Tuba is a Good Instrument for Protest...

It's the 21st century. Maybe I grew up and kept the imagination of a baby boomer child and thought that this was going to be a magical time. Now that we are here sometimes it seems we are going backwards away from the magic. 

We should have a world where all are welcome, all are fed, all have healthcare, housing and education. A world where we don't hear echoes of 1930s Germany in the politics and the brown shirts on the streets, a world where cities are not bombed, children are not killed and countries are not invaded because they have what someone wants.  

If you don't find these are good reasons to protest I think you may find yourself as part of a machine moving away from human dignity. You are still welcome to have your own beliefs . Don't forget that I have mine.   

 

Just like I may not agree with you I may not agree with the degrees of every protester. It's a compromise that we all need to work on to make something better when we have that chance. 

Yesterday I played a mix of old folk tunes, patriotic songs and gospel standards for the Ice Out for Good rally. This was nationwide. Judging from local reaction most people did not know this. Tuba is a good instrument for protest. It's loud, it draws attention and around the country I was not the only one using this instrument. 

It's not something that worries me, being the only one. What worries me is the loss of magic, the loss of rights, the loss of hope.  

There's Always Signs of the Times if You Look...

My son in law told me the other day a friend of his had seen me on my bike. The friend said, "man your father in law was really zipping along." I can't take much credit for the zipping, I do ride an ebike but I try to get out for a round through the neighborhood as much as possible and call it exercise. In fact I had a loop I was making that took me about 40 minutes and yesterday I added a good bit of distance and I was still finished in 40 minutes so I'm going faster and longer. I'm not the only one riding the area though. 

 There is one regular, probably around my age I see several days a week. I don't meet him often on the bike since I guess our riding schedules don't jive but he is in the traditional bike pants and road bike set up and probably like me doing it for his health. The past week there were several other bikers I saw that I don't think were in in for health but for the transportation. I guess that makes sense since I'm between Lufkin and Huntington on the back Farm Roads and depending on your starting point this could be considered a short cut of sorts. 

First guy I saw didn't wear a helmet but he did have on a orange visibility vest similar to what I wear. I wear the vest because people might not really be ready to see a bike rider out this way. I also avoid getting off work and going to work time of day. I was glad he had it on since I was driving a car into the sun when I saw him and it definitely helped. 

A few days later I saw another guy on a bicycle and he had the definitive going to town for cigarettes look about him. If you know, you know, know what I mean? 

A couple of days after this I took the grandkids to Free Sisters diner for a chicken basket. In case you don't know one chicken basket and an extra order of fries feeds five grandkids. Don't order it for yourself unless you have a hungry friend with you. In the way home just where you turn off 69 south onto my Farm Road there was a guy riding a bicycle with no lights, reflectors and wearing dark clothing. I would guess he does not take the Lufkin News so he's probably not aware of the auto bike accidents and fatalities in town this year.    

So what's going on here? A sign of the times? A homeless encampment in the area? A halfway house open in Huntington? Concern for carbon emissions? Trying to be like me? 

I'll keep you updated as I zip along.    

Work Harder Than What...

 It was interesting to note that news sources were reporting Elon Musk, a guy that makes money in ways you don't even know about as well as pocketing billions of your tax dollars from selling technology and space travel to the U.S. government said if appointed to oversee said government efficiently proposed that we all work harder and "everyone's going to have to take a haircut." 

I'm not getting a haircut. I have a doc appointment Monday. He always tells me if he didn't have to work a day job he would grow his hair out like mine. This is just a small sample of what the population thinks but I bet there's lots of people out there that don't want to get a haircut or if they do they want a weird one. 

Also I'm retired. I got my name painted on my shirt. I ain't no ordinary dude I don't have to work.

    

For the past year I have been volunteering with the local Conference of St. Vincent de Paul. Our efforts in assisting Neighbors in Need is funded by the generous donations of parishioners of St. Patrick's Catholic Church. The Neighbors I meet are mostly the working poor. They have had a situation such as an injury or medical issue that caused a missed paycheck, an unexpectedly big utility bill, a car repair, the expenses of elder care, sick children or some other expense that wrecked an already tight budget. We help them with those things and provide information or other resources that might be available.

 Over the past couple of weeks, you visit in pairs, with Cathy I probably made a dozen home visits, which are the hallmark of SVdP and in combination with other Vincentians she made 15-25 visits. I don't know the numbers for the rest of our group which is made up of some very dedicated people. A home visit is a way to meet people where they are and see them in their situation instead of in a government agency office. 

