tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16483086015236709772024-03-06T14:00:50.453-06:00Living WellComments on the good life.Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.comBlogger363125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-5936282924241558532017-12-11T16:31:00.001-06:002017-12-11T16:31:23.843-06:00The Christmas Letter 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyP2WsnVOLlycqNyx04KpDx2ni4nfk6ubQQtC2GNIu1zXCTKwTsDGsXn_bMCkWqsqZxI5iINaeIoCPknokCKEc8oxCkToJjs5BYMT4PBJOpT7cBlnuAjRandM6tIzm33BLxKKKmxOMhwc/s1600/christmas-letter-22338888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="1300" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyP2WsnVOLlycqNyx04KpDx2ni4nfk6ubQQtC2GNIu1zXCTKwTsDGsXn_bMCkWqsqZxI5iINaeIoCPknokCKEc8oxCkToJjs5BYMT4PBJOpT7cBlnuAjRandM6tIzm33BLxKKKmxOMhwc/s320/christmas-letter-22338888.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Merry Christmas 2017 from the Prices<o:p></o:p></div>
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A friend sent me a message not too long ago and reminded
me that I had not written a Christmas letter in over four years. I thought to myself, “My how time flies when
you are senile.” I couldn’t tell you why
I stopped writing them, but it could have been that the cost of paper, postage,
ink, Medicare, taxes, etc. exceeded my ability to do so. I imagine it was that, like other events in
life, Christmas seemed to pass so quickly each succeeding year that I just
missed it altogether. I write every day, but I use the electronic media and my
thoughts are cast into cyberspace with an occasional “Like” never to be seen
again. Some of my friends, though
mentally and financially able to do so, have chosen not to join the rest of us
in the 21<sup>st</sup> Century. So, I am
going to dig around in the already full basket that sits in my desk above my
computer screen and see how many forever stamps I have left. If I can find my snail mail address book, and
you haven’t moved and not notified me, I will send you this letter. I will turn on my seldom used printer and go
through the maintenance program to clean the print heads and use up several of
the ink cartridges in the process. The
extremely smart digital printer only cost me $42.00 at Sam’s Club, but the ink
is $400.00 per tiny cartridge. No, this
is it. You will not receive a large
package delivered by FedEx a week before Christmas. We, the Price Clan, are living in Harlingen,
Texas which, if you go by the nearest route to the Rio Grande River is located
about 8 miles from Mexico. Our girls
started their families a little later than some, but we can’t complain about
the quality of the grandkids they have produced. Barbara and I are still able to drive and
baby sit so there are no plans to put us in assisted living yet. Amanda and her husband, Chris Daniels, have
our little two year old, Caston. Andrea
and her husband, Leonel Munoz, (imagine there is a tilde above the “n”) have
Aaron (our eldest 6<sup>th</sup> grader), Ava (4<sup>th</sup> grader) and our
little surprise, Landry, who is one year old. We are royally entertained. All are doing well. Barbara and I have had our 50<sup>th</sup>
High School reunions since the last letter, and we celebrated our 70<sup>th</sup>
birthdays this year. I know this may
seem young to some of you reading this letter, but it isn’t. If you think this print is too small, go and
find your magnifying glass. Barbara and
I decided to go on a cruise from Barcelona, Spain to Athens, Greece to
celebrate making it this far. We just
got back last Sunday. I still don’t know
what time it is and I have to look at the calendar to get the correct day of
the week. It was a great cruise and we
were treated royally on the ship. Our
ship was the “Marina” of the Oceania Cruise Line and it lived up to the
billing. I can’t say as much for the airlines. I haven’t flown much since 9/11
because of the ridiculous security measures now in place, and the airlines have
now exceeded all reason by adding seats without increasing the size of the
planes. In the redesign of the 300 passenger jets, intended for the long haul,
they saved money by staying with the four restroom plan. P.S. The aisles
between you and the restrooms are usually blocked by the beverage cart. I have been sleeping in my recliner for the
last week to decompress. Our mail of
late has had the usual bills, but we are seeing an increase in letters telling
us we qualify for all kinds of medical devices and special government programs
to make our lives easier. I have given
up on all paid employment as of last December and have chosen to live on the
government dole. Our cars are so old we
had to unplug the phones because the extended warranty people were tying up the
line. I hope I’ve covered all the
bases. We do miss seeing all of you and
we fondly remember our visits. If you
are inclined to come for a visit please do.
As we celebrate the Christmas season we wish you all a very Merry
Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Remember, Jesus Christ is the reason for the season. Please share our greetings and hug all your
kids for us. We are hoping to see you
all soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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All our love to all of you, The Prices<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-69535092778284243892017-10-11T06:54:00.000-05:002017-10-11T06:54:08.370-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrS5FJHyJdo6N35LhiVVnwMLlH_7ziqZX9vRof7GZu2BmWdcJQZJFAlWPPUJN1zhvIHrm_hvOUaM8BC6EGpF7puIDXRLbPuR7Uh0F8uyhgA4TEKYsrOph8CTnEqV0JnCaR4Mu2H7Sdw0/s1600/Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrS5FJHyJdo6N35LhiVVnwMLlH_7ziqZX9vRof7GZu2BmWdcJQZJFAlWPPUJN1zhvIHrm_hvOUaM8BC6EGpF7puIDXRLbPuR7Uh0F8uyhgA4TEKYsrOph8CTnEqV0JnCaR4Mu2H7Sdw0/s320/Dad.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
I have been away for a few days, and I thought I would continue with the rest of the story. The stories I shared were made from memories and feelings that came well after the fact. This is a picture of my dad taken in Mobile, Alabama probably months prior to his death. He looked fine, but the Leukemia that ravaged his body was only slowed a bit by the "Experimental Drugs" that brought his blood count back in line. The term "chemotherapy" was not used until much later. It was really hard to tell that anything was wrong as our lives continued much as they had before the diagnosis. But, the drugs themselves had side effects and in October of 1963 my dad died from a cerebral hemorrhage that was related to his treatment. I remember it all in snippets of foggy recollections. He was 47 years old and I was one day away from my 16th birthday. After his death I was in a surreal world. I never really thought about the reality of what life would be like without him. My dad was a Christian man and he taught us with his bible and his example in his own quiet way. I had accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my savior when I was nine years old. I was trying to hold to my faith that we would one day be together again, but the realities of life were crashing hard around me. I remember not really knowing how to act after I was notified that he died. I had been to the hospital the night before to visit him and now he wasn't there anymore. I was told more than once by well meaning friends and relatives that I was now the man of the house. They just didn't know how much I didn't want to be. Well, my mother, who was a full time housewife, took the reins and quietly marched forward. She had gone to Junior College and taken some business courses before she and dad married. She sold our house in Mobile and went to Hattiesburg, Mississippi and bought another one. We moved and she enrolled in secretarial courses by correspondence. I was starting the 11th grade. My sister was two years younger, and my brother was 10 years younger. Mother finished and landed a job as the secretary to the Dean of the Business School at the University of Southern Mississippi. We made it. I always liked the story of the little boy who was proudly standing with his foot on the head of a large bear that had recently been shot. He commented to passers by "We kilt a bear, Ma shot it." Life moved on and here we are today. Years later I wrote this poem in honor of my father. Both my parents were Christians and dealt with life with a strong faith in Jesus Christ. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><u style="font-size: 12pt;">WHAT’S IN A NAME?</u><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Over 40 years ago, he died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I still miss him everyday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Quiet country boy – Brought
up hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Learned early how to make his
way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Strong from work and tan from
sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dark hair and winning smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I never saw him waiver,
change,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">in good times or in trial.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He loved hard work, family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Served his country. Spoke the
truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Taught with bible and
example.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Twigs need bending in their
youth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Outdoors was his favorite
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Hunting, fishing, sun, fresh
air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He taught me manly lessons<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">when there were no women
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Grave illness struck, he
fought hard,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">working right up to the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He crossed the bar so
peacefully<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">to meet his Lord, and friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The world won’t know how
great he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He had no wealth or fame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Because he would not
compromise<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the value of his name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m older now than he was<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">when he left this mortal
frame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But hope, that like my dad I
leave<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the treasure of a name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dennis Price <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-55496317385137821322017-10-04T14:09:00.001-05:002017-10-04T14:09:13.368-05:00The Heart of a Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjnQ6YDGUGBiBgTVJO_x6WlYscU4NrL1LWzju-RNZGvVDjC9nDUI9f551YcDxTwg589JhFA39b3syv00lGZuzxniyp_1Ioap0CCAw1T3_mr__u4LHfdy8wibbfYn9-4AwUiL9psTPV_k/s1600/Sears+Avalon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="799" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjnQ6YDGUGBiBgTVJO_x6WlYscU4NrL1LWzju-RNZGvVDjC9nDUI9f551YcDxTwg589JhFA39b3syv00lGZuzxniyp_1Ioap0CCAw1T3_mr__u4LHfdy8wibbfYn9-4AwUiL9psTPV_k/s320/Sears+Avalon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Heart of a Man<o:p></o:p></div>
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The distant crowing of a rooster pierced
the early morning silence. It was soon
followed by similar, shrill, grating cry as another barnyard herald joined the
fugue of the feathered symphony. Inside
the front room of a weathered house, a pile of quilts in the middle of a big,
old-fashioned, poster-bed began to unfold, and slowly assumed a more
recognizable shape. A few short strands
of matted red hair emerged from under the lumpy patchwork. Suddenly a freckled hand swept open the warm
cotton nest exposing a sparsely clad body to the filtered chill of the
room. Thirteen year old David Reins
slowly raised himself into a sitting position, and turned so his legs slid off
the edge of the bed, and dangled aimlessly as his mind focused on his
surroundings. He glanced through the
darkness and his eyes stopped as the luminous dial of the alarm clock came into
view. The hands were spread to read <st1:time hour="17" minute="0" w:st="on">five o’clock</st1:time>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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David knew his mother would object. Just in the last year she had become
extremely overprotective. David eased
his weight onto his bare feet. His hands
kept steady pressure on the rusty bed springs until he was in a position to
release them slowly and silently.
Everything had been carefully placed so it could be found easily without
the use of a light. His faded jeans, and
his old checkered flannel shirt were carefully draped on a short bench which
stood in front of the dressing table with its three arched-topped mirrors. His worn leather boots were directly beneath
the bench. From the top of each boot, a
thick wool sock hung like a large worm about to escape a tin can. David was almost ready. All he had left to do was to pick up the
canvas hunting coat, and the shotgun that stood by the dusty, old chifforobe
next to the door. The coat and the
shotgun belonged to his father who died just the year before. The coat was stiff and heavy. The shell slots in each pocket were full, and
the vinyl game pouch at the back of the coat still smelled of last year’s
hunting successes. David’s arms hung
inside the warmth of the sleeves which were several inches too long. He pushed them back in accordion fashion so
his hand could grasp the cold, blued-steel barrel of the <st1:city w:st="on">Winchester</st1:city> .12 gauge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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David opened the door and stepped outside. His eyes watered, his cheeks burned, and his
nostrils ached as he followed the white puffs of his breath through the
darkness. A November cold front was
moving across the southern countryside.
