Can an old dog learn new tricks?

Last week, many of my readers responded very positively to my column concerning pain and pain management. It appears from feedback that severe pain is very common and a real problem to control and treatment and management can be very costly. Our politicians are making some pain drugs much more difficult to obtain for people who are sincerely dependent upon it to carry on a semi-normal life.

For a long time I've made the claim that anyone who challenges me to define what I believe is my friend. It is the easiest path to throw up your hands anytime you don't agree with something and say, "Sorry, but that's the way I see it and I'm not going to change my mind." I want to challenge you with this column and I want you to ruminate on what I am about to assert.

Steve Wold, better known as Seasick Steve wrote these insightful lyrics in the song, Can't teach an old dog new tricks:

"There must be something wrong with me

What it is I can't quite see

I can't seem to do nothing right.

Maybe I need to change my style

Been this way for a long long while

Maybe there's a few things I ought to fix.

Can you teach an old dog new tricks?"

Before you judge me on what you are about to read watch this amazing video and then chew the cud.

In this video, a man with Parkinson's disease is shaking so badly, he couldn't take a drink of water to save himself. He is offered a marijuana solution and he puts ONE drop under the tongue. Within ONE minute, he begins to calm down. In FIVE he sits up with no shakes and comments that his voice is coming back and then sings. The transformation is incredible or miraculous and the man appears healthy.

If after watching what one drop of this plant's extract can do for just one single disease, you cannot see the need to open it up for expansive research, then Steve's got another set of lyrics for you to embrace.

"Maybe I should leave well enough alone
I might not be perfect but I'm me to the bone
I don't need to change my style
Been this way for a long long while
There ain't nothing that I got to fix
You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

At 65 I do not want to be this old dog that simply refuses to adjust my thinking to adjust to science's onward march, especially when the original information was flawed.  Reefer madness is one of the biggest lies ever pushed on the American public, except maybe the need for underarm deodorant. BO as an advertising term was invented by Odo-Ro-No in 1919 (wisely targeting women's critical self-consciousness) to buy deodorant when all they needed was to bath regularly and wear clean clothes. Offensive body odor is caused by a buildup of bacteria and it simply does not grow that fast. However, stinking is not a crime. Maybe it should be. To substantiate my claim, I haven't used deodorant since 1977.

Marijuana is classified as a Schedule 1 narcotic in the same category as heroin due to their dangerousness and potential for addiction. What idiot pushed this one past reasoning people? Heroin yes, cannabis, no. I can't substantiate my next statement with cold hard facts, but I am pretty danged sure no one has ever overdosed on marijuana alone. They may have laughed themselves to death, but overdose? Nope.

Now in the early 70's, I smoked this stuff like a chimney every single chance I got, so I am backing up my claims with personal experience. I quit because I turned my life over to Jesus and I felt like it was a bad witness. I haven't smoked it since. However, it is illegal and on top of that and I'll be honest with you here, even if it was legalized - I still will not smoke it again for recreational purposes.

The reason for this is twofold. One, pot or Mary Jane, etcetera, makes a person complacent or lazy, or content to the point that for many, including myself, I become unmotivated. Why go to the beach, when you can go to the beach in your head? Two, it gives you the munchies and that's all I need is to want to eat more than I already am.

But let's look at the hundreds of illnesses, aches and pains that engineered cannabis extracts can cure or remove. I ask those of us who have been led to believe that the medical use of opium derivatives is okay, but marijuana is not, to do a little research. Watch videos of people being given this plant and see for yourself that it is high time to declare medical marijuana legal and pursue it to the nth degree. Remember what I said in my column last week; when putting a gun to your head seems like a viable option to stop pain, you will take whatever you can get, to stop it.

.

A real pain in the neck

I'm hesitant to write along these lines this week, but feel that many of my readers will relate. I like to write motivational, inspirational, and sometimes humorous or challenging columns that have a message or make us want to be a better person. Probably too often I pontificate while pointing out injustices or rude social behavior, but not this week.

A couple days ago, I drove my 85 year old mother to see her pain doctor. She has to go each month and sit anywhere from 1 to 3 hours in the waiting room to prove she is not abusing her pain drug, which now thanks to recent regulation changes, hydrocodone is being phased out. This highly effective drug has been the only reason she has lived a semi-normal life and she takes it on schedule.

What she gets now is a form of morphine that doesn't address her numerous joint pains, which she itemized with a chuckle. "My shoulder, neck, back, wrist... even my big toe!" Her doctor earlier had explained to her that she was concerned my mother would become dependent on the hydrocodone. My mother, who is in full control of her mental faculties looked at the doctor like they were out of touch with reality.

As she explained to me in my car, "I am 85 years old and I cannot live with pain. I am fully dependent on that medication to relieve it, regardless if the drug is addictive or not." It didn't matter to the doctor and my mother also had this little gem of inside information. "If they were in pain, they would understand."

This conversation took place last month when we went through three days of her running out of hydrocodone because none of the local pharmacies carried the new pain killer. It got very close to a panic situation for her. At the time she was explaining the issue of pain and meds, I was pain free and have been for years, but what she said sounded logical, although I couldn't really relate. People complaining about health issues falls on deaf ears to the healthy.

Sadly, I was soon to be educated why people choose to end their life rather than live in constant pain.

