The Buzzard's Loft

Vernon H. Goode 1946

2011-07-03T22:36:00.000-05:00

Photo of my dad during his military service in 1946

Thanks for your service

Meet Tucker

2010-10-16T16:07:00.000-05:00

Meet my new best friend Tucker. Tucker is a rescue about five months old. We have had him now for about three weeks, and is all PUPPY!!!!

But if you separate the puppy from him he is a very smart and confident dog. His father was a full blooded German Shepard, and his mama was a Lab. We have been working with him daily on his sit, down, stay, and heel commands. He is doing fantastic. We took him this last week to his first school lesson to learn his ABC's of dog obedience. The school is a training facility for police dogs that do both K9 and narcotics training. They also have an agility course. While waiting for our trainer we took the dog through the agility course. The smart boy climbed both the long ramp and the tall ramp on his own when asked. I was so darned proud of him. The trainer said that he showed a lot of self confidence, and was quite unusual for a 5 month old dog never having been exposed to the ramps before. I think she was amazed at how smart he was.

Today I took him hiking through old logging trails near our home. It was his first time off leash in a remote area, and he was wonderful about staying close and coming when called. I have a new partner to share my days with. What a blessing he is.

My Fall Picture

2010-10-15T17:12:00.002-05:00

It's fall on the Cumberland Plateau and my beautiful and loving wife decided I needed a new picture for my various social networks and blogs. She captured me standing with my 48' Ford. Both the truck and me are originals, I can assure you!

Flash 55 Friday - First Date...

2010-08-19T18:28:00.010-05:00

It took courage for Sergio to ask Leona out for their first date. Leona had always been so formal, and seemed just a bit shy. The idle chatter between them did nothing to change her mood, and now Sergio could only ponder how this beautiful girl, with such inviting eyes could be so tightly wrapped.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - After dinner thoughts...

2010-08-12T18:57:00.005-05:00

Karen sighed, as she carefully draped the kitchen towel over the oven handle to dry. Dinner was done, laundry washed and folded, and the awful mess cleaned up in the kitchen. If Ken would have been more receptive, she thought, we could have avoided the whole episode. She just wanted to take that walk now.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

A Piece of Work

2010-08-08T11:39:00.010-05:00

In October of 2009, my wife Teri said, I needed to get my ass to the doctor for a check up. As usual she was right. I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes and two months later had a heart attack which resulted in six way heart by-pass surgery.

I thought I would share the before and after portraits.

The first photo was taken in October, 2009, the second in May of this year. Thanks to my dear wife's concern, the many great doctors and nurses, and my own hard work and determination not to repeat past mistakes, I am a new man. I have lost 65 lbs. to date, and live a very healthy and active lifestyle.

Thanks sweetheart for your concern and continued support.

Your ole Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - A Puzzling Experience

2010-08-05T17:15:00.007-05:00

She just couldn't believe all the fuss the boys were making over this. After all, blue skies, bright sunshine, and the smell of fresh clean mountain air, made a perfect day to hang one's delicate's out to dry.

But boys will be boys; curious, they were puzzled at how the outdoor clothes dryer actually worked.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

To put by

2010-08-04T16:05:00.015-05:00

July was hot, but August appears to be off to an even worse start here on the Cumberland Plateau. How fortunate, that we were able to get enough rain to keep the gardens alive, and producing during this searing heat. Being the old Buzzard that I am, I find ways to occupy my day, staying the hell out of the heat and Mama Birds way. Mama Bird does not like to see idle hands, if you get my drift.

This is the time of year Mama Bird likes to start canning fruits and vegetables, or as they say
down this way, "'to put by," or "to put up" It's an old deep-country way of saying to 'save something you don't have to use now, against the time when you'll need it.'

That got me thinking, yea, I know, duck and cover is what Mama Bird says's. A few years back we found some old half gallon canning jars. Half gallon jars aren't common, and we were hoping they would clean up so we could use them in the canning process. It didn't happen, so me being the Buzzard that I am thought about finding a good use for them. The light went on, so to speak, as I walked out the door into 100 degree heat. Why not store as much of this hot air as we can into these old jars? I mean the concept is right for this sort of thing. We have an over abundance of this hot air at the moment. Global warming and election politics has to be the two largest contributors to the situation. We can certainly debate the global warming issues, but there is no doubt that politicians are expelling foul hot air at an enormous rate at the moment. I'm thinking, why not just do some canning, "put it by" until about January or February. Like the fruits and vegetables, we "put up" now, all that hot air will be much appreciated in the bitter cold of winter!

Mama Bird just chimed in, and thought this was a perfect idea. She said, she couldn't wait for that cold winter day. "You know those kinds of days," she said, "the ones when you have no clue about what you want for dinner. I'll just open up a jar of that hot air, and you can sit and enjoy both the meal, and some of those old stale conversations about lying politicians and broken promises."

On second thought, I believe those jars will make perfect shooting targets this fall.

Flash 55 Friday - Road Story

2010-05-27T19:00:00.001-05:00

He had traveled all day, now tired and hungry, it was time.
His eyes now playing tricks, as evening shadows enveloped the road ahead.
Now was the time to find a place to eat, relax, and hopefully discover a clean restroom.
Sure he was in the right place something happened that questioned his cock sureness.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Buzzard Update

2010-05-27T14:56:00.004-05:00

It seems like it's been forever since I wrote on my own or read any blogs. For those of you that have asked about the Buzzard, I appreciate your thoughts. My wife, who has been a sick lady for several years took a turn for the worse just a little over a month ago. She spent some time in the hospital here locally and finally last week we visited the Mayo Clinic in hopes of finding some answers and hope. Unfortunately, for us, we found neither answers nor hope in our journey.

I have always tried to use my blog to feature what I observe as the humorous side of life and its experiences. However, this last month I have not found that much to laugh about. As anyone who has dealt or deals with serious or chronic illness to a loved one knows, it sucks the life out of all involved. I will avoid commenting about her health issues on this blog, as it takes all the emotional well being we have just to update and explain the issues to family members and close friends. Just know that my redhead is truly the fire and light of my life, and I pray for her well being daily.

That's the update, I aim to start writing again immediately for my own mental health.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - Communication

2010-04-22T19:45:00.001-05:00

This 55 is dedicated to all of us parents who have to say "no" sometimes.

"Lori! Do I have to spell it out for you?" Her mom stated with firm conviction.
Lori was relentless, "but mom, all the kids are going; it's not fair!"
"Lori, that's enough; we made plans for the family this evening. You're not going."
Lori left the table hurriedly, no longer interested in eating her lunch.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - A Sign

2010-04-15T19:45:00.002-05:00

It's almost Friday again, she thought.
Who is this Mr. KnowItAll, and what does he want?
Is it a momentary flash of brightness?
A sudden intense burst of radiant energy?
Some itinerant gleam of understanding?
Or was it something more deliberate?
It was then, she noticed the sign.
She knew immediately what the G-man needed.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

The Graying Rebellion

2010-04-15T13:09:00.019-05:00

My good friend Charlie, a.k.a. Professor B Worm wrote a post this week about hair and haircuts. His post reminded me of an article I had written a few years back for the local newspaper. I thought it still appropriate for a reprint.

The Graying Rebellion

Three years ago, I put on my retirement face. I have made very few adjustments to the look, and I think it gives me a dignified confidence to go with my ever present smile. The difference in that other face I once wore as a well dressed executive, and the one I now willing submit for public view, is that I have chosen to leave this one partially covered with gray whiskers. Every day for twenty eight years I scrapped my face dutifully, molding my look into the cloned expectations of a business world that wanted no part of individuality or facial hair. I read somewhere that an average man can spend six months of his life shaving. If that’s true, and my calculations are correct, I have already used about three months of this allotment.

I was in the Register of Deeds Office in Overton County last week. Exhibited along the back wall of the outer office, are historic portrait photos dating back to the 1800’s that depict past custodians of this noble and public office. It is those pictures, from before the turn of the last century, that I admire most. Each of these men is magnificently groomed, and display well defined combinations of artfully styled mustaches, beards, and sideburns. They have presence, importance and each individual has a very distinctive visual personality. Looking at the remainder of the photographs, reminds me of looking at an old photograph of President Harry S. Truman. When I’m looking at photos of business men taken since World War I, all the men look alike. Sort of makes you rethink the idea that that cloning is a new science.

