"Things get complicated when you get past 18." (For no particular reason)

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Okay...I am 20 years separated from The Class of '57, due to being born too late (Mama always said that I should have been born 20 years earlier, and that I was "born 30 years old").  Heh!  Now everything makes sense...I've entered my second childhood!

But, that makes truth no less true.

This has always been one of my favorite Statler Bros. songs.

For no particular reason.

It could apply to the Class of '67, '77, '87, '97, ought '07, and probably will to the Class of 2017.

For no particular reason...

(BTW...Bitchin' leisure suits, too!)

Let's see if we can make it to 3,000 strikeouts...

...by using old work.

Maybe we can actually hit 3,000, (if we dig deep enough in to the archives).

A Facebook post by a friend sparked a memory of an old post I did.

I thought it was worth posting again.

Willie.

Good Dawg...

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One of my The Facebook friends started posting Lewis Grizzard videos a few nights ago.

Man!  Did I ever love Lewis!!!

Odd man...talented writer, worst husband in the history of husbandry, conflicted in MANY, MANY ways, and funny as all get-out.

I snagged this one from a friendly back and forth between a couple of guys that REALLY enjoyed the guy's work.

For The Good Times...

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That is all.

Oh, wait! 

"A Little Bit Country" junk...

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Hey y'all!  Hugs, kisses, yada yada yada...


Editorial note:  I told y'all I was too busy to do much of anything, but while The Mrs. was cleaning out the Living Room to get ready for the new (somewhat ghetto) sofa and loveseat a few days ago, she came across a book I had bought many years ago.  She handed it to me, and I put it in my office, and I picked it up this morning at roughly 0530 HRS, and had me a time looking back at it again.  So, y'all get this loooooooong, boooooooring post.  Don't bother to thank me).


Several years ago...let me check...okay, it was in 2004, legendary Country Music DJ & once host of "The Louisiana Hayride," Frank Page, decided to release his memories of Elvis' days on The Louisiana Hayride.


Now, The Hayride never quite made it like The Opry.  I guess you could say that it was like "AAA" for the guys/gals that were hoping to make it to the "Majors in Nashville" back in the 1950s.



But, The Hayride did become known as "The Cradle Of The Stars."


Anyway, I heard that Frank had finally got his thoughts together, along with about a bazillion pitchers he had on file.  And, he and Joey Kent had put together a collection of it all...and that they were going to do a big book-signing at The Southern Maid Donut shop on Hearne Avenue (that was Elvis' favorite donuts in history).  And, you can trust me on this one...I grew up eating Southern Maid donuts (only available here in NW Louisiana), and THERE ARE NO DONUTS ON THE PLANET AS GOOD AS "SOUTHERN MAID DONUTS!"  I swear, if you've never had one, I can not describe 'em to you.


I think that they are about four million calories apiece, and if you can stop with two, you're from another planet.  Seriously...this Krispy Kreme Krap that everybody raves about tastes like Sadie's dookie compared to Southern Maid.  


(Crud...looking at the current Southern Maid Donut computer page, it seems that some outfit in Texas has took 'em over).


Crud...


Anyway...Frank decided to do his book-signing deal there, and I went over and got me a copy.  Actually, I bought three of 'em.  One for me.  One for Mom & Dad, and one for Aunt Shirley (seein' as Aunt Shirley...(the Mrs.' Aunt) was a HUGE Elvis fan back in the 50's).  Frank signed them all, and me and him had a good visit about old times.  He remembered my beloved Granddaddy really good (seeing as Granddaddy advertised his appliance and furniture biz often on KWKH), and vaguely remembered my Daddy (but he was really honest, and said he only "remembered the name.")  Frank is an honest man.

Just sayin'...

I told him a story about an exkreemly funny phone conversation I heard him do when I was probably about 25 years old.  The grand man laughed out loud when I told him how it all went down.  

It had to do with a 28 year old woman who called in to his morning radio show on KWKH.  She had had 12 children in 11 years, and wanted to ask Frank if she should "write a book."

Frank said, "Ma'am...I think you should READ a book!"

Frank laughed like a hyena when I told him that, and said that he really didn't remember it.  But he said, "I should probably write that one down for the archives."


Such a Southern Gentleman.


