends or girlfriends. We might never see ‘em again, but they sure got a taste of the Hayters. I don’t think we were the reason some of them never came back. Some of our talent shows no doubt drove a few of them away, but not our Thanksgiving get-togethers. Those were a blast.

Turkey, baked ham, roast beef, dressing, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, sweet potatoes, broccoli casserole, salads and rolls. What have I missed? Oh, yeah, desserts. There’s not room to list the desserts. Too much food.

Sometimes we had to eat in waves. We didn’t even know who some of the people eating with us. “Uh, the couple over there? I think they’re with Jeff. Hey, Jeff, over there.” – “No, I don’t know ‘em.” As long as they didn’t try to get away with some of the leftovers, we seldom challenged mystery guests.

And, if they were good football players, they could even grab leftovers. We had some of the greatest games in the history of the sport. Got some of ‘em on film. Didn’t matter what the weather was like. The colder and muddier the better.

Each year, our flag football game turned into tackle after about the third play. Let’s face it, if Jill catches the ball right over the middle, you’ve gotta tackle her. I don’t care if she’s standing in the mud, you’ve gotta put the hit on her. That’s just the way it is.

Mom seldom caught a ball in the years she played. The few times she did catch a pass the first thing she did was scream. It was like the boogieman was coming after her. We made the tackles look a lot more violent than they really were, but we did some serious piling on. That woman could take a hit, too. But, like I say, she seldom caught the ball.

Lynda, couldn’t catch much better than Mom, but at least she knew which direction to run after she caught the ball. Mom would just run into a circle until somebody took her down.

Weird thing nobody ever seriously got hurt. Oh, there were jammed fingers and a few bruises. I did paralyze half my face after butting heads with Dardon Ann’s brother. The guy ran with reckless abandon. I thought sure he’d pull up at the last minute. Took me a couple of days before I could eat without drooling on my lap.

Then in ’95 I separated my Achilles Tendon. Only mentioned it a dozen times. I never came back full speed. Just hated therapy. Picking up marbles with your toes! Who can do that?

The Thanksgiving Day game started going down after that. And, now it’s all we can do to get people together. Big Al is hosting Thanksgiving this year. Only Al’s crew, Dennis’ family and Kay and I will be there. Larry’s family and Jill are off in different directions. We’ve lost our glue.

By the way, Al says he’s furnishing everything this year. A few weeks ago I wrote about him hinting that I bring the turkey. Now, he’s doing it all. It’s hard to tell with Al.

I told Al that if we didn’t bring anything, we’d feel guilty about taking home leftovers. You know what he said? Nothing. What’s that mean? Can I bring home leftovers or not? Is a leftoverless Hayter Thanksgiving even possible?

Yeah, it’s sure different without Mom. She’d say, “Okay, that’s enough football. Everybody inside. You’re gonna catch your death o’ cold.” Catch your death ‘o cold? Sounds weird when I say it. Only Mom could say it right. As I remember she did that with most things. Made them just right.

Well, those are my Thanksgiving thoughts for this year. Please know that the Hayters wish your family a very happy Thanksgiving. Make it one to remember.

END

Cooking tips from Mark -- Whatta guy!

2008-11-24T09:41:00.001-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – November 24, 2008
“Cooking”

A lady asked me the other day if I cooked. I told Sheila (not her name) that I did cook and that I was pretty good at it. Shouldn’t have thrown in that last part. Just had a weak moment.

Sheila shot back, “Really? What do you cook?” I think I came off as well as the Republican VP candidate did when asked what magazines she read. “Most of ‘em. All of ‘em. Any of ‘em.” She couldn’t come up with the name of a single one.

Nor could I come up with the name of a single dish. I cook meat and vegetables and desserts. No pies. I can’t do crust. I don’t even understand it. Fold in shortening? What’s that all about?

No bread or beets or real slimey things. Except for chicken livers. You give me some rubber gloves and I’ll cook a batch of livers. I can do it with my eyes shut. In fact, I prefer it that way.

But, I didn’t say any of that to Sheila. Couldn’t think. She was serving me roast at the time, so I eventually mentioned that I cook roast. I do, too. About as good as Mom used to make. The brothers and sisters would say that it’s not even close. That’s what they’re supposed to say. Moms have a following.

After mentioning to Sheila that I cook roasts, I paused for what seemed a half-hour. She wasn’t going to help me a bit. I finally said “Uh, and other stuff.” I cook stuff. Lots of different stuff. I was so unbelievable.

I sure wish I’d kept a few of my cooking articles in my pocket. Need to remember to do that. I coulda really showed her. Remember the one I did on fried chicken? That article has got to be hanging on refrigerators all across the county. The nation, even.

Then there were articles on barbecue brisket, hot dogs, children’s school lunches… I can’t remember ‘em all. And, you can’t remember any of ‘em. Hey, I’ve been writing for a good while. Even longer than I’ve been cooking.

I didn’t start cooking until I became the one who got home from work first. Kay left for work and got home an hour later than I did, so I had the meals prepared just as she arrived. I cooked and she washed the dishes.

Of course, Kay taught me a bunch of what I know. She was a Home Economics major, you know? Well, I don’t know how you would. That girl can sew, cook, design, uh, cut hair, pickup toads and lizards... She can’t catch. I can be three feet from her, toss the football and she juggles it all the way to the ground. It’s really pathetic. In a cute sort of way.

Anyway, Kay taught me the basics of cooking. Over the years, I’ve learned a bunch on my own. Learned through experimentation. Sometimes it got scary and expensive and smelly. But, I’m better now. A wise man said that experience is a dear teacher, and that a fool will learn from no other. That’s pretty much me.