A couple we know were found bristling over this hairy topic just this last week. An important event was before them and there was much discussion over shaving the hair on his silvery “chiny-chin-chin”. So I asked my wife, why it is that so many women liken male facial hair to a fungus that needs to be eradicated? Not all women mind you, feel that way, as there seems to be more than a few women that go completely ga ga over singers, actors, and outlaws with the late day shadow, or the I’m not shaving this week look.

My wife says that some women prefer their men to have that clean cut, well defined, strong chiseled jaw look you find in ads for men’s clothing, on the covers of romance novels, or on the men in day time soap operas. It’s the boyish good looks sort of thing; six pack abs, chiseled jaw line, and where hair is only important when it’s on top of one’s head. Most surveys conducted about women’s attitudes toward beards, find that only 2 or 3 percent of them would describe a beard or facial hair on men as sexy.

My life has traveled in cycles and so has my appearance. The rebellious long curly brown hair and wild red mustache-goatee look of my youth, has rebelliously reemerged 35 years later as short gray hair and a neatly trimmed gray mustache-goatee. I do admit to getting lazy about shaving any whiskers that I am not actively trying to cultivate, and only see to the task about twice a week on average. Since I never had that strong well chiseled jaw look, I thought a distinguished older look might do. My wife Teri warned me more than once that there is big difference between a distinguished older look that carries a charge, and the stubbly old man look that my grandkids won’t come near.

I was smiling the day I saw our friends at their big event. Inside my head I was cheering the fact he had held fast to his own personal expression of male dignity. I am grateful that my wife has seen fit to let me reestablish the rebellious look of my youth, and in some way separate myself from that corporate image I forced myself to maintain. My beard is like a security blanket somehow, and it makes me feel comfortable as I find myself stroking through it as if in search of any wisdom that may be unlocked in the soft gray hairs. Although beards have not been a traditional look worn by men of my family, I do find every now and then that when I look into the mirror my dad’s eyes are looking back at me, and hidden right in the middle of that gray mustache-goatee, he is smiling too.

Chinese Food...

2010-04-10T23:16:00.009-05:00

Cornerstone Community News, Vol. 1, Issue 5

Our little community here on the Cumberland Plateau has found it difficult to draw new business ventures to the area. Mayor Oakie met with the county leadership committee interns a few months ago, and established a list of businesses that could best benefit the community as we grow. The committee held discussions with local businesses and citizens for input, and found consensus that restaurants should be a priority.

You would think that adding a few more eating establishments around town would be non-controversial, but far from it the Mayor explained. He said that the committee had fought over what type of restaurants would be best, what type of food served, and would liquor, spirits, or beer be served? Mayor Oakie known for his public outbursts, was said by a committee member to have made the final decision when he told the group, that he would just like to have some Fu_King Chinese food every once in a while.

We are very happy to report that a new Fu_King Chinese restaurant was recently opened here on West Main St. The proprietor, Sum Yung Gai, said it was a great location, bringing in steady lunch and dinner crowds. Most everyone interviewed about the food choices and quality, said that the Fu_King food was fabulous. I have to admit, I have also become a Fu_King nut myself, over the food.

Cornerstone Fictional News, sometimes on Wednesdays, by the Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - Bee Keeping

2010-04-08T19:37:00.008-05:00

John and Tony couldn't believe their luck.
Both had enjoyed the hobby of beekeeping for several years now.
With one goal in mind, they carefully planned their trip to the Buffalo Valley Beekeepers Association convention.
Each wanted to come home with a new queen for the hive.
Surprisingly, the queens came with a new hive.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - Bad Easter Bunnies...

2010-04-01T19:51:00.001-05:00

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. These four pictures are worth a Flash 55.
It's not funny; this holiday needs to be regulated by someone with authority!
I mean there are a lot of scary freaks and perverts out there.
Honestly, would you want your children near any of these Easter Bunnies?

Easter Bunny Bootcamp

2010-03-31T22:07:00.001-05:00

Cornerstone Community News, Vol. 1, Issue 4

As the Easter holiday fast approaches, the newest selection of Easter Bunnies are finishing there last minute drills and preparations for their big day. Will Shutter, our resident photographer and sometimes reporter here in the Cornerstone Community, recently visited the local training facility here on the Cumberland Plateau. Will said that he was astonished at how much training these bunny candidates endure in order to get the baskets and eggs delivered on time.

Training starts in January and lasts 12 weeks. Specially chosen candidates are taught skills such as basket building, egg safety, egg dying, Easter egg hiding, chocolate care, jelly bean distribution, and proper basket delivery. Will Shutter tried to get and interview from one of the candidates for this story, but was informed that Easter Bunnies do not talk. Will went on to say, they handled themselves like militia, and had no doubt the baskets would be on time this year.
Cornerstone Fictional News, sometimes on Wednesdays, by the Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - We are talking about respect...

2010-03-25T22:30:00.001-05:00

I am not just another bitch, and will not be treated like one. Am I asking too much, when I say, show a little respect for my position? Blot out from your mind any idea of superiority, you have none. All I ask is that you respect me for what I am, a human being.

If you share your life with a pet, you know they become more than just pets in the course of things. To some, they are animals. To me, they are adopted sons/daughters who are short, hairy, walk on all fours and don't speak clearly. Although the picture is not of one of my dogs, she does represent the attitude and persona of our female.
Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

It's perspective

2010-03-24T23:29:00.006-05:00

It's all about perspective. No matter what it is, religion, politics, money, love, school, work, relationships, parenting, blogging, inappropriate, funny, good, evil, it's all about perspective.

Things that taste like piss today in no particular order.
Politics
Television Choices
The forecast (rain today)
Physical rehab
Banks
My attitude

Another Wise Word Award

2010-03-22T17:00:00.002-05:00

I was catching up on comments left for my Friday Flash 55, and found another wonderful Wise Words Award passed on to me by PattiKen. Thank you Patti for your gracious acknowledgment.

Buzzard

Wise Words Award - Recepient

2010-03-21T23:04:00.008-05:00

I am extremely grateful for the "Wise Words Award" given to me by Jingle for my recent Flash Friday 55 Post.

Wise words seem to escape me when I write what a talented and thoughtful community "Mr. Knowitall has discovered in his creation of Friday Flash 55. The community encourages and supports all submissions, and I am fortunate to be just one of many participants.
Thanks, Jingle!

Buzzard

Weekly Funny... A Texas Teacher

2010-03-20T17:33:00.015-05:00

This weeks funny, was sent to me by my wife.

Did you hear about the teacher in Texas who was helping one of her kindergarten students put his cowboy boots on?

He asked for help and she could see why...

Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn't want to go on. By the time they got the second boot on, she had worked up a sweat.

She almost cried when the little boy said, 'Teacher, there on the wrong feet.' She looked, and sure enough, they were. It wasn't any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on, this time, on the right feet...

He then announced, 'These aren't by boots...'

She bit her tongue rather than get right in his face and scream, 'Why Didn't You Say So?' like she wanted to. Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his feet. No sooner had they gotten the boots off when he said, ' There my brother's boots. My mom made me wear them.'

Now she didn't know if she should laugh or cry. But, she mustered up what grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots on his little feet again.

Helping him into coat, she asked, 'Now, where are your mittens?'

He said, 'I stuffed em in the toes of my boots.'

She will be eligible for parole in three years!

Flash 55 Friday - My Invisibility

2010-03-18T19:49:00.005-05:00

A young boy's fantasy, inspired by 10Cent comic books, read as a child.
Was there a drug he should take, an invisibility cream, or maybe a disappearing ray?
Could it be true?
Was it possible a person could wander the streets invisible to the world?
It was much later in life, when he discovered invisibility.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Publishing Cornerstone Community News...