Anyway, I decided to fire up the scanner, and show y'all some pitchers from the book.


Don't bother to thank me.


This here is an ad introducing the up and coming star that was probably mimeographed, and nailed to light posts, or maybe put in The Shreveport Times.  I'm not sure.

Good to know that he had a dis-

stinctive and unusual style!

  Just sayin'...

This here is a photo of Elvis and his crew on The Hayride.  I was thinking that without "Lucky Strike" cigarettes sponsoring The Hayride, Elvis might not have hit the big time.

 HA!  That's gotta be a young James Burton on lead guitar.  Gotta be. (He's a local boy, so I know it's him).

So, where I'm going with this is with one of the pitchers Frank put in his book.  I had forgotten about it, but saw it this morning while I waiting on the bees wax to do it's thing, so I could get started on my own biz.


I'm pretty sure I've told y'all that my beloved Daddy's best boyhood/life-long friend was David Houston.  We called him "Uncle David," even though we were of no relation.  He and Daddy did everything together as kids, and remained close until David died at the age of...well...crap!...the Wiki page IS NOT RIGHT!  Uncle David was NOT 57 years old when he died!  He was older than that!!!

I just know it!

He and Daddy were both born in 1935.  I KNOW that Uncle David died in the first full year that me and my fambly lived in Colorado.  Counting fingers and toes, and back subtracting...Phil was born in 1991...and he was two years old when we went up there...and, Daddy is 77 now, and Uncle David died the first full year that I lived in Colorado.  

Never mind.  The Wickedpedia is right.  It was that year.

Crud... (But, The Wickedpedia is RIGHT about the "multiple issues" deal.  A bunch of that junk is WRONG!  I know, a BUNCH of that is wrong.) 

Anyway,  Uncle David became a minor country music star.  He had a few big hits, and brought Barbara Mandrell in to his team, and a few others that got to be MUCH bigger stars than him.  




And, when I saw this in Frank's book, it made me snort.

Elvis Presley, Johnny Horton, George Jones, Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two, and Uncle David...for the admission price of 60 cents for adults, and 30 cents for chirrens...


Heck, I'd have paid the 60 cents just to see Hoot and Curley!

For no particular reason...

I once visited The Grand Canyon.

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Stunning place it is!  Truly takes your breath away!


If you've never stood on the rim and viewed it with your own two eyes, no photo, or written description can really 'splain the magnificence of it.


It was in April of 1981 that we headed out West, hooked up with some great friends living in ABQ, and took a "road trip" to remember.


Dean (#1 Son) was 7 months old.  Let me give you young parents a tip...don't take a 7 month old on a long trip if you can help it.


Seriously.


Don't!!!


But, we did.  And, we lived to tell the story.


Now...


NYUK!  


For those of y'all that do not believe that I was once a massive tub o' lard, married to a hot, sexy chick...

Nyuk!  And, that was before I got REALLY fat!!! 

(Yep!  That really is me at age 21).

Oh, yeah!  The sexy chick at The Grand Canyon!

Yeah...I've been going through years of files, digital photos, and scanned photos trying to clean out all the old junk that I really don't want to keep.  


I think I'll hang on to these...


(BTW...50 extra blog points to the first person that can name which sports team I WAS a fan of back in them days.  There's a clue in the pitchers).

Interest (The rule of 72, 114, and 144)

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Hey y'all!  2012 hugs, kisses, yada yada yada...


About 20 years ago we were living in a VERY small community in SW Colorado.  It was a time in our lives that we enjoyed very much...made some great friends that we still communicate with, enjoyed the gorgeous scenery, and learned a heckuvalot about the US Western lifestyle.


It's WAY different than urban SE United States life.


WAY.


Anyway,  a man I knew there was the Maintenance/Custodial Supervisor for the little school system.  One day we were talking, and he mentioned that he REALLY REALLY REALLY needed to find someone that could fill in for his Custodians/Maintenance guys on vacations, sick days, personal days, etc.  So I said, "Juan (because that was his name), I could probably do that for you."  

I grew up in the mechanical business (kinda), had a good working knowledge of mechanical equipment, and knew how to swing a mop.


Also, I figured it would be a good way to meet more local folks, get more involved in the community...and make a few coins.


So, I became a "Substitute Janitor!"


