"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." (Mark Twain)'
The ole ranch hand duly commemorated advancing age this flu season by obtaining his flu vaccination in a timely manner.
Secure in the knowledge that the Grim Reaper would once again be stalled, the fat boy strolled into the winter sunset with a smile.....until Black Death descended with a vengeance one month later?
Yeah, the last few days have found your haggard/humble country bumpkin contemplating such delightful topics as:
1. Who could be conned into serving as a pall bearers?
2. Will the bride ignore pleas to NOT go to Eternity burdened by a suit/tie?
3. Will old "enemies" show up at the services to verify the blessing of the event?
4. Will there be beer in the Hereafter?
5. Will the number of attendees equal the number of facebook friends....Naw?
Anywho.....tamiflu (and a bucket of other miracle drugs) finally slowed the pace of self-help funeral planning.
Accordingly, it seems the Divine Creator has spared the ranch hand's sorry hide one mo' time.
Now if they could just create a vaccination for "dumass"?
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Smokey and other BS Artists
Ms. Eva recently posted a tasty morsel related to "event boundaries". (wrestlingwithretirement.com)
Seems that academic psycho-who-sis-es (plural of "babble-what-the-hey) postulated that passing thru a physical doorway (in any structure) creates a cerebral partition. Said "partition" formulates a "clean slate" for the purpose of separating one set of thoughts and memories from the next.
To break this concept down into the basic East Texas version....ya gotta first visualize a country squirrel on a hot summer day evaluatin' his road crossing traffic options upon the approach of multiple vehicles (while said nutcracker is astraddle the center line).
Does our wannabe Olympic sprinter want to dodge right or left...OK, left..no right...no left/ right/right/right/left....ARRGGGGHHH...splat.
As Smokey the Bear says...."Remember, only you can prevent an event boundary"!
Seems that academic psycho-who-sis-es (plural of "babble-what-the-hey) postulated that passing thru a physical doorway (in any structure) creates a cerebral partition. Said "partition" formulates a "clean slate" for the purpose of separating one set of thoughts and memories from the next.
To break this concept down into the basic East Texas version....ya gotta first visualize a country squirrel on a hot summer day evaluatin' his road crossing traffic options upon the approach of multiple vehicles (while said nutcracker is astraddle the center line).
Does our wannabe Olympic sprinter want to dodge right or left...OK, left..no right...no left/ right/right/right/left....ARRGGGGHHH...splat.
As Smokey the Bear says...."Remember, only you can prevent an event boundary"!
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
HINDER DESKS
The ole ranch hand was borned and raised under rather modest circumstances in Wright City.
Only one black and white TV in the house with only one channel available (when the weather was clear). No telephone. No microwave. No skills with artificial intelligence whatsoever. You get the idea?
Accordingly, the fat boy did not touch a computer until into his third decade of life.
Since that ill fated day, your still neophyte "nerd" has progressed to ownership of multiple personal machines.
Another words, the country bumpkin can (on occasion) navigate the cyberspacial world and function (sorta?) on-line.
The "fly" in this "soup" is that for every action, there is an equal and opposite malfunction generated by yours truly. This malady, unfortunately, requires the all too frequent call to a so-called "Help Desk" in some foreign land.
Called a toll free number this day and 'splained my problem to a "real person". Was only told, "hold for a moment", before a "Punch 1 for this and 2 for that" serenade started.
Punched "2" and got a recorded message to, "Call another number"????
Called the "other number" and got a "real person", but have yet to figger out their native language. Lead pipe cinch it weren't English (and heard all manner of world-wide dialects from "help" in the background chatter?????)
Went into detail 'bout the problem at issue, answered a bucket-load of questions, and was told, "I am going to make you very happy, but.....our computer system is down for maintenance and you will have to call back another time".
So here is the question....should I unplug the computer, pack it like when purchased, and take it by to the store to tell them I am too stupid to have a computer...or should the good ole U.S. of A. staff their own damn help desks????
WAKE UP AMERICA!!!!
Only one black and white TV in the house with only one channel available (when the weather was clear). No telephone. No microwave. No skills with artificial intelligence whatsoever. You get the idea?
Accordingly, the fat boy did not touch a computer until into his third decade of life.
Since that ill fated day, your still neophyte "nerd" has progressed to ownership of multiple personal machines.
Another words, the country bumpkin can (on occasion) navigate the cyberspacial world and function (sorta?) on-line.
The "fly" in this "soup" is that for every action, there is an equal and opposite malfunction generated by yours truly. This malady, unfortunately, requires the all too frequent call to a so-called "Help Desk" in some foreign land.
Called a toll free number this day and 'splained my problem to a "real person". Was only told, "hold for a moment", before a "Punch 1 for this and 2 for that" serenade started.
Punched "2" and got a recorded message to, "Call another number"????
Called the "other number" and got a "real person", but have yet to figger out their native language. Lead pipe cinch it weren't English (and heard all manner of world-wide dialects from "help" in the background chatter?????)
Went into detail 'bout the problem at issue, answered a bucket-load of questions, and was told, "I am going to make you very happy, but.....our computer system is down for maintenance and you will have to call back another time".
So here is the question....should I unplug the computer, pack it like when purchased, and take it by to the store to tell them I am too stupid to have a computer...or should the good ole U.S. of A. staff their own damn help desks????
WAKE UP AMERICA!!!!
Friday, December 7, 2012
MAKIN' MAGIC
The ole fat boy and his beautiful bride took the notion evenin' last to gather up the five year old nephew and three year old niece and make some "magic" thru the decoration of Christmas sugar cookies.
Engendered by family love and innocent in intention,this was a great idea that would surely become legendary in memory.
The holiday pastries were carefully cooked to perfection and the "sprinkles" and icing was evenly divided between two card tables to separate the "combatants" during the blessed event.
Picked them eager puppies up at day-care, transported them to the ranch, and launched the festivities without delay.
Then the "plan" began to disintegrate a bit???
It seems that grabbing plastic spoons and sloppin' icing down one's throat is infinitely more fun than carefully layering it onto a cookie?
And who would have thought that fancy colored sprinkles judiciously divided into little plastic bathroom sipping cups would be such awesome shot glasses to "chug" sugar charged energy fuel with unbridled enthusiasm????
Add pretzels to the "reindeer head" cookies"...NAW...throw them at your sibling at the neighboring table while giggling incomprehensible glee????
At the end of the evening it could easily be said it was "fun"...to have the experience....!!!!
Now if the ranch hand can figger how to get the tractor in the house to round up all that "fun" that ended up on the floor???
Engendered by family love and innocent in intention,this was a great idea that would surely become legendary in memory.
The holiday pastries were carefully cooked to perfection and the "sprinkles" and icing was evenly divided between two card tables to separate the "combatants" during the blessed event.
Picked them eager puppies up at day-care, transported them to the ranch, and launched the festivities without delay.
Then the "plan" began to disintegrate a bit???
It seems that grabbing plastic spoons and sloppin' icing down one's throat is infinitely more fun than carefully layering it onto a cookie?
And who would have thought that fancy colored sprinkles judiciously divided into little plastic bathroom sipping cups would be such awesome shot glasses to "chug" sugar charged energy fuel with unbridled enthusiasm????
Add pretzels to the "reindeer head" cookies"...NAW...throw them at your sibling at the neighboring table while giggling incomprehensible glee????
At the end of the evening it could easily be said it was "fun"...to have the experience....!!!!
Now if the ranch hand can figger how to get the tractor in the house to round up all that "fun" that ended up on the floor???
Monday, December 3, 2012
PRIDE
Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall. (Proverbs 16:18)
The ole fat boy and his beautiful child bride have spent the past year faithfully toiling in the salt mine (local exercise gym).
Yeah, the ranch hand has often grumbled and made lame-butt excuses bout not goin', but the little woman always lowered her voice, raised her eyebrows....and well hell, got my sorry self to the dungeon.