Of course, I have learned a few things from TV chefs. Alton Brown is a walking encyclopedia of cooking facts. (Can anyone spell “encyclopedia” without singing the Jiminey Cricket song? I sure can’t.) And, Alton is funny. Corny as all get out, but funny.

Alton taught me that I don’t have to sear my roast. Has no effect on how moist the meat cooks up. I still sear, but it’s good to know I don’t have to.

I’ve probably learned a few things from Rachel Ray. How to carry a bunch of stuff from the fridge to the countertop comes to mind. I’m not as good as she is, but I imagine they’ve cut the camera on a few of her spills. Bound to have.

You didn’t ask, but I think Rachel is an example of a trap some performers fall into. That girl is too involved. Into too many things. When you’re all over the place, you can’t help but lose a touch of your genuineness. Just an observation.

I can’t think of a lot I ever picked up from that De Laurentis girl. Giada I think it is. She’s a great cook, mind you. But, other than spaghetti, I don’t cook much Italian. Too many good Italian restaurants around here with affordable dishes. Doesn’t even pay me to learn.

Tyler Florence, Paula Deen, the Barefoot Contessa lady, Bobby Flay… I’ve watched and learned from them all.

Even tried some of their dishes. Never came out all that good. Of course, I never do stuff exactly like I’m s’posed to. That’s from experience. Let me give you a few of my own cooking pointers. We’ve still got a few minutes.

First thing you’ve gotta know is to cook meat longer than they say. If Alton says 10 minutes, go for 30. Whichever one of ‘em is showin’ you how to cook chicken, leave yours in the oven for another hour. Hamburgers? They’ve got a giant meat patty there, and they flip the thing in three minutes. Give me a break!

If you’re sautéing anything, double the time, unless you like your vegetables to crunch and your meats to fight back.

Remember, you can substitute applesauce for practically anything. But, don’t. It’s stupid. Buttermilk? Stay away from it. Nobody knows what it really does. God can’t even believe we’re using it.

Use real butter. Oleo is a joke. Anything you have to dye yellow can’t be good. Someone found a marking inside one of the pyramids which read “If it’s not naturally yellow, don’t make it so.” Seems like it was in a pyramid. Might’ve been a dream.

I’ve got a few more cooking tips, but that oughtta give you a good start. I’ll probably show you how to cook something in a few weeks. Hafta pick one of my favorites. I’ve got a bunch. Just wish I coulda thought of one to tell Shelia. “Oh, yeah. I cook a lotta stuff. Nice dishes of, uh, good stuff.” Yeah, she was convinced.

END

Of Squids and crows article

2008-11-17T09:35:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – November 17, 2008

ROOFTOP – I sure hope you appreciate all I went through to get us up here today. You would not believe. Forces are at work. Not the good ones either.

First off I haul the ladder around to the side of the house, and low and behold Kay has two flowerpots right where the ladder is supposed to sit. One pot has a big rose bush in it. I love moving pots with big rose bushes. Those bubbas will fight you every inch of the way. They go for the eyes, you know?

The other pot has one of those Aloe Vera plants in it. A big one. That is one ugly plant. Made up of small tentacle-looking things. An upside-down squid in a pot is what it looks like. I know the plant has some medicinal value, but it doesn’t do me any good. When I get a burn, I seldom think to go break off a tentacle of the squid plant.

If , say, I ever sit down on a lit barbecue pit – Hey, I’ve been known -- I’ll sure have enough aloe to take care of the burn. I can just hear Kay, “Now, don’t break off a stem of my plant! Why don’t you go sit on an ice tray?” Kay and her plants.

While I was shoving the killer pots out of the way of the ladder, the neighbor’s cat jumped right out of the tree next to me. I didn’t know it was there. Who knows a quiet cat’s in a tree? What’s it doing in a tree? Flew right over my shoulder. About scared me to death.

After I changed my pants, I stepped onto the carport to get the lawn chair. Instantly I grabbed the little folding table next to the chair. Grabbed that table and headed for the roof. Took about two steps with that thing. What was I thinking? I’m gonna sit on a table? Bad ju ju going around, I’m telling you.

Eventually, I made it to our perch. I’m sorry we have to sit so close to the edge, but it took so long to get up here that the only shade remaining is at this far end.

By the way, there’s one other thing that’s making this experience the least bit worrisome. Look way above you there in the oak. Near the top. Right there, see? Four crows. They’re just sitting there. Arrived about ten minutes before you did. Just looking and waiting. It’s like they know something.

I’m telling you that’s bad ju ju… as opposed to good ju ju, which I don’t think they’ve got. Of course, I’ve never been to Vermont. Not sure what that means.

But, seriously, I don’t believe in ju ju or omens. If I did, I’d get my happy buns off th is room. We’ve got a cat jumping out of a tree, practically lands on me; I have to wrestle a squid plant; I grab a table to sit in; and four crows are staring at us. Stephen King would be just about finished with the sixth chapter of this story. Boy, he’s a fast writer.

But, like I say, I’m not into omens. And, you certainly don’t have anything to worry about. . You weren’t here when the weird stuff happened. Except for the crows. Yeah, the crows are creepy.

All that aside, the world looks absolutely gorgeous at the moment. From our vantage we’ve got a clear view past the worries down there at ground level. The struggle to get up here was well worth the effort… for me. Again, you’ve just got the crows working against you. And, see? They’re flying off. Probably going to report us to the evil wizard. They do stuff like that, don’t they?

“Caw!” What an ugly sound. No, don’t tease ‘em. “Hey, it was Wanda, not me! Wanda!” Sorry, but I don’t like to take chances with crows. They’re freaky, I tell you!