Honestly, I really enjoyed it!  I spent a couple of months filling in for the other Janitors, had a great time of it, and made some great friends along the way.


As an employee, I was enrolled in the State of Colorado Public Employee Retirement Association.  And, every year I get a statement from them showing just how much I've got coming when I cash in.


Now, as a "Substitute Janitor," I really never contributed but just a small amount of money (which was withdrawn from my Substitute Janitor checks), but it's been interesting to watch my little nest-egg blossom.  I got my annual statement today, and lookit!

As you can see, the $44 I contributed (tax deferred, too) has blossomed over 19 years to a whopping $128!  Jeepers, that's 84 bucks in FREE money!!!


I got to thinking about that, and it reminded me of my 9th grade Civics class.  The Civics teacher, Mrs. Carma Cook was married to a Certified Public Accountant.  And, even though personal economics/money management stuff was probably not part of the proscribed curriculum, she taught us a lot about money junk.  She taught us about how to write a check, keep a checking account balance, and about interest.


I remember her teaching us about the "Rule of 72, 114, and 144." 


That rule tells you how long it will take to double, triple, or quadruple your money at a particular rate of interest.  You just divide the "RULE number" by the expected rate of interest, and it tells you how many years it's gonna take to either double, triple, or quadruple your money.

As an easy example, if you are making 10% interest on your money, it will double in 7.2 years, triple in 11.4 years, and quadruple in 14.4 years.


See?


So, my annual statement from the Colorado PERA tells me that I have not made a contribution since 1993.  So, let's say that's (WHAT???)  19 years.  My contribution of 44 smackeroos (which were extracted from my check by force) have dang near tripled in those roughly 19 years.  So, that means that the Colorado PERA has invested my hard-earned toilet cleaning coins, and gained me exactly roughly a 6% return on my contribution (which was extracted from my check by force).


And you know what?  That ain't all that bad.  

Interest rates on savings/money market accounts/etc. have fluctuated over those 19 years, but they have been EXTREMELY low the last 10 years or so.  And, 401Ks have sucked like armadillos in a graveyard.


So, whatever the folks at the Colorado PERA are investing in must be pretty safe, and profitable.  I do not know exactly what they are investing in (because, believe it or not, I am not on the Board of Directors), but I'll give 'em a tip of the ball cap!


Maybe I didn't explain that 72/114/144 RULE very good.  

Let me go Goobling...y'all hang on...


Okay, here's one if you're interested.

That's all.  Let's just call this Education Day at Andy's Place.


(And, just because I'm gonna be filthy rich in 420 years, don't be thinking I'll give y'all a loan or nothing...)

Two Lovers...joined at the hip, and standing in the gap.

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The one on the left, now all these years later, stands in the gap between all of us and our enemies.  

The one on the right still stands in the gap between ME and total self destruction.

(Yeah, when I got home tonight a picture album was on the coffee table.  And, I'm glad it was.)

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For no particular reason (#87)

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"...it made a big impression on me, although I was a barefoot kid. They said he got religion at the end, and I'm glad that he did."


"...you'd better put that old guitar away. There ain't no money in it. It'll lead you to an early grave."


"...nobody ever knew it, but I went out in the woods, and I cried."


"...I often wondered why Clayton, who seemed so good to me, never took his guitar, and made it down in Tennessee."

"...I'd give a hundred dollars if he could only see me now."

My dearest old friend from forever stopped by tonight.

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I wasn't expecting him.


Man, we hunted, fished, frog-gigged, double-dated, and kilt snakes together.


We served in each others weddings.  Stood up with each other, too.


Did everything together.  Learned darn near everything we know together.


Then, we kind of parted ways, and learned a bunch of junk separately.


But, it seems that we learned the same things, though on very different paths.


The Mrs. just happened to have supper ready.  We ate purple-hull peas, fried okra, and hot water cornbread washed down with iced tea.


I couldn't get #4 son to come to the table.  He's shy of "strangers."  Damn shame that #4 son views my dearest old friend from forever as a "stranger."


That's my fault.

"Andy, you need to think about the next guy."

Naw, it wasn't Sadie that said that to me.  Heck, she's only about 7 years old (In human years), and doesn't have nearly enough wisdom or junk to say that to me.  Truth is, I just haven't showed y'all a picture of Sadie in a while, and figured I would.


