How well I remember the Model “A” Ford. The first automobile that I can recall my family owning. A black, box-like, two-door sedan, powered by a four cylinder engine which provided our transportation for many years.
It sat regally, on 19 inch wire wheels with a spare attached to a horn-like mount at the rear of the body. In a day when power was not as important as efficiency, the fuel tank located in front of the windshield, gravity fed the up-draft carburetor. This eliminated the need for a fuel pump.
These innovations, combined with the four cylinders and a manual three in the floor transmission was adequate to propel the vehicle at an accepted speed of around 35 /40 miles per hour.
Starting the car was more complicated than merely turning a key. Mounted on each side of the steering column were two levers. The left lever was the spark and the right was a manual accelerator. These levers must be operated in sequence.
If the battery was charged, the first order of business was to turn the key to the on position. The spark lever was then raised to reduce the compression of the engine. Then the accelerator lever was lowered and with the right foot depressing the starter button, located at the junction of the floorboard and the fire wall. The right hand must then reach for and pull the choke rod, located in front of the passenger seat. After the engine fired, the spark lever was lowered to smooth the idle of the engine.
If the battery was dead, starting the car required two persons. While one manipulated the controls, the other inserted a manual crank through a hole just under the radiator and turned the crankshaft. If, by chance, the car was parked on a hill, manual starting could be accomplished by allowing the car to roll, placing the shift in second gear and popping the clutch.
Access to the rear seat was easily accomplished since the original bucket seats in front could be folded twice to allow for unencumbered entry. Many a young person learned to drive at an age when it was necessary to fold the back rest of the drivers seat down in order to see through the windshield.
Although not provided as standard equipment, an accessory was available in the form of a manifold heater. This was simply a metal hood which could be attached to the manifold of the engine. The end nearest the Radiator Fan was bell-shaped and allowed air to be forced over the manifold, to be warmed and directed through a hole in the fire wall on the passenger side and into the car. However, this was much less efficient than the rest of the vehicle; therefore, winter travel required the use of comforters or warm clothing.
Maintenance usually was provided by the owner and was simplicity itself. It has been said that the Model A could be kept in tip-top condition for years with only a pair of vise-grip pliers and a coil of hay-bale wire.
Unlike today’s jammed engine compartments, every part of the engine could be easily accessed. An occasional grease job, a few oil changes and sporadic spark plug changes were pretty much the extent of required maintenance.
Although not as comfortable as our modern vehicles, the Model A served its owners well. Comparatively speaking, this vehicle was much more of a value at a cost of around six to eight hundred dollars than today’s everything automatic, computerized, automobiles.
I would gladly purchase a new Model “A” today and spend the rest of the 20,000 dollars plus, that is the price charged for today’s automobiles, and proudly go chug-a-lugging along the nation’s highways. I am not in that big of a hurry anyway.
Of course, I would expect the price to be in the $600.00 – $800.00 range.
Demijon
If Pigs could vote; the man with the Slop Bucket would be elected President. Dj.
September 3rd, 2010
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Want to drive someone crazy? Just mention to them that regardless of what other people say about them, you like them.
If the person possesses a sense of humor, the reply could be a mere “thank you;” however, in many cases the suspense will be too great and they will ask, “What DO other people say?”
I have used phrases like this for years when conversing with friends and sometimes with strangers. Reactions have differed, but no one has been seriously offended by the remarks.
I enjoy watching expressions change when one is caught off guard. For instance, as a window clerk with the United States Postal Service, it was my job to serve patrons with their postal business. One thing that I frequently resorted to was when a customer asked, “May I please have a book of stamps?” I would stand, stoned faced, arms folded, and reply, “NO.”
The expression on their faces would immediately change. Some would show anger, some would smile, but all would react. Only when I assured them that the remark was made in jest did they take it in stride. There were very few times when the situations became a serious nature. On those occasions, I was called on the carpet and slapped on the wrist for my infraction of the rules.
For the most part, I thoroughly enjoyed my contact with people through this profession. There were instances which I had just as soon forget, but most were pleasant. I even acquired some lasting friendships from these contacts.
Retired now for many years, I still enjoy the needling of acquaintances with these half-truths. Most friends realize what it is that I am seeking and refuse to show the reaction for which I hoped. They’ll show me. They all know that my bark is worse than my bite.
