The Troll under the Bridge!

Pigs

The preacher was doing a canvas of the community when he came upon a pleasant enough farmer. When the subject changed to the preacher inviting the farmer to Sunday services, the clodhopper's disposition became very sour.

“Ya know, Preacher! You will never get me in your church. You got a member there that has been owing me money for years,” the farmer snapped.

“Have you confronted this individual about this debt?” responded the preacher.

“Oh, he knows about it!!! Ya ain’t getting me inside the building with the likes of that fellow. In fact, I’m sure that most of the rest of them folk are just like that cheat!!!”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Well, you heard of the ol’ saying – ‘Birds of a feather, flock together’. “

Thinking his time would be better spent elsewhere, the Preacher excuses himself and leaves the farmer to his chores.

Days later, the preacher returns to the farmer’s place and tell him that he wants to buy one of his pigs.

“Sure thing, Preacher!!! Just tell me which one you want.”

The preacher stands on the second rung of the gate and points to the very back of the feed lot, “I’ll take that spotted one by the back fence.”

Surprise to see that the preacher has selected the skinniest and ugliest pig from the herd, the farmer gave the preacher a puzzled look, “OK, Preacher! Are ya sure you want that one? Any of the others would be a better choice!”

“Nope, I think that one will do nicely.”

“Uh, whatcha got in mind for that one?”

“I plan to put that pig in the back of my pick-up and ride it all around town. I’m going make sure everyone know that I got that pig from your farm. Wonder if folk will start to think that all of your pigs look like that one?”

The ol’ farmer curled one side of his mouth and said, “What time do y’all start the Sunday Service at that church, anyway?

Sugar and Spice are growing!

12 days old!

Sugar is 5 pounds 6 ounces
Spice is 5 pounds 10 ounces

They are little fuzz balls of bouncing energy. AND, they love the bridge I built for them over the weekend. Now we need a Troll, to live under the bridge.

23 years...

Brandi was just a few weeks old. One of my least favorite daily tasks was lessen by my decision that day. I would grow a beard. The bristles grew in red. Red versus the brown of the thick mass of hair that grows on my top of my head. Well the red has given way to grey and white over the past few years. So much so that my beard was almost invisible when I trimmed it on Saturday evenings for Sunday services and on Wednesday mornings.

I didn't cut it all! I left the moustache - it has been part of me for 30 years. I don't think I would even know how to shave my upper lip! And I also left a goatee. What I shaved away was the the whiter portions.

So what caused me to part with something that has been with me almost half of my life? I'm still not sure!

By the way, what is this short stubble all over my face? I forgot what is was like to have a five o'clock shadow!

Mystery Girl

Hi Laura...
When I was singing in the Choir this morning I almost saw someone.
She was wearing this real cute green sweater. Did you happen to see her?
She came in and had a seat beside her dad. Did you happen to see her?
I turned around as soon as services were over to see if she was still there.
She was gone!!! Did you see where she went???

> insert :sad and disappointed smilie: <

Oh well! I was good almost seeing YOU this morning!!!

The Frog Prince , 1971

Sweetums, lay your ugly head
Down upon your wretched bed.
Close your eyes and go to sleep,
You hulking heap.
Sweetums is so sweet and cute,
Go to sleep your stupid brute.

Sweetums lay your ugly head
Down upon your wretched bed
Bunnykins is sweet and cute
Rest, you giant, stupid brute.

Sweetums lay your ugly head
Down upon your wretched bed.
Close your eyes and go to sleep
Rest, you giant, hulking heap.

NIGHTY-NIGHT... *THUD*

Sugar and Spice

Minnie and Maddie are now Sugar 'n Spice. We have broke our traditional of names our animals with names that start with the letter 'M'.

They are one week old today. And they are the sweetest little things.
Sugar tipped the scales on Saturday at 3 pounds 0.2 ounces.
While Spice was a tad heavier at 3 pounds 4.2 ounces.

Goat Playground

How long to hold a Travel Bug?

Well, like many a Geocacher, sometimes too long!

From May to October is much too long.