You're welcome!!!


No, it was my Daddy that said those words to me over 35 years ago.  Those of y'all that know me personally, and some of you that know me "virtually,"  know that I was raised up around a Mom & Pop Appliance & Television Store.


From the time I was big enough to push a broom I was set to work at "The Store."  It was good, too.  I learned a bunch of junk,  was taught that nothing is for free, and met a lot of wonderful folks that shaped my life. 


I started helping Mr. George Dupree install window unit air conditioners when I was 11, but I was about 15 years old when I REALLY went to work at "The Store."  I worked after school, and on weekends.


I was learning the family business.  It was a really good business, too.  (I'd better quit running on with memories, or I'll never get this post finished).





But most importantly, that's where I really met my Daddy.  Not many young fellows really get to meet their Daddy like I did...I mean, at home, at work, etc.


Anyway...
 
One afternoon when I was about 16, a man brought his Whirlpool Washing Machine to "The Store."  It would not go in to the "spin" cycle.  Well, I knew exactly what was wrong.  The "wig-wag" solenoid was bad.  That was almost always what was wrong when a Whirlpool Washing Machine would not go in to the "spin" cycle.


Now, "wig-wag" seems like an odd name to call a Washing Machine part...but, that's really what the good folks at Whirlpool called it.  The reason they called it that is because it "wig-wagged."  It really did.


It sat down there in the bottom of the clothes washer, and just wig-wagged back and forth.  It had two solenoids on it, and when it came time for the Washing Machine to kick into high gear, one of the two solenoids would pick up and the belt would engage for high speed, and the clothes would get spun correctly.  


It was a pretty bitchin' concept!  Fortunately, The Whirlpool Corporation came up with a better design since then, because them damn wig-wag deals sucked.


Just sayin'...


Anyway, I was learning about replacing the damnable part.  I was laying back flat on the tile floor, covered with grease, and doing my best.  I got the damnable solenoid structure put up in place...lock nut locked down...C-clamp put back on...two belts firmly put back in place...


But, there was this wire.  There was this wire that had burned off of the old wig-wag.  It was all burnt up on the end, and had to be connected to the NEW wig-wag that I had spent most of an afternoon learning to replace.  All the other 3 wires that connected to the damnable thing had wire connectors on them that just hooked back up.


No problem.


But, there was this ONE wire that was burned up, and had NO connector to plug back on to the wig-wag solenoid.  So...


I was sick and tired of junk...pulled out my knife, trimmed the old burned insulation off of the wire...twiddled the wire down as fine as I could...stuck it through a little hole in the terminal of the solenoid...wrapped it about 4 times, and went for my electrical tape to seal the deal.


My beloved Daddy was watching the whole time.  I know that he was proud that I'd learned the mechanics of the whole mess.  But, he KNEW that I was about to screw up.


He said to me,  "Andy, you need to think about the next guy."  


I said, "What?"  


He said, "If you don't put a new connector on that wire, and cinch it down tight, that wire is going to burn off at the terminal again pretty soon."


As luck (bad luck) would have it, I was nowhere near the little case that had the connectors.  And, I really didn't care to drag my fat self out from under the machine...make my way to the box with the connectors...and get it done correctly.  


So, I popped off to Daddy something like, "This'll hold okay.!  It'll last as long as this old washer will."

That's when Daddy explained  "Andy, you need to think about the next guy." 


He told me that pretty soon that connection was going to go bad.  And when it did, the gentleman that had brought his Whirlpool Washing Machine in for service would take it somewhere else to be repaired.  And, that the "next guy" was going to just laugh and laugh about what a poor job that the "last guy" had done.  And, he told me that the new wig-wag solenoid would be unusable, because one of the terminals would be burned up, and even if the "next guy" could fix the burned wire right, he'd have nothing to plug the connector on to.


So, I dragged my big old lazy rear off the floor...went and got a wire connector...cinched it down tight...and connected it to the "wig-wag."


What Daddy told me made sense.  

I didn't want "the next guy" to laugh at my poor job.  And, I didn't want to cause "the next guy," or our customer any more aggravation, or expense.


It's kind of like that book about everything you ever needed to know you learned in Kindergarten.  If memory serves, one of those things was "If you make a mess, clean it up."  Something like that...


