Forget not the bride of thy youth.

I met my bride over sixty years ago, at a duck pond near a library on Gentilly Blvd; near the Fox Movie theater on Elysian Fields. Flaming red hair, sparkling green eyes, a pale, creamy complexion, sprinkled with freckles. I was 7 she was 6. I was struck dumb. Like Charlie Brown in Peanuts, that little red headed girl had me.

I met her again when I was 17 and she was 16. I was a life guard at Pontchartrain Beach. Ironically, we were introduced by my friend from junior high school and his name was Charlie. I remembered her perfectly, she had no memory of me. She still had the flaming red hair, the big green eyes, and the creamy complexion with freckles and that damn funny smile. When she smiled the tip of her tongue would stick out at you. The whole package of her being struck me dumb, again! Charlie introduced us with complete perigees, I was a varsity football player at Warren Easton Boys Sr. High, and she was the editor of her school newspaper at East Jefferson Sr. High. Bitter rivals. She had just been crowned Ms. Jefferson Parish and on her way maybe to Ms.Louisiana and possibly to Ms. America. She was a real beauty; and that was not just my opinion! It was easy to see that she was used to having men flock to her. And having them obey her every wish.

At that time Pontchartrain Beach had four life guard stations and we had to rotate between stations before we had a break. As I rotated in, I stopped by where she was under a tent. A tent on a beach! Her skin was so fair that she blistered easily. I told her that I was on a break and said that I was going for a coke and I asked her if she wanted one. She said that I could bring her one back. I looked at her and said, "If you want one, you can get up off you ass and come and get it!" I was suave and debonair - I was an asshole! But, she got up and followed me.

She has borne for me, seven children. She has taken, while I was at war, the harassing phone calls of hippies or peaceniks or whatever they were called. When told that I was raping young girls and butchering infants, she calmly asked for their name and addresses and assured them - that as soon as I returned, she could make sure that I would come and visit them and demonstrate the skills that I learned in Southeast Asia. Interesting enough the phone calls stopped.

She, being unafraid; gave me courage.

I have been blessed, or cursed with contextual blindness. That means if I see someone out of the context that I am used to seeing them in - I don't recognize them! Since I am blind in one eye already, this does not strike me as particularly unusual or strange. If a woman dyes her hair, I will not recognize her. With my bride, I do not see an old wrinkled woman, that is fat, and has white hair. I see her as was; flaming red hair, bright green eyes, body to lust after, with a pale creamy complexion with freckles; inviting me to a life long adventure!

Once, when she was very ill and in danger of dying; I broke down to my son, David. I said that I didn't know what I would do if she died. That I didn't know how I could carry on if she were gone. David looked at me and said, "Don't worry about it Pops. You'll be dead in a year. That's the way that it is when two people have been together as long as you and Mom have been together." And he gave me my death pipe, that he had carved for me. (It's an American Indian thing, white people will not understand.) Strangely enough, I found this very comforting.

From wherever she calls me - I will follow. For she is MY Ayesha. She who must be obeyed.

My Cousin

My Cousin

Veterans Day

This was Veterans Day 2004.








It shows my grand daughter, Cera, her father, Mark, and me, the old fart, at a
reception honoring veterans at her middle school in Louisiana.

He's a vet of Desert Storm and I am vet of Vietnam.

I will always remember when she called and asked me to come. As I was still
working, her mother, our daughter, attempted to discourage her. She didn't
want her to be disappointed.
Her mother also knew that I avoided attending those kind of events because
all of the memories that get stirred up in me.
Cera called, I can't even imagine the courage that it took to make that call.
She explained what the occasion was. I listened to her saying that it was
important for her if I would attend. It was my grand daughter calling and
asking me - what could I do but accept.

I will be forever grateful for that invitation! It was the FIRST time that I felt
that I was home at last.
I met heroes from Pearl Harbor, Iwo Jima, Tarawa, Korea; now bent with
time's burden and bearing wounds, both visible and invisible that will never heal.
Vets from the 'Nam, Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom. The last is a phony war
fought for a phony cause but those that fight it are heroes and their grievous
wounds are real enough to demand respect of those of us that went before.

