I must confess I was not trained extensively in Psychology . I cruised through enough Psych classes at UWG to know when something is up. You know, psychologically.I don't know the legitimacy of PTDD,but I think I got me some.Now there are some dead-giveaways as to the symptoms of this possibly ficticious affliction. One possibility is to have worn brown,driven brown or been paid to deliver online purchases to ladies in robes and and slippers.I can still hear the incessant swish...swish of the slippers across the floor as the credit card wielding online shopper makes her way to the door.Who knock?...That one always got me.Who knock? Get up off your butt and come see.Who knock?I tell you who knocks on your door,a stressed out brown guy bearing your Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates.
I thought I was retired.According to last nights sleep allotment and many other sleepless nights,I am still a full-time delivery guy. Though the late night package delivery takes place in the dream world of the corporate juggernaut there is a direct correlation between every nightmarish catastrophy and a real life nightmarish catastrophy.Imagine a truck full of packages that WILL be delivered before you may get home to be with your family.The time? After dark-thirty.Now picture the same situation only in the suppossed safety of your own bed. Impossible dead lines,too much work,not enough time to do said work and it's friggin dark. You wake.Why am I sweating? Why am I so tired? Why am I stressed out of my mind? I was just asleep.Oh it was a brown dream.I'll just go back to ...YAWN!!!..to the exact point in the dream from whence I just awakened. No crap,the exact spot.No less work,still dark,still no time.Stressed out asleep.There has got to be something really unhealthy in this. For those who don't know,delivering packages in the dark does BITE. Picture yourself walking down a dark driveway with a box in your hand. Then out of the darkness comes the low rumble of...A BIG ASS DOG.Put the package on top of the nearest tallest object.Tell the dog, in your best "I am not intimidated", voice to "go away".Then when you are sure you can make it without hurting yourself,RUUUUNN LIKE HELL.
I had one of those nights last night.After a couple of attempts at returning to non brown dreams,I just got up.It's a lot less tirng and less stressful to just surrender.Get up,shake it off and say it "WAS JUST A DREAM".I guess maybe others are FLICTED with this annoying problem.I have friends that say they have the same dreams.Anyone educated enough want to do a study? Get a grant.The test bed is endless.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Rejoice ! O young men in thy youth .
What is it about damp,cold,rainy weather that makes me feel like I fell off the house? It seems that every time the weather changes I start to creak and crack and generally feel like crap ? The sinus monster rears it's ugly head.This of course makes the head feel like a water balloon filled to a almost bursting point.That is ,if a water balloon had eyes that could pop out. I have been able to tell changes in barometric pressure without a gauge for years.Not that great a trick really . It is a talent easily obtained. See you gotta start early play hard and abuse your body to and beyond it's breaking point.Breathing fire or juggling are much cooler ; but I have the weather thing going.Hmmf....
Well today on Good Friday it is my birthday.Get the irony in that?GOOD Friday;Andy's birthday. I can say that with age and the love of a good Best Friend,Tani I am More Gooder than I was when I was young and acting all wild and stuff.Occasionally I can get all wild feeling.Like when I catch squirrels on our bird feeder.I grab the BB pistol and get medeival on their ass.No I don't kill em.So all you squirrel lovers can ease up.I do sting em though.Heh Heh.I do enjoy watching the birds and sitting in our yard just chillin.So Tani keeps my feet on the ground.Now I know how to be in Love.
Well now what to do on my birthday?Lets see coffe?Check.A little Bailey's? Check.Birds are singing and a breeze is blowing.My daughter is coming to see me.My buddy will be home at five.Maybe we will go to Harry and Son's for sushi.That would be a good way to do Good Friday.Eat a little bait, have a little Sake...maybe tomorrow though.Downtown on a Friday? Don't know if I can handle it.Maybe I will just watch the birds.I could get all crazy and go fishin...Wild man...Andy you is so craaazy.
Well today on Good Friday it is my birthday.Get the irony in that?GOOD Friday;Andy's birthday. I can say that with age and the love of a good Best Friend,Tani I am More Gooder than I was when I was young and acting all wild and stuff.Occasionally I can get all wild feeling.Like when I catch squirrels on our bird feeder.I grab the BB pistol and get medeival on their ass.No I don't kill em.So all you squirrel lovers can ease up.I do sting em though.Heh Heh.I do enjoy watching the birds and sitting in our yard just chillin.So Tani keeps my feet on the ground.Now I know how to be in Love.