That's where we are right now as a nation.  Expedience has replaced excellence.


Seems that nobody in DC that has been there for very long gives a rats hiney about "the next guy."  And, it has been that way for a long, long time.


Sad thing is, "the next guy" is not laughing at the piss-poor job that the "last guy" did.


There's nothing funny about it.

Hobos...

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Today, a true Hobo stopped by at Andy's Place.  It has been a WAY long time since I've seen a real Hobo.


Won't go in to what went on this a.m., but it put me in mind of the first time I realized that some folks didn't have a house to live in, a bed to sleep in, or a table to put their feet underneath.


It was one of those hot Summer nights we have here in NW Louisiana.  It was probably in 1967, or '68.  Just about every (at least every other) Friday night, Momma & Daddy would load all us kids up in the Station Wagon, and we'd drive the 1000 yards down Old Minden Road to the Barksdale Drive-In Theater. 


It was a big deal.  Daddy would back the Wagon in backwards so us kids could watch out the back window.  Or, he'd take the El Camino (or the IH Pickup...yep, he had one of those, too), so me and my brothers and sister could sit up in the bed of it on lawn chairs and look at whatever film they were showing.  Momma would cook a HUGE Kroger sack full of popcorn for us kids at the house before we left.


I'm not sure why Daddy always turned the vehicle around, but I've got a pretty good idea that he and Momma didn't care nothing about looking at the film.  Us kids always caught them necking like a couple of teenagers.  Just sayin'...


Anyway....one hot Friday night we were pulling in to the Barksdale Drive-In Theater (which got tore up by a tornader and was never rebuilt...must have been in about '72...maybe before that...not sure), and across Old Minden Road we all saw a fellow walking.  He was the ultimate Hobo.  The man had his red bandana tied up on a stick with probably all of his worldly possessions...and the long stick hung over his right shoulder...trudging along.


Daddy said, "He's livin' off the fat of the land."  Momma asked, "You ever think that would be a good life?"  Daddy said, "No.  Not with the life I have." 


Then, Mom & Dad went on to explain to us kids what a Hobo was.


Not posting this to pass judgment, or cast aspersions.  It's just that our visitor this morning put me in mind of that event.  And, it put me in mind of The Merle's classic.

...but I keep thumbin' through the phone books, and lookin' for my Daddy's name in every town...


...never travel in a hurry, 'cause I got nobody waiting for me anywhere...

Love Song Saturday Night

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I swear, I wore out two individual cassettes in my Realistic® Cassette Player (which I had mounted underneath the dash of my '73 Dodge Dart Swinger, and was sold for roughly 30 bucks, which was a lot of money in 1976...just sayin'...which I have already told y'all about) of Peter Frampner's Live album.

Tonight, I'm thinking back on the McDonald's parking lot on the Benton Spur Road (it's not where it used to be, because  they tore it down, and built a new one which really sucks compared to the old one) where I got my first smooch from The Mrs.  There weren't many places for us kids to hang out on the weekend...no mall, or nothing.  I mean, a bunch of kids parked out at the West end of the BHS football stadium and drank.


But, I wasn't in to drinking.


Back then.


So, I basically hung out at The McDonalds, and  finally coaxed a kiss from The Mrs. in the McDonalds parking lot while Peter Frampner's cassette was playing on a cold November night.  It was a Saturday, probably November 27, 1976.  It was about a week after she finally noticed me.  And, she was wearing that light "Airline" blue sweater.


It was memorable.

"The Story Lady" seemed really funny at the time...

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Hey y'all!  Yesterday, Jimbo posted the amazing elephant story which he swiped from me (giving credit, btw...thankee, Jim).  As I was commenting over at his joint, I was thinking that the joke reminded me of the old "The Story Lady" radio spots that Larry Ryan played for years on KEEL, and ran I'm sure on radio stations across the nation in the 60's (and maybe even 70's...not sure).

So, I went researching hard, and it turns out that "The Story Lady" was one Joan Gerber, who has had quite an interesting career in the voice actress biz.


So, the worldwide computer has everything, and I was able to come up on a collection of them.  I listened to a few, and they're not as funny as I remember.  But, I don't feel like it was a waste of time, either.


Good memories from my adolescence. 