2010-03-15T01:00:00.017-05:00

Cornerstone Community News, Vol. 1, Issue 3

I usually publish Cornerstone Community News on Wednesday here on the plateau, but sometimes events take a turn, one way or another. That's what happened last Wednesday, events took the "or another" turn. You see it was a half way decent day for a change, so many of us in the community decided we needed to take a "me" day. Up on the plateau, that usually means the men go do their thing, and the women do whatever the hell women do when men aren't around.
This last week Wednesday, the men all decided to go down to Doohan's pond and fish a while, whilst the women decided they wanted to try a mud wrap, and spent the afternoon over at Barb E. Dahl's day spa, just off Hunter Cove road. A great time was had by both groups, and I would like to give special thanks to Will Shutter for the photos he provided.

I can't say the fishin was good, but we all enjoyed casting a few around the pond. Mike Long had the furthest cast of the day. Miss Tanya Hyde said everyone she talked with, enjoyed the peaceful and tranquil feeling of being pampered at a spa. Tanya went on to praise Ms Dahl for turning the old poultry barn and farm into something special for the girls.

As editor of our weekly news updates, it is necessary to announce a change in my publishing policy due to recent activities. I may or may not publish on Wednesdays in coming weeks. Depending on my mood that day, or how the fish are biting, or what condition my condition is in, I could publish on any damn day of the week. However, that is not so unusual here in the Cornerstone Community; a community though small in size, proudly celebrates the ideology and traditions of a nation. Like all Americans, we believe in doing what we please, when we please.

Cornerstone Fictional News, sometimes on Wednesdays, by the Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - A Familiar Face...

2010-03-11T19:06:00.006-06:00

Such a familiar face, the woman shopping in the store.
I remembered her, that little girl who once lived next door.
Long ago rivals, I watched her naively bend down toward the floor.
I smiled, inspired, I took her cart and ran for the door.
Little rotten Ronnie chanced to be mean just once more.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - Shirt Tales

2010-03-04T19:30:00.001-06:00

This week's Flash 55, is a 2fer readers choice. I have taken one picture and developed two 55's for it. My wife suggested to name them, "Shirt Tales". I am interested in which story you liked best.
Enjoy!

Clothed in Love
The morning air, so fresh and clean;
a day spent hanging out together, just the two of them.
Warm gentle breezes swirling to and fro;
neither afraid of being carried away in the moment.
He was thankful to touch something soft with his outstretched arms.
She was relieved it wasn't just another stuffed shirt experience!

Dirty Laundry
It wasn't their dirty little secret any longer.
Now it was out in the open for all to see.
He tried to take her into his arms.
Reluctantly she pulled away.
Was she hanging him out to dry?
Had he been using the same old line?
Maybe, she didn't want to be pinned down anymore.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

It's all your fault....

2010-03-04T18:11:00.007-06:00

Sometimes you have to dig a little deeper to find out what's causing a bad mood. I admit to irritability, and at times being a little moody; but hard to please? I don't think so.

Nevertheless, the blame for these conditions can now be set straight, and once we get past the blame, (which is hard to do) there is a simple remedy. The advertisement (featured to the left), although granted, it is a little dated, is far ahead of its time period. The forward thinking writers of this article knew that a well balanced meal was important in keeping a man's disposition in good order. Almost every day there is something about the importance eating correctly featured at both the local and national news levels. A well-balanced meal is needed to keep the human machine in good working order. So with that said, "Wives, It's All Your Fault."

Buzzard
President of the "Don't Blame Me Society"
Charter member of "It's Not My Fault Association"
Founder of the, "I Didn't Do It Clubs of America"

Taking care of the step children...

2010-03-03T09:31:00.012-06:00

Cornerstone Community News Vol. 1, Issue 3

Local resident Harry Sachs is well known in the Cornerstone Community for his affinity for wildlife. He can be found tending his bird and squirrel feeders year round, but pays special attention to his pet squirrel, he playfully nicknamed “Rooster” (pictured above left). Mr. Sachs said when he first met ole Rooster, “he was raiding the bird feeders faster than I could fill them up. I decided that my efforts might be better served by setting a squirrel feeder up on the porch.” Mr. Sachs went on to say, “It wasn’t long until him, and I became good friends. There’s just something special about the little man.”

Harry’s wife Minnie said “with the exception of Rooster’s little girlfriend, that squirrel is like a watchdog for our bird feeders. He just won’t allow another squirrel anywhere around the house.” “Barks like a dog sometimes,” Harry commented. “Looks like Minnie and I have adopted a couple of step children now.”

The couple said they prepare a mix of corn, sunflower seeds, and peanuts still in the shell to feed Rooster and his little female friend during the winter months. Harry said, “Squirrels like acorn nuts the best. With all these huge Oaks in the yard, ole Rooster always seems to be toting a couple of big ones around."

You can find the Cornerstone Community located on the Cumberland Plateau. Although a small community, we are proud to represent the ideology and traditions, which are the Cornerstone of life here on the Cumberland Plateau.

Cornerstone Community Fictional News Wednesday, by the Buzzard

Faires are not all the same...

2010-02-27T23:32:00.005-06:00

You know that all fairies are not the same. I prayed that the sock fairy would return some of the socks I had been missing. She actually showed up.

SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME!

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - PTSD

2010-02-26T08:35:00.012-06:00

Hidden among the dark forbidden corners of the mind, lay that one searing memory; the one waiting to torment at the slightest chance of weakness, vulnerability, or insecurity. Not a dream, nor even your worst nightmare; a true déjà vu experience of another time. All senses acutely aware, constantly reliving the exquisite horror of yesterday.

Described from my own experiences, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, effects thousands if not millions of veterans of all wars, and others who experience a traumatic life changing event. This illustration belongs to an article about the use of MDMA for the treatment of PTSD published in an

Israel

weekly magazine called Yediot Ahronot.

Friday Flash 55 is a fifty-five word story posted every Friday. To join in the fun, create and write any story you like in 55 words; no more, no less. Using this link, tell Mr. Knowitall a.k.a. the G-Man, by leaving a comment on his own Flash 55 post.

Buzzard

Cornerstone man angry with city hall...

2010-02-24T09:20:00.019-06:00

Cornerstone Community News, Vol 1. Issue 2

Local Cornerstone Community artist and handyman Doug Looney, is in a fight with city hall, over payment for services. Mr. Looney said the issue came to a head this week after the delivery and unveiling of his latest creation for the court house square located at the county seat.

Doug, a long time chainsaw artist living here in Cornerstone, said that last fall he had been contracted by County Treasurer, Ben Dover, to create a piece of art for the court house square that would both represent the heritage of the community and also be functional to those visiting the square. After canvassing many folks visiting the square for thoughts about what was needed to enhance their experience, Mr. Looney indicated the most often received answers were about the lack of bathrooms. Doug said, that his concept was based on the idea that women prefer to use the few indoor bathrooms available on the square, where as, "men usually don't care where they go." He continued, "The County has long been known for our hardwood trees and the logging industry supporting our tax base. He said, "I really think I hit the nail on the head, when I made this piece."

Mr. Ben Dover was unavailable for comment, and his office did not return my calls about Mr. Looney's complaint before this Wednesday's publication.

The Cornerstone Community is located on the Cumberland Plateau, and although just a small community, we are proud to represent the ideology and traditions, which are the Cornerstone of life on the Cumberland Plateau.

Cornerstone Community News Wednesday, by the Buzzard

Not so easy to find...

2010-02-22T10:42:00.013-06:00

I was wandering around, and stumbled across the sign. Finally, after all these years I found the road leading to the place they all came from. (click on picture)

I dared not chance to go any further; I figured this had to be a very large city, with all the folks I've met from there in my life. Hell, I've been asked more than a few times myself, if I was some kind of an a--hole or something. Who knows, just a visit to the place could get a person tagged for life, ruining what was once, an otherwise stellar reputation.

Buzzard

Flash 55 Friday - To the Moon and Back

2010-02-18T19:07:00.011-06:00

I tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t have it; still angry over my little transgressions.

I pointed to the sign we had lovingly placed above the bedroom door;

“I Love You to The Moon and Back.”

So what happened, I asked?

Nothing, nothing at all, I just didn’t know you were coming back so soon!

Buzzard

Snow Angels...

2010-02-17T09:52:00.008-06:00

Cornerstone Community News, Vol 1. Issue 1

The entrepreneurial spirit was revealed this winter, here in the Cornerstone Community on the Cumberland Plateau. Mr. I. C. Tallywhacker (pictured left) started his “Snow Angels” snow removal service in January. Mr. Tallywhacker said that, “business was brisk, with all the snow we have had this winter,” but indicated he has been able to keep up with business so far. He said that most of his clientele were women who seemed to appreciate his ardent commitment to the job.