Well now what to do on my birthday?Lets see coffe?Check.A little Bailey's? Check.Birds are singing and a breeze is blowing.My daughter is coming to see me.My buddy will be home at five.Maybe we will go to Harry and Son's for sushi.That would be a good way to do Good Friday.Eat a little bait, have a little Sake...maybe tomorrow though.Downtown on a Friday? Don't know if I can handle it.Maybe I will just watch the birds.I could get all crazy and go fishin...Wild man...Andy you is so craaazy.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Boogie turns 20...
Today is my daughter Adrienne's birthday. It seems like we traveled through a worm hole from 1991 through time to the present. I remember holding her that first time. She was so tiny. At 5 lbs 13 oz. she was a
little bitty precious thing.I could hold her in one hand and bath her with the other. When she was old enough to communicate she would give dirty diaper alerts by saying,"Daddy I got Shoowees". Now I guess this came from the times when I changed her and would say "shoowee". Anyway this will thrill her that I published this.
Her nickname "Boogie" , comes from her toddler years because when she walked her huggies or pull-ups would move back and forth so it looked like she was boogying. She turned in to quite a dancer. Her years of Cheerleading for LaGrange High were exciting. Not only did I get to see a great football team,I got to see some great cheerleading.Adrienne also did the competition thing , which scared the heck out of me.
She must've gotten coordination from her mom.
I guess our relationship isn't the conventional one. Unless she is in trouble, then I guess it gets pretty
conventional.(right honey?)HA. The hardest thing I ever did in my life was to choose a life away from Adrienne's day to day journey. We became friends. I get on her nerves just like she can get on mine. Usually
this ends in a laugh and "I still love ya though". She is so smart. Way smarter than me. Except in History . Like most she has only a slight interest in the old days. I tease her that she was born on April 9th because I had a choice. The Dr. asked me when she was born at 11:57 P.M if I wanted her birthday to be on the 9th or 10th. I said, "it's still the 9th". Well I didn't realize at the time (I say I knew) that on April the 9th, 1865 a little occurance at Appomattox Court House in Virginia had taken place. Of course once I realized this I told her that her birthday falls on the same day the Southern Cause surrendered to the Yankee Invaders from the North.She claims her Birthday is more important. I have to agree.
Well Boogie, Happy Birthday.I want you to know that I love you and I am so proud of you. You have
become quite a young lady. I know that whatever path you take in life you will do great things. I hope one day you will give me a grandbaby. Take your time though. I am too young to become "Bossman" yet. It doesn't seem like TWENTY years since I held you that first time. If I have fallen short in being a father I am sorry. You have fulfilled every aspect of being a wonderful daughter. You are the bright part of my heart.
Love, Dad
little bitty precious thing.I could hold her in one hand and bath her with the other. When she was old enough to communicate she would give dirty diaper alerts by saying,"Daddy I got Shoowees". Now I guess this came from the times when I changed her and would say "shoowee". Anyway this will thrill her that I published this.
Her nickname "Boogie" , comes from her toddler years because when she walked her huggies or pull-ups would move back and forth so it looked like she was boogying. She turned in to quite a dancer. Her years of Cheerleading for LaGrange High were exciting. Not only did I get to see a great football team,I got to see some great cheerleading.Adrienne also did the competition thing , which scared the heck out of me.
She must've gotten coordination from her mom.
I guess our relationship isn't the conventional one. Unless she is in trouble, then I guess it gets pretty
conventional.(right honey?)HA. The hardest thing I ever did in my life was to choose a life away from Adrienne's day to day journey. We became friends. I get on her nerves just like she can get on mine. Usually
this ends in a laugh and "I still love ya though". She is so smart. Way smarter than me. Except in History . Like most she has only a slight interest in the old days. I tease her that she was born on April 9th because I had a choice. The Dr. asked me when she was born at 11:57 P.M if I wanted her birthday to be on the 9th or 10th. I said, "it's still the 9th". Well I didn't realize at the time (I say I knew) that on April the 9th, 1865 a little occurance at Appomattox Court House in Virginia had taken place. Of course once I realized this I told her that her birthday falls on the same day the Southern Cause surrendered to the Yankee Invaders from the North.She claims her Birthday is more important. I have to agree.