If you are so inclined, you can listen to them here, for free.

I CAN NOT GET THIS MEMORY OUT OF MY HEAD...

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This memory has been banging around in my cranium for about a week, and I can't seem to shake it.  So, I'll just thrash it out here, and offer it up as a question to folks my age, or older (or even younger if you've got some insight). 


It was September, 1965, and Andy was excited!  I was getting ready for my first day of elementary school.  

Now, by way of background, I have an older sister, and an older brother that were old hands at elementary school already.  And, I could already read cursive writing when I started first grade.  Momma taught me all that beforehand.  


I had just gathered all my things for my first day of  "real school," stuffing all my school supplies in my Bozo The Clown book satchel (yes...Momma bought me a Bozo The Clown book satchel which made me feel extremely retarded), when Momma started in.


It went something like this:

Momma:  Now, Andy you know that Mrs. Mac (her real name was Mrs. MacDowell...I had known her my whole life) is your bus driver.  And, what Bus Number do you ride?


Me:  Bus #33.


Momma:  That's right, Andy!  It's Bus #33, and who is your bus driver?


Me:  Mrs. Mac.


Momma:  That's right, Andy!  Now, don't forget that it's Mrs. Mac, and it's Bus #33.

Now, how hard is it to remember that the bus that stops right in front of your house, being driven by Mrs. MacDowell (who you've known your whole life) is the one you get on?  I mean, especially since you've got two older siblings standing right there with you?  Duh.

Anyway, I'm all excited to get out there in to real life at elementary school, and wait with my older siblings for Bus #33 (even though I feel retarded because of the Bozo The Clown book satchel), and Momma calls me back from walking out the door with an "Andy, come back here."

Dutifully, I come back to Momma who is now down on one knee.  She spits into a Kleenex, and wipes the toast crumbs from my face, and tells me she hopes I have a great day.  Then, she takes a piece of note paper, and pins it on my shirt.

Really...my Momma pins a note on my shirt with a safety pin, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  So, feeling totally retarded I head down our long driveway to stand with my brother and sister to wait for Bus #33.  Of course, my older brother JUST HAD to make sport of the fact that Momma had pinned a note on my shirt.  My dear Sister (always the protector) punched him in the arm, and told him to shut up.  Which he did, because she punches really hard...then, and now.


Well, Bus #33 finally got there, and I miraculously made it all the way to Mrs. Haynes first grade class.  But on the way to school I read the note and thought about throwing it away, or just wadding it up and eating it like some super secret spy.  But, I knew that Momma would ask Mrs. Haynes later on (it sucks when your folks know EVERYBODY in town...and ALL of your first 6 years of school teachers).


The note was written in Momma's perfect cursive handwriting that she had taught me how to read.  It went pretty well like this:

Hi Jean!

Please make sure that Andy gets on Bus #33 after school.  It's Mrs. MacDowell's bus.

This is his first day of school, and I want to make sure that he doesn't get confused, and get on the wrong bus.  And, be sure to call me if you need any help.  I am one of your Room Mothers this year, so if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.

Thanks,

Anne

Man...did I feel retarded!  I mean, I had probably told Momma at least a dozen times that I knew to get on Bus #33, and I could already read cursive writing, and everything...but here I walk in...on the first day of school with a note pinned to my shirt.


I think that should be outlawed.  Heck, it may have been by now.  It might be illegal to carry a safety pin on to weapon-free zones like schools now.


But, as I'm writing all of this down I wonder if God is trying to tell me something by keeping this memory front and center.  Maybe I fall in that same trap as a parent.  Maybe my love, and protectiveness (is that a word?) for my children causes me to pin notes on them that make them feel retarded.

Hey...I do have #2 son back home, working on finding his way in life.  And, I do have #1 son about to deploy to Iraq.  And, I do have #4 son struggling to "break out" in a lot of ways.


Maybe they are far more prepared for catching the bus, and navigating life than I realize.  Maybe I've put them through the same kind of embarrassment by my words and actions...all with loving motive, mind you.


Dunno.


So, let me just ask the question more simply (now that I've half-way figured out why this memory won't go sit in the back of Bus #33)...Did your Momma ever pin a note on your shirt?


Or, was it just me?

A Grand Adventure...