I don't think any of these people read what Musk said in the NYT. If you told them they were going to have to work harder they would say, "Harder than what?" 

So next time you are in the airport tell the Airline Agent to quit looking at the hair, get me in the air. They will surely work harder at doing that. 

  

"That Feller Had on a Dress..."

Men wearing dresses has been in the news lately. So has the fact that temps have been over 100 degrees around here for 23 days this summer. I say that a dress is cooler than trousers and for some years now a sarong, a one piece wrap popular in tropical areas of Asia and Africa has been a favored type of dress to wear while lounging about my house. Even though it seems that men with real short hair wearing suits may pass laws against men wearing dresses I may go against the mainstream and wear my sarong to town. It's hot enough, I don't think anyone will bat an eye and anyway that's kind of how I go, different from everyone else. 

Of course men with real short hair and suits have passed laws against heroin use. That does not make me want to go against the law and mass public opinion to sample narcotics because after all like climate change, COVID viruses and more there is science behind the reasons you should not take heroin. As far as I know there are no studies about men wearing sarongs. 

The other day I was driving along a main thoroughfare and I saw a poor woman walking in the 100 degree heat in a black bikini. She was probably in her 30s, the swim suit was on the modest side of this type of wear and she had a nice tan. By all appearances she was very hot and on a directional heading to the corner convenience store where what I imagined to be the only air conditioning she would experience that day lay in cool wait behind heavy glass doors. I say this woman would have been better served by a sarong and if you think I'm picking on women I saw a few men that would have also been well served by wearing a sarong. 

Once while working in the nursing home I had two physical therapy patients. One gentleman got up each day and dressed in button up western shirts, jeans, and leather shoes. The other gentleman preferred a patient gown with a pair of shorts underneath. Despite the differences in dress both men liked a good domino game and when they ended up in the gym together as a build up to more strenuous activities I placed a bedside rolling table with the dominos on them between the two and they happily spent quite a while playing. At the conclusion of the game I rolled the table from between them and Mr. Jeans sighted the other mans patient gown. "That feller's got on a dress!" he exclaimed. When you wear an unconventional garment in public it will take getting used to for some.        

Just so there is no confusion when you see me so you can start getting familiar with the terminology a sarong or sarung is worn wrapped about the waist. A West African word from the Akan language srong or sorong means fastened at the highest point. Memorize this and you will not be ignorant about which one I'm wearing. 

Cathy also has a sarong. She likes it when we are all matchy matchy. Whatever men in suits with real short hair think I like it also.  

 

Bury Me on the Lone Prairie...

 Rose was in for a visit. Me, Cathy and her were driving home and there was talk of how we rode bicycles to the old cemetery near the house. I don't know if I was looking bad or something but the talk turned to where I should be buried and how it would make sense to be close to the house and what's the procedure for being buried in these small isolated country cemeteries. Do you have to have a family connection? 

So we just stopped by what's called  the Old Center Cemetery or Rocky Springs by some. I have researched a lot of genealogy since our bike trips here and sure enough there is a pile of Nerrens in this East Texas ground. I am related to the Nerren tree through my Granny Nerren Wallace. The Nerrens came to Angelina county from Mississippi in 1948 and settled at the Marion's Ferry Crossing on the Angelina River now covered by Lake Sam Rayburn. At the old center cemetery I found this gravestone.

This is the resting place of a 3rd great cousin Lorenzo Dow Nerren Jr. The son of Lorenzo Sr. he is the grandson of my 3rd great grandfather John Nerren. His wife, Nancy McKinney is buried with him. 

That's a pretty good run for Lorenzo. Born during the Civil War he died Sept 25th, 1941 and did not quite see WW2. 

We next headed on to the Rocky Hill Cemetery, a place where I knew there was a nice pear tree but  I did not find and relatives and the pears were high in the tree and looked to be hard and knotty with the drought. A google maps check showed we were near the Nerren Cemetery in Huntington, Tx. We drove over and nearly missed the little track leading to it. 

It was a quiet place and we found some interesting things. Here is another 3rd cousin Alexander Nerren born Aug 5th 1851 in Angelina County and died April 13th 1947 in Huntington, Tx. He's the brother of Lorenzo Jr. 

That's a pretty good run. Born before the Civil War, might have grandchildren old enough for WW1, great grand children old enough for WW2 and managed to see the atomic age. 

He's buried by his second wife Mary Marshall. They wed in 1909. His first wife was Martha Richardson wed in 1874 she passed in 1897.    

  

Here's the photos I found on the internet of Alexander.