Well Boogie, Happy Birthday.I want you to know that I love you and I am so proud of you. You have
become quite a young lady. I know that whatever path you take in life you will do great things. I hope one day you will give me a grandbaby. Take your time though. I am too young to become "Bossman" yet. It doesn't seem like TWENTY years since I held you that first time. If I have fallen short in being a father I am sorry. You have fulfilled every aspect of being a wonderful daughter. You are the bright part of my heart.
Love, Dad
Monday, April 4, 2011
Punkintown Road,Honda 50s and my best good friends.....
I got bored the other day and went on a little excursion . I ended up on Punkintown Rd. which turned into "Memory Lane". I didn't realize that it had been closed off so I turned around hit a piece of wood lost my centercap (Nissan if you find one) and detoured around to Fouts Mill Rd . Memories of probably the most carefree days of my life flooded into my consciousness .
In 1971 at the age of 9 I got my first bike, it was a Honda 50 (blue) . That is where the fun began .
Now one of the first times I rode that little bike I hit the house . Then I found the brakes,but that did not stop me from crashing probably hundreds of times. As a later in life riding buddy always said , " you never know how fast you can go until you crash ". Anyway my dad was my first riding buddy and my first and best " Best Friend ". I remember going to the old Dog River motocross track and him and me both on that little 50 riding up and down that road , falling over in mudholes and laughing hysterically . It didn't take long and Pop caught the bug . He got a Honda SL 125 and it was on . We would start out on Saturday mornings at our house in Westmoreland and go out Beardon Ln. to Ridge Way . From there we hit King's Hwy . to Punkintown Rd.
People who rode back then in this area know that was one way to get on the Gas-Line . That is before all the land grabbing motorcycle hating commies started closing trails . The gas-line was probably one of the greatest places to ride ever . It had hill after creek crossing after hill for miles . I did some of my best crashing
on this stretch of tail . One of my first best friends in Georgia ,Curt, got a Honda CT 70 and our little gang saw it's beginnings . We spent days riding up and down power lines, gas lines, dirt roads and trails . Curt's brother Jeff had a bike also and we three started making trails and riding all over their family land .It was so much fun camping out in their fort (thanks Jeff for bringing the smokes)and riding .
Well I eventually outgrew the 50...which I still have by the way... and in 1974 Pop got me a bike that would "keep up with his" . Well what he got me was a TM 125 Suzuki which Pop called a "fast mother", and "too dang loud ". One day our neighbor was riding with us and I blasted by on this dirt road .I waited at the next crossing and he came up with a rock the size of a baseball that was he said, "heading right at my head". Oops. Well after I finally got better on that bike and quit falling over for no good reason , I think Pop and our neighbor figured out that I was crazy and liked to go "too fast". I have that extra tendon in my throttle hand .
Slow was not fast enough . Well Pop and the neighbor started going on grown up rides that required a DRIVERS LICENSE . Alas, poor me was left to my own devices . Which consisted of terrorizing everyone between my house and Curts house .See Curt had graduated up to "Big boy Motorcycles also". We would fly down Kings Hwy with our head on a swivel looking for police cars . We would head to Barrys the newest member of our gang . Barry had some most excellent trails and easy access to the famed gas line . We would ride and camp in Barry's fort with cold hot dogs and the occasional bottle of MD 20/20.Uggh...Thanks Jeff . HeeHee...Anyway we would ride until our gas supply was almost exausted , go back to Barrys , fill up and take off again . Now some of our other gang members were with us sometimes . You know who you are Quicksdraw and Mike . I remember going all the way down to the old iron bridge on Dog River . Which was apparently against the wishes of some land grabbing commies .Someone had cut down a huge tree across the gas line .So we did what any young , daring , and imaginative houligans would do . We ignored the signs and dragged our bikes over and under said tree . I only remember getting caught one time . "By the cops of course". Everybody was over the tree except me and I think Mike . I'm not sure how that all ended but I seem to remember a flat bed truck and hauling the bikes out .Or maybe we said that was what we would do and waited for the cop to leave and then dragged our bikes over the huge tree and took off . Like I say I don't really remember . Surely we did what the law said .