My thinking is that it would be a pitiful world indeed if there was no mirth shown by anyone. We have only one short trip through this life and the enjoyment of it should be a must” for all of us.
Try it. I’m sure that you will like it. If you cannot bring yourself to do so, remember: “Little things like this is precisely why folks don’t like you!”
Demijon
Some 60 years ago; I married Miss Right. I didn’t realize then that her first name was ALWAYS. Dj.
September 3rd, 2010
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Deputy Sheriff Jess Baxter walked into his boss, Fred Meacham’s office to make his report on the day’s patrol from which he had just returned.
Settling into an easy chair opposite the enormous desk occupied by the High Sheriff, he waited until he was asked, “Well, what happened during your tour of duty?”
Stretching his 6 foot 2 inch frame until he was almost lying in the chair, Jess began with, “I was cruising out on highway number 57; out near Long Pine, when I noticed fresh car tracks turning into the woods.
This appeared to be something that would bear investigating so I followed the tracks and about 200 yards into the woods; I came upon a red Mustang with California license plates. The trunk lid was open and the trunk was about half full of what we call green vegetable matter when we have to testify in court at a drug trial.”
“This looked suspicious so I decided to wait awhile and see what was going on. I had only waited for around five minutes when a young man came thrashing through the undergrowth. His shirt was off and he was sweating profusely. He had his arms full of freshly cut green vegetable matter.”
“When he spotted me, he stopped in his tracks and started mumbling,”
“Oh my Gawd:” “Oh my Gawd.”
I said to him, “Boy, just what in the tarnation are you doing on private property? He quickly answered…”
“Jeeze, Officer, please, I ain’t never done nothing like this before, but I’ve heard that North Carolina has good weed just growing wild and I thought I’d check it out. Please, Officer, I didn’t mean to do it.”
After sizing him up real good, I said to him, “Son, I’ll tell you what, if you’ll get in that car and head back to California and don’t never show your face in North Carolina again; I’ll let you go.”
Hearing that, the sheriff almost swallowed the cigar that he had been puffing on and shouted, “Why th’ hell didn’t you arrest him, bring him in and book him?”
Jess grinned and said, “Well, sheriff, to my knowledge there is no law in this state against a fellow filling the trunk of his car full of POISON OAK.”
ENJOY
Demijon
Make anything idiot-proof and someone will make a better idiot. Dj.
September 2nd, 2010
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When we hear the word ethnic, we all tend to think of a grouping of people from another background or culture. There is, however, another ethnic group that is sometimes mistakenly included in today’s society. This group proudly lays claim to the fact that they are different. They are fishermen.
This unique group, while usually honest to a fault, does not hesitate to lie when it comes to the fish that they were unable to land. It does not matter to them that the strongest line that they own is 15 lb. test; the fish that they fought for two hours finally broke that line. They contend that it was at least 45 lbs. and would measure more than 32 inches. It is also not uncommon that this same fish increases in size and weight with each description.
Fishing is a passion of orgiastic proportions with most of this group. They live and breathe the fine art of casting, trolling, spinning, boats and motors, rods and reels and of course baits & lures. Anyone changing a subject while conversing with them is next to impossible. Their vocabulary consists almost entirely of trout, bass, crappie,catfish, night-crawlers, blood-worms, flies and the like.
Some of my best friends are died-in-the-wool fishermen and they, like all the rest of this brotherhood, will not admit that they have ever added an inch or an ounce to the size of a fish. Their word is considered gospel within this closely knit group.
Spending an entire day in a boat, repeatedly baiting hooks, casting and returning to shore with nothing to show for their efforts but a bad case of sunburn is, in their opinion, a day well spent. The ones that got away were worth all the energy that they expended. I don’t think that I’ve ever heard one fisherman relate with pride about the one fish that he caught that measured 3 inches and would weigh 4 ounces.
Fishing is a practiced art with this group and most of them have become experts and seldom return from an excursion empty-handed. They know their business and will even defend to the death, their right to lie now and again. Most of them are true sportsmen, refusing to utilize the latest of high-tech equipment in favor of their own ability to out-think the fish.