"Now and then, a veteran ... will come here to live again the brave days of that
distant June. Here will be raised the altars of patriotism; here will be renewed
the vows of sacrifice and consecration to country. Hither will come our
countrymen in hours of depression, and even of failure, and take new courage
from this shrine of great deeds." Army General James. G. Harbord, at the dedication of an American battle monument was built in
Belleau Wood. He was the commander of the Marines during the battle,
and was made an honorary Marine.

What is a Curmudgeon anyway?

Previous email: "You know that I didn't get one response from my "Curmudgeon" email. I found that rather disappointing! I suppose that means that everyone thought I was serious and they must agree with you. I meant it to be funny."

Thank-you for thinking enough of me to give that title!!

A little research puts me in a rarefied group of people!

A quote:
"What is a Curmudgeon anyway?

A curmudgeon's reputation for malevolence is undeserved. They're neither warped nor evil at heart. They don't hate mankind, just mankind's absurdities. They're just as sensitive and soft-hearted as the next guy, but they hide their vulnerability beneath a crust of misanthropy. They ease the pain by turning hurt into humor. . . . . . They attack maudlinism because it devalues genuine sentiment. . . . . . Nature, having failed to equip them with a serviceable denial mechanism, has endowed them with astute perception and sly wit.

Curmudgeons are mockers and debunkers whose bitterness is a symptom rather than a disease. They can't compromise their standards and can't manage the suspension of disbelief necessary for feigned cheerfulness. Their awareness is a curse.
Perhaps curmudgeons have gotten a bad rap in the same way that the messenger is blamed for the message: They have the temerity to comment on the human condition without apology. They not only refuse to applaud mediocrity, they howl it down with morose glee. Their versions of the truth unsettle us, and we hold it against them, even though they soften it with humor.

- JON WINOKUR "

All of our children and most of our grand children have a "twisted sense of humor". And a sense of humor is an indication of higher intelligence.
That means that their mother and I have done our job; prepare them for a world that is largely witless and humorless and to THINK.
May heaven or some Higher Being grant peace and protection to anyone that marries into this family.

More Quotes:

1. Question: What makes a person funny?

Answer: Funny people have a heightened sense of the absurd. They take life seriously, but not literally. They’re sometimes described as “twisted,” but it’s just the opposite: they’re the sane ones in an insane world. Funny people are also aware of the music of humor. They instinctively know that the stress and number of beats has to be just right and that a superfluous syllable can kill a laugh, whether written or spoken. That’s why copy editors are hazardous to humor manuscripts. They care about being grammatically correct, not funny.

2. Question: Are people born funny or made funny?

Answer: A sense of humor runs in families, whether as a result of nature or nurture or both.

http://blog.guykawasaki.com/2006/09/ten_questions_w.html

Workin' Mysteries Without Any Clues

The Mystery of Women

On my voyage through this experience called life;
I have pondered several things that I consider interesting to me.

Key among these things, is the power that women have over men.

I think that my interest in this topic began soon after I finishing reading
H. Rider Haggard masterpiece, "She". It's a marvelous adventure tail set in
Africa involving the Penultimate Woman; Ayesha, "She Who Must Be Obeyed". It's classic, if you haven't read it - buy it and read it now! If you have read it,
read it again - it's a classic. Like classical music, opera, vintage wines,
and older women; it just keeps getting better and better!

I was extremely fortunate to find my Ayesha 48 years ago. I am still puzzled
as to why She chose me. I guess I'll have to wait for Lazarus Long to explain
it to me.

Let me clearly state here, I am not an anthropologist, psychiatrist, or any those
people. Hell, I am not even college graduate. I am just curious as to why.

Why do we, men, devote so much time thinking about them?
Why do we spend so much time and money attempting to attract them?
And in my opinion, it does not make any difference whether we are normal
heterosexual males, or homosexuals, or transvestites, or even the most
controlling wife beating SOBs ever made - all of us want to just what it
is about women that keeps us interested.
I don't think it's just sex. Come on guys, if you seen one porn flick -
you've really seen them all.
All I say is, it's a good thing that women don't judge us with the same standards that we use to judge them.