Speaking of freaky, did you get many trick-or-treaters this year? We got none. Zero, zip, nada… I even kept the porch light on till almost nine. Bought a case of Cracker Jacks with a couple dozen bags in it. With prizes in each bag! Just like the boxes.

The prizes aren’t worth spit, though. You’ve got the two-inch square of paper that folds over to reveal Abe Lincoln’s picture. Nothing against Abe, but you can’t do much with a folded piece of paper. Another stupid gift is the one where the paper has pictures of flies. You put a pencil through two slits and it looks like flies are on the pencil. Supposed to, anyway.

How stupid is that? If I worked in the Cracker Jack Toy Development Division, I wouldn’t have the guts to introduce such a dumb toy. “Okay, see? Now it looks like the flies are on each side of the pencil. Cool, huh?” They’d throw my rear right out the window.

Used to be Cracker Jack toys were functional. I liked the magnifying lens. I used to burn leaves with it. Occasionally, I’d find an ant bed and see if I could cook some ants. You may not know but ants don’t generally stand still enough for you to fry ‘em. They just won’t. Great reflexes.

In our neighborhood, if you wanted to lie down for a minute, you’d best keep all body parts in the shade. If someone had their Cracker Jacks magnifying lens, they’d do everything possible to give you a hot foot. A cruel bunch. I’d like to say that I never did that. I’d like to be able to say that.

We’ve only got about ten bags of Jacks left. Kay and I have been grabbing a bag of an evening when we watch TV. A great snack. Stupid gifts, but the Jacks are nummy. Need more peanuts, though. Just an observation.

And, on the “nummy” note it appears we’re outta time. Just when I was getting in the swing of things. Well, while y’all rifle through the rest of “The Villager,” I think I’ll stay here awhile and observe. I hate to leave just as things are settling down. Went to too much trouble to get up here. Let you know if I spy anything. – Next time.

END

TV aggravations

2008-11-10T13:39:00.001-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – November 10, 2008
“TV aggravations”

Today I thought we’d talk about some of the aggravating things we see on TV. I’ve been keeping a list, and thought I’d share. Hey, I’m in the mood.

Please realize that the stuff that aggravates you may not aggravate me. We’ll get to your aggravations later. Maybe meet at IHOP and do coffee. They put the whole pot on the table. Still can’t believe that.

Okay, first aggravation. Let’s see, it irritates me about how fast people in these police shows can find stuff on the computer. The detective says, “I wanna know how many people in the city took out $200 from an ATM between the hours of 1:15 and 2:35 last Tuesday.”

A guy jiggles his fingers over a keyboard for four seconds, and voila! “There were 87.” -- “Okay, how many drive a black Mercedes?” – Jiggle, jiggle. “That’d be 5”—Okay, how many of those were born on May 4? And I want pictures.” -- Click, click. “Here’s our man.”

What do you type in to find something like that? It’d take me longer to find out what time my bank opens.

Or, when— Oops. Notice how the phone always seems to ring when you’re into stuff? Oh, it’s my kid brother. I’m gonna put him on speakerphone. Bear with me here.

Hey, Big Al, what’s happenin’? -- “Nothing much, Alice. Whatcha doin’?” -- Uh, I’m trying to come up with an article about stuff on TV that aggravates me. You know, like when the cops are looking for a suspect who just happens to be calmly walking out the door of a building? The guy is two blocks away, yet, instead of sneaking up on him and apprehending him, they yell, “Morgan! Stop right there!”

Morgan doesn’t stop. He takes off like a parent who spotted a wii sale. After a ten minute chase, the cops are pulling the guy from a tall chain-link fence. I don’t think real cops are that stupid?

“A what sale? Okay, what’s worse than that is when an attractive girl is getting ready to exit the bathtub, but just as she starts to raise up, the camera cuts to the other side of the room. Now, THAT’S irritating. ”

Uh, I see your point, Al. By the way, I didn’t tell you, but I’ve got you on speakerphone. The audience can hear you, so you might wanna watch what you say. – “Oh, sorry, Sally. So, all six of your readers heard that? Well, four of ‘em won’t care, and two of ‘em agree with me.”

Right. So, uh, why’d you call? – “To tell you that we’ll have Thanksgiving at our house this year, since you obviously don’t want to have it at yours.” – Great. What should we bring? – “I don’t know. When is Thanksgiving?” – I think they’re having it on the fourth Thursday in November this year. – “Whatever. Bring something big and cooked all the way through.” – Sure. Thanks, Al. – “Later, Lucy.”

I don’t know why he does that. I think he gets it from “Scrubs.” They’re always calling the J.D. character by a girl’s name. It’s funny when they do it.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. I think it’s really dumb when a guy carries an uncocked shotgun into a warehouse expecting trouble. He lurks around in the dark for a few minutes pointing his shotgun at different noises. Suddenly, the bad guy appears, and for the first time the cop cocks his gun. He enters a building expecting to get in a firefight, yet he doesn’t have a shell in the chamber. Who would do that?

Oh, and then there’s the guy who over-cocks his gun. I saw one cop cock his shotgun as he got out of the car, cocked it again as he entered the building and then a third time when the bad guy showed up. I don’t know what that tells you, but it tells me that he’s got an empty gun.

What about this one? The good guy tells the pretty girl, “Stay here. Don’t leave.” They may be in a room or a car or in the proverbial warehouse. “Stay here.”

I’ve done considerable research on this one, and have found that in the history of movies and of TV programming, at no time has the person, told to “Stay here,” ever staid. “Stay” apparently translates into “Wait 30 seconds and then follow me so the monster can eat you, or the serial killer can slash you, or the bomb can go off and blow you to smithereens.