His boots crunched on the gravel in his grandfather’s driveway as he
moved toward the gap in the barbed wire fence that opened into the woods. David stopped at the gap. The roosters had stopped crowing. Everything was quiet. It was the silent time near dawn when
everything pauses to await the crest of the sun. His heart began to beat faster as he gazed
into the dark chasm formed by a large hickory-nut tree and some small pin-oaks
whose branches arched over the narrow path that led deep into the swamp of the
creek. Things were different; he missed
his father’s presence on the trail beside him.
David’s numb fingers fumbled in the pocket of his hunting coat as he
pried three of the new magnum plastic shells from their slots. He pressed two shells into the magazine, then
he moved the slide beneath the barrel all the way back, and with a quick,
forward jerk it slid back into position, chambering one of the shells. Even with a loaded gun, David still had
trouble getting his feet to move further down the dark pathway.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Soon he heard the gurgling of the creek
that signaled his arrival at the prime squirrel hunting area. David moved himself into position beneath one
of the decaying, hollow, hardwood trees that lined both sides of the creek. His listened patiently for the tell-tale
chatter of the gray squirrel. The
darkness faded with the rising of the sun, and David’s surroundings became
clearly visible. Suddenly the silence of
the swamp was broken by a bedlam of chatter.
David’s keen brown eyes turned skyward as they caught a slight movement
on a leafless limb of a nearby oak. The
fluffy tail of the fat squirrel moved slowly back and forth in a motion similar
to that of a metronome, as he barked indignantly at those who had invaded his
private play ground during the night.
David’s muscles tightened as he slowly raised himself and lifted the
heavy shotgun to his shoulder. His thumb
caught the exposed hammer and pulled it back into the cocked position with a
slight click. He gripped the large gun
as tightly as possible, and planted both feet firmly into the spongy soil. His arm extended full length down the dark
oil stained stock, and his forefinger stretched to make a slight arch around
the trigger. David moved the barrel so
that the silver bead at the end was centered on the squirrel’s body. His heart began to pound furiously, his face
took on a powdered appearance, and shiny beads of sweat appeared on his
brow. His finger nervously began to
pressure the trigger. The guttural roar
of the shotgun ruptured the early morning serenity of the swamp. David struggled to retain his balance as the
barrel spewed forth its contents and arched skyward. His ears rang, his shoulder throbbed, and his
nostrils were filled with the strong sulphur smell of burning gun powder. Beneath the tree, David could see a writhing
lump of gray fur. He moved quickly
toward his prize, pushing aside the underbrush as he went. He stopped and gazed down at the suffering
creature in sickening horror. The
wounded squirrel’s teeth were bared in pain, and his eyes focused momentarily
on the creature that loomed over him.
His hind legs moved in quick staccato jerks, and dark red drops of blood
oozed from the bristled fur that covered his body. David’s stomach retched, and twisted. He wanted to cry. The squirrel twisted again and stirred the
dry, spongy leaves. David knew that the
job must be finished. He had seen his
father do it dozens of times. He knew
the suffering had to be stopped, but now it seemed so brutal. He leaned his gun up against a tree, and
extended his trembling hand down, and grasped the warm underside of the
squirrel. He could feel the tiny
thumping beat of the heart, and see the rise and fall of the miniature chest as
it expanded against his fingers. He knew
if he was going to do it he couldn’t wait any longer. Carefully he placed the small head on the
exposed root of a nearby oak. David’s
jaw tightened. There was no time for
second thoughts as he raised his boot and slammed it forcefully down causing
the oak to resound with a muffled thud.
He glanced at the squirrel once more, sighed, put the squirrel in his
pouch, shouldered his gun, and headed home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-57377149881888670462017-10-03T19:21:00.002-05:002017-10-04T14:29:06.480-05:00The Season<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
The
Season<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sweat dripped off of
Roy Bond’s oily face. It glistened in the bright September sun. The temperature was still in the high 90s in
south <st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state>.
The registration line stretched from one end of the school to the other. The hallways were open and ran along the
exterior of the building. Roy was
leaning out to see how much further he had to go when someone stuck a
permission form in his hand. Turning, he
stared at the slender man with the crew cut.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Son, get you
parents to sign this form, and report to the field house tomorrow for a
football physical.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But…” His
stammering response fell short of the back of the man’s head. The speaker continued down the long line with
another man following close behind. They
were dressed alike in Khaki shorts and matching purple shirts. Both had whistles hanging from cords around
their necks. They sized up each male in
the line. If they had any size at all,
they repeated the short speech and handed them a form. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Golfview</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Junior High School</st1:placetype></st1:place>
opened its doors just two years before. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> stood in line to
register for the ninth grade. The school
sat between an affluent golfing community, Golfview, and the infamous <st1:city w:st="on">South Gate</st1:city>, a place where
the railroad tracks literally marked the boundary between the fortunate and the
unfortunate. A few kids, including <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>,
lived in a semi-rural area near the school.
Both of <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
parents worked and had no time for golf.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stared at the
form in his hand and wondered about the possibility of playing football. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
weighed 165 pounds, but most of it was baby fat. Very few kids in his neighborhood ever played
any organized sport other than baseball.
Still, the thought of putting on a football uniform and running onto the
field in front of cheering fans excited him.
Sweat continued to streak down his cheek as he waited in the slow moving
line, but <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
didn’t notice. He dreamed of stardom. In
the past, only the well-to-do kids played football at Golfview. The school win/loss record was dismal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That evening when his
dad got home, <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
gave him the insurance card and permission form. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Dad, can I go out
for football?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before he could
answer <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
mother said, “You’re in the band.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I could do both.”
He countered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ve never
played football.” She said, looking at her
husband for some support.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His dad was an
athlete: a champion boxer in the Navy. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> could sense that his
dad was on his side.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
remembered how his dad tried to prepare him for life. It all started in grammar school. He was too
young to start. He still had his baby
teeth. But there he was at school, back
against the wall, trying to avoid contact with strangers. A large boy stood in front of him looking
down at his upturned face. His stare was
unfriendly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you
looking at?” The large boy asked...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh, you look
sleepy.” <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently he took
offense at <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
retort and pounded him into a submissive blob.
This was his first encounter with a bully. His dad later told him that crying and
rolling into a ball was not an acceptable defense tactic. He tried to teach him
the “sweet science”, but <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
was left handed, and a bit of a bumble foot, so he progressed slowly and avoided
physical confrontation. By the end of
elementary school he gained some confidence, but, just when he began to feel
comfortable, Junior High School started.
The process had to be repeated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His dad looked at him
and then back at his mother. “Let’s let him tryout.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His mother turned
away in defeat. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> started in on the usual list of promises
related to what he would do if allowed to play.
Dad signed the form.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> stood in front of the
concrete block field house with a great host of other potential players. Three major groups huddled in separate areas
around the front steps. The kids from
Golfview community stood nearest the door.
Most of them had played before.
Another group from <st1:city w:st="on">South Gate</st1:city>
milled around in the shade of a nearby palm tree. This group smelled strongly of
cigarette smoke and Vitalis hair tonic. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> didn’t know the <st1:city w:st="on">South Gate</st1:city> kids very well
because he spent most of the last two years trying to avoid them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The new coach
stepped out of the field house and addressed them. “Men, line up and have your
signed forms ready when you get to the door.
After you pass your physical, report to the equipment room and check out
your pads. Practice will start this
afternoon at four. Bring your equipment
when you come.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He called them
“men”. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> felt tougher already. He rubbed his hand across his face to see if he
could feel a whisker. He thought for a second that he did, but realized that it
was only a pimple. Once through the door
they were told to strip down to their shorts. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> looked around to see how he measured up with
the rest of the guys. He thought maybe he
should order the Charles Atlas muscle building course after he got home. Once the poking and prodding behind the
curtain was complete, they redressed and picked up their equipment. All were fitted for a helmet, pads, a practice
uniform and game pants. They had to
provide their own jock strap. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> had never worn one before. He left with a hefty load of armor stuffed
into his football pants. He purchased a
jock strap at the local drug store on his way home. That was embarrassing. Now he stood in front of a full length mirror
and practiced putting it on over his pants.
He had a horrible vision of standing naked and afraid in front of
strangers and not knowing how to put it on.
Once he mastered his most basic piece of equipment, he worked on
figuring out the rest. The remainder of
the day whizzed by as he dreamed of flying tackles and crushing blocks. All of these delivered by him, of course.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was at the
practice field early. The Golfview physical
training area was a large sandy expanse covered with sand spurs and bounded on
three sides by palmetto, cabbage palms, and other scrub plants. The guys from Golfview subdivision were all
wearing matching shorts and tee shirts.
Some of the group from <st1:city w:st="on">South
Gate</st1:city> drifted into the brush on the other side of the
fence for one last cigarette. Roy and
his friends stood in between them. They
watched and waited for instructions. The
coaches held a clinic on how to properly put on the uniform. They told the players
where to buy their cleats and other gear not provided by the school. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The practice started with fifty and one
hundred yard time trials. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> ran as fast as he
could, but when the players were assigned, he was told to report to the
offensive line coach. . He didn’t know the difference between offense
and defense. He was just happy to be
there. The rest of the afternoon was
spent running. He had never run so much in
his life. His lungs hurt, his legs
shook, and his gym clothes were soaked and sticking to his body. Over the next few days they ran until they collapsed. The loose white sand made footing
difficult. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> hoped he wouldn’t give out. Some guys threw up across the fence at the
edge of the practice field. The heavier
smokers gave up on football altogether. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> stayed. His mother was disappointed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a week of
running, push-ups, jumping jacks, squat thrusts, and agility drills the coach
told them to report to the field in pads.
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> saw
the world for the first time from inside a football helmet. The curved nylon face mask looked like a
small ladder just below the level of his eyes.