On March 21st, I awoke with a stiff neck. I drove to the NASA gym to instruct a spin class at 0830 and by the time I left, my right shoulder was numb and I couldn't turn my head.  By noon, I was climbing the walls. I have never felt pain that intense and it was one solid long line of agony. No matter what I did or what position I was in, nothing relieved it.

I doubled up on ALEVE and 2 days later I was at the VA emergency room. I couldn't sleep.  I couldn't think of anything else except the non-stop pain in my shoulder and bicep and at first I thought I was having a stroke, but ruled that out for a pinched or impinged nerve.

They set me up for an MRI in 5 days and gave me a small prescription for a weaker pain med named Tramadol.  I took one every 6 hours as directed and ran out Sunday morning, 3 days later. This was 2 days before my appointment. I am convinced the doctor didn't really bother to calculate how many tablets I needed because he couldn't relate. People living in pain are very aware of how many pills they have. The pain came back with a vengeance and by noon on Sunday I drove the 30 miles to the VA and went back into the emergency room.

Through a miracle, I got an MRI within an hour and a sympathetic doctor who prescribed my 5 meds. He asked me what the level of my pain was and I told him it was the one right below crying.

To make a long story short, I have about 8 inches of vertebra that over the years have sustained enough injury that now through a shrinking of the nerve channel it is impinged. My arm is numb to my finger tips and I've had to curtail not only my spin classes, but all gym time until we can resolve the issue.  Being the competitive individual that I am, this is very difficult for me, but the possibility that the pain will magnify past the place where it can be controlled is so scary that I just backed off.

This brings up another subject of medicinal marijuana for pain management. It has been found so effective, for so many people, only those who cannot relate to pain would object to legalizing it. When a person would take a bullet to the head to stop the pain, what in god's name would be wrong with using something that works?

I am one month into this and still numb to my fingertips on my right hand and close to starting a second 16 day blitz of Prednisone, where it feels like I am on fire internally. I have a pain consultation on the 27th to determine a course and it appears it will be acupuncture. I still remain hopeful about instructing spin class, but as I approach age 65 in June, I simply have to realize I am no longer the young buck that still lives inside of me.

Take me home country roads!

Dandy Don Cunningham and Baytown Bert

The Germans call it Fahrvergnügen. The condition starts for most of us at age 15 and if we are one of the chosen ones, it never goes away. It is the love of driving cars, trucks, and anything from a riding mower to a moped. You would think that in this country we would have our own word, but we don’t that I am aware of.

Some of us are like Jay Leno and own far more cars than the legal limit. I say that tongue firmly planted in my cheek, but don’t be surprised when the US government starts fooling with what you can and cannot drive. They will enact some law(s) to gradually remove our ability to physically operate automobiles in the manual mode. Count on it. It will be for the good of the people.

Others fall in love with one or more vehicles and shine them up and pour a good portion of their life savings into them to share at car shows like the one on Texas Avenue last week. By the way, my three favorite cars were the Buick Grand National owned by our own parable sage, Dandy Don Cunningham. Second was the peachy-colored 1953 Mercury coupe who someone said the owner has had for 38 years. It was spotless and beautiful in the extreme.

The third was a black Studebaker that was hot-rodded out and looked like a WWII bomber. Wow! What a car! One of my brothers is a MOPAR man. He has built and raced two Chrysler cars and drives a Dodge Diesel truck that runs the quarter mile in under 12 seconds — maybe 11. Myself and my other two brothers are Jeep guys and baby brother’s is a fully restored 1944 Willys Jeep that saw service in France.

My pal Larry Houston drives an early 1960’s black Cadillac convertible that if I’m not mistaken(!) is 28 feet long. Another neighbor, Butch Hodges, has a black 1967 Chevelle that he drags all over tarnation winning awards left and right. He cranks it up every once in a while and a few minutes later the seismologists are driving around the neighborhood. 

Motor enthusiasts watch youtube.com videos and want to hear the motors rumbling exhaust and turn their noses up when they get AC/DC or Pearl Jam for background music instead. When they pull up to a red light and there is a VW beetle in the lane next to them, they unroll the window to once again experience the nostalgic sound.

At a car show they’ll stand and talk to total strangers and grin and blab on about a 1969 GTO Judge they always wanted, or a 1955 Chevy Nomad, that of course had to be competition orange and have Cragar 08/61 wheels. They’ll explain why so few Roadrunners had the Hemi motor and the 383 CU instead (No one could afford the $400 extra dollars).

True auto enthusiasts like to change their own oil because, “They want it done right, dang it!” They can tell you horror stories about work that was done by incompetent mechanics and like to use the phrase, “Buy tools, not labor” when around their friends to impress them.

I haven’t owned a truck in 15 years and I recently bought a 2004 Ford. It’s my first Ford other than one we took over from my parents in law years ago. I immediately fell in love with it. It had about a thousand dollars worth of work that it needed, but I got it at a cut rate cost from a friend and immediately fixed these issues. Now I am driving (get it?) my bride crazy talking about it, looking out the front door every so often to adoret it, and coming up with reasons to crank up the powerful 5.4 liter motor. “Hey baby, have I told you how much fun I’m having with this new truck?” She yawns.

She is not a car person. She uses them to get from one place to another. Can you believe that? “What? You need five bags of bark mulch? OK, I’ll be right back!”

All the craziness going on these days

When crazy becomes the norm, what can now be considered crazy?