Yep, that looks like a bunch of Nerrens. Can anyone date the photo by the clothes? 

I did find Alexander's death certificate where he was described as "retired farmer" and cause is listed as "intestinal obstruction, partial."

Another interesting find was the marker for the first wife of B.F. Nerren, my 3rd great uncle. Old Ben Franklin was sheriff of Angelina County 1888-1894. He's buried in Walker Cemetery by where Paul Nerren's Junk Barn used to stand on Highway 59 North.   

I did not pick out a spot during this exploration. I'm feeling pretty good no matter what they may think. What age comes after the atomic age?  

    

Let Me Check My Bank Balance....

 In this photo of me and Strong, made in a New Orleans hotel room I hold about $300 in my hand. It was the early 1980s and that would get you most things you wanted during a Big Easy weekend. You would be straggling home broke of course but easy come easy go.  

Me and another old friend, who now that I think about all this probably made this photo, were sitting in in a cool, comfortable local watering hole. We were talking but not watering. I've been sober going on 30 years. He's been sober for two years. Like singer songwriter Jason Isbell says, "it gets easier but it never gets easy" but we were doing alright. 

I greeted an acquaintance in passing and my friend says, "you know him?" Kinda I guess. "He took me aside at a party and told me he was a millionaire." My friend could not recall the man's name. I might have told somebody something like that one tine but that person probably can't remember my name either. 

I have another friend. We've been meeting almost weekly for several years due to a shared interest and have only been interrupted by previous commitments, pandemics and other general vulgarities of modern life. Each meet up he usually has a long story, off the topic of our meeting

about some millionaire he knows. 

It's usually a young bright shiny couple who manage to pick up from the ground business opportunity, show place homes in expansive rural settings where the living is easy with year around world class boating and fishing, deaconship and VIP parking at a mega church and have customers with open check books elbowing their way into the business. 

I ask what kind of business is this?

He says, "they sell equipment."

What kind of equipment? 

He says, "all kinds."

I have a friend, not a millionaire himself, who went of a trip with several millionaires. He told me, "they talk about things you and me don't know about and can't understand." 

I have several friends who are probably millionaires. I can tell because they usually know the best deal on a cell phone plan, have a nose for a cheap Airbnb, can fix a flapping shoe with a piece of cardboard if they need to and sometimes let a tree grow up in a flower bed too close to their house. 

Strong passed away in 2007. Rich people, who we meet every day aren't bad people. I seldom hold $300 in my hand. Many places don't even take cash so I just hand them a credit card like I'm a millionaire. Like Isbell said, it gets easier but it never gets easy.    

    

 

Thanks For The Birthday Wishes...

 This is what 66 years old looks like on me. Before you say "it looks like them tictok teens making bathroom selfies" (this was her idea) I'll tell you that my dad passed away when he was 66 years and 5 months old. My mom lived till she was 95 and I have quite a few first cousins older than me with some of them still pretty spry ranging from 75 to 95 or so. It's not really fair to cry bad genes. 

When I think about what I thought about my dad way back those 32 years ago when he passed it does feel like I am nosing the boat so to speak into unknown waters. It seemed at the same age my dad was a slow old man or at least that's what I thought. Maybe he was as he was starting to get sick and I was a dumb young man who maybe did not know as much as he thought he did at the time. Makes me wonder what my kids think (I really know what they think, I think) about me at the same age and makes me think that those waters might not be what I don't know but what they don't know. To make it all more mysterious makes me think about if we all know anything at all. 

Thanks to all the folks who reached out through social media, texts, phone calls, sent cards, gifts, or bought me a birthday dinner. It's a humbling experience to know how many people think about you in a special time. I'll try my best to follow the example my fine friends set as I continue to navigate the waters of life.     

Anyone Surprised...

 My parents grew up in the depression and then there was WW2. Events like that mark people. When people get marked they tend to mark other people so I guess my folks marked me but I consider it a marking in a good way. The mark I'm talking about is how to handle your money. 

I can remember one of my dad's things was keeping cash on hand. About once a week he knelt at the bed, spread the money out and counted it. I don't know how much he had. It was certainty peanuts considering the salaries made by sports starts and CEOs these days but to his depression mentality this cash seemed like a good idea. 

I don't keep cash on hand but I adopted some of his other ideas such as don't spend more than you make, use cash if at all possible or don't buy, pay for the kid's college, be thrifty and work when you have the opportunity. I was fortunate and retired early. My wife retires at the end of the year. 