Slowly and painfully, your sextarian age scribe progressed from embarassing his ownself...to actually making progress on the track and in the weight room.
This fine morn found the Olympic wannabe chuggin' round the gym oval like a steam engine. Head held high, chest out, arms and legs pumpin' and churnin' like a threshing machine. Such was the magnificence of this display of physical prowess that all fellow athletes were eyeballin' the ranch hand with obvious envy.
Then reality reared it ugly head and slapped ole dumass up the side of the head with the fact that they was starin' because he was stylin' in his size 13 "croc" (fur lined") deluxe HOUSESHOES???
Dang that "fall" from grace was embarassing!
The ole fat boy and his beautiful child bride have spent the past year faithfully toiling in the salt mine (local exercise gym).
Yeah, the ranch hand has often grumbled and made lame-butt excuses bout not goin', but the little woman always lowered her voice, raised her eyebrows....and well hell, got my sorry self to the dungeon.
Slowly and painfully, your sextarian age scribe progressed from embarassing his ownself...to actually making progress on the track and in the weight room.
This fine morn found the Olympic wannabe chuggin' round the gym oval like a steam engine. Head held high, chest out, arms and legs pumpin' and churnin' like a threshing machine. Such was the magnificence of this display of physical prowess that all fellow athletes were eyeballin' the ranch hand with obvious envy.
Then reality reared it ugly head and slapped ole dumass up the side of the head with the fact that they was starin' because he was stylin' in his size 13 "croc" (fur lined") deluxe HOUSESHOES???
Dang that "fall" from grace was embarassing!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The Ranch Grinch
"The Twelve Days of Christmas", an ancient English Christmas carol, enumerates a series of increasingly grand gifts given on each of the twelve days of Christmas.
It's a lovely tune the ranch hand has never hesitated to make up words for since he is too dumb to remember the actual "stuff"?
However, the fact that most Christians don't actually celebrate twelve days of the commercialized version of Christmas is a blessing highly appreciated by this ole fat boy.
The reasons:
1. Ya wanna see a grown man break out in a cold sweat and quiver?
2. Ya wanna see a confused guy wondering from aisle to aisle mumblin' to his own self while doin' prolific eyeball rollin'?
....then just watch your humble blogger doing holiday "shopping".
Said shopping confusion most likely resembles a passage written by Dr. Seuss:
"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore."
Oh for the days when an upstanding magi had only to stop by the local gold, frankincense, and myrrh shop for gift purchases.
Surely life was simpler?
It's a lovely tune the ranch hand has never hesitated to make up words for since he is too dumb to remember the actual "stuff"?
However, the fact that most Christians don't actually celebrate twelve days of the commercialized version of Christmas is a blessing highly appreciated by this ole fat boy.
The reasons:
1. Ya wanna see a grown man break out in a cold sweat and quiver?
2. Ya wanna see a confused guy wondering from aisle to aisle mumblin' to his own self while doin' prolific eyeball rollin'?
....then just watch your humble blogger doing holiday "shopping".
Said shopping confusion most likely resembles a passage written by Dr. Seuss:
"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore."
Oh for the days when an upstanding magi had only to stop by the local gold, frankincense, and myrrh shop for gift purchases.
Surely life was simpler?
Sunday, November 4, 2012
THE COUGH
Easing thru the smooth dark velvet of pre-dawn darkness this morn was punctuated by the soft hooting of the ranch's resident owl in a distant tree. Plaintive in its call, but determined, the raptor continued its serenade till the sun rose thru a pink cascade of eastern sky.
A doe and her male fawn browsed along savoring the bounty of acorns and green fodder on the east pasture carpet. The nubbin buck proudly displayed its fur covered "bump" antlers as nobly as the trophy it may one day become (while occasionally visiting mama to nurse again).
The sudden bray of a neighbor's donkey gave no cause of concern to the casual diners. However, the unavoidable COUGH of your humble scribe set the duo on immediate guard as the doe began to loudly stamp her front hooves! This warning display continued for many minutes until she was satisfied the old fat man in the tree was a harmless doofus.
Next, a two year old six point buck slowly cruised from the surrounding brush and began his stalk of the doe....no doubt with romantic notions abloom?
Twenty minutes of fruitless pursuit continued until the young buck finally exited to find other, more amorous potential mates.
No venison collected on the Tin Star this second day of the season, but who cares?? Life is GREAT!
A doe and her male fawn browsed along savoring the bounty of acorns and green fodder on the east pasture carpet. The nubbin buck proudly displayed its fur covered "bump" antlers as nobly as the trophy it may one day become (while occasionally visiting mama to nurse again).
The sudden bray of a neighbor's donkey gave no cause of concern to the casual diners. However, the unavoidable COUGH of your humble scribe set the duo on immediate guard as the doe began to loudly stamp her front hooves! This warning display continued for many minutes until she was satisfied the old fat man in the tree was a harmless doofus.
Next, a two year old six point buck slowly cruised from the surrounding brush and began his stalk of the doe....no doubt with romantic notions abloom?
Twenty minutes of fruitless pursuit continued until the young buck finally exited to find other, more amorous potential mates.
No venison collected on the Tin Star this second day of the season, but who cares?? Life is GREAT!
Saturday, November 3, 2012
THE BIG BUCK
The 2012 Texas deer season was officially announced this fine morn by the chatter of the ranch corn feeder spraying its golden morsels about as homage to the woodland creature dietary desires.
Likely, only life-long deer hunters can best appreciate the shear beauty of an "opening morning" with its stirring of resident varmits inspired by the timid initial face of Ole Sol peeking over the east horizon?
This morn found The old fat boy perched in his elevated deer condo adjacent to the barn in the north extremity of the ranch.
Just the faintest hint of cool breeze stirred to move the early cool velvet pre-dawn. Without doubt, there was the hint of "promise" in the air.
After about 45 minutes, a stately doe casually sauntered from one oak tree to the other solemnly munching on the acorn protein bounty. Solitary in her lone appearance, but appreciated as our first "visitor".
Near 8:30, movement on the back fence line proved to be a magnificent male of the species. Heavy in body, magnificent in antlered glory.
Alas, after a brief peek-a-boo in and out of the trees, Senior Horns faded into the brush of the neighboring ranch.
What a wonderful "opening morning"!!!!! The privilege of watching our Master's handiwork awakening the day, seeing His creations at peace on the land, and that always special adrenaline thrill of seeing THE BIG BUCK.
Life is good.
Likely, only life-long deer hunters can best appreciate the shear beauty of an "opening morning" with its stirring of resident varmits inspired by the timid initial face of Ole Sol peeking over the east horizon?
This morn found The old fat boy perched in his elevated deer condo adjacent to the barn in the north extremity of the ranch.
Just the faintest hint of cool breeze stirred to move the early cool velvet pre-dawn. Without doubt, there was the hint of "promise" in the air.
After about 45 minutes, a stately doe casually sauntered from one oak tree to the other solemnly munching on the acorn protein bounty. Solitary in her lone appearance, but appreciated as our first "visitor".
Near 8:30, movement on the back fence line proved to be a magnificent male of the species. Heavy in body, magnificent in antlered glory.
Alas, after a brief peek-a-boo in and out of the trees, Senior Horns faded into the brush of the neighboring ranch.
What a wonderful "opening morning"!!!!! The privilege of watching our Master's handiwork awakening the day, seeing His creations at peace on the land, and that always special adrenaline thrill of seeing THE BIG BUCK.
Life is good.
Friday, November 2, 2012
The Process
Tomorrow's timid dawning will initiate the 42nd opening morning of participating in Texas deer season for the ole fat boy.
The early years were mostly "guessing" as to what to do, look for, or whatever?
No one in the ranch hand's family were deer hunters (since there were no deer in Wright City) and therefore the neophyte's knowledge was mostly gleaned from Field and Stream magazines.
