The Race

Now the race is on
And here comes pride in the backstretch
Heartaches goin' to the inside
My tears are holdin' back, they're tryin' not to fall.

My hearts out of the runnin'
True love's scratched for another's sake
The race is on and it looks like heartache
And the winner loses all.

(George Jones,, 1972)

I don't know about the tears and heartache part, but the race is dang sure on and the world's fastest Indian will have trouble keeping up.

Me and the beautiful bride signed our "John Henry's" to a contract yesterday to build our ranch bunk house and the builder is crowin' bout starting next week.

My dearly departed Daddy would have fainted if he knew the cost, but I figgered out a long time ago that marriage is an expensive way for a man to get his laundry done for free?

Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, we expect to be living on the Tin Star Ranch come April 2009.

Come to think of it, we had the pond cleaned out this week by a dozer operator and the creek risin' would be a blessing to that endeavor.

The Truth

I love my wife's baby sister.

She is purty, true blue, dedicated to family, an awesome mom, SMART, and one of my best friends ever.

Did I mention that she speaks the truth with every word that comes out of her mouth? If you ask her a question, get ready. Good, bad, or indifferent: truth.

Thing is, that is one of the things I most admire about her. No window dressing, no smoke blowing, just tell it like it is.

I have only known one other person like that in my life. If a woman wasn't no beauty queen, my Dad would tell her (unasked) that her face would make a freight train take a dirt road.

Anyway, the point of this is that Lil Bit told me recently that on occasion I obviously run out of something blogalicious and resort to a story from "30 years ago" to grace the Ranch Hand editorials.

This would be my public confession that yet again, M-Mc has done tole tha "TRUTH"!

The Windshield

Unless you are a heart and soul gun enthusiest, don't even bother with this one because it will bore you worse than watching a pig on stilts.

This week me and my pardner eased to Florence to the 1.000 acre state firearms range and immersed ourselves into pure nirvana.

We opened the dance by sighting in my ole trusty 30-30 for "short shots" at the pond from my tree stand and gracefully transitioned to the 100 yard line to drive tacks with my newest venision acquisition device (Remington model 700 BDL .270) topped by a Nikon Buckmaster 3X14 (and you thought I was funnin' about the "don't bother to read this" part?)

We then eagerly broke out the .308 M-1 Garand and M-16 .223 and proceeded to shoot the cojones from mosquitos at unimaginable range.

Not being content with the sport of mere mortals, we ascended to the manly art of shooting at steel sillouettes with .40 cal pistols at 100 yards (kinda like an ant trying to rape a tall elephant)??????????/

When that intoxicating elixar of male testerone evoking activity concluded, we settled into the business at hand to spend the afternoon running, rolling, ducking, dodging (huffing/puffing) through the State Trooper police combat course.

If you ain't switched to a commercial or gone potty yet, you read the last part right. The ranch hand spent an afternoon running with the kids and big dawgs like the old days (and I held my own)>

Hell, some days you are the bug, but this week, I WAS THE WINDSHIELD.

Let Us Pray

OK loyal sports fans,

I know you have been as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs about the next stage of the infamous ranch house build.

Truth is, we been near bout drownin' in details while trying to construct the specifications that we will ink our signatures on. This part is mostly like drinkin' from a fire hydrant and ugly as a mole on a pig's butt. Reckon we gotta hang in whether it comes in geysers or pounds sand because it ain't gonna happen otherwise?

Monday afternoon we are scheduled to take a big gulp (pray), fortify with adult beverage (pray), and sign on the dotted line with a builder for an unspeakable sum (I glad Daddy ain't around to know this part as he would have the big one for sure). Then we mosey to the mortgage lender to get a "permanent financing commitment letter" (fancy butt word for saying that they are dum enuff to take a 30 year mortgage on an old fat man after the construction financing). We dosie doh, turn around twice, and amble to the bank to (fill out another frickin' mountain of paper work, sign our lives away) do the construction loan stuff and then:

WE START SCRATCHING IN THE DIRT AND BUILD FROM THE GROUND UP!

The ole ranch hand is guess-timating that we will start construction by November 1st. The builder is promising move-in by May 1st.

Let us pray.

WHEELS

Saturday afternoon we eased to Gabriel Mills to spend the night with the mom-law at her beautifully appointed new house on County Road 207 (the Big "R" done good on this one!).

An unexpected treat included the bride's baby sister whuppin' up her best ole family recipe (HEB frozen lasagna) and hosting the evening at their mountain-top forest estate and cow-pie pasture heaven.

Course the nephew was in fine form as he RAN (that young 'un don't walk no-where, no-how) and jabbered, laughed, played, and generally provided priceless entertainment for the small price of an audience.

Saturday night blissfully dissolved into a cushioned wicker couch on Nana's new sun room with a glass of merlot and the soft cooing (foghorn) of Nana expressing her opinion on everthing from her new toilets (that don't flush tha' paper to her obvious high standards) to the number one problem facing America (her need for curtain rod hangers and a sucker son-law to put them on the new walls?)