We really had some great times back then . The bonds I formed with Pop and my friends are everlasting . I stay in touch with ol' Curt . Saw him the other day as a matter of fact . Everytime I glance over in the corner at that little 50 the memories are still there in the dings and scars on the both of us .I remember Barry's Mom repairing "Gravel Rash " on me once . Rest in Peace Mrs. F... sweet lady I mean it . Well we inevitably got older and didn't ride much together in our High School years .Dang girls became important and mucked everything up . Riding didn't stop there . The gang just changed and took on a more serious nature,( no not the Hell's Angels or Outlaws). It just got faster and more serious in every way .People who know me know what I'm talking about . You know... Ducati..130 mph ...ditch... broken ...stuff.....
I'm gonna save that one for a later date. It makes my back hurt....
In 1971 at the age of 9 I got my first bike, it was a Honda 50 (blue) . That is where the fun began .
Now one of the first times I rode that little bike I hit the house . Then I found the brakes,but that did not stop me from crashing probably hundreds of times. As a later in life riding buddy always said , " you never know how fast you can go until you crash ". Anyway my dad was my first riding buddy and my first and best " Best Friend ". I remember going to the old Dog River motocross track and him and me both on that little 50 riding up and down that road , falling over in mudholes and laughing hysterically . It didn't take long and Pop caught the bug . He got a Honda SL 125 and it was on . We would start out on Saturday mornings at our house in Westmoreland and go out Beardon Ln. to Ridge Way . From there we hit King's Hwy . to Punkintown Rd.
People who rode back then in this area know that was one way to get on the Gas-Line . That is before all the land grabbing motorcycle hating commies started closing trails . The gas-line was probably one of the greatest places to ride ever . It had hill after creek crossing after hill for miles . I did some of my best crashing
on this stretch of tail . One of my first best friends in Georgia ,Curt, got a Honda CT 70 and our little gang saw it's beginnings . We spent days riding up and down power lines, gas lines, dirt roads and trails . Curt's brother Jeff had a bike also and we three started making trails and riding all over their family land .It was so much fun camping out in their fort (thanks Jeff for bringing the smokes)and riding .
Well I eventually outgrew the 50...which I still have by the way... and in 1974 Pop got me a bike that would "keep up with his" . Well what he got me was a TM 125 Suzuki which Pop called a "fast mother", and "too dang loud ". One day our neighbor was riding with us and I blasted by on this dirt road .I waited at the next crossing and he came up with a rock the size of a baseball that was he said, "heading right at my head". Oops. Well after I finally got better on that bike and quit falling over for no good reason , I think Pop and our neighbor figured out that I was crazy and liked to go "too fast". I have that extra tendon in my throttle hand .
Slow was not fast enough . Well Pop and the neighbor started going on grown up rides that required a DRIVERS LICENSE . Alas, poor me was left to my own devices . Which consisted of terrorizing everyone between my house and Curts house .See Curt had graduated up to "Big boy Motorcycles also". We would fly down Kings Hwy with our head on a swivel looking for police cars . We would head to Barrys the newest member of our gang . Barry had some most excellent trails and easy access to the famed gas line . We would ride and camp in Barry's fort with cold hot dogs and the occasional bottle of MD 20/20.Uggh...Thanks Jeff . HeeHee...Anyway we would ride until our gas supply was almost exausted , go back to Barrys , fill up and take off again . Now some of our other gang members were with us sometimes . You know who you are Quicksdraw and Mike . I remember going all the way down to the old iron bridge on Dog River . Which was apparently against the wishes of some land grabbing commies .Someone had cut down a huge tree across the gas line .So we did what any young , daring , and imaginative houligans would do . We ignored the signs and dragged our bikes over and under said tree . I only remember getting caught one time . "By the cops of course". Everybody was over the tree except me and I think Mike . I'm not sure how that all ended but I seem to remember a flat bed truck and hauling the bikes out .Or maybe we said that was what we would do and waited for the cop to leave and then dragged our bikes over the huge tree and took off . Like I say I don't really remember . Surely we did what the law said .
We really had some great times back then . The bonds I formed with Pop and my friends are everlasting . I stay in touch with ol' Curt . Saw him the other day as a matter of fact . Everytime I glance over in the corner at that little 50 the memories are still there in the dings and scars on the both of us .I remember Barry's Mom repairing "Gravel Rash " on me once . Rest in Peace Mrs. F... sweet lady I mean it . Well we inevitably got older and didn't ride much together in our High School years .Dang girls became important and mucked everything up . Riding didn't stop there . The gang just changed and took on a more serious nature,( no not the Hell's Angels or Outlaws). It just got faster and more serious in every way .People who know me know what I'm talking about . You know... Ducati..130 mph ...ditch... broken ...stuff.....