There's a guy who writes a newspaper column that's carried in my local paper. Basically some of the same advice but something about Dave Ramsey's way of handling money, or maybe it was the telling other people how to handle money never set quite right with me. I read the columns anyway. That's a thing I do, read the uncomfortable thing that you don't agree with. 

I opened up the news today and sure enough like I suspected Dave is not a nice guy. Seems that a lawsuit has been brought alleging that staffers who wore masks and had Covid 19 concerns were mocked and derided.

 

Help me here. In this country there have been public figures such as Dave is who have mocked women, foreigners and the disabled. I guess this has become ok in some circles. If you have a public platform I would think that it could be used to do good and maybe even provide leadership. 

I looked Dave up and read on him. After some hard financial times in the late 80s he was on the rebound by 1994. Chances are he's been in a gated community since then and has not much hung out with anyone that was not like him in almost 30 years. He's a carnival barker selling you advice that I doubt he gives his children or grandchildren. 

I wear a mask especially in large indoor groups. I'm vaccinated. I have some of the same concerns Dave's employees have. I would not want to catch covid and not be able to babysit my grandkids because I'm sick. I would not want to give my wife, a Eucharistic Minister who brings Communion to the home bound covid so she takes it to one of these older, delicate people. I would not want to pass covid to the health care workers in my family and have them expose patients. It goes on and on with all the reasons which 800,000 dead seem to not matter to people that think like Dave. 

I am getting old. In another month I'll be considered elderly. At this time I can still cut a pretty imposing figure, 6'2", 250 pounds, long hair and all tattooed up I was once a 2nd degree black belt. No one has derided me for wearing a mask and I bet Dave would not either. 

I don't need his kind of advice. 

      

          

Big Boy is Watching...

So I go in the nearby video rental place. It's a chore to find a suitable rental, lots of new releases and direct to video and nothing old or classic with many movies that were the last big hits seeming a little dated. Big Boy that works there, close to my age, lots of tats, squats on a a narrow stool eyes slitted, watching who comes through the door. He's prides himself on knowing every one's name and he has been trying to remember mine. He gets it right this time. He's probably pretty smart, a shining star among his peers, he's just missed on some opportunities that's all. 

Big Boy has been watching and he has pegged me as no ordinary dude. He says: "I looked up all those movies you been renting." I nervously laugh. "Oh yeah." I mean, wouldn't you start getting a little nervous? I think, maybe I should learn his name. He continues, "I figure you are some kind of professor, like at a college or something."

 Lucky my wife is with me, I start to feel a little hit on and nervously laugh again. I'm giggling like a school girl, hope he's not liking guys that do that. I said he's probably pretty smart, getting it close, if not right most of the time. And since he knows all my stuff, name address, phone and who knows what else I promised to do if they would just let me rent movies in a one horse town he can probably stumble on my house just down the road. My only defense is to try to scare him. I rent "Milk."

Have You Heard Loose Lips Sink Ships, or Have I Seen Those Lips Before...

We had friends over for a nice evening of fried catfish and conversation. In fact we talked so much we never even got around to discussing our shared grandchildren but some of the topics we covered were fishing, travel and facial recognition software and how good it has become. 

On the porch not far from where we sat was my old red wagon. Actually it's one of those new red wagons, pretty stout frame and canvas sides that serves me as a tool carrier, a grandchild transport for donkey walks and when I'm bank fishing it's a gear hauler. 

In the course of telling fishing stories I remarked to our friends how when we were launching the boat that day several people were on the shore unable to use the walkway to the old marina because of high water. It's a popular fishing spot and I related how "they loaded a wagon like that," on an aluminum boat and with a rope that was tied to the bank and the marina hand pulled themselves river ferry crossing style out to unload the wagon with fishing gear on the marina walkways. 

I did not have my phone in my pocket when I told this story. It was about 15' from me on a table all evening. I don't have one of those "Hey Google" things. Since I have a wagon there is no need to shop wagons on the world wide web. Today my ad feed for the internet is full of "shop wagons like this" ads apparently because I said "a wagon like that." 

I have not checked on my friends today. The information they provided about the facial recognition software part of the discussion was second hand from a good source. 

If I tell you I liked this house boat I photographed on the lake will I be under consumer pressure to shop similar craft?         

And while we are on these seeming coincidences here's my third great uncle Charlie Ledbetter, a ferry man on the Tennessee River. Seems that one evening in 1906 a man by the name of R.H. Ward had been drinking and caught a ride across the river to visit Charlie. This seems to have been a custom on his drinking days. Later his body was found about 10 miles down river. Charlie was arrested, tried and acquitted. Probably good thing there was no facial recognition software in those days. 

