Th’ Contraption
T’other day me an’ Susie Mae ‘stopped back by’ Brother’s an’ Maggie’s on us’ens way to th’ shack frum our’n visit wiff Rocky Phil an’ Jeddy.
Whilse we’uns wuz a’settin’ back, Brother, he commenced to show off his’ns brand new thing-a-ma-jig whot th’ doctor had give him ta’ poke a hole in his’uns finger an see iffen he had too much ‘sweetnin’ in his’uns blood.
Now; Brother, he allways has been perty-much ‘fattuated wiff ‘lasses’, cakes, pies an’ mos’ ennythang whot were sweet. Whil’st we’uns wuz thare, he even poked a hole in Susie Mae’s finger an’ her eyes purely glazed over when’st she seed whot-all that thang wud do.
On th’ way home, she sez to me, she sez, “Jay Henry, honey, I’d purely love to have me one uv them-thare thangs so’s I cud m’press them gals whot I play “old Maid” wiff.
Well’sr, she had her a ‘pintment wiff ole Doc Conner th’ nex week an,’ lo-an-belold, he writ her a ‘script fer one uv them do-hickey’s.
He sez to Susie Mae, “Miz Susie Mae, I believes you’s got a lettle too much sugar in yo’ pee. Go home an’ poke yo’ finger ever day fer two weeks an’ mark down whot that thang sez. He tolt his’ns Nuss Ladie ta, make her a ‘pintment atter two weeks.
I purely balked when’st I seed th’ price uv that thang but I sorta simmered down whenst the gal at th’ drug store tolt me th’ Givermint were sonna send me my monie back.
Susie Mae’s been poking her finger ever day an’ markin’ hit down; but me an’ her ‘neither one can’t make heads ner tails uv that thare gadget.
Bro: Seein’s as how you’ens been poking an’ markin’ hit down fer a spell, mayhaps you can tell Susie Mae whot that thare do-hicky’s tryin’ to tell her.
Y’all come,
Jay Henry
Life is pretty much miserable without a sense of humor. Dj.
September 30th, 2009
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And you’ll never receive anything worthwhile
For the first three and one half months that we lived in this location, we pondered the significance of a light pole at the eastern boundary of our home site. Since it shed no light on the surrounding property, it raised a few questions in our weak minds. # 1 – Was it placed there to maintain the aesthetic appearance of the neighborhood? # 2 – Should we risk life and limb by hauling the old ladder out and scampering up the pole to change the bulb? # 3 – Are the two “seniors” living here doomed to stumble around with a flashlight while allowing “Th’ Bear” to attend to his toilet before going “beddey-bye”?
The possible answer came one morning at 04:00 am, while inhaling a third cup of coffee. I asked myself; “myself: why don’t you place a call to the power company?” I had no trouble finding the listing for the utility company or dialing the number but it was here that the cheese became more binding.
A metallic voice greeted me with “Thank you for calling your friendly power company. Your call is important to us. If you are calling for installation; press 1, for account information, press 2, for outages, press 3, for wireless service, press 4,” and so on, until; “if you wish to speak to a human, please hold the line for 27 minutes and a customer service representative will help you.”
I became so absorbed in the music playing in the background that when the nice lady finally answered, I had forgotten why I called. Another shot of 100-proof Coffee brought my memory back and I said, “The street light don’t work.”
Miss congeniality replied, “Sir, I’ll give this work order to our service department and they will be in touch with you.”
Three days later, as dusk settler over Sunset Ridge, the light pole came to life and spread its warm glow throughout the neighborhood. This is proof-positive that “if you have a need, simply ASK.” They can only tell you yes or no.
For 38 years that we lived in this ‘neck of the woods,’ (before leaving for 15 years), we could usually dial a number and speak to a Human, therefore, we were not accustomed to all the “Press 1, Press 2, Press 3, etc. Technology advanced faster than we did.
Lately, it has gotten so bad that we have to leave a message on the persons “voice-mail” before we can talk to a real live “warm body.” For those of us that are ‘2 years older than dirt;’ we find it hard to “TAKE ALL OF THIS IN!”
It was so much easier when we could remove the receiver, turn the crank and hear the operator say, “NUMBER PLEASE.” We didn’t even mind that Mrs. Pearson picked up when she heard Doctor Jones’, “two shorts and one long ring.” At least, we did not have to remember which number to press.
Things just ain’t as simple as they used to be.