Speaking of monsters, doesn’t it get a little tiring to see the person in the cabin late at night back up to the window after hearing a noise? Or back into the dark part of the room. The key is to never backup when you’re scared. When you’re walking backwards, the monster is always behind you. You’d think people would catch on to that.

I’ve got a dozen or so more aggravations here, but Big Al took too much of our time. Uh, let me mention just one more. NCIS. Do you watch that? I think the “N” stands for navy or naval. Not navel. That’s you’re belly button. The CIS doesn’t stand for anything. It could just as easily be RJ6. What I’m thinkin’.

The NCIS team is always called in to take charge of any case where a navy person is even remotely involved. Happens a lot. They come in and flash a badge. “NCIS! We’ll take over.”

The state or city official always acts as if he or she knows about the organization. Whatta hoot. Before “NCIS” aired, I doubt the President had even heard of the organization. I’ll bet few in the navy even knew what it was. -- “Oh, are you with NCIS? Good. It’s your case.” Yeah, right.

More realistically, the response would be “NCIS? Well, I’m with AARP, and I don’t talk to a guy who slaps his subordinates on the back of the head.” I hate it when Mark Harmon does that. You can pinch me, tickle me, frog me on the arm, but it’s really irritating when you slap me on the back of the head. I keep trying to explain that to Big Al.

And, I’ll remind you, it’s because of Big Al that we must end this here. Took too much of our time. I’ll save the rest for another day. – By the way, did Al tell me to bring the turkey? Is that what he meant? I’d call him back, but he’d say something like, “Hello, Rhonda. What’s shakin’?” I don’t know why he does that.

END

Jill's Halloween party

2008-11-03T15:31:00.000-06:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – November 3, 2008
“Halloween”

Let me ask you this. Excluding Christmas, for which holiday do Americans fork out the most money? The most moola, dinero, cabbage, bread… which one?

If you guessed Halloween, you’re wrong. I believe it’s Valentines. I was just trying to bait you there. You’re so impressionable.

So am I. You see, that was one of the questions I asked at our family Halloween party over at Jill’s. Jill made us each come up with a game, and, being an ex-teacher, I picked a Halloween test. Isn’t that neat?

So, I got on the Internet and found some Halloween trivia. One of the “facts” I found was that, next to Christmas, people spend more money on Halloween than any other holiday. Sounded weird to me, but, hey, it was on the Internet!

Well, before sitting down here and writing this, I thought I’d double-check my source. That’s what real writers are supposed to do. Double-check stuff. Occasionally, I’ll even try it. Well, I found out that Halloween is merely the seventh most expensive holiday, right behind Fathers Day. Fathers Day!

Americans supposedly spend $3 billion on Halloween and $8 billion on Fathers Day. Most of the $8 billion is spent by the fathers. At least it was in the Hayter house. I remember on the Friday before Fathers Day, Dennis and I would ask Dad for an advance on our allowance. Dad always acted like he was blown away, but forked over the money if he had it. You couldn’t trick the man. You couldn’t get him anything good, either. He was the hardest man to buy for that— What? Oh, yeah. Halloween.

I was going to share with you the other questions on my Halloween test, but the fact-checking thing pretty well ripped that. Wouldn’t you say? If any of the family reads this thing, they’ll all think I should give them a prize just for playing. Dennis and Larry tied for the lead, so I had to actually dish out two prizes. Two! I got ‘em each a Peanut Patty. You know, those round, pink things with peanuts. Scrumptious. I bought two, so I could eat one. Ended up having to give both of ‘em to Dennis and Larry. They both only got three questions right.

I came up with a tiebreaker question, but they both missed it. I reminded them that Kay and I had just returned from a stay at a lodge on Arkansas’ highest point. I asked what the elevation of the highest point in Arkansas is. The one who guessed the closest would win.

Dennis guessed 1200 feet and Larry 1400. What idiots! They must’ve thought we went to Florida! The elevation of Mt. Magazine is 2753 feet. I gave Larry a patty, but felt so sorry for Dennis that I gave him the other one. I’m kind to a fault. It really hurts, too.

Speaking of the Arkansas trip, I meant to tell you about my dubbing experience. Remember, I had to do some voice-over work for that scary cave movie shot in Arkansas? The one that I had a small part in? I got to scream and die and everything. It was a gas.

For the sound work I stood in this room that had egg carton-lookin’ things on the wall and a microphone with a filter gizmo by it and a screen with little squiggles that jumped up and down when you talked. Some of the sound during the actual filming was garbled or messed up in some way, so the director had to try to reproduce it.

It was really tough to match my scream. Before the movie, I didn’t even know I could scream. But, I can. I have a high pitched scream, too. I screamed till my nose bled. Near the end, David, the director, wanted me to hold my scream for a few seconds, but I-- Beg pardon? Oh, yeah. Halloween.

Uh, what other games did we play? Well, it was mostly stupid stuff. Toss the rolled up socks into a plastic pumpkin. That was Dennis and Dardon Ann’s game. Kay won the thing. Beat me by one toss. I didn’t even know she could throw socks. If it had been a flip-underwear-with-your-foot game, I woulda won hands down. Feet down. But, let’s not talk about that. It’s a gift, though. I can’t explain it.

Let’s see, Larry did a guess a number between one and 50 game. He made it up. Acted like an emcee from a big TV show. Had his granddaughter, Lauren, and his nephew J Bear helping him. They were the real stars of the game. Larry was just along for the ride.

My niece Kristy won Larry’s game. Thirty-two was the number we were going for. Most people are supposed to choose 23. I read that somewhere. Larry didn’t, ‘cause he’s a goobhead.