(Snooze alert. I did not realize how long and boring this is until I finished it. Consider yourself warned. You're welcome.)

In April of 1981, The Mrs. and I were a very young married couple with a 7 month old son (an extremely colicy son with constant ear infections that NEVER slept more than one hour at a stretch).  We both walked around pretty well fried like the Colonel's chicken...physically and emotionally.   I had some time off from work coming. 


So, being young and foolish we decided, "Heh!  Why don't we go to visit Brent and Theresa in Albuquerque?  It'll be great!"  Brent and Theresa were probably our closest "couple friends."  Oh, we had lots of couple friends, but we had spent more time with them and done more things with them than any of the others.  Plus, neither of us had ever been to the desert Southwest, so it sounded like a great adventure.


When I hit the campus of Louisiana Tech in June of 1977, I didn't know anybody.  I started in the Summer, so all of my high school buds that were going to Tech wouldn't be along until the Fall quarter.  So, Momma told me, "Go to the Baptist Student Union.  I think they have ping pong tables."  Sounded good to me.  I walked in to the BSU, and saw a few guys and gals standing around visiting, playing ping pong & foosball, etc.


In about 30 seconds a young fellow that already had a receding hair line walked up to me and said, "Hi!  My name is Brent (last names are not important for this story).  I just hit Ruston today, and I don't know anybody."  To which I replied, "Well, join the club."  By the end of that day, Brent and I were fast friends.  It turned out that he was actually a Senior that had transferred to finish at LA Tech from Northwestern State.  He was an Education major, and was engaged to a young lady still at Northwestern who also was studying to be a teacher.


Over that next year we became extremely close.  His future wife was a great gal that got along great with the young lady that I landed.  We did EVERYTHING together.  After they married, and graduated they both landed jobs teaching in Caddo Parish.  I was a college dropout by then, and had married The Mrs.  It was GREAT!  We only lived about 10 miles apart, and man did we have fun in our off hours.


After a year of teaching school, Brent decided that this was NOT what he had bargained for.  He applied to the FAA for a job as an Air Traffic Controller.  He was accepted, and went off to OKC to the training program, and took his first job at ABQ.  It was kinda sad watching our buddies move on.  But, we stayed in pretty close contact, and they would come this way to visit their kinfolks, so we got to see them some.  Anyway, I had this week off, and we decided to go for it!  We flew to ABQ.  Baby son did not do well on an airplane...or anywhere else for that matter.  Did I mention that he was colicy, and battled ear infections constantly?  And NEVER slept for more than one hour at a stretch?

Here is my buddy Brent, holding #1 son at the airport when they met us.  He had finally konked out.  Finally.  Man, it was great to see them.  We visited long into the night when we arrived.  Brent and Theresa showed us the sights around ABQ...went up Sandia Peak, rode that tram that hangs about a billion feet in the air, etc.  We woke up one morning, and Brent said, "Hey!  Why don't we load up, and go to Rocky Mountain National Park?  I hear it's fabulous, and I've got the rest of the week off after today.  Let's do it!"


We were all in for it.  I mean, we were all young, and impulsive, and said, "Sure."  After he got off work, we took off north from ABQ, and stopped in Durango, CO for the night.  Little did I know that I would one day live in the Durango area.  We found a motel and settled in...baby crying, and fidgeting, and wanting to nurse every 14 minutes.  He was a "difficult" baby.


We awoke the next morning to two feet of unexpected snowfall.  Two. Feet.  Well, there's a plan shot to smitherrines!  The passes were all shut down headed north, or east from Durango.  So, we got our heads together, got some road info from some truck drivers, and decided, "Hey!  Let's go to the Grand Canyon!"  The roads were pretty clear headed West, so the decision was made in about 15 seconds.  We stopped at the Mesa Verde National Park in Cortez, CO on the way west.  We did have to put chains on the tires to make it up the Mesa, but it wasn't too bad.  There were exactly 7 people in the entire national park.  It was cool.  We had the tour guide all to ourselves, and had a fascinating time.  I've got pictures of the cliff dwellings in the snow somewhere...I'll find 'em one of these days.


Anyway, westward we went.  I'm gonna tell you, I was just fascinated by, and fell in love with the terrain of the US Southwest.  This was a big, fascinating deal for a couple of Southern kids that never had seen any real mountains, or real desert, or much real snow.  We finally made it to the Grand Canyon.  And WOW!