Yorkie has finally been placed into one of my caches -
How Sweet (Onions). It will be "sit" there for Pipnella to grab when it reaches NW Ohio via the USPS. Then it will be delivered to another YO-YO to travel around Arizona!

Now, I really need to go caching for real!

365 days

Has it been a year already? When I talked to Sherry today, we both couldn't bring ourselves to the believe that it has.

Mom, we miss you!

Molly is a Mama!!!

They were born sometime early this morning!!!

The Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

Milk and Cereal

G. Love And Special Sauce - Milk And Cereal Lyrics
(Sung by VT's Finest)

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/milk.php

Milk and Cereal
Milk and Cereal
milk and cereal
Cereal and milk

Milk and Cereal
Cereal, Cereal
Milk and Cereal
Cereal and Milk, Cereal and Milk...

I dont want my Wheaties
Give 'em to the needy
Feelin kinda greedy
I keep em for myself (X9)

No Grapenuts for grandma
(grandma eats a bran muffin)
Mom likes Special K
You cant pinch an inch (X7)
They're magically delicious
Keep your hands off my Lucky charms
(pink hearts, yellow moons,blue diamonds, green clovers)
A is for Apple J is for Jack
You step on a crack
Youll break your moama's back
Rice Krispies
Blue Berries
Ooh Boo Berry

Milk and Cereal
Milk and Cereal
Milk and Cereal
Cereal and Milk

Milk and Cereal
Milk and Stereo
Stereo Stereo
Milk and Cereal
Cereal and Milk
(Cheerio-eo-eo)

In the morning
At your table
Milk and Cereal
Snap Crackle Pop (X7)

Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs (X8)
Trix are for kids! (X11)

In the morning
At your table
(Milk and Cereal)

No Grapenuts for Grandma
Grandma eat a bran muffin.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!

As I stood writing the check for dinner tonight, it dawned on me:

It would have been Mom and Dad's 54 anniversary. I remember calling a year ago, asking if the received the gift and card in the mail and wishing them both a Happy Day!

This year I can't call, phone lines don't reach that high!
This year I can't mail anything to them, the post office don't have routes in Heaven!
This year I can't visit with them, but some day - I will!

So until then, Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!





From the 50th Anniversary Celebration, 4 years ago

Carlson H. Brown a.k.a. Charlie

All he wanted to do was make it to his 80th birthday. Carlson had been a sick man for a long time. The career ending illness some 30 years ago left him with weakened strength and lessening agility. But it didn’t slow down the man that Carlson was, until last Wednesday morning.

He was a man of integrity. He often stated, “If everyone would keep the Ten Commandments, then I would have been out of a job a long time ago.” See, Carlson was a Georgia State Patrolman, having served 18 years on the force. He was also an agent for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and sheriff of Emanuel County. He took his law enforcement duties seriously, even when it came to members of his own family. It would have been much easier on a certain cousin if he had been escorted back to Georgia by any other law officer other than his Uncle Charlie.

Husband, Dad, Grand-dad, Great Grand-dad. - that is how they described him yesterday during the funeral. Deacon, Sunday School teacher, Friend – they listed those titles also. But I knew him as the last of his generation of the family. We watched as his sister Jackie lost the battle with COPD some 4 years ago. We were shocked when brother Glenn tripped on a rough spot in the sidewalk as he left the dentist office, never to fully recover. That was two summers ago.

So as the elder sage of the Brown family, he would constantly check on the rest of the clan. Either by phone call or email, the households on the family farm were contacted weekly. It was Friday morning and I somehow knew something was not right. I was driving back down the red clay road and slowed down in front of the house where Carlson was born and where he played as a youngun’. I came to a complete stop and from the field on the opposite side of the road, out stepped a beautiful White Tail doe. She paused for a moment, looked square at me in the truck and then bounded into the thicket behind the old barn. Less than 12 hours later, Carlson would take his last breath.

Saturday and Sunday spent with Dot and the rest of the family.