There were other games, but I left right before the bingo. I hate bingo. Ever since I went to a Bingo Hall in Bartlett to do a Bingo story. It got vicious. Those women almost made me cry. You give me more than one card, and I freak. I hate the game.

By the way, to make up for the misinformation I used in my Halloween game, I came up with another one today, and called everybody to get his or her answers. It’s a one-question test. I asked those in the immediate family what the scariest movie was. Jill guessed “Jaws.” Dennis “Wait until Dark.” Al picked “An American Werewolf in London.” Larry went with “The Beast with Five Fingers.” It’s the one about the hand crawling around killin’ people. I e-mailed Susan in Washington, and she agreed with Jill. “Jaws was her scariest movie.”

Notice how no one mentioned “The Exorcist.” That’s ‘cause none of us saw it. Too scary.

Oh, I also asked the one person who hates scary movies more than anyone on the planet. Kay said “The Godfather” was her scariest movie. The scene with the horse head in the bed really scared her. Isn’t she a doll?

But, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause none of ‘em won. The scariest movie ever made was “Living Dark.” It’s that Arkansas cave movie. It’ll come out in some form in the near to distant future. I tell you, I screamed till I couldn’t scream any more. A high pitched scream it was. Not like a girl, but close.

So, I win. And, where’s my peanut patty? Dennis got it. The big goob. Twelve hundred feet? What’s he thinkin’? -- And, uh, that’s it for Halloween. -- Next time.

END

A mountain in Arkansas

2008-10-27T09:41:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – Oct 27, 2008
“South Wind”

MOUNT MAGAZINE STATE PARK, Ark. -- Kay and I didn’t really plan to stay in this lodge at the highest point in Arkansas. I’m glad it worked out that way, though. Beautiful view. Just look out there.

The brown specks sprinkled across those patches of green in the valley are big round hay bales. They look like dots from where we sit. And, look at the small lakes. There are one, two, another just beyond, a couple more to our right… Lakes running all along the valley.

I can imagine the excitement of the first pioneers to visit this place. They probably couldn’t believe their fortune.

Of course, pioneers weren’t the first to inhabit this region. Apparently the Chinese were. They made my Magazine State Park souvenir cap. A great looking black cap that cost me only six bucks! They get the material, the thread, the little cardboard inside bill thing, stitch it all together, send it to the highest point in Arkansas where it sells for $5.95. And, they make a profit!

I was joking about the Chinese being the first inhabitants. Not about the cap, though. That’s for real.

Among the Native Americans who actually did first visit this area, there was a tribe called the Quapaws. I don’t know how it’s pronounced, but roughly translated it means “What feet?” I think.

Other tribes referred to the Quapaws as “South Wind” or “Arkansas.” Isn’t that something? This state was named after the nickname that a Native American tribe gave to the Quapaws. I’m not smart enough to make that up. It came straight from this Arkansas tour guide. I think I’ll put it down now.

Like you, I was pleasantly ignorant of all this fascinating stuff up until a couple of days ago. That’s when Kay and I crossed the border into South Wind on our way to a sound studio. Seems the director of that cave movie we shot in Arkansas a few years back, needs me to dub my voice over some of the scenes. I had a very small role, but it was a blast to do. They’re finally gonna get that thing ready to market.

Anyway, since I had to be in Arkansas, Kay and I decided to make a vacation of it. Are we smart or what? Our first stop across the border was to the visitor center. That’s where we got a new state highway map and a few dozen brochures from every town with a tree, pond or rock shop. We got ‘em all. I couldn’t stop Kay. I couldn’t even stop the Arkansas tourist ladies who practically begged me to take a map. The State has two precious ambassadors in those two ladies.

I told ‘em that we were just looking for a place to stay a couple of nights. Asked one of the ladies if she had a sister-in-law who didn’t snore. I was halfway joking. She laughed and assured me that we didn’t want to stay with any of her kinfolk.

When we got back on the road, Kay sorted through all the pamphlets and found the Magazine State Park brochure. The picture looked beautiful, and the prices almost palatable, so she picked up the cell and booked us a room for a couple of nights. Not quite as cheap as staying with a sister-in-law, but so much nicer. Do you wanna look at the view again? Go ahead.

The first thing I did when we got to the lodge was to visit the indoor pool. There was no one there. Not a soul. They even had a sliding board, but no one in this 60 room lodge wanted to go to the pool. I think that’s ‘cause most people here are old people who don’t look good in swimsuits. Just a guess.

I’m relatively young and look great in a swimsuit. It was an absolute blast going down that slide. I didn’t dream I’d be going that fast. Before we leave, I’ve gotta get Kay to go down that slide.

We didn’t do much of anything this morning ‘cause we were in a cloud. Literally. A thick mist sat right on top of the mountain. We were told it was clear and bright in the valley. Super. I couldn’t see past my coffee mug from the Lodge balcony. So we sat and read and vegetated. I played like I was crook-necked squash. Kay an asparagus. Hey, she picked it. She said she wanted to be an asparagus ‘cause they’re tall, thin and good for you. She’s a doodle.

Early afternoon, the cloud finally left us. Kay and I instantly put on our hiking boots and headed for one of the hiking trails. We settled on one that was described as “easy” in the brochure.

We drove to the starting point, ‘cause if we had walked to it we would’ve ended up hiking 20 miles round trip. A lot of that uphill.

The sign at a nearby camping area mentioned bears, so I grabbed my umbrella before we set out. I read somewhere that bears always go for the person not holding the umbrella. Pretty sure Kay hadn’t read that.

The scene along the trail was absolutely gorgeous. Have you seen those pictures of the guy standing on a rock outcropping at the end of a sheer cliff? The person is just standing there like he’s got good sense.