I'm gonna save that one for a later date. It makes my back hurt....
Friday, April 1, 2011
Survival Tips
Now even though I left UPS with destroyed knees , (thanks James Casey you old coot).I did in fact leave that fine company with some helpful hints on how to stay alive on the roads and highways and yes even the parking lots in and around Atlanta. Part of being "Extensively Trained" as a driver is something known as the Smith System . We called them the 5 Seeing Habits or Safe Driving Habits.Very useful stuff.I even tried to convey them to Adrienne my daughter and Dust's daughter Molly. I am not sure they use them so watch out in Athens and Douglas County.
Okay pay attention because it is important stuff.I am going to interpret in my own way so you won't snooze and drool on your keyboard.I will add one habit to the list.
Andy's addition: Everyone else on the road is an IDIOT. Remember this and trust no one in another vehicle.
1.Aim high in steering.This means look as far as
you can down the road.
You will be amazed at the things you will see and be
prepared for.(Long Range Idiot Detection)
2. Get the Big Picture.This helps when you are entering
parking lots.Look over the whole area. Don't just
blast in there.Know what you are heading into .
(Avoid idiots in confined areas.)
3. Keep your eyes moving.This means do not drive down
the road with blinders on, and that stupid look on your
face . Scan your mirrors every 3-5 seconds.
Idiots can attack from the rear. Scan intersections.
They will pull out in front of you.
4.Leave yourself an out. Yes have an escape route .
Don't follow to closely or pull up on someone too
closely. What if that idiot runs out of gas ?
Then you are stuck . Alas, you become an idiot.
5.Make sure they (idiots) see you.Use your horn .
Don't be rude and blast it , a couple of taps will do.
Use your lights and signals . If you see someone on
a side street trying to enter your path flash your
lights and get their attention .Make eye contact.
Watch out though ; if they have a stupid look on
their face they will pull out anyway.
Now there is one other tip I can remember , it falls under one of these titles not sure which one. Expect the unexpected. This one saved my life a few times.You can be driving along and see some idiot crusing along next to you and you think to yourself ; surely this person is not going to come into my lane. Watch out he is likely to cut right into your quarter panel .
Alright Atlanta quit driving around like idiots . Some parts of the ATL have higher concentrations of idiots than others . You probably don't need me to point them out. People let me tell you they are far reaching .So watch out .
Oh yeah , to the guy in the Lexus with the nice rims and the Henry Co. tag who pulled out of traffic at Hudson Bridge Rd. and passed me on the on ramp and pulled back into traffic farther down (middle finger) you're number one.A**hole. (refer to habit number 3) I saw him coming and gave him a proper signal.
Okay pay attention because it is important stuff.I am going to interpret in my own way so you won't snooze and drool on your keyboard.I will add one habit to the list.
Andy's addition: Everyone else on the road is an IDIOT. Remember this and trust no one in another vehicle.
1.Aim high in steering.This means look as far as
you can down the road.
You will be amazed at the things you will see and be
prepared for.(Long Range Idiot Detection)
2. Get the Big Picture.This helps when you are entering
parking lots.Look over the whole area. Don't just
blast in there.Know what you are heading into .
(Avoid idiots in confined areas.)
3. Keep your eyes moving.This means do not drive down
the road with blinders on, and that stupid look on your
face . Scan your mirrors every 3-5 seconds.
Idiots can attack from the rear. Scan intersections.
They will pull out in front of you.
4.Leave yourself an out. Yes have an escape route .
Don't follow to closely or pull up on someone too
closely. What if that idiot runs out of gas ?
Then you are stuck . Alas, you become an idiot.
5.Make sure they (idiots) see you.Use your horn .
Don't be rude and blast it , a couple of taps will do.
Use your lights and signals . If you see someone on
a side street trying to enter your path flash your
lights and get their attention .Make eye contact.
Watch out though ; if they have a stupid look on
their face they will pull out anyway.
Now there is one other tip I can remember , it falls under one of these titles not sure which one. Expect the unexpected. This one saved my life a few times.You can be driving along and see some idiot crusing along next to you and you think to yourself ; surely this person is not going to come into my lane. Watch out he is likely to cut right into your quarter panel .