The funeral service Monday at 11:00 was simple. A song was played on the piano as the family entered the sanctuary. A member of Men’s Class spoke of what Charlie meant to them. Amazing Grace was sung by the music director. The current and past Pastor for Vidalia First Baptist each told of Charlie’s love for his Lord, his family and his many friends.

The photos in the foyer of the church were of three different men.
-The young Navy sailor, with innocence and mischief beaming from his eyes.
-The Patrolman, with stern look of authority chiseled on the handsome face.
-The Grand-Dad, with gentleness and love that is seen in the smile of a patriarch
Carlson was all three of these men.

As we arrived at the cemetery, seven G.S.P. cars lined the drive to the north of the tent where the hearse was to stop. O, Danny Boy was being played on the bagpipes as the family arrived. I made my way to Dot’s door and extended my hand to her and she latched on to my arm as we walked to the chairs under the tent. As she was seated, I took a chair behind her. Scriptures from 1st Thessalonians were read and prayer said, Amazing Grace echoed in the Georgia pines. The six member Honor Guard from the G.S.P. marched to the foot of the casket and undraped the flag. As the final chord resounded from the bagpipe, the final tuck was made in the flag. The officer inspected the flag and presented it to Sergeant Collins. Sergeant Collins kneeled in front of Dot.

“On behalf of the Governor of the great state of Georgia and the people of a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your husband rendered this state.”

With tears streaming down my cheeks, similar words resounded in my head as I was taken back 7 months to a cold and windy day when my Dad’s flag was presented to me at Bethany Cemetery.

Carlson, thank you. Whatever you did, you did to the point of completion! Tomatoes vines as high as my head stand in the yard behind the garage. As I stop in the afternoons in the coming weeks to check on Dot, the dozen or so Better Boy tomato plants will be a reminding testimony of your pride you took even in the simple things of life. To this, I aspire for myself...

80 years, 40 days. Mission accomplished, Carlson!

A POST

For those that have been waiting for me to add something to my blog:

No Excuses

The next time you feel like God can’t use you, just remember…..

NOAH was a drunk.
ABRAHAM was too old.
ISAAC was a daydreamer.
JACOB was a liar.
LEAH was ugly.
JOSEPH was abused.
MOSES had a stuttering problem.
GIDEON was afraid.
SAMSON had long hair, and was a womanizer!
RAHAB was a prostitute!
JEREMIAH and TIMOTHY were too young.
DAVID had an affair and was a murderer.
ELIJAH was suicidal.
ISAIAH preached naked.
JONAH ran from God.
NAOMI was a widow.
JOB went bankrupt.
JOHN the Baptist ate bugs.
PETER denied Christ.
The DISCIPLES feel asleep while praying.
MARTHA worried about everything.
The SAMARITAN WOMAN was divorced more than once.
ZACCHEUS was too small.
PAUL was too religious.
TIMOTHY had an ulcer….and
LAZARUS WAS DEAD!
….no more excuses now.

God’s waiting to use your full potential.

Author Unknown

HummingBirds

Hummingbirds are the newest members of the animal kingdom to be totally spoiled around the house.

Metro, Molly, the Chickens - even the Kois in the small pond by the front deck - are all rotten.

Sunrise is my most favorite time of the day. My routine during the week is to rise as the alarm sounds at 5:45. And with it so ingrained into me (and Metro), it is almost impossible to for me to sleep in on the weekends. So with it still dark outside, I open the front door and let Metro go outside. Business taken care of, the task of coffee is addressed – “extra chewy please”!!!

Back outside the first rays of dawn cause the gray to turn a rosy pink. The first of the thumb sized birds arrive at the feeder. I freeze to make her less nervous as she goes about gathering the 4:1 sugar water mix. Slowly, I make my way to the Adirondack chair in the middle of the deck. Soon the air is full of little buzzing emerald green blurs.

Five, then ten, then fifteen are zipping back and forth and around the house. The red maple over the Koi pond serves as landing pad between drinks. With only four artificial red flowers available to draw the nectar, turf wars begins. Dogfights over the pressure treated yellow pine ensue. Swoops and dives, darts and jives! Midair pirouettes and do-si-dos. The dance of the hummingbirds continues into the heat of the morning. The syrupy solution is soon drained. Too many hummers? Too few feeders!