Well, we now have a picture of me standing on one of those bubbas. Don’t know how far it was below me, ‘cause I was too scared to look. I doubt I would’ve stood there without the umbrella.

During the daring photo shoot, another cloud came outta nowhere. This one contained no mist. It was all drops. Big ol’ things. It rained like a bad dog. For the first ten minutes it was actually fun. After that it was just cold and wet. If only I had found a larger umbrella. Of course, the rain was so fierce, the bears would’ve probably fought me for it.

Right now, we’re just sitting in the room while our clothes dry. The asparagus girl is reading a book. I’m sitting at the desk finishing my communication with you. It’s a blast. If all goes well, next time I’ll probably tell you about the movie dubbing experience. I’ve never dubbed before. I’ve gone down a slide, though. Like a rocket. It was a blast.

END

Results of Christmas book contest

2008-10-22T13:41:00.000-05:00

Some of you may remember the Christmas book contest we entered a few weeks back. It involved a Christmas book called "A Scrapbook of Chirstmas Firsts". I collected the names of those who sent comments concerning the book, and I put the names on pieces of paper and put 'em in a box. I drew one name to be entered with all other websites that posted the Christmas book.

Now, for the low down -- The winner of the Rooftop drawning (the person who got his/her name sent to the central drawing site) was none other than our very own -- GARY MORRIS!! You the man!! Yes, you are. You the man, now.

Some of you may recall that Gary and his son Josh were members of the Driveway Band in our Episode 4. Gary was also the song writer and performer in our episodes 2 and 3. What a talented guy!!

One thing Gary is not is the winner of the over all drawing. That distinction goes to somebody named Carol Sue. I don't know Carol Sue, but I'll bet she's better looking than Gary... just not as talented.

Al and I want to thank all who participated. You did us proud. -- And for Gary? Well, if Big Al and I ever come up with a souvenir Rooftop can of nuts, Gary will be among the first to get one. I don't know if we're goin' in that direction, though. So, in the meantime, everybody salute our own Gary Morris!!!! Saaaaalute! That's it. Go back to your rat killin'. That's what our Dad used to say. Go back to your rat killin'. I don't know why.
mark

Another Mark article... Yea, us!

2008-10-18T09:34:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – October 18, 2008
“Story-telling”

When I was a kid, I never told a lie. Neither did any of my brothers or sisters. We were not always generous with the truth, but we never lied. We told stories.

That’s what we called ‘em. Stories. “Mom, Mark told a story. He said he didn’t drink my Kool-Aid, but I saw him.” Most people would consider that a lie, but to the Hayters it was a story.

“Lie” was a bad word at our house. Close to being a curse word. And, if you ever called anyone a liar… well, that just wasn’t done. “Liar” was about as bad as any curse word you could’ve said. At least, any that we recognized.

Instead of being a “liar” I was a story-teller. “You big story-teller! I’m gonna tell Mom.”

Yeah, we told a lot of stories when we were growing up. Told so many that Mom never knew which of us to spank, so she sometimes spanked everyone in the room. Didn’t do a bit of good for her to ask who did what. At times we didn’t even know who was truly to blame.

While I told stories to Mom a bunch, I can never remember lying to my dad. Uh, story-telling to my dad. I was way too scared. Even if there was little chance he would catch me in the lie, it wasn’t worth the risk. I would’ve been scared to death of the whipping, and even more afraid of the disappointed look.

I wasn’t crazy about Mom’s disappointed look, but I’d seen it so many times, the effect kind of wore off. She had no choice but to spank us.

Yeah, that was years ago. I’m way past the story-telling stage of life. Now, I occasionally tell full-fledged lies. The last one I remember was on an application for an audition. It called for my weight, and I put a number that was five pounds less than it should’ve been. I rounded down. My justification was that if I got the part, I’d lose the five pounds before I had to show up for the filming. I rounded down. I don’t think that should count as a lie. Regardless, I didn’t get the part. Probably ‘cause I lied.

Fortunately, I’ve gotten pretty good at justifying my falsehoods. At times it seems the right thing to do to just tell people what they wanna hear. What good does it do to tell someone that his new glasses make him look older? “Oh, yeah. They look great. Make you look smarter.”

Of course, Kay wouldn’t fall for something like that. I cannot successfully lie to that girl. I don’t know if it’s the look on my face, or if I have a “tell” in my voice. “Oh, yeah, love the pants.” -- She’ll say, “What’s wrong with ‘em?” I can’t get anything past her.

Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at telling when people are lying to me. Not from their voice or mannerism. No, there are just some things that have to be lied about. I don’t know why.

For example, ask people about their gas mileage. Whatever they tell you, you’ll need to subtract at least 10. I’ve had people tell me that their gas mileage is actually better than the EPA rating. I want to slap ‘em. You would have to turn your engine off and coast for 200 miles to even meet the EPA mileage rating. EPA mileage analysts are among the biggest liars in the world.

On par with the EPA liars are the people who draw the pictures of hamburgers for the fast-food chains. I’d pay a couple bucks more for one of the burgers in the picture.

I bought one of the new Sonic Angus burgers the other day. I was sold on the picture. If I had looked at the actual burger before I got home, I would’ve called the 14 year-old manager out. The burger was not only cold, but it looked like the bad burger in a Subway commercial. Speaking of which, have you ever gotten a Subway sandwich that looked like the one in the picture? I don’t think it’s even been invented.

Let’s get off food. Here’s a question that will get you a lie quicker than anything. “Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” To listen to me talk, I have never been awakened by a phone call in my life.

I was taking a nap Tuesday when Big Al called. “Hey, bubba, did I wake you?” – “Uh, no. Sittin’ here lookin’ at the computer. What day is it?”