Imagine your humble scribe's befuddled manner on the occasion of his first acquistition of a walking smoked sausage venison donor? Yep, no clue as to how to get what was inside...outside...and thus prepare for "processing" future protein accoutrements???
Well, it got muddled through and after harvesting likely more than 50 of them varmits over the past decades...the only "thrill" left is the "process". Watching the ruminants all year, feeding them groceries, following their woodland trails, photographing their antics, and generally enjoying the "process" of deer hunting is where the genuine pleasure lies.
Course, that smoked jalapeno/cheese reindeer hot gut and chicken fried backstrap is a bit of an incentive without compare!
The early years were mostly "guessing" as to what to do, look for, or whatever?
No one in the ranch hand's family were deer hunters (since there were no deer in Wright City) and therefore the neophyte's knowledge was mostly gleaned from Field and Stream magazines.
Imagine your humble scribe's befuddled manner on the occasion of his first acquistition of a walking smoked sausage venison donor? Yep, no clue as to how to get what was inside...outside...and thus prepare for "processing" future protein accoutrements???
Well, it got muddled through and after harvesting likely more than 50 of them varmits over the past decades...the only "thrill" left is the "process". Watching the ruminants all year, feeding them groceries, following their woodland trails, photographing their antics, and generally enjoying the "process" of deer hunting is where the genuine pleasure lies.
Course, that smoked jalapeno/cheese reindeer hot gut and chicken fried backstrap is a bit of an incentive without compare!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Crossin' Bridges
One fine day, me and Daddy Gene was toolin' thru Ed Wisner's pecan orchid down below the Sinclair refinery and spied a racoon perched in a tree fork just invitin' attention.
Being properly armed, we set about dispatchin' that varmit to his eternal destiny via a .22 bullit.
The next "logical" question was what to do with our obviously enviable prize?
Fortification with yeast inspired adult beverage provided the answer: We was gonna bar-b-que that sucka!
Retiring to the ubiquitous Wright City homestead, we fired up the iron smoke machine with seasoned hickory (while "firing up" our neophyte souls with more liquid "courage".)
With careful eye (and dubious appetite), me and Dad nursed that puppy all dang day with gently applied sauce basting, judicious seasoning, and ample attention to the hickory embers (while nervously sucking on the aluminum cans?).
At some point, the (brave???) adventurous chefs realized that jus' poppin' can tops and eye-ballin' the dark smoke pit delicacy wasn't accomplishin' much in the way of meaningful culinary ingestion.
Bottom line....me and Dad each whacked off a chunk of that dee-lish dish and chewed...and chewed...and chewed...and...well, that cud just got bigger and bigger in our mouths as we cogitated on the origin of our cuisine.
Ain't no fairy tale ending here. We spit that stuff out, popped another Bud, and swore a blood oath to NEVER cross that bridge again.
Being properly armed, we set about dispatchin' that varmit to his eternal destiny via a .22 bullit.
The next "logical" question was what to do with our obviously enviable prize?
Fortification with yeast inspired adult beverage provided the answer: We was gonna bar-b-que that sucka!
Retiring to the ubiquitous Wright City homestead, we fired up the iron smoke machine with seasoned hickory (while "firing up" our neophyte souls with more liquid "courage".)
With careful eye (and dubious appetite), me and Dad nursed that puppy all dang day with gently applied sauce basting, judicious seasoning, and ample attention to the hickory embers (while nervously sucking on the aluminum cans?).
At some point, the (brave???) adventurous chefs realized that jus' poppin' can tops and eye-ballin' the dark smoke pit delicacy wasn't accomplishin' much in the way of meaningful culinary ingestion.
Bottom line....me and Dad each whacked off a chunk of that dee-lish dish and chewed...and chewed...and chewed...and...well, that cud just got bigger and bigger in our mouths as we cogitated on the origin of our cuisine.
Ain't no fairy tale ending here. We spit that stuff out, popped another Bud, and swore a blood oath to NEVER cross that bridge again.
Neither Love nor Money
Ya gotta love fall.
When the pre-dawn morn has a bit of "nip" in the temperature and the elm and spanish oak leaves start to blossom in a palette of varying hues...well the old fat boy's neck starts to swell, his fur thickens, and the thought of hot chile is never far away.
The autumnal equinox inevitably tilts ole mother earth on its axis in a manner that shifts the mercury to the lesser side along with our daylight hours.
Course the resident ranch bucks ain't read that on Wikipedia like your dumass blog writer so they just know that the acorns are falling from the sky like theater popcorn and them dang does are startin' to look pretty gosh-awful fancyful?????
Yep, the Tin Star venison herd is headed toward "rut" like a meteor shower in a small dark closet and the bell has clearly "RUNG" for the courtship dance to begin!
Ah to be young again and experience the exhilaration of teenage feminine pursuit....Oh hell nah, wouldn't live that life again fer love nor money?????
When the pre-dawn morn has a bit of "nip" in the temperature and the elm and spanish oak leaves start to blossom in a palette of varying hues...well the old fat boy's neck starts to swell, his fur thickens, and the thought of hot chile is never far away.
The autumnal equinox inevitably tilts ole mother earth on its axis in a manner that shifts the mercury to the lesser side along with our daylight hours.
Course the resident ranch bucks ain't read that on Wikipedia like your dumass blog writer so they just know that the acorns are falling from the sky like theater popcorn and them dang does are startin' to look pretty gosh-awful fancyful?????
Yep, the Tin Star venison herd is headed toward "rut" like a meteor shower in a small dark closet and the bell has clearly "RUNG" for the courtship dance to begin!
Ah to be young again and experience the exhilaration of teenage feminine pursuit....Oh hell nah, wouldn't live that life again fer love nor money?????
Saturday, October 27, 2012
The Young Lions
Your venerable ranch hand has been a life-long University of Texas football fan.
Ain't no rhyme or reason for it since he has fooled three institutions of higher learning (with no affiliation to UT) into feloniously awarding (degrees?) to his dumb butt, but the chubby one has always felt a kinship for the Longhorn Nation?
There's been good years over the last 50 or so with NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIPS and "not so good"... as in the last few....but ya gotta take the "good" with tha "bad"???
The "horns" started today with a 5-2 slate against them lowly kansas jayhawk suckas who had a 1-6 record???? A "cake walk" for sure????
In the last dang EIGHT seconds, the mighty UT Juggernaut pulled out a "W" to progress(???) to 6-2 after just squeezing out enuff points to oozle ahead????
So why does this feel like a loss to a Bevo Faithful Fan???
Psalm 34:10 tells us, "The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing."
Let us pray that our young Longhorns are true believers that ask their Lord and Savior for Devine guidance for the remainder of our season?
Ain't no rhyme or reason for it since he has fooled three institutions of higher learning (with no affiliation to UT) into feloniously awarding (degrees?) to his dumb butt, but the chubby one has always felt a kinship for the Longhorn Nation?
There's been good years over the last 50 or so with NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIPS and "not so good"... as in the last few....but ya gotta take the "good" with tha "bad"???
The "horns" started today with a 5-2 slate against them lowly kansas jayhawk suckas who had a 1-6 record???? A "cake walk" for sure????
In the last dang EIGHT seconds, the mighty UT Juggernaut pulled out a "W" to progress(???) to 6-2 after just squeezing out enuff points to oozle ahead????
So why does this feel like a loss to a Bevo Faithful Fan???
Psalm 34:10 tells us, "The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing."
Let us pray that our young Longhorns are true believers that ask their Lord and Savior for Devine guidance for the remainder of our season?
Monday, October 22, 2012
Proof of Manhood
The ole ranch hand and his beautiful bride recently hosted the First Annual Tin Star Ranch Chili Cook-Off.