Solution: More Feeders! So Monday, I make a run to the KRFS to get two more stations! Eight more red plastic flowers with mesh yellow centers are hung around the deck.

Wait a minute, is this the solution? Or, is it the beginning of the snow ball rolling down the mountain?

Philosophy of a Dog

Don't take this the wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have been trying to imitate Metro. Not his look, which is fuzzy even after a good brushing.

Not his walk, which, as with most dogs, can be more of waddle. And not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is.

Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..."

No, what I admire about Metro is his fascination with the simple routine of life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle. For example: In the morning, if I move just one muscle...there he is. The canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up, he doesn't know which will get my attention...a lick of the face, a nuzzle of the hand. So he does both. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna outside! Is this great or what?"

Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've had him. He is so thrilled by the notion of "exit". He bolts into the yard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets.

The great outdoors.

Then comes the "bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not Metro. It's a real thrill for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And we don't have that many trees.

Then, once his business is taken care of, he is off the going out obsession and onto a new one: going back in. It doesn't matter that he was inside just minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up, hurry up!"

When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth - looking for space aliens, I suppose - and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air with his teeth, and watches it land. "Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes down!"

I yawn.

Then there's his food. Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning. He waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets into his bowl. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!"

I slouch and yawn again.

As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin? Coffee, huh? That's amazing!"

When I disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I was a released hostage.

The sunny side. Now, Metro does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there for a few hours.

Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine. Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in.

So I'm trying to imitate Metro. I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill, when you consider the alternative. So while I can't match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal.

Don't worry. If I come to visit, I will not create a new bush or tree. On the other hand, a nap in that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting...


2001



"Sunny Spot on the Floor"

Mower Blade Angst!!!

You never save time by taking the short cut!!!

So Saturday morning I knew I was in need of new blades for my mower. The 3/4 inch path of uncut grass was the tale-tale sign. Also, I was tearing the tops of the blades of grass rather than cutting. I was shocking the little blades of grass and causing their new little hair cuts to turn from green to brown by the next morn. Third gear was as fast as I could go and still lop the grass to the desired height. Worse of all, I was double cutting - that is, only moving over 20 inches with each lap around the house instead of the 40 inches that the width of the mower deck would allow.

So, the time I spend Saturday morning should have been enough to finish the deed. NO, I was only half done. I left the job half done. Funeral for a Friend in the early afternoon and Family arriving for Mom's birthday celebration on Sunday (more on this later).

So I go to the local hardware store between other errands. I get to the counter and all the clerks are helping others. I wait my turn and I get the new clerk!!! It takes her twice as long to look up the comparative model number as it should. She writes the four digit number on her "redneck Palm Pilot" and goes to the furthermost corner of the store. Two of the 6476 blades are produced. Paid and back home, the blades are placed on the work bench in the garage for another day...

That day was this morning, an early rise on a jbex holiday! So beautiful was the sunrise! Many song birds announced the dawn. Hummingbirds fought over the rights to drink from the feeder. A muster of black friends perched in the boughs of the leaning pine tree in the spring head before going out to the various compass points.









Photos of Sunrise this morning.








Coffee and a liter of water later, the task of blade changing is addressed.

Old blades off.
New blades retrieve from the work bench.
TOO LONG!!!

I take the wrong new blades (along with one of the old ones for reference) back to the hardware store... 6476 should have been 6475. Then the clerk said, "Twenty one cents". My jaw drops onto the old hard wood floor, totally void of any finish from many years of foot traffic.

"UH, these blades are shorter and besides it cost me three time that to drive back to town because of your mistake!" Not really, my truck gets better gas mileage than that. I pull out my money clip and place a Where's George on the counter, my seventy nine cents change is handed back to me with my receipt. 30 minutes of my morning is lost. The coolness of the early morning has given way to heat. At 10:30, I make my retreat into the house. Still incomplete, more mowing this evening when the sun starts setting in the west.

Size Matters...When Fishing!!!