Demijon
Do you enjoy answering the telephone and the first words are; WHO IS THIS?” Dj.
September 29th, 2009
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Perhaps the nearest he ever came to setting a record was in junior high school when he was competing in track and field. His specialty was the 440 yard dash. I cannot remember his best time after the many years since; but he was extremely fast. According to his coach, he had a good chance of breaking the Charlotte-Mecklenburg school system record. His shot at the record, however, was terminated when he pulled a muscle in his hip during an attempt to outrun his nearest competitor. I really don’t know who shed more tears when the doctor informed him that his participation in track was over for at least the current school year, he or his mother.
I well remember the thrill of sitting in the bleachers and watching as two runners, one of them white and the other black, ran neck and neck around the track. With the finish line in sight, a black head would snap back and a burst of speed would propel the runner forward to cross the line a split second in front of his competitor. Brodrick had won again.
He and Brodrick were the stars of the track team. One or both of them would take the ribbons in practically every event they entered. Possibly the only regrets he harbored during those early years were that, try as he might, he could never outrun Brodrick; but run he could. His track Coach said it best when he once said to him; “Son, you can run like hell for a white boy.”
He continued to compete in some form of sports during high school and even college. He was not a serious contender after those junior high days but he competed simply for the joy of it.
It was during high school that he discovered his imminent desire. He became involved with Young Life, a religious oriented program for youth. He pursued this aspiration throughout high school; and during his college years served as a Young Life leader. Working toward his ultimate goal, he sought and received a Masters of Theology degree from Princeton Theological Seminary.
Having ascertained his niche in life, he was ordained as a Presbyterian Minister. He served in Matawan, New Jersey; In Jacksonville Beach, Florida; In Concord, N.C.; As Organizing Pastor of The Portico in Charlotte N.C. and is now Pastor at Johnston Memorial Presbyterian Church in Charlotte. In all these locations, he has worn a number of hats; Pastor, Associate Pastor, Youth Advisor, Handyman, Carpenter, Producer of drama, and loving husband to Judy.
Pride is evident on the faces of his parents whenever they have the opportunity to hear him preach and to hear reports of the esteem his parishioners hold for him.
I don’t know if it is appropriate to use his Coach’s description in my assessment of him but I am going to do it anyway. “Rodger; you can preach like hell for a white boy!”
Mom & Dad
It’s a poor frog that will not praise his own pond. Dj.
September 28th, 2009
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If I were allowed, perhaps the first thing I would change would be to require the media to include some good news in every issue. You know; something like; “Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Jones visited their daughter in Tampa Florida last week.” or “Miss Patsy Renfrow was the guest of her grandmother, Mrs. Leona Renfrow on Tuesday. Miss Renfrow is a student at Top-Notch School of Nursing.” or ”Wade Perdue won first place in the turnip growing contest with a 16 pounder. The contest was sponsored by Lowlevel Bank and Trust.”
There was a time when this type of news made up at least one half of each publication. Today, if interesting copy like the above is included at all, it appears as a fill-in on page twenty five.
The other twenty four pages are filled with mayhem such as; “16 murdered in gang related incident.” or “President and Vice-President indicted for holding orgy on White House lawn.” or “Peace talks between U.S. and ARSTUPIA break down; War imminent.” or “Defense attorneys succeed in freeing serial killer on a technicality, Judge cited for accepting pay-off.”
It appears that the only thing that will sell in today’s enlightened society is sensationalism. There seems to be no room for items which appeal to a universal constituency.
Even the comic pages have become tools for political axe-grinding. What happened to the comics that entertained; i/e “Smiling Jack, Smokey Stover, The Katzenjammer Kids, Buck Rogers, The Lone Ranger and of course, Superman?” Most of today’s comics seem to focus on satire instead of merely being amusing. Why do the creators of these comic strips feel that they have to make a statement?
I suppose these are the more important things which I would change but they are, by far, not the only changes I would make if only I had the opportunity. Others are…
I really don’t think it is right to be required to grow old just to receive a free cup of coffee at McDonalds.
Senior discounts should apply to all purchases.
All highways should include a slow lane for those of us who are not in a hurry.
A real live person should answer all business telephones.
Magazines over ten years old should be eliminated from all Doctors and Dentists waiting rooms.
Last but not least, I would re-define components for the operation of computers. In my weak mind, the word hardware means tools, nuts & bolts. Software is comfortable underwear. Floppy Discs are 45 rpm records left out in the sun. On-Line is the method in which we receive electricity. F-1 is the designation of a certain tractor or pick-up truck.