One of the most guarded secrets among this group is their favorite fishing spot. Not one of them will reveal to even a member of their brotherhood their own special place where they caught the big ones.
Another belief that is practiced by many in this group is that they fancy themselves gourmet cooks. They believe that the only way to prepare a fish for human consumption is to clean it, build a small fire on a deserted island near their favorite fishing spot and roast their catch. Perhaps a cold, long-neck Miller-Hi-Life to wash it down would complete their meal.
Many things change throughout the years, but the dedicated fisherman refuses to bend to these changes. His Jon-boat, his casting rods, his lures and his obsession for fishing will always be a part of his make-up.
Although small in number, this ethnic group is composed of some of America’s finest. They are fishermen.
They are a different breed!
Demijon
When approaching a school of fish, they insist on debate. Dj.
September 2nd, 2010
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I am reasonably sure that I am not alone when it comes to locating an item that I have “put right here so I can remember where it is.” Lately this has become a tremendous problem with me, and it has nothing to do with age. The more appropriate explanation of this dilemma would be that; “somebody moved it!”
My stuff is organized. I have never been one to lay aside something that I feel is important, but here of late I am finding that this precise organization is a thorn in someone’s side. This somebody has resorted to the movement, nay, the hiding of said “stuff” even to the point of invading my workshop and the placing of my tools in a location that is not readily accessible.
For instance: once when I needed a particular drill bit, I went to the rack where I had placed it when I last used it. Lo and behold, it was not there. Enraged, I began to look throughout the shop for this bit but to no avail. Moving paint cans, scraps of lumber, various wrenches and screwdrivers, and even as a last resort sweeping the floor did not produce the item. The stuff gremlins had been at it again.
Several days later while searching for another tool, I came across the drill bit where the somebody had been returned it to my workbench, and placed it in front of where I had been sitting while conducting my thorough search a few days prior. Concern over my depressed state when I could not locate the bit had caused them to relent and return it.
I am aware that my roommate will move, or otherwise dispose of my “stuff” at anytime opportunity presents itself. This knowledge has been the cause of my habit to always place everything in its proper location to insure that my stuff will not be scattered to the four winds. If only she would take heed to my adeptness at organization and treat her junk accordingly, it certainly would make for a neater abode.
Copies of THE NATIONAL INQUIRER dating back to 1956 are left in disarray on the coffee table, along with several empty lipstick tubes, a box of crackerjacks, three half-empty jars of Milady’s Face Cream and at least, four catalogs from Big Woman mail-order house, are all prime examples of her lack of organizational skills.
I have decided that the only way to prevent the misplacement and probable loss of anything of mine will be to adopt an attitude of; “you touch-a my stuff and I’ll bust-a yo face!”
This will assure me of finding everything that I put right here so I can remember where it is.
The execution of my signature will serve to prove that I mean what I say.
SIGNATURE X .
Now, where did that pencil go? It was here a minute ago. SEE! They did it again.
Demijon
Osteoporosis: - A degenerate’s disease. Dj.
September 1st, 2010
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IS IT COTTAGE CHEESE, CURDS & WHEY, OR CLABBER?
The stone churn sat on the hearth, just to the right of the open fireplace. The purpose was to slowly sour the whole milk that would later be agitated by the up and down motion of the dasher. The dasher was nothing more than an X of wood mounted on the end of a dowel rod that extended through a hole in the removable top of the churn.
When the milk had soured, it thickened and formed a substance that was commonly called clabber. Around this substance was a thin liquid which was referred to as whey. If the clabber was removed from the whey and broken up, it resembled present-day cottage cheese and the taste was much the same. Many people enjoyed eating clabber and it contained almost as much nourishment as the whole milk.
A famous nursery rhyme makes reference to clabber. You remember ‘Little Miss Muffett’, don’t you? She sat on her tuffet and ate her curds and whey or clabber.
If the clabber was left intact, the churning process began by working the dowel rod up and down and continually stirring the curds and whey until lumps of yellow substance floated to the surface. These lumps were removed when the churning was complete by means of a wooden paddle, salted and packed into a mold and left to harden. This delicacy is butter, calories and all.