After careful cogitation and reflection, your humble fat boy has decided on some chili cook-off "do's and don'ts" fer true Texas CHAMPIONS to foller:
1. Scorch up the ranch dirt road in a pickup truck and a cloud of dust....the bigger the better on both counts, especially them monster dually diesels with gargantuan brush guards in front.
2. There ain't no way, no how, to have too much duct tape or too much adult beverage (dometic only...none that dang imported stuff!) when chili cuisine is involved.
3. Pre-tasting snacks is good....Jack Daniels whiskey is the best "snack", especially if ya is lookin' to soften up the competition.
4. Always, ALWAYS prominently display an American and Texas flag to show true redneck patriotism (and never bring up taxes, the president, or the price of deer corn 'less ya want your hind end scorched off).
5. Dress is optional...especially fer the wimmen folk, but men must wear ragged boots with their jeans tucked in the top of them poo kickers, rodeo belt buckles, and tee shirts and hats with logos of beer, cars, sports teams, or trophy buck deer. Facial hair is optional, but not with encrusted chili after having passed out with your face in a bowl of Texas Red.
6. Braggin' on your chili masterpiece is pre-judging mandatory conduct...victory dances after winning are frowned on, especially if you are too drunk to know you were not really the winner?
7. Tellin' hunting, fishing, and other lies at a cook-off should be an Olympic sport...and the first liar never has a chance.
8. And last, but not least, actually ingesting any of that greasy stuff is absolutely NOT a prerequisite for anything. Just showin' up and listening to all the BS of your kinfolk is proof enuff of manhood!
After careful cogitation and reflection, your humble fat boy has decided on some chili cook-off "do's and don'ts" fer true Texas CHAMPIONS to foller:
1. Scorch up the ranch dirt road in a pickup truck and a cloud of dust....the bigger the better on both counts, especially them monster dually diesels with gargantuan brush guards in front.
2. There ain't no way, no how, to have too much duct tape or too much adult beverage (dometic only...none that dang imported stuff!) when chili cuisine is involved.
3. Pre-tasting snacks is good....Jack Daniels whiskey is the best "snack", especially if ya is lookin' to soften up the competition.
4. Always, ALWAYS prominently display an American and Texas flag to show true redneck patriotism (and never bring up taxes, the president, or the price of deer corn 'less ya want your hind end scorched off).
5. Dress is optional...especially fer the wimmen folk, but men must wear ragged boots with their jeans tucked in the top of them poo kickers, rodeo belt buckles, and tee shirts and hats with logos of beer, cars, sports teams, or trophy buck deer. Facial hair is optional, but not with encrusted chili after having passed out with your face in a bowl of Texas Red.
6. Braggin' on your chili masterpiece is pre-judging mandatory conduct...victory dances after winning are frowned on, especially if you are too drunk to know you were not really the winner?
7. Tellin' hunting, fishing, and other lies at a cook-off should be an Olympic sport...and the first liar never has a chance.
8. And last, but not least, actually ingesting any of that greasy stuff is absolutely NOT a prerequisite for anything. Just showin' up and listening to all the BS of your kinfolk is proof enuff of manhood!
Friday, October 19, 2012
Similarities
The two spike bucks dramatically walked onto the stage from opposite sides of the back pasture. Youthful in years, genetically deprived of forked horns, but with obvious false male pride as to their place in nature.
In constrast, the two year old doe demurely meandered beneath the acorn laden oaks of the Tin Star Ranch busily preparing simultaneously for winter and the inevitable conception of her next fawn.
Survival of the fittest dictates that only the strong may create progeny. Accordingly, the battle to come would surely tilt fate in one manner or the other.
Spying one another, the combatants jauntingly pranced about in visual displays of their supposed prowess...to equally intimidate their opponent while wooing the potential mate (who continued to munch protein with complete disinterest).
In spite of their diminuitive headwear, the would-be suitors met face to face for the initiative staring match.
Next came pawing at the ground in the manner of bullring toros psyching to banish the toreador.
Without warning, both charged at full tilt, simultaneouly locking potentially impaling spikes while furiously churning their legs in a symphonic choreographed dance of desire.
....and they repeated their gentically programmed masculine machismo until the object of their "affection" silently retreated into the nearby brush.
Living on the ranch has a lot of perks, but ya gotta shake your head at times regarding the similarities between males of all species?
In constrast, the two year old doe demurely meandered beneath the acorn laden oaks of the Tin Star Ranch busily preparing simultaneously for winter and the inevitable conception of her next fawn.
Survival of the fittest dictates that only the strong may create progeny. Accordingly, the battle to come would surely tilt fate in one manner or the other.
Spying one another, the combatants jauntingly pranced about in visual displays of their supposed prowess...to equally intimidate their opponent while wooing the potential mate (who continued to munch protein with complete disinterest).
In spite of their diminuitive headwear, the would-be suitors met face to face for the initiative staring match.
Next came pawing at the ground in the manner of bullring toros psyching to banish the toreador.
Without warning, both charged at full tilt, simultaneouly locking potentially impaling spikes while furiously churning their legs in a symphonic choreographed dance of desire.
....and they repeated their gentically programmed masculine machismo until the object of their "affection" silently retreated into the nearby brush.
Living on the ranch has a lot of perks, but ya gotta shake your head at times regarding the similarities between males of all species?
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Spuddin'
The ole fat boy spent four hours on his Miller 140 wire welder today spuddin' together a project for a friend.
Gotta say there ain't nuthin like doing something that so totally absorbs your interest that your forget everything else in the world exists.
Weren't nuthin fancy. Was not done in an A-1 professional manner. But...dang it's a hoot to take a pile of steel, do a dab of fabrication, and "stick" it together in a manner that is a meaningful end result.
Wouldn't it be cool if every job we have ever done in our lives would meet those simple criteria: fun, interesting, meaningful?
Gotta say there ain't nuthin like doing something that so totally absorbs your interest that your forget everything else in the world exists.
Weren't nuthin fancy. Was not done in an A-1 professional manner. But...dang it's a hoot to take a pile of steel, do a dab of fabrication, and "stick" it together in a manner that is a meaningful end result.
Wouldn't it be cool if every job we have ever done in our lives would meet those simple criteria: fun, interesting, meaningful?
Friday, October 12, 2012
Wright City Sinner
The ranch hand seems to have unwittingly developed an avocation that was neither planned nor expected.
Since retiring a year ago, your humble scribe has been asked to "preach" three funerals for unrelated folks...including one today?
Is the ole fat boy an eloquent speaker. Nope. Is this red-neck Wright City hick purty to look at. Never.
In the book of John, Jesus said, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." (John 14:6). Given that "a calling" is God's personal, individual invitation to carry out the unique task he has for you, how could our Savior view a sinner needy of daily forgiveness a fitting messenger to the bereaved?
The ranch hand acknowledges that God equips each of us with unique spiritual gifts to help us in our "callings".
Romans 12:6-8 tells us that "We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully."
Acts 16:9-10 tells us that the Apostle Paul saw a vision that "called" him to preach the gospel.
Ain't seen no visions, but have certainly feel a "call" on occasion to try to comfort the mere mortals who remain after their loved ones pass on to Glory.
All ya'll pray for this poor sinner to do the right thing, every time, every day.
Since retiring a year ago, your humble scribe has been asked to "preach" three funerals for unrelated folks...including one today?
Is the ole fat boy an eloquent speaker. Nope. Is this red-neck Wright City hick purty to look at. Never.
In the book of John, Jesus said, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." (John 14:6). Given that "a calling" is God's personal, individual invitation to carry out the unique task he has for you, how could our Savior view a sinner needy of daily forgiveness a fitting messenger to the bereaved?
The ranch hand acknowledges that God equips each of us with unique spiritual gifts to help us in our "callings".
Romans 12:6-8 tells us that "We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully."
Acts 16:9-10 tells us that the Apostle Paul saw a vision that "called" him to preach the gospel.