Alright Atlanta quit driving around like idiots . Some parts of the ATL have higher concentrations of idiots than others . You probably don't need me to point them out. People let me tell you they are far reaching .So watch out .
Oh yeah , to the guy in the Lexus with the nice rims and the Henry Co. tag who pulled out of traffic at Hudson Bridge Rd. and passed me on the on ramp and pulled back into traffic farther down (middle finger) you're number one.A**hole. (refer to habit number 3) I saw him coming and gave him a proper signal.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Southern Charm?
Although I have spent most of my life in Georgia,many of my earliest memories are from the farming country of North Florida.Both sides of my family have a long history in Suwanne and Lafayette counties.In my early years I spent most of my time as assistant(maybe nusaince)to my Uncle Roy.He was actually my great uncle.Details....I remember riding in his Dodge Ram.He always drove a Dodge.The truck always had a mixture of aromas.The odiforous menu consisted of hand-rolled Raleighs,cured tobacco,hog feed,hog and cow crap,hay,R.C. colas with peanuts and spilt Grape Nehis(mine).Fond memories.No wonder I enjoy so many different foods.Confusion of the senses I guess.I remember Uncle Roy in his ever present baggy work jeans and his not so many different colored tee-shirts,always the ones with a pocket for the Raleighs.He always had a dark leathery complexion.Probably because of the Indian blood and a whole lot of sun.Dark Brilcream infused hair,even in the older days,completed the look.Quintessential farmer.
Now as the assistant (nusaince) to the boss,I spent most of my time riding shotgun,unless the real assistant pushed me out of the way and proclaimed "my seat".I need to explain here.Truthfully I was the Part-time assistant to the assistant to the boss man.My Uncle Tony was full-time.Though Tony was several years older than I,due to complications at birth he remains childlike to this day.Sweet,strong as hell big old kid.God love him he did not like me in his seat.So I rode in the middle or in the back when Tony was on the scene.Now as a growing boy surrounded by pickup trucks,tractors and other farm stuff,"I wanted to drive."Therein lies a huge problem.All the Farmalls,Fords and John Deere tractors belonged to Tony.According to him anyway.So if I wanted to drive anything I had to beat Tony to the drivers seat crank and go before I was physically removed.Physical ejection from driver seats happened more often than not.Did I mention how strong Uncle Tony was?"My tractor"was the most common phrase I heard as I stuggled to keep my seat.Now at nine or ten years old I was not a great driver.I remember bumping in to stuff alot.Now the Dodges were always automatics so I just aimed between the gate posts and gassed it.I knew the brake pedal would save me,if I could reach it in time.I remember hitting many an irrigation pipe in my farming career.Uncle Roy would always say "WHOA" a split second too late as I stretched to reach the brake pedal.Tractors were a different story.I knew where the throttle was,same place as the blinker on the truck. hmmm...Now the trouble begins.I remember one time I managed to keep my seat on one of the older Farmalls.My instuctions were to park it under the shed on the end of the hay barn.Well I throttled up aimed the tractor in the general direction of the shed and dumped the clutch.For some reason I thought throttling down would stop the tractor.Not.I didn't at that time understand the two brake pedal theory on tractors.Luckily Uncles Roy and Tony screamed "Whoa" in time for me to panic and stomp every pedal I could see.I turned it off.Tony told me to "move,My tractor",as he expertly pulled the tractor into the shed.Disaster avoided.Roy kinda gave me a knowing smile.From then on I drove only the Dodge solo.
Uncle Roy's main crop was tobacco.So one of my favorite smells is that of a tobacco barn full of cured tobacco.Now when I was young and the assistant to the assistant to the boss,(kinda Dwight Schrute-like)the main job I could do was help take the cured tobacco from the barns and put it in huge burlap sheets.We would load trucks and trailers with bunches of sheets.Then go to the tobacco auction in Live Oak or Madison.I'm telling you the smell of those huge warehouses with tons of cured tobacco and the sounds of the auctioneers was something for a "city boy" to behold.We would spend hours in those warehouses.I would watch the buyers and marvel at the whole experience.
Now these memories are important to me.Some of you may not get it.We are not all from farming families.We do not all share in the heritage of Southern Charm.