The by-product from the churning process was by no means the least of the treats that resulted from this rather unique operation. Another was prized as a companion to a snack, or even a meal of cornbread. This was none other than buttermilk. Chilled and served at tables in the finest homes, buttermilk was considered a staple for many homes in an earlier era.
From start to finish, nothing was wasted in the making of butter or churning. It was an operation which required little enough energy in order to produce so much in the way of subsistence for the average family.
Churning usually was done when the other more important tasks were completed. Sitting by the fire and listening to the radio or reading with the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the thump-thump of the dasher as an all important procedure was initiated.
The conversion of whole milk into first, clabber, then butter, and finally into the mouth watering taste of a product synonymous with a hunk of cornbread.
In addition to being a refreshing drink, BUTTERMILK was prized as a necessary component in the making of Buttermilk Biscuits!
Demijon
If you have never tried it; don’t knock it! Buttermilk & Cornbread has been the mainstay for many meals over the years. Dj.
September 1st, 2010
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“You should know better than that.” “I mean, really!” There is no doubt that the one speaking these words is utterly astounded. What you have said or done is beyond conception, defies comprehension, as in, “I can’t believe that you said/did that.”
“What? You’ve never heard these words?” By answering in the negative, I would have to assume that you have never been married, since there have been very few among the ones of us who enjoy wedded bliss that have not been the recipient of this phrase at one time or another.
To many of us, it is more or less a household expression. It is usually used to accentuate another statement, question, etc. When used in conjunction with another assertion or inquiry, the entire meaning becomes more profound. As a general rule, it is reserved for a final appeal, i.e., “Would you please vacuum the carpet?” “I believe that I asked you to vacuum the carpet.” “Are you going to vacuum the carpet?” “ I MEAN, REALLY!”
See how it works? It does not matter that Superman is in the clutches of the evil monster from outer space. The demand is perfectly clear. The carpet is to be vacuumed, and NOW! The world can be saved when you’re finished. Let’s just keep our priorities in the proper order. The fact that it took a week for the dirt to get into the carpet does not alter the fact that it cannot wait until Superman defeats the monster.
The phrase can be applied to other areas as well. For instance, “She wore the same dress when she attended Mary’s wedding; I mean, really!” What this statement is implying is that the wearer is devoid of all semblances of the appropriate dress codes for the occasion in question.
In certain instances, the phrase is used as the only required response in the course of a conversation. Quote: “…and she was flashing that two carat diamond in everyone’s face.” Response: “I mean, really.”
If the transgression is serious enough in nature, sometimes the words, how tacky are added. When the two are combined, it denotes a critical situation indeed. This is one blunder that could only be remedied by a series of counseling sessions; and with the mentioned individual being taught the proper use of accessories such as; the concealing of that ring when in the company of one whose ring is only one carat.
There is no known cure for the dreaded disease, I mean really-itse. It has been known to survive any and all types of treatment and emerge stronger than ever. Those of us who have become used to the hearing of these phrases accept them as a shrewd method of extracting attention, and it more or less falls on deaf ears. However, care should be exercised when confronted with a predicament of this nature.
If red splotches appear, breathing becomes labored, and a slight trembling is noted, it would be wise to rely on Superman to save the world without your help, at least until you have finished with the carpet. In extreme instances, it may become necessary to broaden your dexterity to include vacuuming with one hand while holding the comic book with the other.
Another method which I have found to work exceptionally well is to remove the vacuum from the closet and place it directly in the center of the room while your roommate is shopping. When she returns, she is sure to ask about the carpet; whereas, you quickly become very angry and say, “Don’t you see that vacuum cleaner sitting there?“ “What do you think I’ve been doing?”
“I mean, really!”
Demijon
“Fixin’to!” has been proven to be another appropriate response. Dj.
August 31st, 2010
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I wish I could claim the origin of this. It was posted by my friend in Australia. Thanks, Merle.
In a number of carefully controlled studies, Scientists have demonstrated that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 liter of E.coli bacteria that is found in feces.
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop.
However, we do not run that risk when we drink wine, beer, tequila, rum, whiskey or other liquor, because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling, filtering and/or fermenting.
Remember, all of you unbelievers; – Water = Poop, Wine = Health.
Therefore it is better to drink wine and talk stupid, than to drink water and be full of sh*t.