Ain't seen no visions, but have certainly feel a "call" on occasion to try to comfort the mere mortals who remain after their loved ones pass on to Glory.
All ya'll pray for this poor sinner to do the right thing, every time, every day.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
ROJITO
Daddy Gene always said, "poor people have poor ways". Mostly, he meant that when facing a need, Wright City folk had to figger out a solution that did not involve money.
Gene called them solutions "managing". Takin' what you had and forging a resolution that got the job done. In truth, he was a master at this "art" as he was something of an inventor and as handy as a pocket on a shirt when it came to "fixin" stuff.
The old ranch hand inherited that ethic and has tried to emulate Daddy's ways. Often a quicker, easier solution would be to pay someone else to fix something, but the image of Daddy "watchin" always loomed in the background.
A case in point involves the ranch riding mower. That puppy has been a trojan of a workhouse performing hundreds, if not thousands, of hours of service without complaint.
Course, like your humble scribe, Rojito (as I call the red machine) has started to wear out one piece at a time.
The routine has become to mow a time or two....and then tear it all apart to replace broken/worn parts....mow a time or two...repeat above (over and over)????
The book of Romans (12:12) tells us, "Be joyful in hope; patient in affliction, faithful in prayer".
Lord, I know you have noted my "faithful prayer" to give me more "patience", but after today that damn mower is wearing my butt out with its breaking down "affliction".
Gene called them solutions "managing". Takin' what you had and forging a resolution that got the job done. In truth, he was a master at this "art" as he was something of an inventor and as handy as a pocket on a shirt when it came to "fixin" stuff.
The old ranch hand inherited that ethic and has tried to emulate Daddy's ways. Often a quicker, easier solution would be to pay someone else to fix something, but the image of Daddy "watchin" always loomed in the background.
A case in point involves the ranch riding mower. That puppy has been a trojan of a workhouse performing hundreds, if not thousands, of hours of service without complaint.
Course, like your humble scribe, Rojito (as I call the red machine) has started to wear out one piece at a time.
The routine has become to mow a time or two....and then tear it all apart to replace broken/worn parts....mow a time or two...repeat above (over and over)????
The book of Romans (12:12) tells us, "Be joyful in hope; patient in affliction, faithful in prayer".
Lord, I know you have noted my "faithful prayer" to give me more "patience", but after today that damn mower is wearing my butt out with its breaking down "affliction".
Thursday, September 20, 2012
The Lakota Prophecy
A white buffalo is considered sacred in several Native American Indian religions.
A Lakota prophecy goes that the birth of a white buffalo would be a sign that the time had come for the world to be purified – harmony, balance, respect among people and respect for the earth. (whitebuffaloprophecy.com)
The ole ranch hand has ultimate respect for the Creator and the beliefs of the ancients....while simultaneously sharing the belief of my friend "T" that the Almighty has a sense of humor that includes "jus' playin'" with us at times?
This last sunrise dawned clear with the promise of the fall to come and its hint of autumnal treasures. Not to be false in seasonal intentions, the ironic nature of our humble ranch land once again "smirked".
Looking out the bunkhouse to the back pasture, the fat boy spied eight Rio Grande turkeys sauntering about with their heads down bobbing and tails in the air in a clucking foraging choreography.
Lo and behold, a lone ubiquitous avian soul sported traditional foliage from mid-section to crown....while brilliantly displaying bright white plummage on the entire lower half?
Surely our Savior had a "belly" laugh on that one while musing as to the potential interpretations of us mere mortals?
Ya gotta love it!
A Lakota prophecy goes that the birth of a white buffalo would be a sign that the time had come for the world to be purified – harmony, balance, respect among people and respect for the earth. (whitebuffaloprophecy.com)
The ole ranch hand has ultimate respect for the Creator and the beliefs of the ancients....while simultaneously sharing the belief of my friend "T" that the Almighty has a sense of humor that includes "jus' playin'" with us at times?
This last sunrise dawned clear with the promise of the fall to come and its hint of autumnal treasures. Not to be false in seasonal intentions, the ironic nature of our humble ranch land once again "smirked".
Looking out the bunkhouse to the back pasture, the fat boy spied eight Rio Grande turkeys sauntering about with their heads down bobbing and tails in the air in a clucking foraging choreography.
Lo and behold, a lone ubiquitous avian soul sported traditional foliage from mid-section to crown....while brilliantly displaying bright white plummage on the entire lower half?
Surely our Savior had a "belly" laugh on that one while musing as to the potential interpretations of us mere mortals?
Ya gotta love it!
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
The Good Life and Other Magic
In Romans, Chapter 14, we are told, "Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgement on disputable matters. One man's faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables"
Be it abruzo, andouille, banger, bowerwurst, boudin, or the ranch hand's venerable Tin Star venison jalapeno/cheese smoked goodness....sausage would likely meet the biblical definition of "One man's faith allows him to eat anything...."?
The word sausage is derived from the Latin word salsus which means something salted. As a historical reference, sausages are mentioned in The Odyssey which was written by Homer more than 2,700 years ago (integratednutrition.com).
Regardless of history, nomenclature, preference, or prejudice, sausage would be one of the ole fat boy's weaknesses.
Tomorrow next, the bride and I will journey to the nearby burg of Thorndale to the meat market to drool over their casing enclosed ground meat goodies.
Right now we be thinking bout ten pounds of lean beef links and a similar pile of pork and jalapeno/cheese hot gut mouth candy.
Fire up the ranch smoker pit early with live oak seasoned for three years, lovingly lay them puppies on the grill with gentle tenderness......and wait for the magic to happen.
Now that is the GOOD LIFE!
Be it abruzo, andouille, banger, bowerwurst, boudin, or the ranch hand's venerable Tin Star venison jalapeno/cheese smoked goodness....sausage would likely meet the biblical definition of "One man's faith allows him to eat anything...."?
The word sausage is derived from the Latin word salsus which means something salted. As a historical reference, sausages are mentioned in The Odyssey which was written by Homer more than 2,700 years ago (integratednutrition.com).
Regardless of history, nomenclature, preference, or prejudice, sausage would be one of the ole fat boy's weaknesses.
Tomorrow next, the bride and I will journey to the nearby burg of Thorndale to the meat market to drool over their casing enclosed ground meat goodies.
Right now we be thinking bout ten pounds of lean beef links and a similar pile of pork and jalapeno/cheese hot gut mouth candy.
Fire up the ranch smoker pit early with live oak seasoned for three years, lovingly lay them puppies on the grill with gentle tenderness......and wait for the magic to happen.
Now that is the GOOD LIFE!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
The Topper
When the ranch hand was near 15 year old, he purchased a .12 gauge single shot shotgun from Papuh (grandfather) for the magnanimous price of $15.
Yeah, it had a metal screw for a front sight...and there was black electrician's tape around the forearm to keep it on the gun...and there were wooden match sticks driven between the tang and the stock to keep the stock from "wigglin", but it was heaven to a Wright City boy wanting to hunt "birds"!
Course, shells was hard to come by. Lester Sala who owned the drug store in Turnertown would sell boys shells in amounts less than a box. Ya had the money for only three bullits...Mr. Sala would cut a deal. (Now imagine how carefully your neophyte "bird" hunter would choose them shots knowing he only had 2 or 3 chances for the day???)
On occasion, an adult would "gift" some shells to a poor country boy. Only thing, ya never knew what the "load" was....the ammo bag would have a mix of bird shot, squirrel shot, buckshot, rifled slugs, or whatever...they was bullits..that's all that mattered to a rural young'un....even if ya splattered a poor hapless varmit with a heavy load while bruising a shoulder?
Many was the time the ole fat boy hoofed it down Rusk County Road 4151 in search of winged quarry with that venerable H&R Topper one hole scatter gun. Dove, quail, and the unfortunate meadowlark (mistaken for a dove/quail) succumbed to the wanna-be Daniel Boones' marksmanship.