Now let me tell you about Granny Bell.Hattie was the mother to uncle Roy and my grandmother Mary.This is kinda cool.She was my great grandmother and when she died in 1973 she was the last Civil War widow in the state of Florida.Now she was married to William Bell who fought for the Southern Cause
in the Battle of Olustee(Ocean Pond).If you think about it the math seems all wrong.Hattie was 40 some odd years younger than Granddaddy Bell.We are talking old South now,so it probably wasn't that uncommon.Florida as well as the rest of the south lost alot of men in the war.Anyway,William fathered his youngest child when he was in his eighties.No kidding.I hope I got me some of that gene...Ha.
Okay so throughout my early adventures on the farm who do you think made lunch for us every day?Hattie did.I'm not talking sandwiches either.I'm talking southern home cooking.Collard greens and stuff.I didn't like all of it back then,but I wish I could eat one of her meals now.I remember once when I tried chewing tobacco for the first time,I was walking down the railroad tracks looking for a missing cow.I swallowed too much juice and those railroad tracks started to spin.I managed to make it to the stack of hay on the back of Roy's Dodge.Let the regurgitation begin.Well Tony took me to Hattie who always had a dip of snuff in her mouth.(didn't help my condition one iota).She sat me in Roy's recliner next to hers and put a wet cloth on my forehead (what a wuss),and we watched soaps until Mom came to get Tony and I.Yes I was in trouble,on top of feeling like crud.
Now remember,Hattie was old south.There was a man who worked for Roy named Willie.Willie lived in a little shack on the edge of the farm.I spent a lot of time helping Willie also.He was really Roy's main go to guy.He pretty much ran the crews in the fields and at the barns.Whichever was being done,depending on the time of year.So I guess when I was in town I was truly the Third Assistant(Dwight Schrute as hell).I'm not sure when because I was there from a very early age,but I noticed that Willie never came into Granny Bell's house.On one occasion I remember sitting down to lunch.I saw Granny Bell pass a plate and a glass of oh so sweet tea out the screen door to Willie.I asked why don't Willie come in here?Well the explanation I got from Granny Bell did not really satisfy my innocent sensibilities back then.I do understand more now.All I know is that back then I wanted to cry.I was devastated,though it didn't seem to bother Willie.I remember I gobbled down my meal and took my glass of oh so sweet tea outside and sat on the edge of the porch dangling my feet while Willie ate.Now Granny Bell's explanation was not malicious in any way.It was just the way things were.Well Willie stayed on the farm for years.He stayed on well after Hattie died.Eventually he was let go for stealing tools or something like that.Hmmm maybe that little old lady knew more about the way things are than I or anybody in today's society will ever admit.
Anyway right or wrong that was the way things were.No matter what my feelings are on the subject I still have a whole lot of wonderful memories of working on the farm as Third assistant (part-time) to the Boss Man.Well that is a small part of my memories of family back in the old days.Our history like most Americans goes way back.I think American's history should go way back.Otherwise it's just not American.So whatever antiquated beliefs I have been exposed to, disagreeable or not,all of them helped establish a little bit of my "Southern Charm".
Now as the assistant (nusaince) to the boss,I spent most of my time riding shotgun,unless the real assistant pushed me out of the way and proclaimed "my seat".I need to explain here.Truthfully I was the Part-time assistant to the assistant to the boss man.My Uncle Tony was full-time.Though Tony was several years older than I,due to complications at birth he remains childlike to this day.Sweet,strong as hell big old kid.God love him he did not like me in his seat.So I rode in the middle or in the back when Tony was on the scene.Now as a growing boy surrounded by pickup trucks,tractors and other farm stuff,"I wanted to drive."Therein lies a huge problem.All the Farmalls,Fords and John Deere tractors belonged to Tony.According to him anyway.So if I wanted to drive anything I had to beat Tony to the drivers seat crank and go before I was physically removed.Physical ejection from driver seats happened more often than not.Did I mention how strong Uncle Tony was?"My tractor"was the most common phrase I heard as I stuggled to keep my seat.Now at nine or ten years old I was not a great driver.I remember bumping in to stuff alot.Now the Dodges were always automatics so I just aimed between the gate posts and gassed it.I knew the brake pedal would save me,if I could reach it in time.I remember hitting many an irrigation pipe in my farming career.Uncle Roy would always say "WHOA" a split second too late as I stretched to reach the brake pedal.Tractors were a different story.I knew where the throttle was,same place as the blinker on the truck. hmmm...Now the trouble begins.I remember one time I managed to keep my seat on one of the older Farmalls.My instuctions were to park it under the shed on the end of the hay barn.Well I throttled up aimed the tractor in the general direction of the shed and dumped the clutch.For some reason I thought throttling down would stop the tractor.Not.I didn't at that time understand the two brake pedal theory on tractors.Luckily Uncles Roy and Tony screamed "Whoa" in time for me to panic and stomp every pedal I could see.I turned it off.Tony told me to "move,My tractor",as he expertly pulled the tractor into the shed.Disaster avoided.Roy kinda gave me a knowing smile.From then on I drove only the Dodge solo.