There is no need to thank me for this valuable information.
I’m re-posting it as a public service.
Demijon
Radiator repair Shop sign: “Best place in town to take a leak.” Dj.
August 30th, 2010
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The tin roof of the barn has long since faded from the original bright red to a dull orange, but the huge letters are still visible for miles.
This form of advertising was popular in the years before television became an effective mode of publicizing. In addition to promoting the attraction, this method of announcing the unusual rock formation atop Lookout Mountain also provided a source of income for the farmer who leased his barn roof for this purpose.
These practical billboards were prevalent in the 1940′s-1950′s and were not limited to the touting of Rock City alone. They appeared adjacent to major highways throughout the South and expounded on the distinctive characteristic of each tourist attraction.
Barn roof signs such as See Rock City, See Silver Springs through glass bottomed boats, See Chimney Rock, and of course, Don’t miss Bo’s alligator farm – 7 miles, were as much a part of travel as other smaller signs denoting Clean Rest Rooms and Burma Shave rhymes. No one would dare return from a vacation without at least one bumper sticker attesting to the fact that they had toured one of these natural wonders.
It was not unusual for families to plan an entire vacation around one of these attractions, and if their financial status was such that they could afford to spend a few dollars more, would even stay overnight at Ma Haley’s Tourist Cabins – 3 miles.
The extolling of these Natural Wonders were directed primarily at the inhabitants of the rural communities who had neither means nor inclination to tour strange lands and would instead opt for the unusual that was easily accessible within a short distance.
As a general rule, a trip to one or more of these attractions could provide conversation for months afterward.
Example:
Bubba: “Where’d y’all go on yo’ vacation?”
Billy Bob: “We went up thar an’ seen Rock City.”
Bubba: “I’ve not never saw Rock City, but I went ta’ Chimbley Rock oncet.”
Billy Bob: “I seen that thar bumper sticker on yo’ A-Model.”
Demijon
Sign on Veterinarians door: “Be right back: SIT - Stay!” Dj.
August 29th, 2010
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I sit in my recliner and dream of places to go and things to do. With a road map at the ready and countless brochures scattered around, I plan mini-vacations to exotic locales only to be reminded by my child bride of fifty-some years that we have visited these sites in past years.
Discussions (sometimes heated) arise over the when and where of these trips; and I am informed that I suffer from an acute case of C.R.S. Since my wife possesses a mind like a steel trap, she does her best to convince me that the place in question was where she discovered those rare earrings and that favorite tee shirt. “Besides,” she states, “who wants to wander around and look at rusted farm equipment? If you are determined to go somewhere, we could shop the new mall.”
Rejection of my elaborate plans to attend the bluegrass festival is accompanied by, “You’ve seen one. Isn’t that enough?” Or “I can’t stand that whiny singing. Why don’t we invite Jean and Dave to go with us to the shoe outlet? I am sure that they have many new styles to choose from since we were there.”
Despondent, I return to the maps and brochures hoping against hope that “Pedro’s Alligator Farm” will spark enough interest for at least a “Maybe.” My conniving brain begins to work overtime and I arrive at the conclusion that the only solution to this major dilemma would be to find a unique attraction which also includes a series of outlet shops on or near the premises.
Ahh: At last, the perfect place. “Junior’s Used Auto Parts and Hardware Emporium,” located next door to “Faye’s Tee Shirt and Jewelry Bazaar.” Here is reason enough for anticipation to replace the ultimate dismissal of an idea as so much folly. This is serious business. Having never shopped at Faye’s, she even becomes excited. “I’ll call Jean to find out which day would be convenient with her,” she says.
Not even the usual, “You’ve been there and forgot,” sallied forth as she began to make lists of the things which she absolutely could not live without.
Perhaps the closest she would come to admitting that the idea had merit was the remark that; “Maybe you can find a starter for your truck and we will not have to push it. Now, drive over and get Jean while I figure out which credit card is not maxed out.”
Demijon
There are even times when my ideas have merit. Dj.
August 29th, 2010
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How well I remember the Model “A” Ford. The first automobile that I can recall my family owning. A black, box-like, two-door sedan, powered by a four cylinder engine which provided our transportation for many years.