I know it's not just me who sees the craziness going on all around Baytown, Texas, the USA, and the world. Maybe it's always been this way and possibly because of the Internet, we are more aware. Wait, did I just claim we are more aware? Scratch that immediately. We have more information available and for those of us that actually ponder such things, what is happening is universal stupidity, outright criminal or righteous ignorance. People no longer take time to analyze what comes out of their mouth, or so it appears. Even our newly elected commander is guilty.

For instance, during the past election, I heard numerous people say, "I don't discuss politics with my friends." Now this statement is curious, because it implies they only discuss politics with enemies, or strangers. When I pointed this out to them, they stubbornly stuck to that nonsense in a self-righteous defense strategy that honestly did not hold water.

Back on crazy behavior, does it not appear that a whole bunch of Third World countries are living in the old gunslinger days of the wild west? You have North Korea swinging fists in every direction because they have so many natural resources that the rest of the world desires? No, they have nothing anyone wants. They have a maniacal despot for a ruler who is bat-dip nuts. I figure their only friend China will step in and tell the little man to stifle himself.

We have crooked politicians like outspoken two-time former congressman from Houston Steve Stockman, who allegedly headed a complex criminal conspiracy. Boy, nothing has changed over thousands of years of civilization it seems. Our country has people dressing up in clown outfits and creeping around terrorizing citizens and don't even think you can go to Walmart without a camera, or you will miss something bizarre and socially ridiculous. Wait, did I just write socially ridiculous?  Scratch that immediately.

We have organized crime here in Baytown which differs very little from larger cities. They wait and watch and pounce, stealing everything from lowboy trailers to baby formula and justify it as Robin Hood stealing from the rich selling to the poor for personal profit. Talk about low overhead!

Ask anyone you know if they actually stop before taking a right on a red light and they will truly believe they do, but all evidence points to the opposite. Here's another conundrum for us to consider and maybe someone has an answer. How can a couple leave two infant sons in their truck in a parking lot and go into a store for forty minutes?

In all the years I've been driving, I've never once jumped the curb and ran over shrubs and small trees or rolled my vehicle, but evidence is everywhere that it is a common occurrence. I actually wonder what they tell their insurance company. Wait, did I just imply they were insured? Scratch that immediately.

I am just about at the point where I am going to wear racing gloves, Nomex coveralls, and a helmet before I venture out on the streets of Baytown and Houston. A retired Baytown police officer recently remarked on my www.baytowntalks.net forum that people beep at him all the time when he is the first car in line when the light turns green. The reason is he can't be sure a car won't come flying through the intersection and plow into him, like the texting driver in West Texas who killed 13 people the other day, including a jewel of our community, Mildred Rosamond.

I realize everyone in the world isn't crazy or distracted, but their numbers are climbing. People still tailgate at 70 miles per hour and swap lanes in maneuvers only NASCAR drivers have mastered and I guess only a rude awakening will help them realize not only how dangerous this is, but how inconsiderate and just plain rude. Wait, did I suggest a measure of consideration? Scratch that immediately.

Another aberrant felonious occupation has developed in recent years where criminally minded armed people rob small financially insignificant stores. You never know anymore if you will be a victim when you and the fam are eating a sub sandwich. One idiot robber only got what was in the tip jar. Talk about low expectations!

A friend of mine blatantly explained to me that this armed robbery method of making money is societies fault, because the guy or gal is a convicted felon and can't get work. I was speechless and muttered, "Are you serious?" He was. I told him the reason they couldn't get a job is because they chose criminal activity over working a legitimate job. Wait, did I say work? Scratch that immediately.

.

Pelly's Cap’n Rusty Bouchet

Holding onto the rotting wooden rail, I stare out across the Houston Ship Channel and watch the puffy carbon-coughing black plume bellow from the single smoke stack of the dilapidated shrimp boat. To say I don’t have my sea legs would be a gross exaggeration. I figured after an hour on the small boat I would be okay, but now I'm not so sure.

“What is the oddest thing you’ve ever pulled up in your nets, Mr. Bouchet?” He throws his bald head back and laughs and his gray scraggly beard resembles a worn out frayed mop with mystery items and coated in tobacco juice.

“After Ike, I pulled in a double wide fridge and that danged thing was so well sealed, I have it in my camp house right now. It was a major haul because it was fully stocked with ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon beers. Hey, you want one?”

I declined as I don’t usually drink adult beverages before 7am, but that didn’t stop the skipper, who popped the top on one and consumed it in one lip-smacking draw. Disembarking on the solid pier at Bayland Park is far more important than getting a morning beer buzz.

Cap’n Rusty, as he likes to be called, is a “road seller” of fine fish products and all evidence to the contrary, is a self-proclaimed "guzzillionaire". “I have more money than is rightly legal,” he states proudly and I look at his rusted out 1974 Chevy pick-up with curiosity.  It is a mismatch of 14 colors with more dents than I thought were possible. About the only thing fully intact is the bed and it is loaded down with white coolers. I know it’s loaded because the bed of the truck is squatting and I step away from the rear bald tires figuring to avoid getting my legs blown off if they pop.

His white rubber boots really go well with his weathered green coveralls, which are baggy enough to accommodate a family of Canadian refugees. “My secret to success is my trawler is registered in Monrovia and I don’t pay taxes, nope none at all!” He appears to be very proud of himself too. “Just like those rich peoples what was running for office last year.  Hey, who won anyway?”