The pads and other gear made him look like quite a physical
specimen. On the other hand it made the
really big guys look like giants. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> lumbered from the
field house with the rest of the team. The
metal tipped nylon cleats made an awful racket as they ran down the concrete
runway. The coaches and some of the
football dads made a wooden seven-man blocking sled. It was a behemoth. Seven players lined up in a three point
stance in front of the blocking pads attached to its front. On the coach’s whistle they lunged at the
great wooden beast slamming their shoulders into the pads and driving their
legs with short choppy steps. Because the
field was sand, and because the blocking sled was homemade, it rarely
slid. The runners of the sled tipped
forward and dug into the loose turf. The
linemen continued to drive with their legs until the coaches’ second
whistle. A large deep hole formed beneath
their cleated shoes as they strained against the immovable object. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
calves cramped and his thighs burned but he continued. He wasn’t going to quit. His pads got heavy as the cotton backing
soaked up the sweat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The offensive
line coach showed them how to make a proper block on a running play. He showed them how plays were diagramed with
X’s and O’s, and where they were to block based on the play called. After that, they learned pass blocking, keeping
their butts low and getting under their opponent. They practiced these moves over and over
again. Then the coaches called the
entire team back together for fumble drills and tackling practice. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
thought he was going to die. Every time he
thought it was time for practice to end they would start something else. In the early stages, they practiced
everything at half speed concentrating on their form. The coaches taught them to tackle with their heads
on the same side of the ball carrier as the ball. The wet pads picked up the grit from the
sandy field and rubbed them raw. Just
when <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> thought
he could go on no more, the coach blew his whistle and lined them up at one end
of the field. They were five or six
abreast and on the coach’s whistle they ran one hundred yard wind sprints. At the end of the field they got back in line
and repeated the drill. Before practice
was over, players were stumbling and falling down. Roy dragged his spent body to the showers and
stood under the soothing blast. He left his
equipment in the compartment with his name on it and headed home. He went to bed early that night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The following days
passed with the same intensity. The
strong stench of ammonia and body odor filled the locker room and increased
with each passing day. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> thought they could probably win if the
other team had to smell their pads before the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During the second
week, the coaches picked up the speed. They
added tackling drills at full speed.
Bull in the ring and head on tackling introduced <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> to the physics of two large objects
meeting helmet to helmet. He dreaded
tackling their big fullback, Mike Rains.
Mike weighed 180 pounds and had a
beard as heavy as that of any man. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
got up after some tackles looking out the ear hole of his helmet. If the offensive linemen missed a block, the
coach would make them run the ball with no blockers. Several times the coaches pulled up on the
belt of <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
football pants as he lay sprawled on the ground trying to regain his breath
after a collision. He was playing
football. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> was put into the lineup at Guard. He was the smallest man on the line. He often pulled away from the line on an end
run called to his side and led the running back around. Most of the players on the offensive and
defensive interior line were over two hundred pounds. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
had to try and hold them out on pass plays and block them on running
plays. His battered and bruised body was
evidence of his tenacity. He had been
run over, stepped on, cleated, kneed, poked, jabbed, and flattened, and this at
the hands of his own teammates. He wondered
what playing against other players might be like. The players from <st1:city w:st="on">South Gate</st1:city> were the toughest. They played dirty, and they enjoyed a good
fight. Some had earned nicknames; Benny
the biter, Knees Orton, Walrus, Scat.
Benny would bite the nearest leg or arm in the pile after a tackle. Once, in the tangle of the pile, he bit
himself, and spent the rest of the game trying to figure out who did it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day soon came
when the lineup for the first game was announced. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
was chosen to play first team offensive guard.
His mother rued the day when she had agreed to let him play. She believed he would probably quit before
the first game. His dad on the other
hand was quite proud. Central Jr. High
was the largest in the division and they had won every game they played in the
last several years. They were Golfview’s
first opponent. During the week before
the game the coach passed out the new purple game shirts with the gold
numbers. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> wore number 69. The Golfview Gators were ready to play.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The game was
played under the lights at the high school stadium. Most of the Gator squad had never been there
before, and most had never played under the lights. Their practice field didn’t have any markings
on it. The referees had to line them up
before the first kick-off. The Central
squad looked huge. They won the toss and
chose to receive. Coach Mays gathered
the Golfview players in a big huddle and gave them a pep talk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Men, their
return man is named DeAngelo and he is wearing number 32. All of you look for number 32. He is very fast. Hit him low, and hit him hard.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coach called <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s name for the
kick-off squad. All of the team joined
in a cheer that started low and got louder as they broke the huddle. “Gator bait, gator bait, gator bait….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
ran onto the field. He looked at the
other team and found number 32 near the goal line. He saw himself shedding blockers and plowing
DeAngelo into the turf in front of the cheering masses. The referee’s whistle blew and Golfview’s
kicker hit the football. It sailed
toward number 32. DeAngelo got the
football and started up field. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> could see nothing but
number 32. He was going to hit him
untouched. Just as he took his angle, <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> was hit by a crushing
cross-body block. He fell to the turf
and caught the top of DeAngelo’s sock with one finger. The running back high stepped and jerked
free. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> watched as he crossed the goal line at
the other end of the field. They made
the extra point, and the score was seven to nothing in favor of Central.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Golfview team
lined up to receive the kickoff. Ronnie
Massey, the scat back received the kick and ran it out to the thirty yard
line. On the first play from scrimmage,
Golfview fumbled the ball and Central recovered. On their next play, they scored another
touchdown. They missed the extra
point. The score was now thirteen to
nothing after three plays. Coach Mays
called a time out and the Golfview team ran to the sidelines. He didn’t call them men. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I didn’t bring
you here to have you lie down in front of the other team. You either get out there and stop them, or
I’m going to forfeit and take you home.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The team ran back on to the field. Roy and his team mates played an inspired game
after that. They even scored. At the end of the game, the score was Central
13, and Golfview 7. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the
season was a dream. Every team that the
scrubby little Golfview team played lost.
Central and Golfview met in the championship game. The scene was very similar to their first
meeting except that Golfview had something to prove. Roy’s dad and mom attended every game. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
even had a girlfriend who ran on to the field and hugged him when the final gun
sounded. The championship was a battle
from the first whistle. The ball went
back and forth between the two teams. At
the end of the final quarter, the score was Golfview 14, and Central 7. The clock continued to run during the final
two minutes. Central possessed the ball
and drove to Golfview’s five yard line.
The play gave them a first down.
The big Central full back pounded the center of the line. In three plays he was at the one yard line. A defensive guard for Golfview fell and had
to be carried off the field. Coach Mays
looked to the bench and called for <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Get in there and
seal off that gap. I don’t want anyone
to make it through. Is that clear?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes sir” <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> said as he buttoned
his chin strap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
got down in the awkward feeling four point stance of a defensive lineman. The center and guard across from him looked
huge. He watched the center’s hands and
moved when he snapped the ball. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city> lowered his butt and
pushed his body upward with all his strength wedging himself into the gap. Through the mass of grunting, pushing flesh
he could see the thighs of the big fullback coming straight for him. <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
lowered the crown of his helmet and strained forward with everything he
had. The knees of Central’s big fullback
hit <st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s
helmet and the runner fell just short of the goal line. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>
could not hear the cheers or remember what happened on the play. He awoke minutes later on the sideline with
his dad looking down at him and his girlfriend standing near by. His mother had already gone to the car. She just couldn’t stand to watch. Later he learned that he had held his
ground. Golfview won.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvJDBf25fmCFKC_77AUFLboCnANfgJNrtqJE7puqFR3TNS9_fEkLDO98-d46TaYFL-Tk46KkKR47p1ARV6alp-n4KqhFWaci3LyRUZCz5z66sd6sqAcvtQoQcRzttsVbhyVm8G1J2OC4/s1600/The+Season.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="400" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvJDBf25fmCFKC_77AUFLboCnANfgJNrtqJE7puqFR3TNS9_fEkLDO98-d46TaYFL-Tk46KkKR47p1ARV6alp-n4KqhFWaci3LyRUZCz5z66sd6sqAcvtQoQcRzttsVbhyVm8G1J2OC4/s320/The+Season.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<st1:city w:st="on">Roy</st1:city>’s dad, who was gravely ill, didn’t live
long enough to see another season, but sometimes one is enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-66526042462897085162017-09-30T06:36:00.000-05:002017-09-30T06:36:24.191-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuB9uztwLQZGzxVuNDObHc8C6CUi7pecqXYJhCDDpF3G_q0OKcj91txeYIG5xRhTWjOktZRGYck1pT7g-OR3FpOCa1N5jxNx3BdDxev_TmmKW6A8E_C1vfXvaQypBscD4iMNAXx8IOfs/s1600/Tollie+Clark%252C+Sandy+Little%252C+Charles+Mann%252C+Joe+Phillips%252C+Johnny+Barrett%252C+Hank+Brandis%252C+October+1959%252C+Chapel+Hill+Medium+Web+view-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="480" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuB9uztwLQZGzxVuNDObHc8C6CUi7pecqXYJhCDDpF3G_q0OKcj91txeYIG5xRhTWjOktZRGYck1pT7g-OR3FpOCa1N5jxNx3BdDxev_TmmKW6A8E_C1vfXvaQypBscD4iMNAXx8IOfs/s320/Tollie+Clark%252C+Sandy+Little%252C+Charles+Mann%252C+Joe+Phillips%252C+Johnny+Barrett%252C+Hank+Brandis%252C+October+1959%252C+Chapel+Hill+Medium+Web+view-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THE LAWSON
BOYS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Salty damp air smelling of pine,
honeysuckle, and magnolia, surrounded me most of the time. Huge live oak trees with gray ornaments of
Spanish moss shaded my world. Every road
seemed long. Trips in our old blue Ford coupe seemed to go on endlessly. My sister and I would lie in the rear
floorboard sweating, and listening to other cars zooming past on the two-lane
highway.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> It was 1952 and I was five years old. I planted my feet in the sandy soil of
coastal <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mississippi</st1:place></st1:state>. Our wooden frame house was gray. It seemed large at the time, but I later
discovered it was very small. We had no
television or air conditioning, so we played outside most of the time. When it got dark, our mother would call us
inside. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Johnny and Jimmy Myers lived next
door. They were older. They pretended to like me when I brought them
my dad’s tools or something to eat, but at other times they pummeled and
harassed me until I left crying. My best
friend, David Harper and his older brothers lived down the street. He was my age. His two older brothers were Thomas and
Boogie. John Henry Jones lived next door
to David. He was also our age. David, John Henry, and I played together most
of the time. The older guys occasionally
let us join them when they needed someone to do something stupid or
dangerous. They knew we would do
anything they asked to show we were worthy. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The sandy ruts we called a road ended a
short distance beyond my house at a pasture enclosed by a barbed wire
fence. If you walked the other direction
on our street you would run into pavement just before you got to town. We occasionally shuffled to town on our
summer toughened bare feet to get some treat from the grocery store, but most of
our activities took place between John Henry’s house and the woods at the back
of the pasture. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The woods were dark and swampy. The creeks and ditches there had black water
in them. Slimy things slithered beneath
the surface. Occasionally the older boys
would challenge us to wade into the black water and scoop out some wriggling
creature. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> John Henry, David and I occasionally went
to the switching yard at the railway station near town. We would walk along side the blistering hot
metal rails, and pick up loose spikes.