Several of Mr. Tallywhacker’s admirer’s spoke about the need for occasional help within the community. Mrs. Wood spoke of how helpful Mr. Tallywhacker had been after her husband’s recent heart surgery had incapacitated him. She said I. C. just sort of took care of everything I needed; he wouldn’t even take any money for it. William and Bruce, who live together just up the street from Mrs. Wood said, “He is the first person we call when there is the slightest chance it could snow.”

Mr. Tallywhacker has plans to continue this type of service as the seasons change. He believes there might be opportunities for him as a Garden Angel, Dirt Devil, or a place for him around Thanksgiving. He said it started out as really, “no big thing,” but it has really caught on; he has already made plans to help those that decorate around Christmas and will create “Christmas Angels” to help fill those needs. Mr. Tallywhacker said; “You, just never know when inspiration will whack you right up side your head!”

Cornerstone Community News Wednesday, by the Buzzard

About my valentine...

2010-02-13T20:24:00.007-06:00

You never know when you’re going to bump into your best friend in life. The place, the circumstances, what drew you together, what fuels that relationship over time?

I am a very lucky man; I married my best friend. It wasn’t the first time for either one of us, but it was the right time for both of us. Our story of how, when, and where we met is a great story that will wait for another time. On Valentines Day the story for me is what fuels the relationship.

So how do I begin, or how do I tell a story in a short blog format, knowing that the details would fill a book. I can’t; I won’t try. The best I can do in this space is say; here are just a few of things I most admire about my dearest valentine.

My valentine loves me unconditionally. She shares my life, my space, my bed, and most of all fills my heart with joy. She picks me up when I stumble, tends to me when I am sick, and makes me hopeful when I am down. I am so grateful that I found an intelligent, funny, sarcastic, and clever woman to inspire my life. Generous by nature, creative in spirit, my companion, wife and best friend, shines with an inner glow that spreads warmth to anyone fortunate enough to cross her path.

As this is an observational humor blog, I would like to tell you she listens. However, that’s not going to happen. She’s a red head, and as reputations go, they are a little strong willed as we all know.

This is my valentine, my best friend, my soul mate, my rock, and the love of my life.

I love you Ms Teri!

Buzzard

I'm not allowed to go to the movies alone anymore...

2010-02-06T23:53:00.016-06:00

It’s all about group dynamics. Put some research behind the fundamentals of group dynamics, and you will find that scholarly thought defining this process as “the social, intellectual, or moral forces that produce activity and change in a given sphere.”

When I was a young manager attending meetings and seminars we learned early on that there is more to group dynamics than meets the eye. I am sure many of you have heard the theory, I am most familiar with. “For every group there is an ‘asshole’ among them, and if you look around the group and can’t find that person, then you’re it.” I know that’s a little blunt, but it holds true in most group situations.

Lately, I seem to have gotten much better at picking this special person out. I don’t know if it’s because I have been that person myself so many times before, or if I am just more intolerant of bad or rude public behavior. My migration into older age groups may have something to do with it. You know old folks seem not to hold back their thoughts. We say what’s on our mind many times, when surely it would have been better to have just shut up.

This week I started my heart rehabilitation classes scheduled three times a week MWF. It’s all about exercise, and getting your heart and lungs back to strong healthy functioning organs. On the second day, I was able to pick out the butt head quick and easy. Another patient with a big mouth, rude, likes to give orders to the nurses, and has a lot of nothing to say. I already pointed him out to my wife when she came to pick me up as he was making a scene. I looked at her and said “that’s the asshole.” Ms Teri, my lovely wife, gave me the look! You know the one your wife gives you when her expression is saying “Not again”, “Don’t you dare,” “Behave yourself.” Did you notice the capital letters at the beginning of those phrases? Yea, you know the look.

This brings me to the story of why I am not allowed to go to the movies alone anymore.

I preface this story by restating what we see and hear on the news of late; that we are becoming a society of people with rude and bad public behavior. I also want to state that I have encountered innumerable tense situations with such behavior in my 30 year career as a manager. However, I never acted upon those demonic thoughts that occurred in those moments so to speak.

The week before my heart attack, I went to the movie theater to see Avatar. I love going to the movie theater, and will go alone if there is a movie my wife is not interested in. I am a huge fan of sci-fi and action adventure movies, and really enjoy the escape of a few hours, to view a movie the way it was meant to be enjoyed and heard, on the big screen. Avatar was even in 3D! I like to sit toward the top rows when it’s a stadium seating theater. A man about my age was already sitting in the back row, in the end seat that extended a couple of seats past the next row of seating. I chose the end seat in the row in front of him. We were early, I nodded as I sat down, and the theater began to fill up. As the local advertisements were flashing on the screen the man to my rear began to rant out loud about things, the economy, the price of the tickets, the price of the refreshments, our government, our military, and on and on and on. He was loud enough that he had your attention, whether you wanted to give it to him or not. A young woman and her child sat next to him as the house filled, and all I could hear was the same complaints over and over again as the lady tried to be polite in her responses.

I looked around for an escape of some sort to another seat, but by this time the theater was about full, and I had a prime seat except for the asshole in back of me. The house lights dimmed and movie previews began, and the idiot in back of me continued to rant, as I became more and more agitated. (that word agitated doesn’t really express my true feelings here) Finally the movie starts and the loud mouth shuts up. Finally!

The movie, in my humble opinion, is great, and at this point I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The entire audience is standing and clapping in approval and the ASSHOLE in back of me shouts out to the world, “That’s, what’s wrong with our government today. Yeah, you can’t trust them!”

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!

Now I had not only identified the asshole in this group, but I decided it was time to call him out. I left quickly and waited just outside the theater doors inside the lobby wait area. He was one of the last to leave the theater; surely still ranting to anyone that would listen. As he proceeded up the corridor to exit the building, I stepped along side of him. Sizing him up, he and I were about a perfect match, same age, same height, same weight; you know two old fat farts. I began my introduction, by telling him that I believed in freedom of speech as well as anyone, but I didn’t think that his behavior was appropriate for people who had paid to see a movie and escape from this everyday bullshit.

His Ass Holiness then became confused, and thought that I actually wanted a response. I really didn’t want him to answer or say another word, in reality; I just wanted him to know that someone else thought his behavior was inappropriate. But, he did respond, not sure what he said, but I immediately moved to the next level reversing roles with him to become the aggressive asshole. I shouted profanity in his face, called him a piece of crap, (used other words), and I went on and on and on, trying everything in my power to get this piece of human slime to do what? I don’t know hit me? Yea, I guess that’s where I was headed, but at that moment and place, I just wanted a piece of this guy; to say you just can’t get away with bad behavior and not get called out for it.

The man was much smarter than I gave him credit for, because he scurried toward his vehicle as the crowd drew upon us, and I was calling him every profane name a man with any balls would normally respond to with some physicality. Luckily, for both of us, he left, and I found my car and drove home.

I made the mistake of relating the story to my wife. I told her she was real close to bailing me out of jail, but the other man proved to be smarter than me. She gave me the bad news about going alone to the movies.

The next week I had a heart attack. Stress is a big factor they tell me.

Buzzard

Elmer Fuddism...

2010-01-31T22:53:00.015-06:00

Have you noticed the new commercials by Geico Insurance? The new commercials where the announcer asks, "Can switching to Geico really save you 15% or more on your car insurance?" He then comes back to ask an emphasizing question that makes his point, and in this particular commercial, asks the follow up question; "Does Elmer Fudd have trouble with the letter 'R'?" Poor Elmer is then shown in a cartoon being chastised because he can't say the word wabbit.

I only mention this because as a child, I too was stricken with Elmer Fuddism. Yup that's right, a guy, who's first name starts with the letter "R" (Ronnie, pronounced Wonnie in Fuddism) couldn't say his own name properly. That time machine I spoke about in my very first post, has taken me back to this small traumatic event of my childhood. When I told my wife and daughter in law about it, they just laughed. I told them it wasn't funny, I had to go to special class and everything! They didn't care, they still laughed at me. Little wotten, Wonnie, went to speech class to learn all about them wascally wabbits. Trust me, I know how Elmer Fudd feels.