As you can readily see, I belong to a generation which could be interpreted as B.C. (before computers). There is no need, however, to fear these major changes. Once you become familiar with them, you’ll love them as much as I do.
Demijon
Believe me: It’s frustrating when I know all the answers, but no one asks me a question. Dj.
September 28th, 2009
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Ever since Th’ Bear learned to read and write, he has been pestering me to let him post an article on my Blog-site. He has been quite insistent even when I explained that very few Dogs read my Blog. I think his main interest is to impress the white Poodle across the street.
When I became exceedingly tired of his whining and relented; he made it clear that I would not be permitted to edit his work. Hopefully, no one will be offended if his writing is not up to my usual high standards.
So; my friends: Please welcome TH BEAR!
MY HUMANS
I adopted these two people several years ago and have made a futile attempt to train them. The man is not so bad but the woman is something else. She simply refuses to understand when I ask for my backfuss or a Milk Bone treat. She also ignores me when I am in desperate need to pee or pookie. Although she pays little attention to my requirements, she becomes extremely shaken if I exercise my options to either go outside or use the floor.
There is, however, one attribute that she has learned and that is to allow me to lie in her lap for my naps. She has a terrible habit that I have yet to break her of and that is to leave the house without my permission. She completely ignores my pitiful pleadings for her to stay. I do not mind so much when the man stays with me but there are times when both of them leave and as a result, I suffer from a nervous stomach and reflux until their return.
I have tried repeatedly to instill in them an obligation to put my health and well-being foremost but, as yet, my efforts have fallen on deaf ears. I suppose I will eventually need to send both of them to obedience school. I would not mind the trouble or the expense of this, if either of them would demonstrate a few Show-Human characteristics but neither has yet to exhibit these qualities. Let’s face it; they are a sorry lot.
The agency through which I adopted them apparently did little or no research into their abilities beforehand; therefore, I suppose I am stuck with them so I will try to make the best of it.
After many years of intensive instructions, I have succeeded in teaching the man of my need to go ridey-ridey to the golf course or any vacant lot a couple of times times each day for my constitutional toilet breaks.
The woman is definitely not as easily trained. She even seems thrilled that I have lead her to believe that I am afraid of her threats to use a fly swatter when she tries to get my attention. My pretending to run from it will produce laughter of orgiastic proportions. It takes so little to make her happy.
It is not my intention to burden you with my troubles, but I did want to explain the unethical conduct of my humans, I sincerely hope you will excuse their behavior and realize that I am doing the best I can with what little I have to work with.
Bear.
Important Note: From Dj. I promise you that if a Pulitzer Prize is awarded for the above post, there will be two deranged humans living with Th’ BEAR!
Demijon
“Yell at me for barking???” “I’m a dog, for goodness sake.” Love, Bear.
September 28th, 2009
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A re-post: But still worth it. Dj.
It has not been too long ago since the question was raised by one or both of my children; “Dad, may I have $40.00? I am going to the movies with Heather and we want to share a pizza afterwards.”
As expected, a lecture ensued about the value of money, i.e. “In my day….”, but knowing well that my words were falling on deaf ears, I usually relented.
Upon their departure, I am left with memories of a time when $40.00 could possibly feed a family for a month. A time when the price of admission to view a double feature movie plus a chapter of a serial at the local theater (Th’ Show) was .09 cents for children and .25 cents for adults.
If a young man was bold enough to approach a young lady, his request was usually no more than permission to walk her home from some church-sponsored program or to sit with her for awhile in her “Front Room.” There was, however an exception to this rule.
Since almost every family ventured to town on Saturday afternoon, the opportunity to fulfill a dream sometimes presented itself. While the parents conducted their business in the various stores and visited with their neighbors, the youngsters (boys and girls) were permitted entertainment in the form of “Th’ Show.” The younger children were given.25 cents and those who were older were presented the grand sum of .50 cents.
Before the theater opened, the younger children perused the “Dime Store” in search of candy, comic books or toys for which to spend the balance of their quarters after the movie. Teenagers usually congregated around the soda fountain at the drug store. It was here that the young swains made their intentions known by asking the girl of their choice for a date and generally received the standard answer….
“Mama won’t let me date but I’ll sit in ‘Th’ Show’ with you.”