One of the more dangerous lies involves pets. I’m here to tell you that I’ve been bitten by several non-biting dogs. “No, don’t worry. He won’t bite.” CHOMP! I don’t know why people feel they have to lie about their dogs. I don’t see it as a reflection on them if their dogs bite. If they feel they must lie, I’d much rather them lie in the affirmative. “Yeah, he bites, but he won’t actually swallow till you pass out.”

Any idea how many places I couldn’t find that were impossible to miss? A bunch. “Take a right by the water tower and go about two miles. You can’t miss it.” Oh, yeah. You just watch me, you big liar.

At least once in my life I’m bound to have told someone, “It’s not the money. It’s the principle of the matter.” It was the money. It’s always the money.

And, finally, let me finish with a nice lie. It’s my favorite. It’s one my Mom used to tell Dennis and me after we had done something bad. She’d either spank us or say, “I’m gonna tell your daddy when he gets home.”

I probably heard that 1000 times when I was a kid. Mom only told Dad one time that I remember. Fortunately, she picked a day when Dad was in a good mood. Elsie Hayter was the best Mom in the world.

Her spankings didn’t even hurt. Except the ones Dennis and I got for acting up in church. All the story telling in the world couldn’t save you from a church whippin’. She was right there. Saw the whole thing. “But, Dennis started it.” Whop!

END

AND YOU THINK YOU'VE HAD A BAD DAY

2008-10-14T08:42:00.000-05:00

THINK ABOUT IT!

Keep your chin up people

Conclusion to Ike story

2008-10-06T09:10:00.000-05:00

HAYTER’S ARTICLE – October 6, 2008
“Ike Recovery”

My refrigerator looks as clean as the day I got it. I’d take you to the kitchen for a look-see, but then you’d want to show me your refrigerator, and I really don’t wanna see it. Pretty sure mine’s cleaner, though.

Yeah, it takes overnight company to make me thoroughly clean the house, and it takes a hurricane to get me to scrub the fridge. That bubba is clean enough to store unwrapped meat. I probably shouldn’t do that, but I could if I wanted.

Kay and I actually cleaned the fridge the second day after the power went out. We had to. The writing was on the wall. And, the green was on the mayonnaise. You don’t wanna mess with bad mayonnaise. Mustard? Go for it.

Lettuce, bell peppers, celery, cucumbers… everything green turned to snot. -- Uh, Kay’s not gonna like that. -- Turned to goo. That’s better.

Bacon? I don’t wanna talk about it. Sausage? It’ll make you weep. Hamburger meat? Oh, the horror. Yeah, we lost it all. Including all the mystery packages. Wads of zip-locked stuff that would curl your hair. Or straighten it. Whichever.

I actually ran across a big glob of something that looked oddly familiar. If I had lopped off a bit from the top, it would’ve looked a lot like a bust of Shirley Jones. Uncanny it was. But, as it thawed, all likeness disappeared. Melt will do that to the best of us.

Of course, we did manage to eat some of the stuff before it turned. I believe I mentioned last week that we grilled the steaks on day two. Ate till we were stuffed, and then tried to give the leftovers away.

The neighbors didn’t want any. They had a tub of meatloaf they’d been trying to kill off. Offered me some. I declined. Do you know how long you have to cook a 50-pound meatloaf before it gets done in the middle? A lot longer than they cooked theirs, I’ll tell you that.

But, it’s all behind me now. All but the memory and the lingering smell that will haunt me till the day… uh, till the day it stops haunting me.

To take a major step on the road to recovery, I went to the grocery store to restock the fridge. Spent more than I ever did on groceries. Still didn’t replace it all, but then it took years to accumulate all the ridiculous stuff I had in the fridge. Never will I be able to replace it all, ‘cause I don’t know what all it was.

Even as large as the grocery bill was, it was still a lot cheaper than the cost of a generator and the gasoline it would’ve taken to run the thing. No, if I had gotten a generator I would’ve figured out a way to plug it into my closet light. I got so tired of walking into my closet and flipping the switch. What’s it takes before it registers that THE LIGHT WON’T WORK WITHOUT ELECTRICITY!!

Weird thing is, since we got power back, I keep walking into the closet without flipping the switch. Takes it awhile to hit me that we’ve got our power back. The mind will really mess with you if it can.

The Plilers’ minds have really messed them up. Somehow they came through the Ike event thinking I’m some kind of jinx. Me!

What happened is that on day-three, Dennis called Jill to tell her that her house had power back on. Jill instantly left our house, the place where she had weathered the storm, and fled home to La Porte. She called the next day and invited us down there to her air-conditioned house.

An hour after Kay and I got there, Jill’s power went off. Remained off. Kay and I stayed the night and then loaded up and went back home.

By that time, the Plilers had their power back. They invited us over for supper, ‘cause they felt real sorry for us. Somewhere in one of our conversations Virginia asked if we wanted to stay with them till we got power.

I was expecting such, so I thought I’d act noble and decline until the second insistence. Turns out, we weren’t even given a first insistence.

In fact, when I declined the one time, Virginia let out something that sounded so much like a sigh of relief that it’s not funny. She’ll tell you that she got a strange sensation in her side, but it was a massive sigh of relief. Strange sensation my butt. -- Uh, Kay’s not gonna like that. – Uh, my scrawny rump.

Best friends? I don’t think so. Best friends don’t think you’re gonna jinx their electricity. Best friends are with you through power or no. That’s written somewhere. Sentence before last, if nowhere else.

No, my new best friend is Gary. He’s the guy who gave me a light attached to a headband. Gave it to me a couple of months before the storm. Didn’t loan it. Gave it! Now, that’s a friend.