Before I can answer, I watch him dump out a box of frozen shrimp, marked “Product of Vietnam” into a vat to thaw. “These are genuine caught in the Gulf of Mexico shrimps!” he explains and to my horror tosses the greasy oil-soaked box overboard. I grab a gaff and snag it back and this tickles him for some reason. "Biodegeneration will dissolve that sonny!" he says and spits a ungodly amount of tobacco juice into the bay and croaks, "Presto!"

“I don’t guess you’ve heard about water pollution?” I ask and again he cackles. Before I can utter another word, he dips a dirty glass into the ship channel and drinks the whole thing, burping loudly.

“It’s a myth, just like those lies about Bill Clinton preying on the women folk. Did I tell you him and me went to the same high school in Ar-kansas?  Sure did and them girls were always pestering him, and he being a gentleman and all.  He was the real victim. I swear to there and back he was. Clean as one of those Buck-Kees terlits!”

I watch as he lights up two hand-rolled cigarettes at once and puffs away, like a steam locomotive. Pulling in the huge net takes precedence over talking and he dumps the contents on the deck. It is an amazing haul of everything from oysters and shrimp to about twenty kinds of fish of every description. “I harvest everything and nothing gets throwed back!” he yells and I’m no expert on limits of size requirements, but I’m pretty sure a 10-inch redfish is a violation.

“You see, some of these laws just ain’t for the working man, fella. A man’s gotta make a living and all of this will either go to the buyers, or it will go to the other buyers!’ Again he laughs so hard, I have to slap his boney back to help him catch his wind. “Here, hold my beer while I drop the nets again.” I wasn't counting, but I think that is number 3. For a man in his obvious 80’s, Mr. Bouchet has energy to spare and for the life of me, I wonder how he can catch anything here at the docks and say so.

"You just watch and learn fella. Ol Cap’n Rusty will learn you." Sure enough, a wave comes rolling in as a huge ship passes by and the captain lets out a squeal that would scare a sow feral hog. "The nets are full agin!" he yells and hits the switch on his rickety winch. The whole dang boat rocks to one side as the heavy fish-laden net is lifted out of the water and Ol Rusty is going plumb crazy. "Everything sells!"

The near bursting net is hovering over the rotting deck of the boat when he releases it and it is almost full of loggerhead sea turtles of every size.  They thunk and bang all over the place and the spry captain is dancing about throwing them into the ice-filled chests and lockers like Ken Caminiti firing off a throw to first. I'm pretty sure all of this is illegal and I look around knowing I will be incriminated as an accessory. When he sees that I am about to bolt, he cackles and tells me "all these will be in Anahuac before sundown, cause they's be turtle eatin' fools over there."

Well, I'd seen enough and I left the giggling old man and figured it was my civic duty to file a police report. For some reason it wasn't in the today's paper, but that was yesterday and it'll probably be in Sunday's paper. I sure hope he isn't water-boarded because they would be in for a surprise. Anyone who drink water out of Tabb's bay won't be easy to break.

.

Is behaving badly, the new standard?

I signaled to exit onto North Main Street coming off SH-146 the other day and there was a car rapidly approaching from the flyover off of Spur 330. To be honest, I was exceeding the 60 mph speed limit by about 8 mph, or 68 miles per hour. The fellow zoomed up behind me so I couldn't see anything of his car except the roof, as I have a large spare tire on the back of my Jeep that obstructs my view when cars are close.

I was slowly decelerating down to about 60, as the ramp speed limit is 45 mph. The fellow swerved back and forth behind me trying to decide if he could pass me up and when I subtly countered his possibly dangerous maneuver, he finally shot around me and made an obscene hand gesture. I ignored him in a supreme act of self-control, as I was more curious about what exactly my offense was, than responding to his rude behavior.

He cut all the way to the right lane and accelerated to a stop behind another car wanting to turn right on North Main. I coasted in and stopped in the far left lane and looked over at the guy. He didn't appear to be in any state of emergency, or anything. He was simply driving. The light changed and he immediately got on the bumper of the car in front of him and tailgated up to the next red light. I observed this in my rear view mirror as I headed north.

Someone said a measure of a person is to watch how they drive and I believe it. I mentioned to a stranger the other day something about turn signals and they proudly declared they never use them. They said they don't want to let people know they are changing lanes because "they will speed up and won't let you in". I couldn't argue with that.

I grabbed a basket at Food Town the other day and it was wedged to the one in front of it. A lady came up beside me and pulled the next row cart free and she looked at me as I untangled the carts. "Why not just get a different one?" she sincerely asked. I told her it would just be a problem for the next person and then succeeded in freeing it. She acted as if I was the Lone Ranger and maybe I was at that moment in time.

How many times have you walked into a store or business with someone in front of you and they simply let go of the door even though they knew you are behind them? I was at Patient's emergency room the other day and the opposite happened. The lady in front of me held the door until I could grab it. I joked that she was a true gentleman and she replied, "I was raised right" and maybe this is the explanation to this anti-social behavior.

Who raised these inconsiderate masses that they don't even consider helping their fellow man? That's it. Probably someone other than their parents. The thought never crosses their mind that what they are doing isn't socially favorable. To them they are not being rude. They are simply looking out for numero uno. They want their way regardless of how they get it. If those around them don't like it?  Tough noogies. The Golden rule never crosses their mind.