Time passed...and now there resides in the ranch gun safe (in addition to the "Topper") guns of considerably greater cost and craftsmanship. This opening weekend of the 2012 dove season opened with yours truly "blastin" down at the pond with one them high dollar twice-hole models...but been thinkin'....
Wouldn't it be cool to dust off Papuh's ole popper and down a dove like the old days...now that would bring back good memories.
Yeah, it had a metal screw for a front sight...and there was black electrician's tape around the forearm to keep it on the gun...and there were wooden match sticks driven between the tang and the stock to keep the stock from "wigglin", but it was heaven to a Wright City boy wanting to hunt "birds"!
Course, shells was hard to come by. Lester Sala who owned the drug store in Turnertown would sell boys shells in amounts less than a box. Ya had the money for only three bullits...Mr. Sala would cut a deal. (Now imagine how carefully your neophyte "bird" hunter would choose them shots knowing he only had 2 or 3 chances for the day???)
On occasion, an adult would "gift" some shells to a poor country boy. Only thing, ya never knew what the "load" was....the ammo bag would have a mix of bird shot, squirrel shot, buckshot, rifled slugs, or whatever...they was bullits..that's all that mattered to a rural young'un....even if ya splattered a poor hapless varmit with a heavy load while bruising a shoulder?
Many was the time the ole fat boy hoofed it down Rusk County Road 4151 in search of winged quarry with that venerable H&R Topper one hole scatter gun. Dove, quail, and the unfortunate meadowlark (mistaken for a dove/quail) succumbed to the wanna-be Daniel Boones' marksmanship.
Time passed...and now there resides in the ranch gun safe (in addition to the "Topper") guns of considerably greater cost and craftsmanship. This opening weekend of the 2012 dove season opened with yours truly "blastin" down at the pond with one them high dollar twice-hole models...but been thinkin'....
Wouldn't it be cool to dust off Papuh's ole popper and down a dove like the old days...now that would bring back good memories.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
GOLDIE OLDIES
Musically, the ole ranch hand is a willing slave to the lyrics of the 60's (high school days).
Never can get enuff of the Rolling Stones, Steppenwolf, Bob Seger, Glen Burt and The Travelers....and the list is long and glorious!
Back in the day, Austin boasted an "oldies" station that "rocked around the clock". Sad was the day when the cretins of the airways pulled the plug on that puppy????
A few years back the fat boy was lamenting the sad state of harmonic affairs to his youngest daughter. Said young'un condescendingly explained that "everyone" knew that station K??? played nuthin but "oldies"!
Joy reigned thruout (until a "test run" revealed that my offspring's "oldies" were from the 80's and 90's)?????
In recent history, your humble scribe "bit the bullit" and got a "smart" phone (easily another embarassing self-deprecating blog in and of itself). Today, your neophyte smart phone dumass downloaded an "app" that will tune in any radio station in the world.
Glory Hallelujah and praise on the highest order!!!!!!
Been bouncing back and forth on OLDIE GOLD nation-wide all afternoon.....life is good!
Never can get enuff of the Rolling Stones, Steppenwolf, Bob Seger, Glen Burt and The Travelers....and the list is long and glorious!
Back in the day, Austin boasted an "oldies" station that "rocked around the clock". Sad was the day when the cretins of the airways pulled the plug on that puppy????
A few years back the fat boy was lamenting the sad state of harmonic affairs to his youngest daughter. Said young'un condescendingly explained that "everyone" knew that station K??? played nuthin but "oldies"!
Joy reigned thruout (until a "test run" revealed that my offspring's "oldies" were from the 80's and 90's)?????
In recent history, your humble scribe "bit the bullit" and got a "smart" phone (easily another embarassing self-deprecating blog in and of itself). Today, your neophyte smart phone dumass downloaded an "app" that will tune in any radio station in the world.
Glory Hallelujah and praise on the highest order!!!!!!
Been bouncing back and forth on OLDIE GOLD nation-wide all afternoon.....life is good!
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Holdin' the Pole
Early spring the ranch hand planted catfish, bream, and bass seedlings in the Tin Star pond and has nursed them puppies since to raise a "crop".
This morn dawned with coolish weather and overcast and just seemed to whisper "fishin" in the fat boy's metaphorical ear.
Weren't nuthin to do but gather up the requisite acquisition devices, harvest a dozen night crawlers, and saunter with the beautiful bride down the path to our angling destiny.
Tasks were quickly assigned:
A. Bride catches all fish while squealing in girlish delight.
B. Ranch hand baits hook, takes fish off, makes appropriate admiring comments about the aforementioned bass pro's prowess (and otherwise stays the hell out of the way?)
The "mission" was launched and in short order our neophyte piscatorialist had landed 20 lively flip floppers of various lineage on the dock.
Don't tell her, but your humble scribe had much more fun watchin' the "show" than he ever could have holding the "pole"!
This morn dawned with coolish weather and overcast and just seemed to whisper "fishin" in the fat boy's metaphorical ear.
Weren't nuthin to do but gather up the requisite acquisition devices, harvest a dozen night crawlers, and saunter with the beautiful bride down the path to our angling destiny.
Tasks were quickly assigned:
A. Bride catches all fish while squealing in girlish delight.
B. Ranch hand baits hook, takes fish off, makes appropriate admiring comments about the aforementioned bass pro's prowess (and otherwise stays the hell out of the way?)
The "mission" was launched and in short order our neophyte piscatorialist had landed 20 lively flip floppers of various lineage on the dock.
Don't tell her, but your humble scribe had much more fun watchin' the "show" than he ever could have holding the "pole"!
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Jesus and BBQ
Age teaches some of us that the simple pleasures in life are the best.
The ole ranch hand rose from his bunk bout 5-ish this morn to coax the fragrant aphrodisiac of well seasoned wood to its destiny in the Chuck Wagon meat smoker.
Got the ebony steel puppy's temperature jus' right in the comforting blanket of predawn softness and gentle cool from the eve's righteous rain.....and then laid the hawg ribs with reverence on the "altar" of BBQ worship with appropriate respect and sublimity.
The fat boy has since been sneakin' peeks at the "que" while inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the Tin Star Ranch Live Oak fuel fulfilling its promise of good things to come.
Read a biblical passage recently which stated, "The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.
(Psalm 145:15,16)
Ya'll reckon our Lord and Savior was a fan of fancy meat burnin'???
Regardless, your humble scribe is eternally grateful for the privilege of His blessings in the Tin Star Chuck Wagon department!
The ole ranch hand rose from his bunk bout 5-ish this morn to coax the fragrant aphrodisiac of well seasoned wood to its destiny in the Chuck Wagon meat smoker.
Got the ebony steel puppy's temperature jus' right in the comforting blanket of predawn softness and gentle cool from the eve's righteous rain.....and then laid the hawg ribs with reverence on the "altar" of BBQ worship with appropriate respect and sublimity.
The fat boy has since been sneakin' peeks at the "que" while inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the Tin Star Ranch Live Oak fuel fulfilling its promise of good things to come.
Read a biblical passage recently which stated, "The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.
(Psalm 145:15,16)
Ya'll reckon our Lord and Savior was a fan of fancy meat burnin'???
Regardless, your humble scribe is eternally grateful for the privilege of His blessings in the Tin Star Chuck Wagon department!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Junkin' Gypsies
The ranch hand and his beautiful child bride are bona fide junkin' addicts.
Searching for that sweet nirvana provided by the roadside carnies of retail has long been a quest for that "best junk just down the road".
Ok, to be fair...most of our treasure emporiums have signs advertising "antiques", but they be junk purveyors to the ranch clan?
Palaces of the nature we seek are most often of the late 1800 to early 1900 variety with saggin porches, dirty windows....with a few old folks sittin' out front considered a plus (throw in a hound dawg and hmmmmmm!)