Having made the arrangements as to which seat they would occupy each entered the theater separately. Once inside, the young man stopped at the popcorn machine and splurged .05 cents for a box of the delicious smelling treat. This was done more to impress the young lady with his extravagance rather than for his actual craving for the delicacy. With the usher searching for an empty seat with his darkened flashlight, the young man followed until he reached the agreed upon seat and offered the girl the popcorn with a flourish.
The dim lights, located on the side walls, were finally turned off and the program started with a Pathe Newsreel followed by Previews of Coming Attractions. It is now when things begin to get somewhat serious. Pretending to reach for the box of popcorn, the young gentleman mistakenly takes the girls hand. If she does not immediately withdraw her hand from his, he is certain this is an indication that she likes him and would possibly permit further advances. After holding hands throughout chapter 7 of the serial, he pretends to stretch and his arm settles around her shoulder. Hopefully, he thinks, the main feature will be a scary picture and fright will induce her to sit as close as the divided seats will allow. His fantasies were realized when she rested her head on his shoulder and the faint aroma of lilac water fills his nostrils.
With the popcorn forgotten, they sat through the featured picture and the Whip Wilson western thus engaged. When the lights came back on, they emerged from the theater, again separately, and headed for the drug store where he would spend the rest of his meager ration of money for sodas and snacks for the two of them. An occasional blush was conspicuously present as each of them recalled the intimacy they had shared in the darkness of the theater.
When the time arrived for the families departure from town; he again asked the young lady for a date, whereupon he received the same reply….
“Mama won’t let me date but I’ll sit in ‘Th’ Show’ with you next week.”
I don’t suppose it has occurred to either of my children that, if I had gotten $40.00 for a movie and a pizza when I was a teenager, that their mother could have turned out to be someone other than the girl who “sat in Th’ Show with me.”
I sometimes wonder what would have transpired had I been brave enough to ask Daddy for $40.00 to spend escorting a young lady on a date. I really don’t think I want to know.
Why didn’t someone invent the “DUTCH TREAT‘” when I was younger?
Demijon
Memories are our only way of re-claiming the past. Dj.
September 27th, 2009
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Have you ever wished you could win one million dollars? Please don’t feel like the Lone Ranger because most of us have experienced this at one time or another. Personally, I have never known a genuine millionaire and don’t expect to know one in the near future.
I did, however, learn of a lady who won ten thousand dollars, ($10,000.00), simply by writing her name and telephone number on a postal card and mailing it. Talk about surprises. She was certain that the telephone call she received, announcing the winner, was a practical joke.
The occasion was the Home Run Sweepstakes administrated by A Major baseball team. The rules were simplicity itself. Just make a Guess as to which inning a specific player would hit a home run.
No problem: Since a very popular player had been my wife’s cousin’s hero for a number of years it was logical that she pick him. Only when she received a letter confirming her as the winner of the drawing, did the lady realize that she had indeed won.
She was a retired widow and had been confined to a wheelchair for a number of years so, my wife drove down and carried her to the stadium for the home game where they would treat her to a lavish dinner, courtesy of the ball team.
Her Hero would then present her with the check at the beginning of the game. The team manager also presented her with an official baseball.
The lady gratuitously felt that she should do something in the way of thanks for her good fortune. At the end of the ceremony she gave the player her check for $300.00, which he promised to give to charity.
It was here that the other shoe was dropped. The lady then asked if her Hero would be so kind as to autograph her baseball. He leaned down close to her ear and said in a voice that no one else could hear; “You’re pushing it a little aren’t you lady?” He then stood, smiled and waved to the crowded bleachers and with a flourish, autographed the ball.
Here was an athlete making untold millions of dollars each year, and yet, resented signing an autograph for a fan that moments ago was willing to share her good fortune with him although she was well aware that he had no need for money.
The player was big in statute and admittedly was a good ball player but in my humble opinion, he was a small person when it came to the compassion department.
Important Note: What would I have done in the same situation? I would have snatched my check from his grip, called him what he is and run like hell. Like many overpaid athletes, he makes me sick.
Demijon
Money certainly cannot buy happiness – but somehow, it’s more comfortable to ‘Cry in a Mercedes than in a Pinto.’ Dj.
September 26th, 2009
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WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THE LADY DOING?
She is tuning her 1928 “3 inch,” octagonal shaped, G.E. Television set.
It is hard to believe, isn’t it? Of course, this was quite a few years before my time. I took the time this morning, to turn from my 32 inch, flat screen, digital, color set, and Google the above photo on a computer.