When using the letter "R", it is mostly pronounced using the "er" sound. So I was sent to speech class to learn how to pronounce the "er" sound. I remember the speech teacher would squeeze my cheeks, and make a face like fish when she would use the "er" sound. I can't remember when the "er" sound just came naturally. It was probably when I started cussing, if you recall there are a couple of words where the "er" sound is really emphasized.

I asked a few folks if children are still sent to speech classes when they are young to learn how to speak letters and words properly. Yup, it still seems like Elmer Fuddism is an issue, but they don't call it that. Wouldn't be politically correct, I guess. It's called speech therapy for children, and in particular teaching articulation for those children having trouble with saying certain sounds or words correctly. The class worked well for me, no one knew about my specialized training in public speaking at such an early age until I told them about it. They still can't stop laughing about it either. Some "secwets" are just better kept to oneself.

Buzzard

The sky is falling, the sky is falling...

2010-01-30T11:25:00.010-06:00

at least it is here on the Plateau. If you live in the South, you know that the threat of snow will send most everyone scurrying around like Chicken Little worried that our world will surely come to a snowy end, or at least life as we know it for few days. It snowed between six and eight inches here on the plateau over night. I noticed some drifting, so it could be much deeper in places.

Being raised in the north, and living out in Colorado for a while, it's just another day. We can and will deal with it, even though no one in the south owns snow removal equipment; not even the state if you want to know the truth. Why would they, it snows an inch or two once a year at best. There hasn't been any other news being broadcast in Tennessee over the last few days, it's all about the storm and snow. Every single detail is being talked about, all possible persons of interest interviewed, and preparations were made for all contingencies.

I watched yesterday, as my three dachshunds took little notice of the white flakes falling, and even frolicked a little in the inch or two that settled in the yard by last call potty time. This morning it was another thing. As my wife led them out the front door, the six or more inches of snow had made quite a difference. You would think so too, if your legs were only four inches high, and the most important parts of your body were plowing snow underneath you. Poor Sedona, the oldest of our three, couldn't find a spot shallow enough to take a dump. Think about that for a moment. I mean that's tragic, it belongs on the news, who knew about preparing for your dog to take a dump.

Sedona, is available for interviews, if your listening channels 2, 4, 5 , and 17. However, I must warn you, she still isn't very happy about her ordeal.

Buzzard

Another weight loss program...

2010-01-28T10:57:00.017-06:00

My wife brought home something yesterday that I haven't touched in over 30 years; a size large shirt and a pair of pants in a size 38 waist. Hey, this big boy has been an XXL player for a long time. The last time I saw a size 38 waist pants on my ass, I was probably about eight years old. No not really; I was a skinny kid through high school, gained a little shortly after, but lean and mean, by the time I was discharged from the Army. My weight gain began, in earnest, in the late 70's with me topping the scales between 275 or 280 in the 90's. I fought back in the late 90's and took off about 50 pounds. This past October I was pushing 250 again when I visited the doctor for the first time in two years.

It's been over a month now since my heart attack and subsequent surgery. Neighbors and friends will drop by and the conversation eventually leads to the question, how much weight have you lost? I tell them I am on a medical weight loss program, and have lost about 40 pounds since November. Most go ahead and bite at that point, asking me how a program like that works. I tell them, it's a B.I.T.C.H. to begin with, but the results are unbelievable. First they split open your sternum, spank your heart several times, pull some veins out of both your legs and chest, replace a few arteries, and VOILA... over the next few weeks and months a dramatic, or maybe it's a traumatic effect comes over your whole body.

Not too much interest in this program, once you explain it to them. I have seen commercials on TV that talk about medical weight loss programs all the time. Now I know what they are.

Somewhere along the way, the talk switches to how much weight they need to lose, and how they intend to deal with it. It's tough, as I said, I have dealt with it most of my adult life. A couple of friends have offered up tread mills, stair steppers, and other assorted exercise machines that can be currently found in their basements or garages, now used as coat and storage racks. But, as my wife and neighbors know, I have an aversion to structured activities, and especially anything that resembles an exercise routine. The on going joke among them, is you can always find that old Buzzard sitting in his recliner.

I love this old recliner, it fits my butt well. It's placement is such that I have a clear view out the front door to the top of the hill, a beautiful view out the back window to the mountains and beyond, a side view at the TV and full view of all household activities that may be going on. I blog, "Facebook," and read my email using my laptop there, nap from time to time, read, listen to music, and bond with my dogs. It's the perfect peach for an old Buzzard like me. Recently, I have come to believe this chair is an important part of my weight loss program. Yea, that's it, my own customized exercise machine of sorts, up down, up down, lean back, lean back, up down up down...

Buzzard

This is Casey...

2010-01-26T08:46:00.017-06:00

Casey is giving me this sideways glance, because he is trying to figure out how pissed I might be. He ate my flutter valve. What's a flutter valve you may ask? Well, one of the things they work on after heart surgery is getting your lungs to work properly again. Never mind that your chest is stitched back together with wire and glue, those lungs have to expand and contract in order to keep the fluid out. I get it, I understand. In the hospital, the nurses and doctors would constantly remind you to use the two pulmonary toys issued to you, a flutter valve that works on the blowing side of your lung capacity, and another torture toy, of which I do not know the name of, that you suck on.

The one you suck on is a killer. It's like that carnival gimmick for the strongest man, where you slam a great big wooden sledge hammer into a small flat plate at the bottom of a long tower with insults printed at different levels, that shout out at you if you aren't coordinated enough to ring the bell at the top. The suction toy works much the same way, except, there are no insults, just large format numbers that stare back at you while you're turning red trying to get this blue hockey puck to float up above 2500. I am still at 1750. I suck in more than one way in this story.

Back to the flutter valve incident. The flutter valve makes noise when you blow on it, kind of sounds like a horse whinny when you blow through it. You're supposed to blow on it as long and as forceful as you can. As I said the nurses and doctors were quite assertive in their lecture about my use of both pulmonary toys daily when I was released from the hospital. So I used them religiously, you know, on Sunday for about an hour, but not every Sunday, because of the weather, a headache, or the car wouldn't start. Okay I wasn't so faithful to the program. On Sunday, (church day by the way), my lungs seemed to be giving me a problem, so I fumbled through the drawer next to my recliner to find the damn thing buried under the pile of hospital and doctor bills we have been receiving. I figured I would flutter, since I didn't mind that as much as being insulted by the sucking machine for under achievement.

Yesterday, my lovely wife drove me to town to get a haircut. I had used the flutter valve that morning and left it on the table next to my recliner when we left home. Casey, one of our three dachshunds, is a seven year old standard size long haired dapple. I say standard size but the maniac is about 25 lbs. His official AKC puppy papers say he is a miniature. We all know that couldn't be wrong, it was certified by the AKC. At any rate, Casey has separation anxiety issues. If we leave for more than a few hours, he looks for something he can seek revenge on. He never chews anything if we are home, but let us leave in the car, and he finds something to let you know, he doesn't like it.

The flutter valve was laying on the floor by the recliner when we came back from town. I heard Teri say "uh oh," as I stopped at the bathroom coming in the door. He got the flutter valve, she said. Still in the bathroom, a smile appeared on the ghostly face in the mirror while I washed my hands. As I came out of the hallway, I saw Casey sitting in the chair flashing me that all knowing sideways glance he has. Dutifully, I scolded him for his total disregard for our personal property, his childish notion of revenge, and general bad dog behavior. Casey dutifully looked back, cowered and wagged his tail.

It's over, another religious icon lost among the rubble of the Buzzard's Loft. Teri picked up on my disappointment almost immediately. Nothing gets by that woman! The whole ordeal left me and Casey so distraught and tired, we decided to go downstairs and take a nap.

Buzzard

Fill these out ...

2010-01-25T08:27:00.015-06:00

the office nurse said, as she handed me a clip board with four or five sheets of paper, the doctor will see you in a few moments. My recent health issues the past few months have more than likely wiped out several forests and kept hundreds of workers busy chopping down trees, processing them into paper, printing, shipping them to their destinations, and finally giving them to the medical office receptionist across our area. Talk about a stimulus program, this is it.