John Henry said it was our “doody” to turn them in. I guess, with a name
like John Henry, he felt an obligation to the railroad. He was too small to drive spikes, so I
suppose picking up loose ones was the next best thing. In the switchyard there were huge black steam
engines that hissed and chugged, covering themselves in billowing clouds of
white. We were a little afraid of
everything. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Afraid the bull or the cows in the pasture
would chase us if we got too close.
Noises in the woods made us run for home with goose bumps on our
arms. And, we were always afraid that we
would somehow get stuck on the railroad track when the train was coming. But, more than all this, we feared the Lawson
boys. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> We didn’t know where they lived or how
they ever found the pasture at the end of our road, but they did.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The older boys said they weren’t afraid of
them, but we all made preparations to fight them off if they ever decided to
cross into our territory.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The Lawson boys came to the pasture and
stared at us across the barbed wire fence.
They were dirty and their clothes were ragged. Their red hair was long and curly. We all had short hair. They had real big freckles. I had never seen them at school. Sometimes four would show up, but at other
times five came. They were all different
sizes, but we could tell by looking they were kin. They never smiled. We stayed in the road, and
they stayed in the pasture. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> My mother, who told us who they were,
said their parents hung out in Honky Tonks.
I didn’t know what that was, but mother said never to go near them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I asked Thomas Harper what Honky Tonks
were and he said that he would show me.
Thomas and Boogie took David and me on the center bars of their bicycles
and pedaled us by a couple.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> They were buildings with brightly painted
metal signs on them. The signs had words on them like “J-A-X”, and “P-A-B-S-T”.
The ground around them was covered in crushed oyster shells. The doors were open and loud music blared all
the way to the street. We could see
people sitting at tables. The Honky
Tonks were all lined up in a row across the street from the railroad tracks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I hoped that my mother wouldn’t see me, or
even hear that I had been there. I also
hoped that we didn’t run into the Lawson boys or their parents.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The older boys came up with a plan to
build two tree houses. They weren’t
really houses, just boards nailed between two limbs high up in a big tree. We nailed flat short boards to the tree
trunk to make a ladder. The boards were
just a little too far apart for my short legs.
I was scared when I climbed up to the platform. I was scared when I got there, and I was
scared as I inched my way back down.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The Myers had a big tree in their yard,
and there was another one at the end of the road. The branches of the one at the end of the
road hung over the pasture fence. Thomas
and Boogie said we should build one tree house in each tree.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The plan was to stock the slanted
platforms with rocks and sticks. The
older guys said that David, John Henry, and I should hide in the tree house at
the end of the road. When the Lawson
boys showed up, the older boys said they would lure them onto the road where we
could shower them with rocks and sticks. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Johnny, Jimmy, Thomas and Boogie would
then retreat to the other tree house and hold them off from there. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> My fear was we would run out of
ammunition and the Lawson boys would climb into our tree while the older guys
were still in their tree, too far away to rescue us. I imagined being captured by them, beaten up,
and taken to their house. I wondered
what would happen when their parents came home from the Honky Tonks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> We built the tree houses, stocked them as
planned, and spent many watchful hours waiting for the showdown. I had nightmares about it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Then one day they came back. John Henry saw them first and sounded the
alarm. David and I climbed into the tree
house at the end of the road. John Henry
soon followed. The older boys stood
their ground in the middle of the street.
When the Lawsons neared the fence, Johnny Myers called out and told them
to come over. He said he had something
to show them. They crossed the fence and
walked under our tree house. The older
boys turned and ran toward the Myers house just as we had planned. The Lawsons just stood in the road wondering
what was going on. John Henry, David,
and I unloaded on them with a shower of rocks.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Our aim was good and the Lawson boys took
a pelting. They scurried for the fence
and ran back into the pasture. We
climbed down and followed the older boys who had seen that we had stopped the
invaders at the first tree and were now giving chase. We crossed the barbed wire fence of the
pasture and ran whooping behind our retreating foe. Fortunately, no cows were out that day. We
chased the Lawsons until they disappeared into the trees on the opposite side
of the field. We all slowed down when we
got to there. Moving slowly from tree to
tree, we caught sight of the small plywood house that was covered in black tar
paper. The weeds grew tall right up to
it. We could hear several kids
crying. Creeping closer, we could see
the house better. Several skinny girls with red hair and ragged dresses were
looking at bumps on the heads of a couple of the boys who had crossed our
fence. The yard was full of old junk, a
rusted car, a broken washing machine, a metal barrel full of beer cans, and two
old stained mattresses. The inside of
the house was dark. I knew I wouldn’t
want to live there. We all decided that
we should go home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I didn’t feel good. I was sorry for them now that I knew where
they lived. Nobody felt good about what
we had done, but no one said much about it.
The older guys never told us how bravely we fought. If the Lawsons had
ever come back, we would have treated them differently. They never did. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I grew older, and sometimes wondered how
we could have been so cruel. We were just afraid, and like most kids, unable to
see how our actions would affect others.
Many more childhood episodes molded my character. But, our battle with
the skinny, red headed, Lawson boys was the first one where I came to a
conclusion about the consequences of my actions without being told by a
grownup. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I moved away from my friends shortly after
our encounter with the Lawsons, and did not return until I was an adult. The trees were much older, but didn’t seem
nearly as big as I remembered them. The bark on their trunks had grown around
the boards that we once used as ladders.
The road was short, and our house was very small. I imagined that the Lawsons had probably
never left, and might be in some nearby Honky Tonk.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-91494501552161417972017-09-29T07:53:00.001-05:002017-09-29T13:25:27.674-05:00On meeting someone of like persuasion.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgku6uZgKxTK3A-PrzMwOUFY7Dk4Rc5AhWRRYp7FSm1AQcI-sexn_mHQbTwePGefhD-2nZgJihB2r43dsuAcDZVdi1TS28DG88yfMQM3lKS8UAVAPeI5eJkEwtLmwxnAWoBwVWoqR0O4t8/s1600/cavemen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="590" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgku6uZgKxTK3A-PrzMwOUFY7Dk4Rc5AhWRRYp7FSm1AQcI-sexn_mHQbTwePGefhD-2nZgJihB2r43dsuAcDZVdi1TS28DG88yfMQM3lKS8UAVAPeI5eJkEwtLmwxnAWoBwVWoqR0O4t8/s320/cavemen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoTitle">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ON MEETING SOMEONE OF LIKE
PERSUASION<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">Greetings, </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">fellow
traveler,</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Out of sync with time and
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I know you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The searching in your eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The etchings on your face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Was our meeting happenstance?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or planned?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, life’s mysterious dance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I think the purpose of starting the re-blogging process was to reacquaint myself with my muse. I enjoy reading, and I tend to read authors and poets with work that somehow speaks to me on a personal level. I wrote the simple poem you see here many years ago to express this feeling. I have found that people may be different in appearance and background, but when we can glimpse their inner self we may find common ground. I will be sharing some background with you in the next few posts to give you an idea of my life experience. I think you will better understand my position on things if you know this. Then when I really start to opine on the current state of affairs, you can know why I hold the views I do. I started with the post on my friend David Rains because we had this type of relationship. I will be 70 years old next month, and I am feeling some urgency to share what I have learned. </span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-8236756694010536172017-09-28T20:24:00.000-05:002017-09-28T20:24:36.972-05:00The Return to Blogging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgmeMVWMATXH9Vl9O8EgYDkltfoLCuxssbQpwuIe5Ux6qGbV0Hy6n8A4cg61JvDYbhyphenhyphenr3Pacc1Hn3WFK4ylJZrk1nhxgW3VriBif7l7RFBqTOtUv743kAbQ1YGWV1N9HhxiYL4T0O3s0/s1600/David+Rains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgmeMVWMATXH9Vl9O8EgYDkltfoLCuxssbQpwuIe5Ux6qGbV0Hy6n8A4cg61JvDYbhyphenhyphenr3Pacc1Hn3WFK4ylJZrk1nhxgW3VriBif7l7RFBqTOtUv743kAbQ1YGWV1N9HhxiYL4T0O3s0/s320/David+Rains.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
I announced today on Facebook that I was returning to blogging. I have missed the exercise in expressing my views and creations with those who choose to read. I was reminded when I re-read some of my posts that many were influenced by my friendship with David Rains (deceased) of Pineville, LA. David and I met many years ago when he moved to Houston, TX following his first retirement. We were both in law enforcement, and we had both worked as private investigators. I liked him from the first day I met him. He had a brilliant mind and was extremely well read. I'm not sure, but I believe he probably had a photographic memory. David was a man of eclectic interests, so any subject that one might have an interest in, David probably had some salient commentary. We didn't always agree, but we talked until we were both satisfied that neither of us was budging on our convictions. David did not care for getting credit for his research and would often send it to me if I happened upon a blog subject that peeked his interest. I usually just said that the information came from my friend David with no further explanation.<br />
<br />
On April 21, 2014 David passed away from a hidden medical condition. I miss him. I will miss his input. I write this simple dedication to give him public credit for his contributions. Thank you David Rains.Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-44205890605547671962015-07-11T17:10:00.000-05:002015-07-11T19:03:07.194-05:00Reconstruction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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1865 - 1877 The time after the War between the States when military rule was in effect in the Southern states. I always think of the movie the "Outlaw Josey Wales" when the Confederate Commander, Fletcher, surrenders his troops to the Northern Senator and the Missouri Red Legs. After the troops surrender their arms, and are taking the pledge to the Union, they are shot down during the ceremony. Fletcher is appalled by the action. The following dialog occurs:<br />
<br />
Senator: The war's over. Our side won the war. Now we must busy ourselves winning the peace. And Fletcher, there's an old saying: 'To the victors belong the spoils.' <br />
<br />
Fletcher: There's another old saying Senator: 'Don't piss down my back and tell me it's raining.'<br />
<br />
I believe this fictional account may have captured a lot of the attitude of the warring factions following Lee's surrender. Here is David's researched account:<br />
<br />
"Some historians believe that if Lincoln had lived, there would have been no Reconstruction, and the Southern states would have been peacefully re-admitted to the Union to continue as before. Lincoln did make a number of speeches to this effect, but he also made speeches before and during the war declaring abhorrence of the idea of making war against civilians. After all, it was Lincoln's consistent position that the Southern states could not leave the Union, therefore they never had and the inhabitants thereof remained U.S. citizens. Nonetheless, this view did not prevent him from issuing orders, and by his tacit silence at other times, allowing the entire Bill of Rights to be ignored while he made war on civilians he considered U. S. citizens.<br />
<br />
Therefore, as his words and actions often did not jibe, we can only speculate what Lincoln might have done with the former Confederate states after the war though the strongest indications are that he might very well have allowed the former Confederate states to return to the fold with no further punishment. As previously noted, according to Sandburg, as well as others I have not mentioned, the one thing Lincoln was absolutely insistent about was that the blacks had to go.<br />