Remember the old saying about one bad apple? Well, it may appear at times that these self-servers outnumber people with good manners, but I don't think they do. We just notice them because they rub us the wrong way. Good manners will never go unnoticed or unrewarded. A kind word, a simple consideration, or stepping aside so someone else can get a step up can have excellent results and brighten a person's day. When I pay a person for food service or at the grocery store, I usually attempt to say their name and wish them well and this automatically makes our exchange personal and sets me apart from everyone who saw them as faceless and nameless minions.

In our times when everyone wants to be seen as unique and their own person, why not try being kind and considerate? Wow! That would set you apart from many instantly. Why not slow down and let people in instead of accelerating to keep them from taking what you feel is yours? I don't believe poor behavior is the answer to any situation let alone the new norm, but it appears there are a good number of people trying hard to convince me otherwise. Have a nice day!

.

Aging ain't what it used to be

 "When I get older losing my hair, many years from now. Will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings bottle of wine?" This line from the pen of the Beatles was in the extreme far distance when I first heard it in 1967.  I was 15 and the idea that I would someday be 64 was inconceivable (did I even know what that word meant?).

I remember what 64 year old people looked like in the 60's and they looked - well, they looked old.  Old as in men wore baggy khaki pants and brown brogans and shuffled around on a cane coughing all the time like they had tuberculosis. Their shirts had stains on them and they yelled at kids and were generally useless for anything except taking up space on the front porch or giving kids Dutch rubs.

64 year old women were gray-headed, fat and wore baggy old flowery moo-moo's and had those thick nylons that went up to the knee and black clog-dancing shoes they stomped around in and yelled "Ehhh?" every time you tried to talk to them.  "Ehh?  Whadja say there sonny?"

This is how I remembered them, me being full of wisdom and 15. Now that may not have been the case, but youth has a way of ageing people prematurely and yes, unfairly. When you are 15, dating a girl 17 would put you squarely in the stud category (not that I would know anything about that!). A 24 year old is, like, way advanced in age and if a person is 30, well, can someone say "one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave?"

Remember hearing that some 12th grade cheerleader was dating ... (gasp) a college student? Yea, she was probably 17 and the guy 18.

"Old man look at my life, 24 and there's so much more. Live alone in a paradise, that makes me think of two." I was 20 when Neil Young published this iconic song and 24 seemed a long way off. Come today, I was 24 - 40 years ago. In simple terms when I first heard this song, I would triple my age to arrive where I am today.

Back in 1968, the ever-morphing and imaginative Beatles also wrote: "They say it's your birthday. It's my birthday too, yeah They say it's your birthday. We're gonna have a good time. I'm glad it's your birthday. Happy birthday to you." This was written when they couldn't imagine being 64 and were still excited about actually having another birthday party. The good thing about having a birthday at my age is you get to reflect that you are still alive. The bad side is yea, you are one year older and like Pink Floyd wrote, "One day closer to death".

My dad (rest in peace) once remarked about exercise that "all it does is postpone the inevitable.

Alice Cooper released "I'm eighteen" in 1970.  I was eighteen at the time and I still love this song today because it really summed up how I felt at that time. I was a man in that I could go to war for my country, but I was a boy because I couldn't buy a beer.   Vincent Furnier, the lead singer for the band was coincidentally - 24 years old when they released this song.

"Lines form on my face and hands. Lines form from the ups and downs. I'm in the middle without any plans. I'm a boy and I'm a man. I got a baby's brain and an old man's heart. Took eighteen years to get this far. Don't always know what I'm talkin' about. Feels like I'm livin' in the middle of doubt."  Here I am 40 some odd years later and like Vincent, I often time think I still have a baby's brain and an old man's heart.  "I get confused every day and I don't know what to say" and folks older than me tell me it gets harder every day to sort things out. I hope not. I pretty much live day to day off my notes on my calendar as it is.

"What?  Rely on my memory ehh, sonny? What memory? Now where did I leave my brogans again? On second thought, where can I take my brogans and get the laces replaced  with Velcro? Do you think my khaki pants are too wrinkled to wear to Wal-mart? The older I get young fella, the better I used to be! Hand me my sack of meds while your up! What are those kids doing on my lawn?"

We are not the same old place anymore

I would like to say "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore", but that would sound corny, even though it's an accurate quote from The Wizard of Oz. Our tri-city community is gone forever, being replaced by an ever-emerging agglomeration of new businesses, storage units, trailer parks, apartments, and even a few new houses. We've lost that loving feeling of a small community and driving west on I-10 from Beaumont, you enter the city of Baytown and don't stop seeing what is essentially Houston until you pop out on the other side of Katy, 60 miles later.

We are being swallowed up by the expansion of Houston, as the metropolis has ran out of room north, west, and south. Mayor DonCarlos (who I have voted for at least 6 times) told us that we should plan for a quarter of a million people over the next five years or so. If you remember, I predicted a growth of 200,000 a few years ago and a couple of the local righteous curmudgeons basically called me a dreamer and a prognosticator of fake news. If my rememberer is working correctly, they both claimed there was no way Hillary could lose the election.

Well, here's a hard cold fact and maybe you've heard of it or not. Up SH-146 before you get to Dayton and almost directly across the road from the large white rice elevator, they are going to build 14,000 homes. It will be a city in size with police, fire department and a proliferation of support businesses. It is also asserted, but unconfirmed that there will be a major airport built close-by.  I'm not talking a Gum Island expansion either, but a major airline investment. More on that as it progresses.