Last week was lots of fun, but very tiring. Six nights of Vacation Bible School (I was taking photos of all the activities) had me just wanting to sleep in Saturday morning. Before the Commencement Ceremony on Friday night, Ted and I were talking about fishing. See, Ted and Jimmi Gail own the pond known all over Telfair County as the Coca Cola Pond. The employees of the local Coke bottling plant used the area for company picnics and such for many years, until they bought it in the early nineties.

Jimmi Gail and Ted can be found sitting to my left on the third pew from the front during worship. Ted and I are side by side in the Choir – we are the only two with voices deep enough to sing the bass parts.

At least it is a Joyful Noise, Psalm 100:1.

Ted had been under the weather since the week before Easter. And we had a bunch of catching up to do. “Bob, whatcha doing tomorrow morning?” He wanted some company and he wanted to go fishing.

I was tempted to reply with, “Sleeping in till noon!” But I knew that wasn’t the answer Ted was looking for. So I said instead, “Nothing, whatcha got in mind?”

So a plan was set. I would head over to his house early Saturday AM with fishing gear in the back of the truck. A cup of coffee for Ted is resting in the cup holder as I pull into the driveway. I start out with my flyrod and a Peacock Herl Ant on the end of my tippet. As the fly breaks the surface of the water with a ripple, a small Blue Gill leaps out of the water with the barbless hook firmly in its upper lip. Repeat, repeat, repeat!!!

The coffee was cool enough to drink at this time, and we sat down in the white plastic chairs beside the pond. Ted had brought his long pole with a # 12 hook and a bag containing about a half dozen slices white bread. This was the bait for the rest of the morning. White bread is shaped into a dough ball on the hook. I matched his rig with mine and we went to the task of catching brim, bluegill and red breast. No sooner did the little sphere of bread make a splash in the tea colored water would another hand size fish grab hold and make the ultra light fishing line sing.

Well, all that splashing got the attention of some others. As Ted pulled in one of the brim, something much, much larger broke the surface. BASS!!! And a big one!!!

We looked at each other without saying a word… Our expressions, however, spoke volumes. I walk back to the truck and get my Bait Casting rod. I bought this rod and reel in 1999 and had never really taken it fishing. Strung with 6 pound test line to keep the wary bass from taking note of something strange in its environment, I was wondering if this was going to hold up to the pending fight. I set the drag on the reel to near zero. Even if I don’t land you Ol’ Girl, I am going have me some fun before you break my line!

A #6 hook is tied on the end and my largest bobber is placed about 18” above the hook. OK, that rig is ready. Now I need to catch the bait. One drop of the bread ball hook yields another small brim and a subsequent splash. The two ounce brim is hooked through the upper lip. The large bobber is there to prevent the brim from hiding the tangle of grass at the bottom of the pond.

The brim and bobber make a loud splash as it enters the water about 25 feet from the bank. The little brim struggles beneath the bobber trying to find shelter in the grass below. But it is not to be. The bobber disappears into the brew. Twenty feet, thirty, forty feet of line is taken toward the center of the pond. “Easy, easy…NOW”, Ted instructs from the sidelines. A slow set of the hook is all it takes and the fight is on. With the drag at one of the lowest setting, I only reel in an inch or two with each turn. “Slow and easy, that’s it”, Ted encourages. “Now, show Bob how you can dance”… Sure enough the bass finally breaks the surface and rewards me with a pirouette and twirl of the tail. Then her mistake is made. Instead of retreating back to deeper water, she heads to the shallows of the shoreline. I quickly reel in the slack and bringing her into the green gauze of grass along the bank. I hand the rod to Ted as I place one foot into the water. I reach my hand toward the open mouth. In one last act of defiance, she closes the lid on the coffee can.

On shore, Ted is beaming. He sees my excitement and pats me on the back. The hook set was solid, she wasn’t going anywhere. Photos are taken and the bass is weighed.

9 pounds 10 ounces, 23 ½ inches long

We go back to fishing, I land her smaller cousin about five minutes later:

4 pounds 12 ounces.

I have quit smiling? NOT YET!!!

This one is for you, DAD!!!