Sunday morning dawned with the ole gray haired ranch hand on the East facing sun room watching a (University of Texas) burnt orange magnificent globe slowly rising into the clear, crisp morning sky as the master and ruler of all surveyed.

The morning progressed with the old fat boy easing to the West front porch to sip a cup of mud in the cool air and wonder if cars ever drove by on the road. As my soul became attuned with the peaceful solitude, I listened to the mournful plaint of doves, the breeze in the trees, and the silent sound of stress fleeing my feeble soul. (The praying mantis and "walking stick" insects patrolling the porch were oblivious)

Lord, I pray that you will allow your humble servant to remain earthly bound for sufficient days to enjoy the bounty of your masterpiece of nature and calm in Gabriel Mills, Texas after the completion of our casa on the Tin Star.

Oh yeah, we moved the location of the house six feet South on Sunday; the ninth damn time we have relocated that sucka. I'm starting to think we need to build the house foundation on wheels?

UNBROKEN STRING

Custom home building is like a yo-yo. It's up, down, and sometimes the string breaks?

Yesterday was definitely up! We spent two hours in the builder's office intently poring over details small (cabinet knobs), large (steel versus shingle roof), and sublime (matte versus glossy finishes???). All the while maintaining a keen edge on the budget knife.

Just before I cratered with detail overdose, we adjourned to the land to talk with the builder and his construction superintendent about the essentials of life, liberty, and the American Dream in the following order of priority:

1. SEPTIC SYSTEM!!!!!
2. Water
3. Electricity
4. Slab engineering

The builder is saying we will be living in the house by April/May 2009. Let's all pray the "string" don't break.

THE "DASH" REVISITED

Yesterday marked another milestone in our quest to erect the bunk house on our ranch.

We have now officially submitted our construction loan and mortgage applications and moseyed down the paper trail of documentation required for that dance.

We also interviewed two custom home builders yesterday and looked at a couple of model homes to evaluate the builder's work.

Next we have to schedule a site visit to our land with the builders to develop specifications and ultimately their dollar bids to build the house.

At this point, I would say we remain on target to be settled in the new house by June 2009.

One of my past blogs commented on the meaning of the "dash" between one's date of birth and date of death on a tombstone. Essentially, my point was that when you are born and when you "pass on down among them" (as my Dad used to say) doesn't matter. What matters is the quality of the time spent between those dates (the "dash").

I now reckon that we can contemplate June 2009 - ????

Here's to making that "dash" the best part our lives while lavishing in the bounty of our beloved Tin Star Ranch.

RAW POWER

During 1970 I had the privilege of being a TEXAS HIGHWAY PATROL TROOPER.

A part of that "privilege" was to drive a 1968 Plymouth 440 cubic inch (rocket ship) black/white Trooper ride.

This was before concern of gas prices, greenhouse gases, or whatever?

This was the day of pure speed, power, and the wind blowing your ear lobes off!

I remember the ROAR of the engine, the "sucking" sound of the carburetor, and the G-force pushing me back into the seat when I "pressed the pedal to the metal" to accelerate.

OK, the brakes wouldn't stop the dang thing, and it was not zactly air or water tight, but that sucka would shoot a hole in the wind for a young sprout that wasn't afraid of nuthin' or the devil and would drive to the limit of the car (see any Gene Waller genes here?)

I have personal knowledge that ole wore out 1968 Plymouth would "run" 148 mile per hour (I didn't never do no quarter mile Hallville "stuff" Ms. Lindsay, but it was a "rush" back when?)

Ain't it a shame my eyes/reflexes would be challenged to duplicate that at half speed today?

CONFESSION

Ever been lost?

I mean don't know up from down, left from right, in the dark of night, downright lost?

Bout 1978 I was the Highway Patrol supervisor for Marshall. One night I decided to "roam" a bit and started patrolling east toward Louisiana in the Caddo Lake area near Karnack.

We are talkin' bout a moonless, cloudy night that was as dark as the bottom of a dirty inkwell in the back of a closet of a shuttered rusty shack in the middle of hell's own swamp.

Now I know I'm slower than a herd of turtles stampedin' thru peanut butter, but after a bit of "patrolling", it didn't take me long to figger out that I didn't have one clue where "town" was????

Use my handy-dandy po-lice radio to get directions? Back in them days, sport fans, the communications network didn't go much past the city limits of town.

I was on my own and not in particularly good "injun" hands as far as a natural sense of direction?

I drove this way and that thru the moss covered trees with increasing frustration and soon began to wonder if I would spend the night in the seemingly prehistoric "Jurassic Park" precursor with a sheepish morning explanation of how the "boss" got lost.

Happy ending. Through sheer luck (after many hours of being "lost") I meandered my way back to town and until this moment have never revealed to another person that a full grown "bear" spent a night on the road lost as a goose.

Don't know if confession is "good for the soul", but reckon this 'un won't hurt none?

THE STORM

This is an old story, but re-telling a dab may have a purpose?