<br />
What actually happened is that after Lincoln's death, those who have come to be known as the Radical Republicans took charge of the government and for 12 years reduced the Southern states to political and economic servitude by taking control of their state and local government and most of their economy at the point of a bayonet. Railroads, banks, commercial shipping, and most all of the economy was taken over by Northern industrialists...these being the same Northern industrialists who decried slavery while working 'free' children as young as 8 years of age to death in their factories.<br />
<br />
Under the Presidential administrations of Andrew Johnson, who was helpless in the face of a Congress controlled by the Radical Republicans, and later for the two terms U. S. Grant, the Southern states groaned under absolute military rule. <br />
<br />
It is thought that race relations would have been much better if not for Reconstruction. The economic situation of a lot of blacks would certainly have been better. A large percentage of former slaves stated in a university study done in the 1920's and early 1930's that they were "better off in slave times."<br />
<br />
Contrary to the impression left by such books as 'Roots', there were thousands of free blacks in the South, particularly in the upper South and Louisiana, prior to the war. Many were farmers, but a significant number were blacksmiths, wheel wrights, and artisans of many types. With some exceptions, which varied state by state, they had all of the civil rights of whites except that they could not vote, and they lived peacefully with their white neighbors. After the war, returning white ex-soldiers found that their homes and farms were destroyed and their land and businesses often taken by northerners. As a result, they took many of the jobs previously held by the free blacks.<br />
<br />
If I may digress for a moment, I would like to illustrate how incorrectly this period and even the pre-war South are so often represented. I mentioned 'Roots' above as an example. In that book all blacks were slaves and suffered miserably. While slavery itself is an injustice, many slaves, as also noted above, felt that they were in better shape as slaves rather than having to fend for themselves. The huge number of pre-war free blacks is ignored altogether by most historians.<br />
<br />
It is interesting to note that 'Roots' was written by a black author from Tennessee, Alex Haley, and the work was hailed throughout the nation when it came out in the 1970's. He won literary prizes for the work, and was praised for the novel itself and the research which went into it.<br />
<br />
Not so much publicized is the fact that he was sued by the author of another fictional work entitled "The African" who stated that a good portion of 'Roots' was stolen from his book. Haley denied this, but lost the suit and later admitted to his plagiarism. Furthermore, genealogists and historians have proved the Haley's statements that the book's chief character, Kunta Kinte, was based on one of his ancestors are completely false.<br />
<br />
What we have here is a fraud of an author who wrote a plagiarized book based on the plot of another author, but whose depictions of the South and slavery are frozen into the minds of the millions who read the book and saw the mini-series. Prior to the war, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' had a similar effect. Lincoln referred to the author as 'the little lady who started this war.' Lincoln was always good at deflecting blame.<br />
<br />
Another little known fact is that almost 90,000 free blacks were enlisted in the Confederate Army. Contrary to the assertions of a few current, revisionist historians, they were not on the rolls as actual soldiers. Most were employed as teamsters with the remainder being cooks, wheelwrights, blacksmiths, etc. They were allowed to carry personal weapons and there are several documented cases of them voluntarily filling in the ranks during battles. Ironically, they were paid a full private's pay while black soldiers in the Union army were only paid half pay.<br />
<br />
The same type of misrepresentation is often found in history books when it comes to the Reconstruction period. Suffice it to say that the South was under total military rule for the period while at the same time northern commercial interests plundered it economically. <br />
<br />
I have found that Northerners of an earlier generation were often mystified at the feelings of anger held by Southerners toward them for many years after the war. It is my opinion that it wasn't the war so much as Reconstruction which caused the bitterness.<br />
<br />
My grandfather was born on the tail end of Reconstruction. He well remembered the Yankee soldiers riding out to his father's farm and stealing whatever they wanted whenever they felt like it. Remember, this was after the war.<br />
<br />
My grandfather was an intelligent man, a lawyer and an abstractor, but he never forgave and he never forgot the constant stealing of his family's livelihood and the humiliation of his father by not being able to stop it.<br />
<br />
Reconstruction is often portrayed as a period when yes, the Bill of Rights was ignored and yes, military rule was imposed on U. S. citizens, but it was all for good reasons. The first was to bring a still resisting South under control and the second was to integrate the freed slaves into society with the full rights and privileges which went along with their new citizenship. <br />
<br />
Balderdash.<br />
<br />
My studies have indicated that the vast majority of whites were saddened that they had lost the war, but accepted that fact and wished to return as quickly as possible to normalcy as a part of the United States. They also accepted the fact that slavery was done, though the majority could have cared less about that as they didn't own any slaves, but they were concerned about what to do with an enormous number of blacks. One thing they would not do was accept social or political equality with the black race. In this view Lincoln agreed with them.<br />
<br />
This latter view was not confined to the South. 200,000 Union troops deserted after Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. Only one Northern state I am aware of allowed freed blacks to vote prior to the passage of the 15th Amendment in 1868, Several others, among them Illinois, refused to even allow a black to enter the state. However, the Radical Republicans realized the political advantage these freed blacks could bring them as new voters, therefore allowing them to vote and bringing them into the Republican Party would greatly increase the power of the party and its leaders.<br />
<br />
The political leaders of the Republican Party knew they could not force their northern constituents to abide by the rules imposed on the South, and it didn't matter anyway as blacks only made up a tiny percentage of the Northern population. Therefore, they focused on the newly subjugated Southern states. Blacks were enfranchised and whites were disenfranchised. The South was treated as a conquered territory and the whims of the puppets running the state governments were enforced by military rule.<br />
<br />
It was not until 1877 that military rule ceased in the South and the people regained control of their state and local governments, but it was not until the 1950's that the South began to emerge from the economic ills brought upon them by the war and the subsequent Reconstruction period.<br />
<br />
To illustrate just how badly the South had been reduced to overall poverty by the war and Reconstruction, in 1860 six of the top ten states in per capita income in the U. S. were Southern
states. After the war and for the next 90 years or so the South ranked at the bottom of all of the states in per capita income.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-16180728823653507022015-07-11T08:48:00.000-05:002015-07-11T08:54:37.268-05:00Conduct Of The War<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In this segment of my postings on the War between the States, I will post David's synopsis of the actual conduct of the war. In particular, the role that Abraham Lincoln played in directing the actions of the Army of the North. We all have our own ideas about the reasons for the war, and these may or may not be altered by anything we read. I use a wide variety of sources in trying to make some sense of it all. I wonder if we have learned anything. 600,000 Americans died fighting each other. I fear the polarizing actions of men who continue to disregard our U. S. Constitution, combined with the moral slide in society, may doom us to repeat our history. This will be made easier if we are talked into removing the symbols of only one half of the conflict to satisfy a small portion of our under-informed populace. If Lincoln were judged by today's court of social media, would his historical mementos be removed from public view? You be the judge.<br />
<br />
"Lincoln held little respect for the Constitution, particularly the Bill of Rights. During the war he jailed over 30,000 people who disagreed with his policies. Most were not charged with specific offenses and in many cases, were given no reason for their incarceration. They had no trial and no recourse to habeas corpus, and most sat in jail for the duration of the war. Constitutionally, only Congress can declare a suspension of habeas corpus for American citizens and only in time of war (the idea that habeas corpus applied to anyone on U. S. soil whether citizen or not did not appear until the late 20th Century), but Lincoln initially did it on his own.<br />
<br />
Among those jailed were newspaper editors, journalists, members of the opposition party, virtually the entire legislature of Maryland, and thousands of regular citizens who were known or suspected of being opposed to his policies. He shut down hundreds of newspapers and periodicals, and ordered the Post Office not to deliver copies of hundreds of others thereby causing the papers' demise.<br />
<br />
He declared martial law for the duration in several Northern states, had the military shoot dead several hundred civilians in Chicago and New York who were rioting in protest of his Emancipation Proclamation and the draft laws, deported a U. S. Congressman for criticizing him in a speech in his home district, ordered the largest mass execution, 39 American Indians, in the history of the country, and generally during the war committed every single violation of law, restriction of individual freedom, and lack of respect for common decency attributed by Jefferson to King George in the Declaration of Independence.<br />
<br />
Lincoln ordered his many generals to take total control of the geographic areas they were assigned and make civilian government subordinate to them. For example, one of his generals in Missouri, a state which had not seceded, ordered the forced eviction of every living soul in three entire counties and part of a fourth. General Order 19, issued in Missouri banned the civilian possession of any kind of firearm for any purpose in the entire state of Missouri. General Benjamin F. "Beast" Butler hung a man for lowering the U. S. flag in New Orleans. <br />
<br />
Lincoln authorized General Sheridan to declare total war on civilians in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia by destroying every single man made structure and home, the seizure and/or burning of all crops, and the killing of all livestock that could not be used by the Army. Freed slaves were involuntarily conscripted by the thousands as unpaid laborers for the Union army. In a few cases in other states, even whites were forced to build earthworks against their will for the Union Army.<br />
<br />
Particularly after 1862, civilians were terrorized, shot, hung, and imprisoned for no legal reason. Several hundred women and children were seized in Georgia by Sherman and shipped off to the north to a concentration camp where most died.<br />
<br />
A number of women, the exact number is uncertain, were imprisoned in Kansas City because they were suspected Confederate sympathizers and/or because their men folk were "believed" to be fighting in the Confederate Army. Some were as young as thirteen. As in most of theses cases, there were no trials and no habeas corpus for these people. Many died when the building they were imprisoned in collapsed due to the foundation structure being undermined by Union enlisted men who built tunnels under the building for access to a neighboring whorehouse. The invasion of Lawrence, Kansas by Quantrell's guerrillas was a direct result of the deaths of these women, many of whom were related to Quantrell's troops.<br />
<br />
Atlanta was shelled mercilessly. There was no military reason for the shelling. It's only occupants were women, children, and old men after General Joe Johnston pulled out. When the Union troops finally rode into what was left of the town, the bodies of women and children littered the streets. When they left to continue their "March to the Sea", what was left of the town was burned. Virtually the entire state of South Carolina, even its lowland forests, was burned to the ground.<br />
<br />
In Vicksburg Mississippi, the Confederates defending the area were encamped in a wide ring outside the city. Repeated attempts by Grant's army to break the Confederate lines failed. Grant, with the permission of Lincoln, then began bombarding the city day and night with artillery and heavy cannon fire from gunboats.<br />
<br />
There were Confederate positions on the edge of the city facing the river, but most of the Southern troops were outside the city. Grant determined to lay siege to the city and shelled it as well as the Confederate positions. 22,000 shells from the gunboats' cannons and nearly twice that from artillery rained down on the city with no regard as to whether the targets were civilian or military. Civilians were not allowed to leave as per Grant's order though this fact is disputed by some historians because no written order has ever been found. For whatever reason, civilians were trapped. After two months of the siege and constant shelling, remarkably few civilians had died. Their city was destroyed, but civilians dug caves in the sides of the numerous hills, and ravines in the area and took shelter there. Though Grant could not break the Confederate lines, the Confederate commander decided the lack of food for his men,and the very obvious reality that no relief was coming made surrender the only viable course.<br />