Maybe it is as simple as the line Boon uttered to Lucius in the "The Reivers" by
William Faulkner. As the young boy, Lucius, stares at full frontal nude female
portrait hanging above the bar in the brothel, Boon says, "It's a mystery."

Growing Old And Losing Freedoms

John Denver's song "Some days are diamonds, some days are stones" says it all.

I think that the hardest thing about growing old is having to give up things that represent freedom for you.

Babies expend a tremendous amount of energy just learning the basics. Turning over, hand to eye co-ordination, crawling, learning to walk. Falling, hurting themselves. But having no fear, rising to begin the lesson again. Finally, the freedom to walk from place to place without falling. But the first step to freedom has been taken.

Remember your first pair of roller skates. The scraped fingers and hands, knees and elbows,the bruises on the head. Of course today's kids have gloves, knee and elbow pads and helmets. So, they miss those joys of that knowledge. But they do get the end goal - freedom from being tied to the house where safety lies; home. More freedom.

Then, the adventure of learning to ride a bicycle. Feet getting caught in the spokes, pant legs getting caught in the sprocket. And more cuts, bruises, maybe broken bones. BUT then mastery and the ability to roam far from home. A bigger freedom.

And finally the ultimate freedom learning to drive! Mastery of a manual transmission that was the TOPS! If you learn on an automatic, you were kinda of a woosy.

I just turned 67. I really don't feel old; but my brain reminds me that there are certain things that I can not do. I don't have the sense of balance that I had at one time. I could walk a steel beam over 100 feet in the air, with no fear. Now, I trip and stumble over an uneven sidewalk. My sense of balance causes me to stagger unexpectedly. Being blind in one eye effects my depth perception. So, I have given up riding a bicycle, a motorcycle, and driving. (Roller skating hasbeen out for some time!)

But all of this is in preparation for the final loss. And I really can't bitch. I've buried better men than me. I've made much further than they did. Audie Murphy's book "To Hell and Back" describes the landing at Anzio. "If you stepped one way, you were dead. If you stepped another, you became a grandfather."

And I am a grandfather.

Memories

As I sit here - two years after Katrina, I am amazed at the reaction of "Compassionate Conservatives" to the victims of that disaster. The level of such hate and animosity is stunning! It's almost as if that we - my family were victims also, were also responsible for 9/11!

We were more fortunate than most. We lived in rural Mississippi, I sent my wife, daughter with her two children to our older daughter in Dallas. I stayed behind; as did my daughter's husband. He was a senior police officer in Hattiesburg. He performed his duties with courage.
Even though we were 100 miles from the coast, we lost the roof of our dream house.

Businesses shut down, police and fire protection were non-existent, food, water and gasoline did not exist.

Guess what happens when businesses shut down? The local tax base disappears! Communities
had no money to spend to help restore minimal services. Employees have no paychecks to buy
necessities. Guess what happens when there is no electricity? ATMs don't work, credit cards don't work - so how do you pay?

I was lucky. I worked for a man that was a senior VP for a major corporation. He refused to shut
the mill down even though Katrina destroyed the county. He kept it running through out the storm and during recovery. When the local hospital shut down and could not support the critical ill, he converted the training center to support them. He supplied gasoline to us to keep 600 employees on the payroll - because if you can't get to work - you don't get paid and the city emergency vehicles, he supplied food packages to needy - I don't know he how got them but he did. He supplied gasoline to loggers to clear the roads. He had the credit union opened to supply cash - to my knowledge no one stiffed the credit union.

If ever there was an American Hero - he's the guy! He stood up when there was no FEMA, no
government agencies - there was nothing available. It did not matter whether you were white,
black or American Indian - he was there!

I will not name him, or the corporation, because there might be some kind of legal action that might be attached to his actions. But he did it and I was there!

So, "Compassionate Conservatives", before you condemn us, where were you when it counted?

I urge the all of you to buy "The Beatitudes", by Lyn Lejeune.
It's a great story about New Orleans. Lyn is a coonass gal and plans to
donate the proceeds to rebuilding the New Orleans Public Library.