Do you have any idea, how important it is to have both hands free during a power outage? Lots. That’s how much. You can read a book and have a free hand to turn the pages. You can work on a crossword while sitting on the, uh… wherever you’re sitting. It’s a miracle is what it is.

Unfortunately, Gary just gave me the one headband flashlight thing. That was all I needed till Kay figured out how great the thing was. After that we had a wrestling match every night to see who was gonna get the headlight. She won most of the matches ‘cause she has more hair.

Kay could just slip the thing right off my balding head, but when I tried to grab it from her, it got all tangled in her hair. I may fight dirty, but I don’t pull hair. You can’t make me. It cost me dearly, too.

So, when it’s all said and done, I not only ended up being thought a jinx, but I ended up without my headlight. Regardless, I’ll tell you this. I may be a headlightless jinx, but I’m a headlightless jinx with the cleanest fridge in the county. You can write that down somewhere.

END

A military funeral

2008-09-30T09:24:00.000-05:00

Mark's Article – September 30, 2008
“Military funeral”

CJ called a couple of nights ago to ask if we could put him up for the night. CJ is my nephew stationed at Fort Hood. He has served three tours of duty in the war zone, two in Iraq and one in Afghanistan.

For each six-month period overseas, a soldier is allowed to purchase one service stripe to have sewn on his sleeve. Yeah, you’ve gotta pay for the stripe yourself. I’m finding out that there’s a lot of stuff the government doesn’t pay for when you’re in the military. I’m much more upset about that than CJ.

CJ has earned seven stripes for his service, but he only wears five. He’ll be able to wear a total of nine when he returns from his next tour. He’s scheduled to go back to Afghanistan some time next month. He’s more than willing to go, but I doubt he purchases more stripes. No bigee to him.

CJ was supposed to already be in Afghanistan. He was to leave two days before Congress officially rescinded the 15-month tour. I’m pretty sure they shipped out a lot of soldiers immediately before the 12 month tour limit was enacted. Regardless, at the last minute, CJ was called up to help at the CAO. That meant nothing to me, either.

CAO is the acronym for Casualty Assistance Office. They needed a soldier to tell next of kin concerning the loss of loved ones, and to oversee the Army role in the funeral services.

Since August, CJ has had to perform the duty seven times. I was stupid enough to ask him about the strain of the job. He gave me a weird smile that said, “Pretty much the way you’d expect, Uncle Delbert.” I’m glad he said it with a look and not the actual words.

CJ did tell me about one mother who screamed and yelled at him to leave, even before he was able to speak a word to her. I asked him how he handled that. He told me that he hugged her.

I tell you that as a way explaining CJ’s call. Seems he was intent on attending a soldier’s funeral in Pasadena. He asked if he could stay the night with Kay and me, and leave for the funeral the next morning. I told him to get his buns over here, and that I’d take him to the funeral.

Though CJ was not serving as the military overseer of the proceedings, he told me that he wanted to attend because of family. The deceased was a distant relative. I’m thinking he was a distant cousin-in-law to me. Not sure there is such a thing.

So, the next morning, my nephew and I got to the funeral home before most of the others. There weren’t that many cars in the parking lot, but there were scores of motorcycles. And, those who belonged to the motorcycles were supporting flags and were positioned around the funeral home.

They were all members of a group known as the Patriot Guard Riders, an organization of Veterans who volunteer to lead the procession on the way to the cemetery. They added just a ton of honor to the proceedings that day.

It’s a real heart tugging experience to watch a funeral procession go by that’s being led by a motorcycle brigade with flags waving. But, to actually be a part of the procession is an experience not likely to ever leave you. The line of motorcycles, the line of cars with their bright lights on, the police sirens blaring…

Do you have any idea how many intersections and freeway entrance ramps there are between Pasadena and the Houston National VA Cemetery in North Houston? Seemed like a million.

The number of streets that needed blocked before we made it to the freeway was unbelievable. And, when we entered the freeway, the police stopped all vehicles going in our direction. The freeway became ours. I didn’t know they did that. I didn’t know it was possible to do that.

As the last car in the procession passed a traffic-stopping point, the motorcycle cop would race past us at breakneck speed to go to his next position. I don’t know how many officers there were, but they were all certainly well orchestrated. A tactician had to be involved.

The northbound traffic going over the Ship Channel Bridge – stopped. All traffic approaching the entrance ramps from the bridge all along 610 -- stopped. All traffic heading north on 45 at the 610 entrance – stopped and backed up for… as far as I could see.

A 21 gun-salute, a folded flag ceremony, a Brigadier General offering words and the folded flag to the father and mother. “On behalf of a grateful nation, please accept…”

And, all of this was to honor the service of a single soldier. I don’t see how anyone who was forced to stop along our way, and surely no one standing beside that casket could’ve felt anything short of pride.

I haven’t built enough of a foundation to support any kind of political statement at this point. Nor was that my intention. There is little question that I hold a different view of the war and of this Administration than most in this county.

CJ says that he’s not sure of the politics surrounding the war. The most important thing to him is the oath that he took when he joined up. He didn’t swear to protect the people or even the country. Much like the President, he swore “…to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic…”

We don’t all agree on who the enemies of the Constitution are, but I think we all agree that our men and women who have fought in Iraq and Afghanistan are to be honored. I imagine all of us would agree that they should be honored by our government in life as in death… and honored in more than just words. I wish our agreeing on that would make it so. But, it hasn’t. No more than my wishing that CJ would not have to go back to Afghanistan is going to keep him home.

The big lug hasn’t complained a bit. “I go where they send me,” he said. “That’s what I do.”

END