More than 38 years ago, I was a baby Trooper and got called at home in the middle of the night (I honestly didn't know that mid-night calls would be my life for a long time to come). Seems a hurricane had hit Corpus Christi and I was assigned to disaster duty until further notice.

I spent a couple of weeks there working the 6PM to 6AM shift. I was perpetually lost as all road signs were blown away, obtaining food and water quickly became an issue, fuel for my full grown black/white bear ride was scarce, and the hurricane inspired floods drove all of God's creatures that bite or sting you from their lair into the world of humans.

There were an endless stream of such environmentally inspired challenges in my career, but at long last I retired after 33 years to live a life of luxury like a fat dawg on the porch.

Now fast forward a few short years down the "porch" road and I woke to find I agreed to strap on my crime fighting costume once again and answer late night/early morning calls for service.

This week I have come full circle.

Hurricane IKE is bearing down on Texas with 100 mph winds and promise of 15 to 20 inches of rain in a sorrowful short spell.

Today I spent 12 hours in crisis management meetings attempting to mitigate the effect of this perfect storm. At this point it appears that my home will receive little more than some much needed rain and a bit of wind. However, our community will host a sufficient share of the multitude of evacuees from all along the Texas Gulf Coast and this will greatly impact many things I am responsible for maintaining.

I reckon it is merely a statement of fact that I have spent my entire adult life running toward the storm.

BACK YARD ASPIRATIONS

This might not exactly be "blogalicious", but it is true.

I hit my yard "running" this morn bout 8:30A and mowed that puppy with my ever faithful internal combustion grassolator. I then followed as always with the weedeater thing and the leaf blower hoodie doo after a spell of shrub trimming.

That was likely sufficient for an old fat boy to do in one morning, but I don't ever seem to be satisfied.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit cuz out came that dangnable power limb saw and I attacked the trees in the backyard like WWIII.

After bout four hours of that "stuff", the ole ranch hand dang near cratered. I am now licking my wounds (I'm scratched up worse than a blind berry picker) and trying to figger if I will ever be able to finish the last few trees in order to get this small piece of "paradise" into appropriate curb appeal shape to sell prior to moving to the Tin Star?

Ya'll pray for rain, (championships for the Longhorns and the Cowboys), and sufficient strength for this ole fat man to endure his back yard aspirations. I'm telling ya that I will be happier than a june bug on a tomato plant when this chore is done.

ENDEAVOR TO PERSEVERE

My eternal methodology for accomplishment has been to carefully set a worthwhile goal, develop a cognizant plan, work like hell, and follow the plan.

Today we sought professional counseling concerning the logistics of building a custom home on our beloved ranch.

To say a show dawg couldn't jump over the pile of documents, requirements, ought to's, shouldn't oughta's, maybe shoulda's, and just plain friendly advice would be a serious understatement.

I figgered sufficient energy, enthusiasm and sweat equity on my part would equal a record time from start to move-in. I now am slowly absorbing the reality of a step by step, hurry up and wait, market driven process.

Reckon I will assume a bunker mentality of dealing with one day at a time and not letting delays ever be on my side of the ledger.

Today we got the counseling, next week we take the first real proactive ACTIONS and thereafter we will "endeavor to persevere" (Chief Dan George, "The Outlaw Josey Wales").

Along the way, we be gonna try to enjoy ever sip of this that we can possibly squeeze from the lemon tree of reality.

Hmmmm?

Might write a book when this is over, "Custom Home Building For Dumass Ranch Hands"?

MAGNIFICENT BOUNTY

On Friday we have an appointment at a bank in Georgetown to apply for a construction loan to begin the process of building our ranch house.

Our goal is to be in our rural abode by June of 2009. I suspect a ton of disappointments, delays, and pleasant surprises are in store for us as we wade through the waves of this ocean. We are determined to relax, enjoy the experience to the max, and then stand back and grin when it is over.

Lord, give us the wisdom to make good decisions, give us the strength to endure the process, and give us the common sense to appreciate this magnificent bounty to its fullest extent for the rest of our lives.

WHOOOEEEEEEE DOGGIES, YEHAW!!

PRECIOUS MOMENTS

I spent Sunday in Andice moving my mom-laws "stuff" from my barn to her newly constructed house. Tough, humid, hot day, but got a lot done for an old fat man?

Due to extreme fatigue, we spent the night with the bride's baby sister on their 400 acre ranch casa atop a tall hillside overlooking the San Gabriel River valley.

This morning I eased from the sack to grab a cup of coffee and sit on their back porch to watch the golden eastern sun rise from its overnight slumber and assume prominence in the morning sky.

This magnificent spectacle was accompanied by the cooing of doves, the occasional caw of a blue jay, and the frenzied buzz of humming birds seeking their morning nectar.

In rare moments, the Lord's infinite blessing allows us to be as one with nature, slow our heartbeat, and truly feel the glory of his creations. This morning was such an experience.

My prayer is to build our Tin Star Ranch abode, live (healthy) for as long as is God's will, and totally absorb the wonder from each precious moment.