I was at the VA Medical Center the other day and my PA was telling me about her daily commute from Manvel and how it has become a traffic jam. Well, hello! The entire Houston area has become worse than Garth road at lunch time. Fixing Garth Road will be temporary at best, as more people flood to the area. The only salvation we have is more roads. SH-146 out past Pinehurst will only be remedied when they build an elevated road from the trestle to Maranatha Temple with flyovers for I-10 east and west.

Only driverless cars, trucks and mass transit will make our roads safer when all the stop lights are removed and there is no longer a need for car insurance. Everything will be scheduled and you will get where you are going when it is time to go. What about leisure driving you ask? Maybe you will be able to push a button to take the scenic route. What scenic route? There's nothing scenic left and out in the country is, well, it's a long ways off.

I remember 25 years ago when people left Baytown to live out in the country. They chose The Woodlands. Then everyone wanted to really get out there and they moved to League City, Pearland, and Katy. Seriously? The other day we were at Red Lobster and I drove over to Ward Road and it took almost a half an hour and like Rain Man, I'm an excellent driver.

I tend to get around the entire Houston area either geocaching or visiting the gyms I cover and about the only locale that still has that hometown feel is... La Porte. The east side specifically and I find the slower pace there very refreshing. During the weekday there is almost no traffic, as folks who live there are either retired, working, or sleeping due to shift work - and there are deer over there in the woods near Wharton Weems Boulevard.

Am I being critical of Baytown or its planners?  No, I don't mean to sound like I am. It is what it is and Houston has to grow somewhere. What I am suggesting is we be very careful how we go about accommodating all these new people and businesses. It is far too late to be anything approximating a planned community, but we can be smart about what we allow to be built. I've heard the question raised one time too many of just how many storage units, donut shops, cookie-cutter apartment complexes, and taquerias do we need and yet these very establishments are under construction right now.

It is also extremely important to maintain green spaces and enforce landscaping rules. Expanding the court-driven community service to do more and longer litter abatement punishment would be a positive and encouraging more community efforts toward improving our image would be wonderful. We can indeed take our tri-city area and make it not only better looking, but a draw for quality newcomers by progressive planning.

Like it or not, we are now a major city. Stop griping about Garth Road because we have more Garth Roads coming and Kansas is gone forever.

.

That one moment you never forget

I love the movie "Hitch" and I've watched it probably too many times.  I love the message that we should live life to the fullest. Sure, its a cliché we've all heard in twenty variations, but that doesn't mean we understand or get it. Take time to smell the roses.  Most of us know that one and we still don't do it, because we don't comprehend how incredible and fabulous living like this can be.

I listened to my bride tell me something the other day and I don't think it was anything earth shaking, but I looked at her face and how animated she was and I stopped her and told her how much I love her. Yea, I was right where I wanted to be. I had a deep understanding of just how important she is to me and how fortunate I am to have her in my life.

Years ago, a few Airmen and I were camping in the mountains of Montana. There was a lone bald peak not too far from our tents and I told them I was going to climb it. "Why?" they all echoed. "I want to experience it," was my reply and one by one they rose and we made the steep climb. As we sat at the top and looked around, we shared that experience and were in no hurry to leave. Now 40 years later I can revisit that peak because I absorbed it.

Do you ever wonder why people take vacations and cruises but never talk about them afterward? I wonder if they slowed down enough to let it soak into the fabric of their being? If you ask them, they will swear they did and maybe tell you how they swam with great white sharks or zip-lined through an active volcano and then they fall silent or change the subject. Did they truly experience that moment, or was it just another cheap thrill and a check mark on their bucket list? Truly amazing moments often happen in truly unamazing places and you never forget them. Make a note I am excluding tragedy from this line of thought.

I was in Midtown instructing an 0530 spin class and we were cycling in a near dark spin room, crowded with stationary bikes and sweating people. Believe it or not, I am often down there at Elgin and Louisiana, as they need instructors and I leave Baytown at 0420 to get there and get set up for class. Most all of these people work in offices and will leave the gym and go to work. Me? I am living and doing exactly what I want at that moment. I love it.

I often adjure them to be selfish with their hour of exertion. "Don't go to work in your head before your body has to. This is your hour to be selfish. You are not going to change a thing over there right now. You are here because there is no other place you want to be, so don't mentally leave. forget the TPS reports, your bills, the kids, forget everything but this bike and the mountain trail you are riding. Right now its just you, your body, and this bike," and then I tell them a corny joke. I often explain that their body will tell them to stop, but all they need to do is live in the moment and like one man told me after a class, "I've been spinning for 6 years and that was the hardest class I've ever been in."

I laughed because I didn't push him that hard - he somehow plugged in and pushed himself to new level and that should be our goal. Do we have to water ski behind a 900 foot ocean liner or wrestle a 26 foot long Nile croc to have an awakening?  Of course not. This moment will come at a most unexpected time of revelation. It may take place in a parking lot when you see a cloud formation, or talk to a lady in a supermarket. For that instant you realize why you are here and looking around you decide there is no place on earth like the one you are experiencing. You are living in the moment.

I stand in my driveway at night and look at the planet Venus and little red Mars and then the moon and I am as happy as a chimp with a banana. I know my bride is not interested in the view, but I am seeing the collective of millions of stargazers and I feel their connection. My Chinese Holly tree's berries are feeding the migrating cedar wax-wing birds and I can feel a satisfaction that stays with me all day and all I have to do is take time to watch them.