I hate filling out medical forms, they seem to repeat themselves no matter how many pieces of paper are stacked on the clip board. If you sit in the medical office waiting room long enough you hear the complaints as the dreaded paper work is handed out to all the new bee's or those that haven't visited in the last 30 days. A lot can happen, in 30 days, trust me, I know. People start fumbling for their glasses, notebooks, bags of pills, phone books, insurance cards, work numbers, and on and on and on and on...

I made my first visit to my heart surgeon's office post op last week. Sure enough the receptionist handed us a stack of paperwork several pages thick. I'm thinking, hey, I just spent two weeks in the hospital in which your doctors spent one whole day extricating medical history for me and my family of every known fact in our medical genealogy, cut my chest and removed my heart, prescribed 30 different medications to take umpteen times a day, scanned my wrist band and talked to my insurance company for approvals everyday, and really, you don't have all the information you need about me? Give me a break!

My wife dutifully filled out all the sheets, just asking questions of me, she didn't already know off the top of her head, which were few. That woman knows me like a book I tell you.

Two days later I visited for the first time, the office of my diabetes doctor assigned to me while I was in the hospital. Again, a stack of forms too complicated to believe. My wife and I both have college educations, and have filled out medical forms as I said before, by the hundreds. My wife even worked in a doctor's office for three years doing this dreaded job of medical office manager and insurance information gatherer, but these forms today were special. She looked at me and started naming off medical history disease questions, that neither one of us could pronounce let alone knew what in the hell they were. I started looking around the office for the hidden camera, this was a joke, right? No joke, we sat there fumbling through the forms, making our best guess, and waited an hour past our appointment to see the doctor. I bet anything, he was reading the forms we had just filled out prior to our appointment.

In the mail on Friday, I received a large packet of forms to fill out for my heart therapy visit this week. The nurse at the therapy office called and said she may have sent some forms that didn't apply. She said that I should check the packet, and if any of the forms said pulmonary and not cardiac to skip them. She was emphatic that all other forms were to be filled out completely. I opened the packet and skimmed through the various forms. The first few forms looked to be the standard contact, insurance, medical history, and medicines routine. The next couple of forms looked to be an exercise or energy evaluation, and the last 10 forms, I kid you not, were what I would refer to as psyche or depression evaluation forms.

WTF is that all about? I thought it was heart therapy.

The hell with it, I began with the first routine forms. About two thirds of the way through I came across the question;

"Do you have any problems or difficulty with your periods?"

I remembered my phone conversation, like I said, she was emphatic that all questions must be answered. I thought about it, and then the answer occurred to me. I wrote, "No problem with my periods, but I am confused with the placement or use of comma's or semi-colons." The next question was much easier for me.

"Have you ever given birth?"

Oh hell yea! I remember this one time, I hadn't gone for days, and it took me a while, but that toilet, (by the way, my wife hates when I tell this story), oh yea, that toilet and my butt just wasn't big enough...

Can't hardly wait for the psyche evaluation!

Buzzard

Words of mouth...

2010-01-15T15:59:00.026-06:00

I am doing my best to stop cussing. My wife Teri scolded me the day after coming home from the hospital, saying it wasn't right to use the Lord's name like that after receiving the gift of life I was just given. Who could argue with that logic? I didn't go down like a whipped puppy however, I dragged her right along with me, and said she could remove a few words from her vocabulary too. We now have an agreement.

We started a cuss jar. Every time a cuss word is spoken, a quarter is put into the jar. We couldn't afford more than that amount at this time in our life, as was quickly indicated the first few days when we both put fists fulls of shinny silver quarters in a large mouth half gallon jar, that we just left the lid off of to reduce the effort. A week later they still trickle in. We're donating the money to the mission here in town.

Mom and dad were not much on profanity. When dad died, mom later married a part time minister. I feel so guilty when a word slips out in a conversation, and have apologized for my language many times. I was raised in the inner city of Chicago, and I picked up most of my bad language habits from the street, to be cool or fit in with my peers. You would have thought a college education and 25 years in a management position would have all but erased the use of these unclean words, but not so much. As a grumpy retired man, the words seemed to have found new uses to describe my intolerance to irritating people, ideas, and events. Looking it up, I am still confused whether it is called cussing or cursing. Even though most of these words are nouns, they seem to be always used as adjectives to describe persons, events, and especially feelings.

As a loaned executive with my company, I was assigned an urban community internship in a Catholic church in Chicago. The priest was a dynamic individual, running an orphanage, a school for boys with social skill issues, a soup kitchen, and several community social programs. This man could pick up the phone and talk to the mayor, police chief, or corporate executives, and pretty much get what he needed immediately. He also cussed more than any other person I have ever met! Both men and women participated in these assignments, and his reputation was notorious with both sexes. The second worst was my X mother in law. I'll not say more about this, other than to say I am thankful that her daughter did not inherit the trait.

I will get better about controlling my words, gimmicks like the money jar keep me focused on the goal. My daughter in law Melissa came down to spend a few days during my recuperation yesterday. Our relationship, one of sarcastic humor and put downs, should help the mission in town reap vast rewards from the visit. We're both going straight to hell, I know it.

Buzzard

Take a breath...

2010-01-14T12:04:00.015-06:00

My mom just turned 77 on January 3rd. The family joke has always been about mom constantly, incessantly, and with great specific details, talking with anyone about anything no matter a stranger or a friend. Mom has always been in complete denial of this fact, and insists that the reason she has so many friends, is because she is such a good listener. Trust me mom doesn't listen, she talks!

Ask mom about the dinner she went to with friends from church, you will find out about the trip to the restaurant, the time they arrived, who was there, who she saw and knew in the restaurant, which of them acknowledged her, what they wore, what everyone had for dinner, the service, the quality, the taste, if she had dessert, the time they left, how she felt after dinner, and how the food digested and passed through her system over the next few days. I mean this woman is thorough! She never meets a stranger, and I challenge anyone to say nothing more than "hello, how are you, " and try to walk away. Never ever, ask that question, unless you have time to spare and really want to know. Mom has experienced a considerable amount of health issues in her life, and she will tell you about them.

I say this all in good fun, because of the good news we received over the last couple of days. You see mom like me, and my brother before me, had open heart surgery procedure yesterday. Yes, three family members have had their chests cut open and hearts mended over the last four months. My brother was first with coronary artery bypass surgery in September; the same for me just two weeks ago, and mom had a heart valve replaced and a aortic aneurysm repaired yesterday. This is sick family in more than one way.

Mom made it through the surgery just fine. My brother called and kept me informed throughout the four hour operation of her progress and recovery. The family was allowed in ICU to see her for the last time yesterday around 8:00pm. She was still under some sedation, on a ventilator and resting comfortably he said, when they left to get some rest. They were allowed in again at 6:00am for a brief visit and update. They found mom sitting in a chair next to her bed, jabbering away at anyone that would listen. My brother said he asked the nurse how the night went, and she said it was fine until they took the ventilator out, she hasn't stopped talking since. Everyone laughed knowing mom was back.

It's time to take a deep breath and save our energy, because the best mom in the world has another story to tell, and this one will take a while.

Buzzard

A new heart arrival...

2010-01-11T11:16:00.021-06:00

Tomorrow I will mark two weeks since my coronary artery bypass surgery. Not how you would normally wish to have your new year start, but exactly the outcome you would hope for with any major surgical procedure. I made it!

More than 500,000 bypass procedures are performed in the United States each year, making it the most frequently performed major surgery in the country. Having said that, nothing about this procedure is routine from the heart patients' point of view. I ran into a few post-op complications, like passing a blood clot through the lung two days after surgery, and a devastating emotional experience of reliving a 40 year old memory from the Vietnam War. I don't remember having too many PTSD days after the war, but this memory was different, it was real, I was there, and I was reliving a horrible event in my life just as if it were happening now. They changed my medications and I have since moved on. The surgeon said he has had about six other vets have similar experiences, during his years of performing heart surgeries.