Today's adventure included a sojourn up US 183 to Lampasas where the local Kuntry Kitchen served yard eggs, home made grits, and smoky sausage patties that would make a hawg hug a hound.
Mopped up that feast with buttery biscuits and sashayed on North to Goldthwaite to walk roun' the county courthouse square while eyeballin' the dusty interiors of the empty buildings with cornerstones denoting dates around the turn of the century.
Turned East to Evant and grinned while inspecting all three business establishments in that booming metropolis. All of the antique/junk stores had their doors wide open (no A/C) and one of them even had a person in the store to "wait" on folks (One has to reckon that crime ain't much of an issue in Evant...and the "honor system" is alive and well?)
Continued East to Gatesville where the local hat dealer had a huge selection of manly head gear (western only) to the tune of maybe four styles in a couple of sizes. Felt like a junkin' pro to find and purchase a prize that fit the ole fat boy!!
Motored to Waco and turned North to Elm Mott to visit the Homestead Heritage to shop "stuff" made by local artisans with hand tools the "Amish" way. Glommed onto the ultimate "find" there with the acquisition of a blacksmith hand forged triangle and striker for the ranch chuck wagon.
Finally headed the ranch pony South toward the bunkhouse, but stopped just short in Florence when we noticed the 100 year old hardward store had become a western wear shop. Hoo-ee-doggie....roped up a red bandana near two foot on a side for the eye-poppin' price of one U.S. dollar (icing on the cake).
Now back at the ranch suckin' on a col' adult beverage while basking in the self assured glory of a great day on the road "junkin" and the blessing of our "finds"
Damn, retired life is good!
Searching for that sweet nirvana provided by the roadside carnies of retail has long been a quest for that "best junk just down the road".
Ok, to be fair...most of our treasure emporiums have signs advertising "antiques", but they be junk purveyors to the ranch clan?
Palaces of the nature we seek are most often of the late 1800 to early 1900 variety with saggin porches, dirty windows....with a few old folks sittin' out front considered a plus (throw in a hound dawg and hmmmmmm!)
Today's adventure included a sojourn up US 183 to Lampasas where the local Kuntry Kitchen served yard eggs, home made grits, and smoky sausage patties that would make a hawg hug a hound.
Mopped up that feast with buttery biscuits and sashayed on North to Goldthwaite to walk roun' the county courthouse square while eyeballin' the dusty interiors of the empty buildings with cornerstones denoting dates around the turn of the century.
Turned East to Evant and grinned while inspecting all three business establishments in that booming metropolis. All of the antique/junk stores had their doors wide open (no A/C) and one of them even had a person in the store to "wait" on folks (One has to reckon that crime ain't much of an issue in Evant...and the "honor system" is alive and well?)
Continued East to Gatesville where the local hat dealer had a huge selection of manly head gear (western only) to the tune of maybe four styles in a couple of sizes. Felt like a junkin' pro to find and purchase a prize that fit the ole fat boy!!
Motored to Waco and turned North to Elm Mott to visit the Homestead Heritage to shop "stuff" made by local artisans with hand tools the "Amish" way. Glommed onto the ultimate "find" there with the acquisition of a blacksmith hand forged triangle and striker for the ranch chuck wagon.
Finally headed the ranch pony South toward the bunkhouse, but stopped just short in Florence when we noticed the 100 year old hardward store had become a western wear shop. Hoo-ee-doggie....roped up a red bandana near two foot on a side for the eye-poppin' price of one U.S. dollar (icing on the cake).
Now back at the ranch suckin' on a col' adult beverage while basking in the self assured glory of a great day on the road "junkin" and the blessing of our "finds"
Damn, retired life is good!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Saint Mathew
"But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking." (Mathew 6:7)
The ranch hand's near 80 year old mom-law has repeatedly stated without equivocation that when the ole fat boy "prays" aloud to his Lord in a public manner... he be MUCH too l-o-n-g winded.
The would-be messenger of his Savior, begs to "differ" as his highly biased opinion is leanin' towards the praise side on all occasions of devotional benediction?
Today was an epiphany of "praise" as the bride's Mom said, "When you pray, I start to feel GANGRENE settin' in from the "wait"?"
Surely God is sending a message...Just not sure if it is, "Good one, keep raggin' her butt", or "Well done, good and faithful servant" (Mathew 25:21)
The ranch hand's near 80 year old mom-law has repeatedly stated without equivocation that when the ole fat boy "prays" aloud to his Lord in a public manner... he be MUCH too l-o-n-g winded.
The would-be messenger of his Savior, begs to "differ" as his highly biased opinion is leanin' towards the praise side on all occasions of devotional benediction?
Today was an epiphany of "praise" as the bride's Mom said, "When you pray, I start to feel GANGRENE settin' in from the "wait"?"
Surely God is sending a message...Just not sure if it is, "Good one, keep raggin' her butt", or "Well done, good and faithful servant" (Mathew 25:21)
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
REVELATION
The ole ranch hand recently acquired the loan of a valued piece of history in the form of a buddy's ancient Marlin .22 single shot rifle.
The Book of Revelation (Rev 12:9; 20:2) makes use of a serpeant to identify Satan. Bein' plagued with "satans" down at the pond, your humble scribe sauntered that way with the bride and the little Marlin in tow.
Three shots later, they be three less fish eating reptiles slitherin' therein.
The triumphant mighty hunter then proceded his victory march back to the bunkhouse with the jubilant admiring bride in tow.
Said bride then entered the garage and promptly began furiously running in place and SCREAMING obscenities while pointing to a corner of the garage.
Being of normal curiousity, the accomplished woodsman "investigated" and observed a harmless four foot long rat snake. Relying upon a vast knowledge of the world of scaled sliders, the revered husband announced (FIRST MISTAKE) that it was a beneficial creature and should "live".
Bad move...the frantic foot stomper very efficiently redirected her rant toward her embecile mate and cut a blue streak toward the back pasture and assumed safety from the now six foot "killer".
Being never "rattled", the brave fat man picked up a nearby boat paddle and commenced to "shoo" the elongated one from the premises.....SECOND BAD MISTAKE....that eight foot instrument of Lucifer CHARGED at its tormentor with its jaws-a-snappin' like popcorn on a fiery griddle.
ALL machismo evaporated, yours truly started "running in place", and the ever larger predator repeatedly ATTACKED causing visions of fewer social security checks to loom equally as large???
Finally after a battle to the death of epic proportions, brother (ten foot?) snake cooperated and moved to an adjacent flower bed where his obvious appetite for "lead" was satisfied by Mr. Marlin.
Now if I can just get the kid's Mom to climb down out of that dang tree in the pasture?
The Book of Revelation (Rev 12:9; 20:2) makes use of a serpeant to identify Satan. Bein' plagued with "satans" down at the pond, your humble scribe sauntered that way with the bride and the little Marlin in tow.
Three shots later, they be three less fish eating reptiles slitherin' therein.
The triumphant mighty hunter then proceded his victory march back to the bunkhouse with the jubilant admiring bride in tow.
Said bride then entered the garage and promptly began furiously running in place and SCREAMING obscenities while pointing to a corner of the garage.
Being of normal curiousity, the accomplished woodsman "investigated" and observed a harmless four foot long rat snake. Relying upon a vast knowledge of the world of scaled sliders, the revered husband announced (FIRST MISTAKE) that it was a beneficial creature and should "live".
Bad move...the frantic foot stomper very efficiently redirected her rant toward her embecile mate and cut a blue streak toward the back pasture and assumed safety from the now six foot "killer".
Being never "rattled", the brave fat man picked up a nearby boat paddle and commenced to "shoo" the elongated one from the premises.....SECOND BAD MISTAKE....that eight foot instrument of Lucifer CHARGED at its tormentor with its jaws-a-snappin' like popcorn on a fiery griddle.