Living in the moment is far more than a tag line from a movie. It is a realization that there is no place on earth better than the one you are experiencing right now.

.

You only get what you give

Bert and Rania Ghani at 24 Hour Fitness

For some time now, it has been on my mind to not only be more productive, but to make a mark on those I come in contact with. Yea, I know what you're thinking. You think I want to put a knot on the head of all those people who need to go back to driving school, right? Yes and no. Just yesterday if seemed like every looney with a car was on the road and my bride and I had made an emergency trip to the gym to pick up cake Rania Ghani had left for us in the refrigerator and we forgot about it.

We hopped in my Jeep and made the three mile drive over and back and I swear we witnessed at least ten acts of aggravated ignorant driving - but that's not what I want to discuss with you today. As much satisfaction as I get from bumping my gums and pounding the steering wheel of my 4X4, it's time to make some corrections. Seriously with all that hot air, all I'm doing is amping up my blood pressure.

I asked this question to 20 of my BFF's (best friends forever) and this is their reply. It is a list that you can print and then challenge yourself to accomplish.

1. Write in cursive so that I don't lose that skill. 2. Don't forget to look at things with childlike wonder. See shapes in the clouds. 3. I should read the bible daily so that I can continue to grow in God's word. Strive to live a life that is pleasing to God. 4. Adopt the Boy Scout philosophy of doing a good deed everyday. 5. Do the crossword puzzle in the paper, read more books and help with the housework. 6. Hold hands with your sweetie or your grandchild every day, or give out hugs to those you genuinely care for. Physical touch keeps you connected to humanity.

7. Daily prayer/meditation time. It keeps you connected to the Creator, and closer to His vision and purpose for your life. 8. Learn something new everyday, a new recipe, or a word. 9. Prepare for "Zombies". Take Self Defense classes. Hone a skill like carpentry. Build bird houses or lawn furniture. Learn to weld. Build metal yard art, lawn furniture. 10 Never look down on anyone, unless you are stopping to help them up. 11. Audit a class, take up art or photography, learn a foreign language.

12. Learn to play an instrument. 13. Random acts of kindness to total strangers. Give give and give. 14. Master writing with your non-dominant hand. Does interesting things to your brain. 15. Pick one thing no matter how small to be grateful for. Be grateful for the little things. They are often the most important. 16. talk to a minimum of 5 people a day, no matter what happens. Old people, young people, neighbors, hot girls at the gym. Engage everyone. Welcome them into your life via conversation with zero expectation of where it goes. Be authentic in your exchange. welcome the good.

17. Keep your list of items posted where you can see it and try to complete your list. 18. Thank a Veteran by picking up their tab if you see them in a restaurant or coffee shop. Get to know your neighbors. Donate an hour to read to children at your local library during storybook time. 19. Think in terms less about yourself...And more of others. 20. Pick up the police officer's lunch tab.

I look at this list of suggestions and nowhere do I see anyone suggesting that we get angry over the way someone violates the rules of the road.  Rats!  I guess I will have to change my evil ways. This week I was closing my spin class at the NASA location and I challenged the class to do an unselfish act of kindness over the next week and I saw it on their faces that a little reminder to do good is a salve for the soul. Sure we all know to do good, but sometimes our fellow citizens do not invoke that response in us. That's why we need lists like the one above and gentle reminders that you only get what you give. What goes around, surely comes around and like the Beatles said; "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make".

Now that we have a plan, what say we put it into action?

 .

What is more fun than people?

Mr. Melvin Roark in all his wonderful glory.

My friend Melvin Roark invited me to meet a most interesting man the other day.  His name is Lowell Herrington and he’s 97 years young this past Valentine’s Day. Afterward he told Melvin that I was his birthday present. I got a good laugh out of that and replied that he must like cheap dates.

Lowell is a wealth of information about Baytown, as he moved to Pelly in 1929, if I remember correctly. For those readers who don’t know, Pelly, Goose Creek, and Baytown consolidated in 1948, as the city of Baytown. The old city hall of Pelly still stands on West Main Street and the old Goose Creek jail is north of there on North Main.

He talked about Hog Island and how one fellow would swim out into the ship channel and stay out there, only coming in when a ship came by, There was a huge pavilion on Evergreen Road that I never heard of that was very active. He told me how much everyone walked back during the Depression and how scarce food was, except for the veggies everyone grew.

He remembers Reno’s barber shop on SH-146 and Marshall’s bait and tackle. Reno was my father-in-law and his real name was Willard Reneau. He was a humble fiddle-playing man and called himself Reno, because he thought people would have trouble pronouncing his name. Imagine that, these days. He asked me if Reno had worked for a barber named Broome and I said he did.

Lowell’s mind is as sharp as a younger man and he told me his family all smoked and drank a bit of alcohol, but he never took a hankering to it and he looks like a man of 70 and well preserved at that.

He remembered the German soldiers interned out on SH-146 close to the Pinehurst subdivision somewhere and I had heard this numerous times through other people. His beautiful bride Barbara made us coffee and served delicious pastries and we chatted for a couple of hours. I asked him if he remembered the hundreds of oil derricks and all those that were way up on Goose Creek and he sure did. I don’t think most Baytownians know that there at one time they stood everywhere on the creek. By 1975 when I photographed the expansion of SH-146 at Tabb’s Bay, most of them in the bay were already gone also.