Uncle Roy's main crop was tobacco.So one of my favorite smells is that of a tobacco barn full of cured tobacco.Now when I was young and the assistant to the assistant to the boss,(kinda Dwight Schrute-like)the main job I could do was help take the cured tobacco from the barns and put it in huge burlap sheets.We would load trucks and trailers with bunches of sheets.Then go to the tobacco auction in Live Oak or Madison.I'm telling you the smell of those huge warehouses with tons of cured tobacco and the sounds of the auctioneers was something for a "city boy" to behold.We would spend hours in those warehouses.I would watch the buyers and marvel at the whole experience.
Now these memories are important to me.Some of you may not get it.We are not all from farming families.We do not all share in the heritage of Southern Charm.
Now let me tell you about Granny Bell.Hattie was the mother to uncle Roy and my grandmother Mary.This is kinda cool.She was my great grandmother and when she died in 1973 she was the last Civil War widow in the state of Florida.Now she was married to William Bell who fought for the Southern Cause
in the Battle of Olustee(Ocean Pond).If you think about it the math seems all wrong.Hattie was 40 some odd years younger than Granddaddy Bell.We are talking old South now,so it probably wasn't that uncommon.Florida as well as the rest of the south lost alot of men in the war.Anyway,William fathered his youngest child when he was in his eighties.No kidding.I hope I got me some of that gene...Ha.
Okay so throughout my early adventures on the farm who do you think made lunch for us every day?Hattie did.I'm not talking sandwiches either.I'm talking southern home cooking.Collard greens and stuff.I didn't like all of it back then,but I wish I could eat one of her meals now.I remember once when I tried chewing tobacco for the first time,I was walking down the railroad tracks looking for a missing cow.I swallowed too much juice and those railroad tracks started to spin.I managed to make it to the stack of hay on the back of Roy's Dodge.Let the regurgitation begin.Well Tony took me to Hattie who always had a dip of snuff in her mouth.(didn't help my condition one iota).She sat me in Roy's recliner next to hers and put a wet cloth on my forehead (what a wuss),and we watched soaps until Mom came to get Tony and I.Yes I was in trouble,on top of feeling like crud.
Now remember,Hattie was old south.There was a man who worked for Roy named Willie.Willie lived in a little shack on the edge of the farm.I spent a lot of time helping Willie also.He was really Roy's main go to guy.He pretty much ran the crews in the fields and at the barns.Whichever was being done,depending on the time of year.So I guess when I was in town I was truly the Third Assistant(Dwight Schrute as hell).I'm not sure when because I was there from a very early age,but I noticed that Willie never came into Granny Bell's house.On one occasion I remember sitting down to lunch.I saw Granny Bell pass a plate and a glass of oh so sweet tea out the screen door to Willie.I asked why don't Willie come in here?Well the explanation I got from Granny Bell did not really satisfy my innocent sensibilities back then.I do understand more now.All I know is that back then I wanted to cry.I was devastated,though it didn't seem to bother Willie.I remember I gobbled down my meal and took my glass of oh so sweet tea outside and sat on the edge of the porch dangling my feet while Willie ate.Now Granny Bell's explanation was not malicious in any way.It was just the way things were.Well Willie stayed on the farm for years.He stayed on well after Hattie died.Eventually he was let go for stealing tools or something like that.Hmmm maybe that little old lady knew more about the way things are than I or anybody in today's society will ever admit.
Anyway right or wrong that was the way things were.No matter what my feelings are on the subject I still have a whole lot of wonderful memories of working on the farm as Third assistant (part-time) to the Boss Man.Well that is a small part of my memories of family back in the old days.Our history like most Americans goes way back.I think American's history should go way back.Otherwise it's just not American.So whatever antiquated beliefs I have been exposed to, disagreeable or not,all of them helped establish a little bit of my "Southern Charm".
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