<br />
All over the South looting by the Union troops was authorized and everything which could not be stolen was destroyed. Many elderly men and loyal slaves were hung or shot because they would not reveal where the family had hidden valuables. During the Red River campaign in Louisiana in 1863, over 50 gunboats were dispatched up the Mississippi River from New Orleans and then up the Red River, ostensibly to support the army's campaign against Shreveport. The campaign failed and the gunboats were never really utilized except for one thing. They were used to transport stolen cotton back to New Orleans where the generals sold it and pocketed the money.<br />
<br />
There was little rape of white women reported, but there were thousands of slave women raped by their 'liberators' while their officers looked the other way.<br />
<br />
The South was destroyed. One quarter of all of the white men in the South were killed or wounded during the war. While it made sense to destroy manufacturing centers, Lincoln's policy, in defiance of the recognized rules of war, as well as common decency, was also to make war on civilians. It is estimated that over 50,000 Southern civilians were killed during the course of the war. Hundreds of towns and cities were burned to the ground. Private homes were looted and then destroyed as a matter of policy. Courthouses, churches, public buildings of all kinds, farms, plantations, opera houses...all were destroyed as part of a scorched earth campaign. As previously noted, anything which was not stolen was, as in the case of livestock, killed, or as in the case of structures, burned. This policy caused many civilians, including slaves, to starve when their food supplies for the winter were carted off or destroyed.<br />
<br />
In some of the southern parishes of Louisiana were plantations owned by French nationals who chose not to take either side in the war. It didn't matter to the Union troops. The French homes were burned, some of the men were murdered, and all of their possessions either stolen or destroyed. After the war, the U. S. government paid reparations to most of these people, not because it was sorry for what had been done in the name of the U. S. government, but to pacify the French government.<br />
<br />
There were some interesting exceptions to the total devastation. Louisiana established the 'Seminary of Learning in Louisiana' in Pineville, Louisiana across the Red River from Alexandria, in 1853. It was primarily a military academy for men. The president of the institution was William Tecumseh Sherman. He had many friends who were plantation owners in the central Louisiana area and gave specific instructions during the afore mentioned Red River campaign not to burn their homes. As a result, there are an unusually large number of anti-bellum homes in this area which survived the war. Unfortunately, the city of Alexandria did not. It was burned to the ground though there was not military reason for such an act. Other than the homes specifically exempted by Sherman, a twenty mile wide strip of complete devastation was wrought for almost seventy miles through northwest and central Louisiana.<br />
<br />
In short, by the laws of war both then and today, Lincoln and many of his generals were war criminals. <br />
<br />
I say Lincoln and his generals because thy authorized the heinous crimes committed against civilians and their property. I have read letters by union soldiers of all lower ranks, both officers and enlisted, who were horrified by the actions taken against civilians and in some cases, they refused to participate. Enough did, however, and the South was laid desolate."<br />
<br />
<br />Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-7688502177651625502015-07-09T20:03:00.000-05:002015-07-09T20:05:39.370-05:00And Then There was Slavery.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We have come to the final component in the list of reasons that are proffered defending the necessity for Lincoln and his Federal army to invade the Southern states. I hope you have enjoyed this foray into un-sanitized history. I also hope that along with the Michael Medved piece from 2007, this serves to enlighten you. I further hope that it will explain why it is not necessary to ban inanimate objects that belong in our history. History is the story of our past, and it should remain complete whether good or bad. Once again, I thank my late friend David for his extensive research in this area. I still have David's thoughts and research on the conduct of the war and the period of Reconstruction after the war. Maybe we can post that at some later date. <br />
<br />
"And then there was slavery. Slavery was definitely an issue in the war, but it was never THE issue except for a tiny minority of Southern whites and Northern abolitionists. Lincoln himself said that he would not interfere with slavery if that was what it took to preserve the Union. He did not mention slavery in his call to war. At the beginning of the war, slavery was legal in Washington, D.C. As already noted Grant's wife and Father-in-law owned many slaves and refused to free them the entire time Grant was a Union general. Lincoln's wife's family owned slaves.<br />
<br />
It was not until the North appeared to be losing the war that Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. However, humanitarianism had nothing to do with his declaration. It did not free the slaves in Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, or Missouri. Nor did it free the slaves in those parts of the South occupied by Union forces. It only freed the slaves in those areas over which Lincoln had no control. It was intended to cause insurrection among slaves in the South and to disrupt the Confederacy on its home front. <br />
<br />
It didn't work except to establish a moral purpose for some individuals in the North for an immoral and illegal war.<br />
<br />
We can safely say that economic tyranny imposed upon Southern states by politicians subservient to northern industrialists, the invasion of Southern states by U. S. forces, and for some few, slavery were the three primary causes of the war.<br />
<br />
Four Southern states, Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas did not secede until after<br />
Fort Sumter. People in those times, in all of the states, considered themselves citizens of their state first and their nation second. When they were invaded by Northern armies they fought back...as illustrated by the young Confederate soldier quoted earlier.<br />
<br />
All of that said, I believe the single greatest cause of the war was Abraham Lincoln. He could have ended slavery with compensated emancipation as was done in England, Brazil, and numerous other countries. But, he did not attempt to avail himself of this option except in the Border States where he was rebuffed.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, Lincoln lobbied Congress during his entire term for the funds to round up every single black in the U. S. at the end of the war and ship them to Africa or the Caribbean. He did not intend to allow a single black to stay in this country. As part of the above mentioned compensated emancipation offered to the Border States, he added the provisos that the emancipation would be gradual and that the freed slaves would be deported. He had voiced and written his opinion that blacks were not generally the social or intellectual equal to whites many times, and apparently wished to rid the country of the freed blacks.<br />
<br />
For those of you who may doubt this little known fact of Lincoln's intention to deport all blacks, you can find his efforts in this area documented in great detail in Carl Sandburg's six volume biography of the man. Sandburg, from Illinois, was hardly a Southern sympathizer. <br />
<br />
Lincoln's agenda was to institute a centralized government which held total power over the states. Secondly, he wished to destroy free trade, thereby enriching his Northern businessmen supporters. As a result, he could not allow a state to secede, even though it was and is constitutional for one to do so, because this was the ultimate challenge to a powerful central government. He succeeded in these goals and was perfectly willing to sacrifice 600,000 Americans to achieve them."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://townhall.com/columnists/michaelmedved/2007/09/26/six_inconvenient_truths_about_the_us_and_slavery/page/full">http://townhall.com/columnists/michaelmedved/2007/09/26/six_inconvenient_truths_about_the_us_and_slavery/page/full</a> This is the Michael Medved link on slavery mentioned in the introduction.<br />
<br />Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-68826146983447730442015-07-08T22:34:00.000-05:002015-07-09T07:08:26.670-05:00Abraham Lincoln<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp91gDV1xHULyw519JQz20L24lNK7jGNaohxtpcLBOXmXvSxdG5an56pmWhcLFukA6Rs5y2dQ4z7gnDhlygFoUV2udMC0gVQsEne3PI5B7eevZpW1qzHCfpV3aect2UGJkLcQ4Ivrwp4/s1600/Abe+Lincoln.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp91gDV1xHULyw519JQz20L24lNK7jGNaohxtpcLBOXmXvSxdG5an56pmWhcLFukA6Rs5y2dQ4z7gnDhlygFoUV2udMC0gVQsEne3PI5B7eevZpW1qzHCfpV3aect2UGJkLcQ4Ivrwp4/s400/Abe+Lincoln.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
These photos are alleged to be Abraham Lincoln before and after the Civil War. Who was Mr. Lincoln and, was he a noble hero, or an opportunistic politician? As always, I ask you to decide for yourself. We cannot judge using our paradigm. We have been exposed to so much more information, and we have the luxury of hindsight. I think he, like all men, was a combination of both. Perhaps the South would have been spared some cruel and unjust treatment had he lived. We will never know. However, we do have a reasonable account of his politics. David continues his account based on his own research into the matter. What were the reasons for war and were they noble?<br />
<br />
"In the very early 1800's the Whig Party, of which Lincoln was a very active member until it imploded, was fighting to force U. S. capitalism to abandon free trade for mercantilism. Mercantilism is defined by one economist as follows:<br />
<br />
'A system of statism which employs economic fallacy to build up a structure of imperial state power, as well as special subsidy and monopolistic privilege to individuals or groups favored by the state.'<br />
<br />
This system relied on protectionism, which is legal protection from international competition through high tariffs and quotas. Nationalized banking and tax funded subsidies to politically connected businesses and industry are also key elements.<br />
<br />
So, what does any of this have to do with the war? For one thing, Lincoln had always, from the beginning of his political career, been a zealot for mercantilism. He gave speeches in which he said no product which could be made in the U. S. should be imported. The general concept of mercantilism is in direct contrast to the economic views of almost all of the Founders, including Jefferson and Madison.<br />
<br />
Lincoln's main objective was always protectionism for Northern manufacturers; buying votes with cheap federal land sales; and the purchase of even more votes and campaign contributions through a massive spoils system created by government subsidies to the railroad system.<br />
<br />
Mercantilism, and all of its aspects, was vehemently opposed by the South, and the South had good reason. Almost 80% of the burden to the economy caused by the tariffs fell on the Southern States. The South imported and exported far more than the North from 1840 to 1860. The tariffs protected the northern industrialists and punished the Southern agrarian and shipping society.<br />
<br />
In his first inaugural address, Lincoln stated that he would invade and militarily enforce the tariffs on any state which did not collect them on imports. He meant it and the South knew it.<br />
<br />
Keep in mind that at this time in our history, the government of this country was organized and run as the Founders intended. All powers not specifically granted to the federal government, and they were few, were reserved exclusively to the states. The states considered themselves independent, sovereign entities which were voluntarily bound together by the Constitution which granted certain, limited powers to a federal, not a national government. <br />
<br />
Lincoln believed none of this as I will illustrate later. Her believed in a powerful national government to which the states were subservient in all things. That's where we are today and it was Lincoln who began the transformation...but he had to do it by force of arms.<br />
<br />
At that time in our history, succession was recognized by most citizens as a right of any state. Madison, the author of much of the Constitution confirmed this right. Three states, New York, Virginia, and Rhode Island, specifically reserved this right in writing when they joined the original Union. Lincoln himself apparently believed in secession when it suited him as he broke part of Virginia off and created West Virginia without observing any of the constitutional requirements for doing so. On the other hand, he proclaimed all secessionists as traitors when it suited him to do so.<br />
<br />
Lincoln forgot Jefferson's words in the Declaration of Independence stating that '...governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; [and] that, whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it.'<br />
<br />
Secession was not really an issue in the North until Lincoln made it so. This was not a civil war. No seceding state, nor the Confederate government, wished to overthrow the U. S. government. They merely wanted to go their own way and be left alone.<br />
<br />
The idea that these states could secede was recognized by most legal scholars, jurists, and the media in the North even as secession occurred. However, Lincoln declared it illegal and enforced his opinion with the military."<br />
<br />