They called us "cabbage" patients, which stood for Coronary Artery Bypass Graft (CABG). A term I found not all too flattering, kind of reminds me of things that smell bad for some reason. However, there is a very appropriate and special phrase they use in the cardiac intensive care unit upon one's arrival post-op. They use the phrase "a new heart arrival." It is in this critical 12 to 24 hour time period one nurse is constantly at your side to make sure your new heart is well taken care of. It's a phrase, I personally found profound, in recognizing the gift I had been given.

The last thing I would like to share about the surgery is the deep feeling of appreciation and respect I have for our doctors, nurses, and health care professionals. I was well taken care of by all. Health care for all is my vote. Not sure how we make it happen, but why we would deny anyone access to health care in this great country for any reason is beyond me.

The very best thing I had going for me is my rock, Teri, my wife, who massed with her own personal health demons, some how made it through it all with a smile, a kiss, a hug, a rub, a whisper, or a kind word all at exactly the right moments. I have no words to describe the depths of love and devotion I feel for this woman. Truly unfathomable!

I have learned that nothing happens in this world without prayer. Thanks to everyone, friends, family, strangers, and the many church organizations that made Teri and me part of their prayers and prayer lists. This mended or new heart I now have, has challenged my spiritual notions. It must be something to do with facing your own mortality. I leave all who have read this post quoting scripture, I hope I have used it in the correct context, since scripture is the one thing I hardly ever quote.

"I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." Ezekiel 36:26

Buzzard

It's time for the lists...

2009-12-27T12:28:00.016-06:00

Okay, everyone seems to be doing end of decade lists or New Year resolutions. Here's mine:

My top ten favorite things or events of the last decade:

1. Met and dated a funny, intelligent, gorgeous redhead.
2. That same Gorgeous redhead moved in.
3. Married the redhead, my soul mate and love of my life.
4. Married and honeymooned on the beaches at Cannel Bay in the U.S. Vrigin Islands. (Picture Provided)
5. Accumulated three dachshunds that play the role of children.
6. Accumulated eight grand children and a great stepson.
7. Retired from working life.
8. Moved to the mountains.
9. The view outside my back door.
10. Cruising or fishing on Dale Hollow Lake with family and friends.

2010 New Year Resolutions:

1. Take better care of my body.
2. To show my love and appreciation to my wife and family more often.
3. Improve family relationships.
4. Reduce the insignificant material things in my life.

That's it, my last post until after the surgery.

Be Well!

Home for Christmas...

2009-12-26T16:50:00.046-06:00

Santa, a role played by my cardiologist this year, certified my belonging to the "Good Boys Club," when he gave me the opportunity to go home for Christmas. I have not been accused of being a good boy in years, but a heart attack will set you to thinking about your evil ways. He even mentioned something about being stable enough at this point. Evidently I really did make a good impression on him. My wife said he was actually talking about her at this point in the conversation. That would make better sense.

Teri and I spent a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, and our three dogs. We had a chance to talk about the fears, hopes, and support we needed to get through this thing. It's not easy living up on the side of a mountain away from family, but we do have good neighbors; although distant, they have called to offer whatever help we need. One of the very best things about people up here on the plateau, is that you don't have to look far to find help when you're in need.

One of the heart surgeons used the phrase "insult to your heart," when describing a heart attack episode. I would say that's a pretty accurate description of a heart attack; and more importantly I don't believe my heart has gotten over it yet. At home the last two days, I have felt some tightness or unfamiliar pains from my old friends hurt feelings. No amount of "I'm sorry," is going to fix these bruised and insulted feelings I'm afraid.

On the emotional level, you cannot get away from the risk involved in by-pass surgery. I look around and think of all the things I need to do or get in order before this surgery in two days. The important things are done, I have my will, health care wishes, durable power of attorney, military DD Form 214 available, banking and bills paid or scheduled. I wonder if I am too paranoid about the possibility of a bad outcome here. They say I will be a new man after this surgery. Personally I didn't mind the old man it took me 60 years to become.

Today Teri drove me in to town to see if we could find a barbershop open. We did, and I had all of my hair cut off; what I like to call my prison cut. The barber trimmed my beard, mustache, and everything else you can think of. Teri said I already look like a new man.

We spent the evening with the three dogs snuggled between us; Teri rubbing the silver bristles of my newly cropped head.

Life is good!

As funny as a heart attack...

2009-12-24T10:42:00.027-06:00

The intent of my web blog is to provide a little observational humor about life in general. On Monday of this week however, I received a less than humorous message about life from my heart. It wasn't funny at all; in fact, it gave me new meaning to the phrase, "as funny as a heart attack." That's right, I had a heart attack. It's Christmas Eve day now, and I am sitting here taking stock of what just happened, and what's about to happen. I am stable now, but the party's not over yet. After several different types of stress, blood, and other heart related tests, I find I have to have some pretty serious heart surgery a head of me.

Next week Tuesday they are going to saw open my chest, take what they say is a strong undamaged heart, and give it the blood and oxygen it deserves by undergoing coronary bypass graft surgery. They discovered the need for this surgery by performing an angiogram or cardiac catheterization procedure. They tell me I need at least six of these bypass grafts. Since, I am not, and never have been a smoker; I would think a lifetime of cheeseburgers and french fries would have something to do with the junk blocking my arteries. Too late to say, I'll change now, it's time to face the consequences. That post I made last week about how funny the You Tube "Breakfast Song" video was, is coming back to haunt me. It does have more meaning now than ever! Now that's funny.

Having touched on the seriousness of my current situation, I have to say there are some circumstances and observations made during these last few days, that I have found pretty damn funny. I will try and share a few of these as I can. Yesterday, for instance, the cardiologist turned my case over to the cardiovascular surgical team. A stream of doctors came in to examine and discuss my specific heart issues, the procedures they would take, expected risks, and recovery issues. The reputation of this group of surgeons is second to none, and the hospital here has one of the very best heart centers anywhere. The assistant surgeon gave what I and my wife thought was an extraordinary presentation about the procedures. The information was extremely detailed, professional, and contained enough medical language and facts, that I would need a new computer with twice the memory just to write about it. When finished with the presentation, the doctor said he would like to listen to my heart now. He pulled down the top of my hospital gown as I lay in bed, and placing his stethoscope to his ears, and then the tip to the right hand side of my chest. (The opposite side of your heart) I looked down and couldn't help myself... "Hey doc, my hearts on the other side." He started laughing, I was laughing, my wife said I was the most evil person on earth. The doctor assured me, he had slept in a Holiday Inn Express the night before and knew exactly what he was doing, displaying his own sense of humor. Through the laughter, the doctor finished his exam, and I felt comfortable with this team of individuals who will endeavor to save a heart early next week.

I guess it's good to have a sense of humor at a time like this. I am going to continue to try and look for the humor and bright spots through all this, as the seriousness of the situation is somewhat overwhelming to think about. The surgeon said it's a 75/25 risk factor. Not bad odds, but still something that gives me pause. I worry for my wife more than anything at this point, she is about to have a very full plate of trouble.

I will close with the sentiment I use at the bottom of my blog page. Wish me luck!

Live simply. Love generously.
Care deeply. Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

Are you ready...

2009-12-19T17:16:00.029-06:00

For health reasons, I left my mountain sanctuary, and traveled to town several days this week. It is probably a good thing that my health issues are physical and not mental, as these trips have pushed me to the edge on a couple of occasions. One thing in particular was on everyone's mind no matter where I went; and always the same question asked of everyone.

Are you ready?

It started on Tuesday morning when I arrived at the health clinic. After exchanging initial pleasantries, the nurse asked me if I was ready?

Yes I said, I have my food chart, my readings, and I think my week actually went pretty well.

No, no, I mean are you ready for Christmas?

I didn't know how to answer. I mean, what did she want to know?

I don't know, I replied.

She said, oh well, you must be one of those that let your wife do all the Christmas shopping.

Now I felt guilty, there was something I had missed. I knew if I went home and asked my wife Teri, if I had missed something I was supposed to do, the list would be much too long to narrow it down to a specific time period or season. That just wasn't going to work. It was then that I determined more research would be needed to find out for sure, if I was ready; or more importantly, if I had missed an opportunity to be a better husband.