The same goes for the Tabbs Bay Causeway.  I bet one out a 500 people here would get a blank look if you asked them about it. It’s gone now too, like the almost 40 people who have passed away on Lowell’s street. Again and again, he mentioned how much the city has changed since 1929 and how he helped a man catch a runaway horse and then ride it across the town, which then was mostly dirt.

Lowell told us about quarter horse races on Morrell Street and I couldn’t get a mental picture of how that could be. He said it was a big attraction. We talked about the Baytown Historic Café and he knew all about the building and the ones that are no longer there. He said they really need better lighting so people could study the photos. The café building was named after the owner. It was the same name as one of two brothers who would swim out in the ship channel. I should have taken notes, but we were just chatting and drinking coffee.

Lowell still does yard work, unless his son sneaks over and does it while they are at church and his place is neat as a pin. He has a Hispanic neighbor family who barbecues quite often and they always bring down a couple of plates. He and his bride seem a perfect fit and they are happy. I think they’ve been married about 35 years and both lost their first spouse. He used to repair small motors and maybe still does and he informed me that it was just a hobby and although he often times had a back-log, he never charged for labor.  Again, imagine that these days.

I have known another fellow since I was a mid-teen, named Alan Dempsey.  Alan is a Pentecostal preacher’s kid and back in high school, a real ladies man and fist-fighter – but he is also one of the nicest kindest people I’ve ever met. His favorite saying for years has been, “What’s more fun than people?”  Meeting this 97 year old man and his bride prove Alan’s point.

Lowell and his mate are rare jewels and folks should take note of the example they have set. I know they left an indelible mark on me.

. 

Muscles, Yard Work, and Honey-Do’s

We are a couple weeks into the new year and things are really shaping up. The trees are budding out; grass is beginning to grow, and my bride is itching for me to do massive amounts of yard work on our half acre of heavily landscaped homestead. Never mind that she’s a certified Texas Master Gardener – this is man’s work honey!

I used to go out and do yard work for six straight hours and it was just sweat, not aches and pains. Now I sweat at the gym for hours each day and it appears my muscles are only good for the gym! Yard work is hard I tell you! Heckfire, I can hardly open the plastic bag inside a box of Wheaties… I mean Cheerios. We all know what will happen to you if you eat Wheaties every day.

Try opening the lid on a Power-Ade or Gator-Ade bottle with out a Stillson wrench!  Did I just call a pipe wrench a Stillson wrench? Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe it’s just because I am getting old! My daughter Melody is a hair stylist at the Rat’s Nest and cuts my hair. The other day she cut it and when I got home, the top looked like I had been on an episode of Scare Tactics.  The hair was sticking straight up, so in my elderly wisdom, I trimmed it off in the bathroom sink.

When I leaned forward, I realized why she did it. Now I look like Larry Fine of the Three Stooges!  Whoop whoop whoop!  When did all this hair go bye bye? I don’t know!  I feel like Melvin Roark’s twin brother, but that is not a bad thing, is it? By the way, how does Jim Finley keep his gorgeous youthful looks? I think he’s been nipping at that fountain old Ponce was looking for.

Last year I trimmed on my photinia and ligustrum bushes 3 times and I swear; now it would take a field-grade pogo stick to cut them back. Any day now my bride is going to start pointing this chore out and I am smart enough to just trim them back before she informs me the 10^th time. Now it’s not like I don’t have the yard equipment or anything – or the knowledge on how exactly to go about it, because I have all the bases covered. I just don’t want to do it. I would rather go to the gym and work on my gym muscles so I can appear I am awesome.

That out building I paid to have remodeled sure looks nice. It is just a shame that the doors they made are heavier than the hinges and now I can’t lock the shed. My bride faithfully reminds me of this every three days and after numerous calls to have them promise to fix it.  I am simply going to do it myself… in a few days!

I just took a peek outside. My 25 foot tall “Dwarf” Chinese holly is heavy with red fruit.  In all the years past this meant Spring is here and any second now I expect the tree to be covered with Cedar Waxwing birds on their way south. It is a sight to see and hundreds of them will clean that tree in a day or less. The down side is that I will be cutting my yard for every three days and those danged shrubs will sprout like they are being hand-fed by the Jolly Green Giant!

Don’t get me started on bark much. Okay, thanks a lot just remember that you started it. I cannot haul in enough bags of bark mulch to satisfy my Bride’s desire to cover every square inch of plant beds with 3 inches of mulch. This means at least two dump trucks of mulch will be dumped in my driveway for me to shovel up and wheelbarrow to the back and side yards and my dad-blamed yellow plastic wheelbarrow rusted out over the last 6 months. Of course a man without a usable wheelbarrow is all but useless to most good female overseers, so I’ll have to buy a new one.

I would rather just repair computers in the sterile environment of my man cave, famously known as the Orbiting Command Ship Central or work on my gym muscles, but NOOOO, I have to do yard work!

Get ready for the spring pysch… here it comes!

Who am I kidding? I love yard work. It’s great exercise and everything always looks so nice afterward. I like to bag my yard, as it always looks so clean and neat, but mulching is better for it. Heckfire, I might even throw down some 15-5-10 fertilizer for my St. Augustine. Now that I think about it, it ain’t so bad. I’ll start on it tomorrow.