<br />Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-83033215861119601612015-07-08T07:25:00.000-05:002015-07-08T07:27:27.490-05:00Let's Talk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEza49lxeWCnIY-qQ1jTxG3LWrwtDoXqPm20YE1_TZrQV1yXXthNFR0Vc8XXcatdHIkcmj1bdW3RWWMJf_c70qNCDULSbj_BWD3GzWNOvaiEWvuYfa0gkfyH6IVr8phuzh0nIZXpPkq54/s1600/chapman-fort-sumter-flag-granger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEza49lxeWCnIY-qQ1jTxG3LWrwtDoXqPm20YE1_TZrQV1yXXthNFR0Vc8XXcatdHIkcmj1bdW3RWWMJf_c70qNCDULSbj_BWD3GzWNOvaiEWvuYfa0gkfyH6IVr8phuzh0nIZXpPkq54/s320/chapman-fort-sumter-flag-granger.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We are now in a serious situation in regards to our freedom of speech and expression in this country. If you are not an ardent supporter of the unsupported liberal bias on any given subject, you may be told that you cannot air your differences without recompense. My good friend David, who was featured from time to time on this blog, was a serious historian. I say "was" because he passed away last year. I am using some of his well researched commentary on the subject of what we have been told was a Civil War. I think he would have wanted me to remind you amidst this controversy over one of our country's historical symbols. Wars are fought for a variety of reasons, some noble, some not. In efforts to rally the citizens around a cause, our politicians proffer noble reasons for engaging in armed conflict. We the citizens may not be aware of the ignoble reasons that are the real reasons for the conflict. History has a way of sanitizing the facts to support the actions of those who claim victory. I am parsing David's work for brevity. <br />
<br />
David writes: "As we are observing the commemoration of the War for Southern Independence, referred to in the North as the Civil War, or the War of the Rebellion (neither of which it actually was), I offer these thoughts and observations."<br />
<br />
Causes of the War: Contrary to what you may have been taught, the war had less to do with slavery and more to do with economics and states' rights.<br />
<br />
When Lincoln called for war, he did not mention slavery, but gave as his reason for attacking the states which had seceded as being the noble cause of preserving the Union...ignoring the fact that the Union would have been perfectly preserved, just smaller, if the seceding states had been left alone.<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, "preserving the union" was what most of the Union soldiers fought for. I have personally read over 100 letters and diaries of both Confederate and Union troops, and not one of them mentioned preserving slavery or abolishing slavery as the reason they were fighting. In fact, there was a great deal of animosity toward slaves in general and blacks in particular in the Union boys' diaries.<br />
<br />
The Confederates felt that they were being invaded by forces which had been causing them economic misery through high tariffs for almost 60 years. After all, it is estimated that 92% of the Confederate soldiers did not own a slave and were not interested in owning a slave. The vast majority were small farmers and they darn sure wouldn't fight and die for someone else's slaves. State' rights and the resistance of tyranny were the reasons given almost exclusively by the Confederates.<br />
<br />
Shelby Foote writes about the long, tall Confederate private captured during the war. A Union officer asked him, "Why are you fighting? You are not rich. You don't own any slaves. You are just a small farmer."<br />
<br />
The young Confederate looked the Union officer up and down, turned his head and spat out some tobacco juice, looked back at the officer and responded, "Because y'all are here."<br />
<br />
As an aside, it is interesting to note that General U. S. Grant was the slave overseer on his Father-in-Law's plantation prior to the war and Grant's wife refused to free her slaves until she was forced to after the war by the 13th Amendment."<br />
<br />
I will cover Lincoln and his reasons for declaring war in subsequent posts. I hope you will follow this series and learn some things that aren't taught by those who only teach from the book of "Historical Liberal Talking Points".<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-70173511196706483312015-02-03T07:56:00.004-06:002015-02-03T07:56:46.948-06:00Armadillo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlKUm3XpJtMpPyQ0skVbQKpq8xCTKVADaJKvdnffZbowWuf29qtY5Zhy1BLEpHGdKpOkiUdjwied52WN_1tuVcHmR3AGO6A_PWuEDkuCi-5FoMB6_5HBdoGvfzP-o884iB2tyg8Mrr04/s1600/Armadillo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlKUm3XpJtMpPyQ0skVbQKpq8xCTKVADaJKvdnffZbowWuf29qtY5Zhy1BLEpHGdKpOkiUdjwied52WN_1tuVcHmR3AGO6A_PWuEDkuCi-5FoMB6_5HBdoGvfzP-o884iB2tyg8Mrr04/s1600/Armadillo.jpg" height="268" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>ARMADILLO</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plated ‘possum.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ancient life form.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You jump up when you should run.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Couldn’t see that semi coming,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
now lie baking in the sun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-90361919336874212882015-01-28T05:52:00.000-06:002015-01-28T05:56:34.255-06:00Cowboys at Dusk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtrjbHVzsZCR9nKq3LJUiM8zbHZmyycpL1QHmMccdW9qXVseUQFSOQ-1M4G6Zsf3o5_phLVYBpHDf2pyrXpPQVMQ9g4ehxy3jqEiYwrikEHFxZCj66Ae2vik7vkW9PvKnr7PKHGN2G1A/s1600/sunset-cowboys-2-more-grnd-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtrjbHVzsZCR9nKq3LJUiM8zbHZmyycpL1QHmMccdW9qXVseUQFSOQ-1M4G6Zsf3o5_phLVYBpHDf2pyrXpPQVMQ9g4ehxy3jqEiYwrikEHFxZCj66Ae2vik7vkW9PvKnr7PKHGN2G1A/s1600/sunset-cowboys-2-more-grnd-copy.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> <u>COWBOYS <o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">High atop the mesa<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">cowboys sit in restful pose<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and watch the sun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">slide down the western sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Purple, pink, golden hues<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">bathe<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">bleak and rugged scenes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">in ever changing show<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">from dusk to night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In saddles, worn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">On ponies, tired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">They sit in awe as stars
appear <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and know,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">why they,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">are richer than most men.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
</div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-83058520464966847012015-01-22T07:30:00.002-06:002015-01-22T07:30:39.618-06:00Epiphany?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Epiphany:
A sudden realization about the meaning of something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">No.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
the rising sun <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">blasting
through the frosted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">glass
on the east wall of my bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
can feel it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
move slowly and take in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the
aroma of coffee <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">as
it rides the currents<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">from
my kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
listen to the quiet <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">electronic
hum<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">coming
from the vents in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">my
ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
stir and sense the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">softness
of warm sheets <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">on
exposed skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.1in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dennis Price <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-26238459710128730382015-01-20T22:21:00.001-06:002015-01-20T22:21:57.636-06:00Stars in the City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm17YyJCow-4o4UXY3oVrCSDzFKe8EYwajZ1QcKIHV8rKgWNE0QJf5iEdI8EPaZjz2MKHIz5CPVV0guSlIvpycGNupd9ZSRSsYZqGLSoD5whQcHpxg-PQFumWV15zpR9EUvVaeBr6-PhA/s1600/stars+in+the+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm17YyJCow-4o4UXY3oVrCSDzFKe8EYwajZ1QcKIHV8rKgWNE0QJf5iEdI8EPaZjz2MKHIz5CPVV0guSlIvpycGNupd9ZSRSsYZqGLSoD5whQcHpxg-PQFumWV15zpR9EUvVaeBr6-PhA/s1600/stars+in+the+city.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
In the city, the light from the street lamps and buildings often obscures the stars and moon. This Haiku was written on that subject.<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Above the street lights<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
the muted dome stands silent<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
beauty rarely seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-90726051949944627712015-01-12T17:04:00.000-06:002015-01-12T17:04:34.628-06:00Totem Poles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeN-DqpgkMLz3yXwChWH0HI_78h2y7H7Qo6p1l5Uru8kxbpqGAeGS7HFbkmVUXaaFRm0dIgwECg9E2ue-dut52O2qzOhucth3Z8lOD7FV9Egm9toNte9N0ToNelX2mjLRgwQFOnjBOvU/s1600/totems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeN-DqpgkMLz3yXwChWH0HI_78h2y7H7Qo6p1l5Uru8kxbpqGAeGS7HFbkmVUXaaFRm0dIgwECg9E2ue-dut52O2qzOhucth3Z8lOD7FV9Egm9toNte9N0ToNelX2mjLRgwQFOnjBOvU/s1600/totems.jpg" height="321" width="400" /></a></div>
Several years ago, Barbara and I went to Alaska. While there we saw several sites where totem poles were displayed. It is an ancient way of recording the family history of mostly Northwestern Native Americans. I found the explanations interesting, but most of their interpretive data came from folks generations removed from the original artisans. I wrote the following poem to convey my impressions.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in;">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stake Your Totem<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Chop the tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Carve the wood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Tell the story of your clan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stake your totem <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">on the seashore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">hoping all the world will see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Who will be left<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">when others pass <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">to pass the epic on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Unlock the past<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">without a key?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Learned men<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">will cogitate,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">extrapolate, and pontificate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But, in the end they speculate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.3in; tab-stops: 320.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-17614042602038647562015-01-10T06:35:00.000-06:002015-01-10T06:36:02.113-06:00Haiku<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDthyphenhypheniXElfw-nGsykV1CoQIhUTo6-hN5cbWzAHj8ziJMTsvuk8AiZmiESP8zePOJQEyQV28o3O8S1_Rt0EfMCTTTEs2iAFFimSzj226QdJGYzNBElPYAdUb9AX645EhPJdZkS6cKfgz5o/s1600/autumn-leaves-forest-trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDthyphenhypheniXElfw-nGsykV1CoQIhUTo6-hN5cbWzAHj8ziJMTsvuk8AiZmiESP8zePOJQEyQV28o3O8S1_Rt0EfMCTTTEs2iAFFimSzj226QdJGYzNBElPYAdUb9AX645EhPJdZkS6cKfgz5o/s1600/autumn-leaves-forest-trees.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;">Haiku</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;"> is one of the most important form of traditional Japanese poetry. </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;">Haiku</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;"> is, today, a 17-syllable verse form consisting of three metrical units of 5, 7, and 5 syllables. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;">This is a Haiku form using three poems on a related theme all starting with the same first line. I wrote it as a commentary on life. I hope you enjoy. Remember, read all poetry aloud for maximum effect.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.8400001525879px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twisting leaf in wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Green, it moves with limb and twig<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
youth has strength to spare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twisting leaf in wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Red, it leaves its lofty perch<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
color to be seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twisting leaf in wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brown, it’s blown from place to place<o:p></o:p></div>
no one knows it’s there.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dennis Price</div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-3197850073313596352015-01-08T11:55:00.000-06:002015-01-08T11:55:08.470-06:00Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisi9m8EovHsBLNEIADRgoZQeTZ5ziypCNQmNXE26PXM6Qptb-wHmUnpX2A4EhVLU6oZlqy4OlwTycAwgqJazEWYWkpx2cfzsFe7iVtlXGLnGUscAVjpqfOOd2OvTxdEezS3_WPX6kedYg/s1600/winter_cold_river_1920x1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisi9m8EovHsBLNEIADRgoZQeTZ5ziypCNQmNXE26PXM6Qptb-wHmUnpX2A4EhVLU6oZlqy4OlwTycAwgqJazEWYWkpx2cfzsFe7iVtlXGLnGUscAVjpqfOOd2OvTxdEezS3_WPX6kedYg/s1600/winter_cold_river_1920x1200.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