Although I consider myself some 2 years older than dirt, it still fascinates me that we have progressed this much in these few short years. In fact, I can vividly remember when the telephone or a battery powered radio was a source of wonder that few understood.
In those days, I would agree with most everyone else; that it couldn’t be done. Most of us would have asked the question; “what silly, harebrained, ideas would they come up with next?”
That was then; this is now. The very fact that I am sitting at a keyboard, typing words that appear on a screen, (wireless no less), and will, (with the push of a button), be instantly available for anyone to read ‘anywhere in the world’ still amazes me.
Most of us are familiar with the phrase, “Beam me up, Scotty;” from the popular “STAR TREK” series. We were then positive that this was pure fantasy; but didn’t the folks in 1928 feel the same way about broadcasting pictures and sound via airwaves? Are we now so certain that someday, beaming up will not become a reality?
In my short lifetime, I have been witness to the impractical becoming, not only a source of entertainment, but a real necessity in our fast-paced world.
Who knows that someday we will be visited by funny looking green men embarking from a flying saucer and overhear a transmission from them to their Starship via an wireless, translator…
“Beam me up, Xrultz. There are no intelligent beings on this planet.”
Demijon
Is it true that everyone has aged considerably, except you at all school reunions?
September 25th, 2009
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Are you sure that you know what the implement in the photo at left is used for?
It was an important piece of equipment necessary to maintain the dirt roads and prevent the early travelers from being, more or less, house-bound.
Unlike today, this valuable machine was expensive and well beyond the affordability of the average citizen. Therefore, one or two were purchased and operated by the County or State to keep the country roads in relatively good condition.
I do not remember what the official name for the machine was; but it was commonly known throughout the County as The Road Scrape. Since it was not self-propelled, a tractor was used to pull the machine and the usage required two operators. One person drove the tractor while the other operator stood between the series of wheels that controlled the different positions of the blade.
The first operation was to tilt the blade at approximately 45 degrees to clean the ditches, and to deposit the excess dirt into the middle of the road. To prevent impeding of any traffic, the work was always done on the right side of the road in one direction and then turning to clean the other side ditch.
When the excess dirt had been drug to the road, the blade was then leveled and several passes were made to smooth the surface and fill any pot-holes that had occurred since the last ‘scraping.’
Later models of the Road Scrape were self-propelled and only required one operator who drove as well as controlled the blade. Both machines were made obsolete for use to maintain the county’s roads by the spreading of Tar and Gravel on most of them.
Updated models of the original Road Scrape are in use today primarily in landscaping and construction work since Asphalt and Concrete has made today’s super-highways smoother and more safe.
I still get a shot of nostalgia when I see a Road Scrape clearing land for a shopping Mall and I think back to the days when I used to sit by the dirt road and watch the Tractor pulling the Road Scrape back and forth to clean and smooth our roads.
There were a few instances when a friendly operator would stop and lift me onto the Road Scrape to ride for a short distance. Sometimes, I was actually allowed to turn the huge wheels. Boy, did I feel grown up!
Demijon
Have you ever wondered just why our memories are so vivid; yet, we can’t remember where we left our glasses yesterday?
September 24th, 2009
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Recently,we broke down and purchased a new form of transportation. Although the old one had served us well, we felt that we should, at least, attempt to keep up with the times.
Perhaps the present modus operandi would have been sufficient for another few years; but we had grown exceedingly tired of sympathy from fellow travelers every time we ventured into the realm of our betters.
We rather enjoyed driving through the countryside in an open-air vehicle; even though my lovely roommate constantly complained about the wind mussing her hairdo and the rain causing wrinkles in her evening gowns.
I suppose her main concern was the exhaust system for the power plant of the former vehicle that caused quite a bit of negative response from Law Enforcement Officials as well as the general public if we happened to be the circling the Court House, during the time when Court was in session.
It is true that fuel mileage is much better and less costly, however, there are times when leakage from the power plant is somewhat embarrassing.
The purpose of this post is to ask that you, dear readers, to join us in saying goodbye to a trusted friend as we retire our former vehicle.
The below photograph is proof of our devotion to ‘Old Bessie’ as she is being replaced with a vehicle from Japan. I’m sure you will notice that the tell-tale signs of wear denotes affectionate usage and adds quite a bit of character to the old girl.
If you study the photograph carefully, you will have to agree with us that, “They don’t make them like they used to.”
Demijon
The trouble with bucket seats is that not everybody has the same size bucket. Dj.
September 23rd, 2009
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