I believe that's Charlie with the dog. 

 

A Brand New Game to Play...

 Life has moved on even for those of us who live it online and I hope everyone realizes that only about a thimble full ever really gets diluted down to something that can be written about. A few weeks ago we attended Riot Fest, a big concert in Chicago. I made many photos and have lots to write about them. I also invented a new game. 

We have played this game in some form or another for some years now. You know when you are visiting an out of town place and on a crowded street you see someone that looks like a friend but can't possibly be that friend because of the situation of you being a traveler in a strange land and your real friend is stuck back at work. To play the game you say something like there is _____ if he had a good day, went straight, been born rich, or never listened to his mother. Take your pick or make something up. They say we all have a double somewhere. 

So taking this one step farther (always pushing) when you see a weird looking person, and there were plenty at Riot Fest I came up with a question to ask them. First the weird people:

If you note a lot of these photos are made with the subjects unawares I have discovered that you don't just run up and startle weird people. 

These two pretty tame. 

Mohawks enjoy the Ferris wheel. 

Did not want his hair to be like dad's.

So here is the rules to the game. Go up to a strange looking person or better yet a group of strange looking people hanging out together and ask, "What's the name of your band?" 

If they got a band name you won. It's time for others in your group to take a turn picking a weird looking dude and asking the question. The person that picks a dude and he or she is not in a band has to spend an hour hanging out with that person. At the end of an hour you move on, catch up with your group see how others are faring and total score based on hours wasted with weird dudes. I know you are wondering so yes I did have to spend and hour with some of the people in these photos. 

It's good harmless fun, you meet new people and is less dangerous than watching middle east war videos on youtube which I guess could fall under the living your life online thing. 

So I Am on FaceBook...

I don't know, may be a couple of months now I have been doing the Facebook thing. Got 36 friends already, mostly people who I went to high school with. There's an Alumni Band concert coming up this summer and a bunch of those folks have been connecting through Facebook it seems.

Anyway, I got it rigged so that what ever posts here, posts there, so if you don't do Facebook you are not missing anything from me. Does seem like blog visits are up a bit so some of those folks are drifting over here.

I have not solicited any of these friends, they find me. I feel as if I might be rude not suggesting any friends to them, maybe I should suggest a friend that Cathy met in New York, Joro Boro to my friends. He's on my list but we do not seem to have any common friends. Yet.

It is a little funky when folks suggest a friend I don't know. Hip me, do I accept one and all? Why do they do this am I such an ordinary dude that all will like me?

I Make Photos Everywhere I go...

Catching up on a back log of photos that I haven't had time to post.

Here is some of the fire works from the Lufkin High School Bands Honor America Night recognizing our Veterans. Thanks guys.








This is from a little vacation I took to a nearby red gas giant star. people always ask me why I like to take vacations to places like this. I don't know what to tell them. Seems that they should already know the answer.

It was a lot of trouble but I made this picture behind my eye ball. I am not sure if the camera is pointing out or in, it was such a tight spot to be working in. I just kind of poked it, got my finger on the button and fired away. As you may have guessed, the flash made me blink.

Another Transition...

I said transition, not transmission although it feels like I am transmitting sometimes.

Last day of clinical. I won't have to wear this pin anymore. As Waylon Jennings said, "Got my name painted on my shirt I aint no ordinary dude, I don't have to work." He was referring to the gaudy country western suits of the old days. The SPTA stands for student physical therapist assistant, most of the time it is pronounced SPITA.

I will miss my patients. Should be an easy day, some kind of employee appreciation day with free food going on, maybe a humble student will be able to slip in.

Next week it's back to Kilgore for a week to finish this thing out. I wrote that I made a mad dash on my lunch hour to Kilgore to turn in my case study during my lunch hour last week. Something about Kilgore makes my stomach rumble. The next part of this is pretty graphic, so continue to read and you can consider yourself warned. As I drove toward Kilgore I began passing very loud and frequent gas. I made it with no accidents, auto or otherwise, hoped out of the car, delivered the paper, it only took a second and back to the car. I opened the door and it was quite rank inside. I hope not too much of that clung to my clothes when I passed through the office.

On the drive back my stomach was quiet as I got further and further away. After next week I will take a roundabout way to avoid Kilgore if I ever go that way again.

One more thing. My pinning ceremony is next Thursday May 10th. The graduation is May 11th. I'll walk.

Here is the invite to the pinning, invites extended through the press, but if all 4000 odd visitors to this web site show up I need a little advance notice. I said I would have four guests. I have come to know that my instructors do not like surprises.