It is in the 40's here today, but the windchill is much lower because of the wind. I just went walking and my cheeks are still burning a little. I know many of you are in the minus figures today. I know of no better time to post this poem than now. I hope you enjoy "Winter".<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <u>WINTER<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Autumn’s colored splendor
fades away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s coming; I hear the north
wind’s song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Bare branches stand against a
canvas gray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Days shorten; nights become
too long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Cool, crisp, sharp, raw,
blue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Varied harshness marks its
passing here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Weak ones sometimes do not
make it through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">At times, it also brings the
strongest fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Blinding brightness – Snow is
on the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Icy crystals bend the straining
bough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Silence broken by its
tinkling sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Surreal, it manifests its
beauty now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The rudeness of its entrance
dims at last<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Warming gentle breezes bathe,
heal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God’s paints upon this dismal
scene are cast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">From dormancy, a new life to
reveal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-83355930456031826422015-01-07T16:21:00.000-06:002015-01-07T16:21:09.115-06:00The Old Coot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I get up with aches and pains and realize that I have been outdistanced by technology, I think of a poem I wrote some years ago. I hope you can relate.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">No More Vent Windows<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
drove through the historic district <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and
realized I grew up there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">At
a recent business meeting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">a
young associate said,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Pawpaw,
I think that’s your beeper going off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A
guy cut me off in traffic today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
called him a “moron”,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">but,
realized by modern standards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">it was
not harsh enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In
my younger days <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
would have chased him down<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and
jerked his pointy head through <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the
vent window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are no more vent windows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.9in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-37544172339954369412015-01-05T08:50:00.001-06:002015-01-05T08:50:40.054-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJljTN-d6HY0-grwMFM8DejmUDcSN2b7VU8Y7BepdDaYNQUfidliSXLxaVB2ATGKSbTN_ZlwIx5AZwXmlqzf0x8Yq9SCfRnaOg9SWwcoI-cZmiU9TTJ_Ug39b-HZYMWtBt8qBXVgPV6K0/s1600/Francha+Cavitt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJljTN-d6HY0-grwMFM8DejmUDcSN2b7VU8Y7BepdDaYNQUfidliSXLxaVB2ATGKSbTN_ZlwIx5AZwXmlqzf0x8Yq9SCfRnaOg9SWwcoI-cZmiU9TTJ_Ug39b-HZYMWtBt8qBXVgPV6K0/s1600/Francha+Cavitt.jpg" height="311" width="400" /></a></div>
This is a painting by Francha Cavitt called "Tenderness".<br />
<br />
As you continue to work in your planners for the new year, here is a poetic thought to influence your priorities.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Life’s Little Pleasures<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We plan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We save.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But life is seldom as it seems.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A germ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A gene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A wayward act.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Can throw perceptions off their track.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A tender word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Can let us know we’re not alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That other’s dreams have not come true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Life is life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So on we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Not so sure of what’s in store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But fearing less that great unknown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Enjoying “little” more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzAcv_9skP-EWw023MNLBveo_Xpm2oHMlx1Mor5LqPkm0N0OrkcER8D5gsWdgcQTF_g-6aa9ig8ypz74KcL6MgFbjozXmQclMIOXxzlwdoQwANTtwPVO9SoRNMx6gMtA1hfBAwrugvsE/s1600/tenderness.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzAcv_9skP-EWw023MNLBveo_Xpm2oHMlx1Mor5LqPkm0N0OrkcER8D5gsWdgcQTF_g-6aa9ig8ypz74KcL6MgFbjozXmQclMIOXxzlwdoQwANTtwPVO9SoRNMx6gMtA1hfBAwrugvsE/s1600/tenderness.gif" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-12766544401094902092015-01-04T06:36:00.002-06:002015-01-04T06:40:35.745-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-c-LIJngVYh5occTq-Hdp2pfAnP2ox6SszbZKF6xFxEisZ4cK6i-h5brtHQvfmGYVh71x8IfSjESPEaot2syr1h4yWdVS9AjS3yqgca9achI9EObWBEVd2KUjj58DVU8wYjT1T1xgIr0/s1600/Simple+living.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-c-LIJngVYh5occTq-Hdp2pfAnP2ox6SszbZKF6xFxEisZ4cK6i-h5brtHQvfmGYVh71x8IfSjESPEaot2syr1h4yWdVS9AjS3yqgca9achI9EObWBEVd2KUjj58DVU8wYjT1T1xgIr0/s1600/Simple+living.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">"Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don't work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are." Luke 12: 27,</span><span class="p" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <u>NOT IN THINGS<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Accumulating wealth won’t satisfy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They are not ours these things we seek to gain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But all are gifts delivered from on high.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And apt to leave us quickly as they came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So we should love more,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">pray more, share more<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">with our neighbors<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">as we’re blessed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thanking God for all that he has given.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Food and shelter as he sees we need it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Teaching us the meaning of contentment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Accumulating wealth won’t satisfy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 117.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-69799669935634999282015-01-03T08:41:00.000-06:002015-01-03T08:41:09.048-06:00The New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtgkfjFH4NiIrEsatGb8P4T54_0l1WrliFe6nQqqBQMW_kLtr_sX2lJkFMP1Ylki9dlfSadc3ZFlg8oUMC16VyOSzeFdJxfyvGYnDpUqQmIKTgvFClgKyTpD_RVGn1j6fGd-UGlWnZmM/s1600/Tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtgkfjFH4NiIrEsatGb8P4T54_0l1WrliFe6nQqqBQMW_kLtr_sX2lJkFMP1Ylki9dlfSadc3ZFlg8oUMC16VyOSzeFdJxfyvGYnDpUqQmIKTgvFClgKyTpD_RVGn1j6fGd-UGlWnZmM/s1600/Tractor.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
Greetings to those who choose to stop by for a read now and then. Happy New Year 2015. It has been a while since I visited my blog too. It is already the 3rd of January and I'm still trying to get started with a renewed program. I hope all went well for you this year. I have been blessed. I found a poem from times past and I re-wrote it. I do this on occasion to get my creative juices flowing. I hope you can relate. Remember to read all poetry aloud. It enhances the experience.<br />
<br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Aging Memories</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A century old sage<br />
on his old Farmall cub<br />
strokes his gray stubbled beard<br />
stained with tobacco juice.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Everything’s changed<br />
Ain’t nothin’ the same<br />
‘cept the tractor,<br />
the house,<br />
and the barn.”<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">He grins and spits.<br />
“Got no teeth, but still chew.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
His old red tractor<br />
chugs, sputters, and squeaks<br />
much like he does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
Slowly, memories come.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Memories of childhood<br />
clearer than yesterday.<br />
The house as it once was.<br />
His life as a young man.<br />
Those in his family now<br />
all passed away.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Everything’s changed<br />
ain’t nothin’ the same<br />
not the tractor,<br />
the house,<br />
or the barn.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.2in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.2in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Dennis Price</span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-31668451786979579802014-07-14T08:38:00.001-05:002014-07-14T08:41:13.013-05:00Reflections on Sunday.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here is a short ditty I wrote several years ago. It is not a commentary on my current pastor, but rather a commentary on the human condition. Church can be a quiet place, and if you happen not to be in tune to the message on a particular Sunday, you might find yourself drifting off.<br />
<h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></u>
<u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">NOT SO SPIRITUAL STRUGGLE<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
</h1>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today
in church<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">my foot went to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The sermon was long<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and not real deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The rest of me was struggling
too,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">but only my foot went to
sleep.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1648308601523670977.post-87832878482065879182014-07-13T08:25:00.000-05:002014-07-13T08:30:06.704-05:00Sunday Reflection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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It's Sunday. I choose to take time out today to go and worship God. I hope you do also. Reflection on those things that are only known by faith are sometimes lost in the constant flow of other information. When we are forced to stop for a while and unplug from the repetitive drone, we can often enjoy life at a level we may not have felt since we were children. I was fortunate to be in an area with few clouds as the full moon came up last night. It was spectacular. I wrote this poem years ago to try and put into words one of those "aha" moments. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><u style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">GOD’S PEBBLE</u><br />
<u style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></u>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">There
was a man upon life’s road </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">who rarely wavered from his
task,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">walked with purposed step and
true,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">until a pebble found his
shoe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And once inside, the pebble
wore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">upon his foot till stop, he
must.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">While kneeling down to get
the stone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">he saw a world he’d never
known.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">On his left he saw the sea,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">breathed salt air, felt the
breeze,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">heard the crash of waves on
sand,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">felt a presence, not of man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">On his right huge mountains
rose<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">rugged peaks, towering trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A pristine lake, reflections
bore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">that magnified God’s
bounteous store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He took the pebble from his
shoe,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">once more started on his way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But, stopped and looked from
time to time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">as God’s small pebble came to
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dennis Price</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Pappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13118854996343714131noreply@blogger.com0