On Thursday, I had another appointment with a doctor. As I sat in the reception area, I listened to the same question repeated over and over as patients arrived. Are you ready? It was even worse when I was stranded at the drug store waiting for the approval scan from my insurance provider for three new prescriptions needed so I might become less grumpy. (It is said that one of the side effects of being a diabetic, is that you are irritable. Who knew?) There had to be no less than thirty people who approached the counter while I sat waiting. Each and everyone was asked if they were ready, and every single person had a response that generated a cheerful conversation about their state of readiness.

I also discovered that not all questions about readiness are the same. When I asked drug store employees if my prescription was ready several times over the next hour, I noticed it wasn't received with the same enthusiasm or discussions their question about readiness had led to.

Yesterday, my wife spent most of the day finishing up Christmas goody baskets all filled with home made fudge, truffles, and cookies for people in our small community that I can actually tolerate. I went to the movie, Avatar, great flick.

On my way home, she called and asked if I would pick up some small paper cups for her truffles and candy. When I arrived the kitchen was a mess with candy, cookies, and all kinds of goodies that I can't eat anymore. I gave her the little paper cups, and looked anxiously to see if my dinner was ready. It was!

I ate dinner, and thought about asking her if I could help with getting anything ready. However, as I sat eating and watching the delicate process unfold, I realized there wasn't anything I could contribute to her current task. My keen observation of this situation did tell me however, that she wasn't ready, and me asking her about it would surely not lead to a conversation I wanted to have that evening.

I watched TV.

This morning we had a phone call shortly after we emerged from under the covers. Teri answered the phone; the conversation seemed a bit awkward. She said it was a wrong number call; someone said they were leaving the house, and were on their way.

Great, I said, finally somebody that's ready and on their way.

She looked at me, as if I had horns.

Well, it's Saturday night, we delivered the Christmas goody bags today. I watched my favorite team, Duke play basketball all afternoon. I still don't know if I am ready.

Teri should give me a checklist.

It's her fault if I'm not ready.

The Breakfast Song

2009-12-16T12:33:00.007-06:00

Not to get me started on religious views of any kind, a family member sent me this YouTube Video. Since I am recently diagnosed as a diabetic, there is some irony in the minister's message for me personally. There is no intent on my part to make any statement about religious worship, beliefs, race, etc... I just find this funny and entertaining. To paraphrase another family member, pass the bacon, biscuits and gravy, I'll see y'all in hell!

In the clip, Minister Cleo Clariet and his fiancee, Katherine Lane, are shown singing on "The Kay Bane Show" in Tupelo, Mississippi in May or June of 2004. It was also noted that Minister Claret passed away from congenital heart disease in December 2004. In an interview Lane said of the former minister, he would have been thrilled to know his song is entertaining so many people.

Outside my back door...

2009-12-14T19:24:00.011-06:00

Outside my back door,
Old man winter fast approaches.

Unleashed by feral winds,
The mournful wail of what has been,
Winter's just outside my back door.

Trees long past weeping,
Find no easy task of sleeping,
Winter's just outside my back door.

Bemoan the dark gray sky,
Torrents of leaves imply,
Winter's just outside my back door.

I see all is revealed,
Nothing left concealed,
As winter approaches my back door.
~ Ron Goode

Be merry and of good cheer....

2009-12-13T20:14:00.013-06:00

I find nothing "Merry" about a string of Christmas lights. How can one be merry about anything that brings a man so much misery?

This year I bought two strings of the new LED lights to outline a full size antique one horse sleigh, used as part of our outside Christmas decorations. I didn't buy the bargain priced sets. I paid for the better ones, because we all know you get what you pay for. After testing both strands to make sure they worked, I carefully placed and fastened each bulb and strand to the sleigh using plastic tie straps making them a permanent part of the sleigh. Two hours later, its 34 degrees, and I am cold, from sitting, standing kneeling on the cold concrete. But I have finished, and plug them in for the grand show. AHHHHH, they're not working! I start fumbling around and find the first bulb socket is actually split and the guts are exposed to the wires and bulb. WTF? Okay, so I squeeze the socket together and find that they light up. Off to the garage and find some electrical tape, and wrap the socket back together. Now I look around and find groups of lights not working. How the hell does that happen? They all worked before I started. This sucks, and I'm cold. I read the box; "check each bulb starting at the first one and working your way through the string to make sure they are seated into the light socket fully." There are two strings of 150 mini lights. I begin, and about three quarters of the way through the first string, I find a dislodged bulb and secured it. More lights come on, but not all. I continue this process finding more loose bulbs, and repeat the process. I complete all 300 bulbs only to find I still have about a third of a string not working in the middle of the second string of lights. I read the box again; "remove each bulb from the socket and make sure the wire probes are aligned properly and making contact." I'm numb, my fingers are too big to grasp the socket and bulb in order to separate the two. It's the string at the back of the sleigh along the bottom, and I have to sit back down on the cold concrete for this surgical procedure with a cold wind blowing down my plumbers crack. I HATE these frig-gin lights. Using a screw driver, I pry each and everyone apart to check the connection. Nothing wrong, and they're still not working. I look to see if I have an opportunity to rearrange the lights along the back in order to cover this blacked out area. I do, and so I shift the burning lights to the area. No one will see this strange stringy mess in the dark anyway. Four hours later, and there's not a merry bone in my body. I hate this sleigh, I don't know why we bought it.

When my wife comes home later in the evening, I ask her what she thinks now that the sleigh is all lit up?

She says, I can't tell what it is at night. It just looks like a bunch of lights on something.

We don't talk for the rest of the evening.

Feeling down - Saddle up

2009-12-08T20:59:00.041-06:00

Bumped into a new friend on 'Facebook' a few weeks back. Although not a proficient user of the networking site, I count my friends list using ten fingers and toes. I have found one kindred spirit in this new friend, however. Today, I was looking through his photo albums on Facebook, and found a very special photo. Special, because I have one very much like it, and I believe I am as proud of mine, as he is of his. After all, it is said you can judge a man by the hoss he rides.

'Urban Cowboy' - Photo of me taken about 1953 in Chicago, IL.

These photos were quite common in the 1940's and 50's, when itinerant photographers roamed through neighborhoods in cities and towns, with an offer to make instant cowboys and cowgirls of any who dared to climb into the saddle. Not just any saddle pardner, but the fanciest saddle, bridle and tack any respectable cowboy would know make people on horses look better than they are.

Equipped with the old large format or box film cameras mounted on a tripod to steady the shot, the photographer would adorn the eager cowpokes with chaps, coats, vests, bandannas, and hats.

'The Young Buckaroo' Photo taken 1951

The Pony's were the stars. Well behaved, and gentle enough you could put a toddler in the saddle. One look by a neighborhood child would alert all the rest that something special was going on today; and the pleading would begin, me next, mom mom, dad dad, can I? The pony man is here, can I have my picture taken?

These photographers could be found all across the country, selling pony pictures for a few dollars each. Children became their heroes, Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, and the Cisco Kid for just a few minutes.

You wish you could ride like a girl!

No ride is ever the last one!

Picture on a pony = $ A few bucks
Smiles & Memories = $ Priceless

America wasn't the only country to experience this assembly of young cowboys & cowgirls. The United Kingdom were also avid followers of American western culture, and photographers were actively making memories for them as well.

Speak your mind, but ride a fast horse!!

Beginning is easy - continuing hard

2009-12-05T01:02:00.027-06:00

I enjoy a good expression of thought when found. You may just stumble across many such expressions scattered among my rants, ramblings, or amusements as we travel forward in time.

The actor Jeremy Irons said, "We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams."

My time machine gets stuck or lost now and then. I know this has happened when I begin to tell a story about my best friend, but can't remember his name. Worse yet I have found, is snapping out of a daydream during a drive into a sudden moment of dire panic by not recognizing where the hell you are. I once had an elderly business acquaintance give me specific directions to a location, using a downtown movie theater and hotel as landmarks placing me in the right spot. After driving around the area for an hour, a gentleman I stopped for help, was kind enough to let me know that my friend's time machine had stopped more than twenty years prior, when both landmark buildings had been torn down.

I begin this blog in the hope my time machine can touch a few memories, or expose a dream or two. Beginning, is said to be easy, continuing the journey is sometimes hard...