I probably took a hundred pictures at the Grand Canyon.  But, as you know if you've been there, no photographs can ever capture the grandeur of the thing.  The immense enormity leaves you dumbstruck.


Here's that beautiful young Mother at the Grand Canyon.

You can see from this photo that The Mrs. had lost the 70 pounds she had acquired during her pregnancy with #1 son.  Did I mention that he wanted to nurse every 14 minutes, and NEVER slept for more than one hour at a stretch?  And, that he was a difficult baby?


Unfortunately, yours truly had not lost the 70 pounds he put on during #1 son's pregnancy.

If any of you ever doubted that Andy was once a bit "tubby," well them are 40's I'm a'hangin' over there.  I think Brent took this shot at the Mesa Verde.


I think back on a trip like this now, and it's really hard to remember the days when we just did things on a lark.  No planning.  No reservations, etc.  Just "Go for it!"  Aaaaahhhhh, youth!


Here is my buddy, Brent at the Grand Canyon.

He and I were serious amateur photographers.  That's a Mamiya RB 67, and I think a Nikon over his shoulder.  I just realized I was using a square format 6 x 6 myself...not sure which one.  I've gotten rid of a bunch of them since then.


Over the years, we kind of fell out of touch as life pointed us in separate directions.  Oh, I'd hear from him, and he from me occasionally.  When we lived in SW Colorado, Brent, Theresa, and their son came to visit us as they were traveling through.  After e-mail came along, we kinda reconnected.  I got an e-mail from him one day about 10 years ago that really shook me.


He and Theresa were divorcing.  Long story.  But, it made me sad.  Then, the time came that I didn't hear from him for ages, but didn't think much about it.


One day about 8 years ago the phone rang.  It was Brent's uncle (who was the same age as Brent, and who I'd also become friends with).  "Andy, I had trouble finding you.  I've got some bad news.  Brent is real sick.  Real sick.  He's in a hospital in Jonesboro, Arkansas (I knew Brent was living there), and there is nothing they can do to help him.  He's got an autonomic disorder that has shut down his digestive system."  Then he went in to the details of it all.


He gave me the telephone number of the hospital, and I called.  A very nice lady that Brent had taken up with answered the phone, and I spoke with her a long time, telling her who I was, and such.  After we talked a while, she said, "Brent has been listening to my end of the conversation, and he's motioning to me to give him the phone."


What I heard on the other end made me cry.  Bless his heart, he was trying his hardest to speak to me, but his condition had made him so cotton-mouthed, and slurry that I could barely understand a word.  But, I faked it.  I told him how much we loved him, and how much his friendship over the years had meant to me and The Mrs.  We left it at that.


He died shortly thereafter at the age of 45 (46 maybe...not sure).


Heading back to Albuquerque from the Grand Canyon, we were all a bit worn out.  #1 son had found that sweet spot of sleep that only a long road trip can provide to a difficult baby.  The road was humming, and the moon over the desert was just gorgeous.  I had fallen in love with the desert Southwest.


Then we topped a hill, and I saw Albuquerque at night!  Stunning.  If you've driven in to ABQ from the West at night, you know exactly what I'm talking about. 


A few years later, Jim Glaser recorded this song.  I YouTube it every once in a while for memories.  I never listen to it without remembering our Grand adventure, with our great friends, in God's glorious Southwest.

For no particular reason... (#75)

So, how did "Andy's Big Adventure" go???

Well, I'm glad I asked...

Okay, so I'm watching Lawrence Welk on PBS tonight...and I've been scanning photos of the old folks all afternoon...

...and it came to mind that I had written a remembrance about an old lady that I truly loved, and Lawrence Welk.

Really, I did.

This is my Great Grandmother, "Mammie."  (My Daddy's Grandmother) 

When I was scanning all these photos, I knew who she was immediately.  But, I really didn't remember her as a youngish, and pretty lady.  What a doll!

I knew her well.  She lived until I was in my mid-twenties (I think she was about 93 when she went on to Heaven), and I spent a whole lot of time with her as a kid, and young adult.

So, what does watching Lawrence Welk on PBS tonight have to do with it?

It went a little something like this.