ALL machismo evaporated, yours truly started "running in place", and the ever larger predator repeatedly ATTACKED causing visions of fewer social security checks to loom equally as large???
Finally after a battle to the death of epic proportions, brother (ten foot?) snake cooperated and moved to an adjacent flower bed where his obvious appetite for "lead" was satisfied by Mr. Marlin.
Now if I can just get the kid's Mom to climb down out of that dang tree in the pasture?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Barbers And Other Butchers
The ranch hand started out in the booming East Texas metropolis of Wright City. WC was "ironically" named because it was far from a city. More like a wide place in the road in between real towns.
Course, WC folks did have some amenities. There was Uncle Reggie's Sinclair gasoline station, an oil field pipe yard, a "cafe" with coffee, a miniscule menu, and a pinball machine.....and a barber shop.
Daddy Gene...bein' Gene...often decided to take his yonker to Grandaddy's, sit his skinny butt on the wooden stool on the back porch, and use Granvil's hand operated shears on his progeny's youthful locks.....ALWAYS ending in a "burr" cut to "fix" the damage????
The WC barber shop would have been more aptly named the "butcher shop". The proprietor had a tiny one room tin structure that housed the oldest barber chair on earth and a four drawer metal filing cabinet. On top of the cabinet resided a few semi-clean, tarnished barberin' tools. In the top drawer, the most important "ingredient" in the shop lurked in liquid anticipation (seems brother WC barber had a bit of an alcohol dependency?)
How-some-ever, his "cut" was a mere 50 cents and so Daddy Gene would on occasion give his onliest son a silver "big nickel" and send him down the road to his ultimate humiliation to "have his ears lowered"???
That coiffure cowlick entrepreneur would then light in to 'a half cuttin'...half pullin' your humble scribes follicles in a manner befitting of Hitler's henchmen. The only savin' grace (momentary break) was that a few times during the "sacrifice ritual", that feller's hands would start shakin' so bad that he would pull open that top drawer and take a long pull on his precious Old Crow whiskey bottle....for his "nerves"????
And the "walk of shame" back to the house would start... with the WC fur-ball head hopin' no one would notice the "hack job"???
Well sports fans....things always seem to come full circle. This morn the ole fat boy rolled into G-town for his "ear lowering" ritual. Despite being gray-headed and "thinning", your retiree stated perkily to the barber/serial murderer, "A close trim please, Sir".
Dammit....that drunk bastard in WC done a better job?????
(Now hopin' no deputies come thru the country lookin' for escaped convicts cause this "hairdo/don't" IS feloniously criminal!!!!!!!!!)
Course, WC folks did have some amenities. There was Uncle Reggie's Sinclair gasoline station, an oil field pipe yard, a "cafe" with coffee, a miniscule menu, and a pinball machine.....and a barber shop.
Daddy Gene...bein' Gene...often decided to take his yonker to Grandaddy's, sit his skinny butt on the wooden stool on the back porch, and use Granvil's hand operated shears on his progeny's youthful locks.....ALWAYS ending in a "burr" cut to "fix" the damage????
The WC barber shop would have been more aptly named the "butcher shop". The proprietor had a tiny one room tin structure that housed the oldest barber chair on earth and a four drawer metal filing cabinet. On top of the cabinet resided a few semi-clean, tarnished barberin' tools. In the top drawer, the most important "ingredient" in the shop lurked in liquid anticipation (seems brother WC barber had a bit of an alcohol dependency?)
How-some-ever, his "cut" was a mere 50 cents and so Daddy Gene would on occasion give his onliest son a silver "big nickel" and send him down the road to his ultimate humiliation to "have his ears lowered"???
That coiffure cowlick entrepreneur would then light in to 'a half cuttin'...half pullin' your humble scribes follicles in a manner befitting of Hitler's henchmen. The only savin' grace (momentary break) was that a few times during the "sacrifice ritual", that feller's hands would start shakin' so bad that he would pull open that top drawer and take a long pull on his precious Old Crow whiskey bottle....for his "nerves"????
And the "walk of shame" back to the house would start... with the WC fur-ball head hopin' no one would notice the "hack job"???
Well sports fans....things always seem to come full circle. This morn the ole fat boy rolled into G-town for his "ear lowering" ritual. Despite being gray-headed and "thinning", your retiree stated perkily to the barber/serial murderer, "A close trim please, Sir".
Dammit....that drunk bastard in WC done a better job?????
(Now hopin' no deputies come thru the country lookin' for escaped convicts cause this "hairdo/don't" IS feloniously criminal!!!!!!!!!)
Monday, July 9, 2012
All Yall Pray
"And he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain, and the earth brought forth her fruit"
(James 5:18)
Sports fans....Its been so dang dry on the ranch of late that the birds have been building nests out of "bob" wire and the Tin Star catfish are totin' canteens???
The good Lord has a plan...and it is a good 'un for sure....but this ole fat boy is sure hopin' it includes some precipitation in the near future so said catfish can live to dunk another cork one day?
Between us friends, the ranch hand is startin' to worry bout them piscatorial puppies gitten ticks????
(James 5:18)
Sports fans....Its been so dang dry on the ranch of late that the birds have been building nests out of "bob" wire and the Tin Star catfish are totin' canteens???
The good Lord has a plan...and it is a good 'un for sure....but this ole fat boy is sure hopin' it includes some precipitation in the near future so said catfish can live to dunk another cork one day?
Between us friends, the ranch hand is startin' to worry bout them piscatorial puppies gitten ticks????
Saturday, July 7, 2012
BE HAPPY
"Ya can't roller skate in a buffalo herd.
Ya can't take a shower in a parakeet cage.
Ya can't go a-swimmin' in a baseball pool.
Ya can't change film with a kid on your back.
Ya can't drive around with a tiger in your car.
But you can be happy if you've a mind to."
(Roger Miller, 1966)
Beggin' the bard's pardon, but ole Roger shoulda added a verse to the above along the lines of, "Ya damn sure shouldn't wear spandex while cross-country bike riding if ya look like a 200 pound sausage in a 100 pound casing."
The ranch hand was toodlin' up to the front gate this early morn to snatch the newspaper when he heard a cheerful, "Hi". Glancing up, your innocent scribe near popped his eyeballs out on stems at the sight of a middle age female perched on one them skinny tire bicycles. That bodacious puppy was wearing spandex that looked like it started bout the size of a handkerchief afore she s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d over her hide. There was bunched up rolls of rolls on top of rolls in a manner that defies description.
This ole fat boy near had to clamp his hand over his mouth to not exclaim, "Damn lady, it's a wonder the fashion police don't charge you with a felony???"
But....she can be happy if she's a mind to.......
Rest in peace Roger.
Ya can't take a shower in a parakeet cage.
Ya can't go a-swimmin' in a baseball pool.
Ya can't change film with a kid on your back.
Ya can't drive around with a tiger in your car.
But you can be happy if you've a mind to."
(Roger Miller, 1966)
Beggin' the bard's pardon, but ole Roger shoulda added a verse to the above along the lines of, "Ya damn sure shouldn't wear spandex while cross-country bike riding if ya look like a 200 pound sausage in a 100 pound casing."
The ranch hand was toodlin' up to the front gate this early morn to snatch the newspaper when he heard a cheerful, "Hi". Glancing up, your innocent scribe near popped his eyeballs out on stems at the sight of a middle age female perched on one them skinny tire bicycles. That bodacious puppy was wearing spandex that looked like it started bout the size of a handkerchief afore she s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d over her hide. There was bunched up rolls of rolls on top of rolls in a manner that defies description.
This ole fat boy near had to clamp his hand over his mouth to not exclaim, "Damn lady, it's a wonder the fashion police don't charge you with a felony???"
But....she can be happy if she's a mind to.......
Rest in peace Roger.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Vegas Weird
Any other town you go to there's this little devil and a little angel on your shoulder. A little good advice, a little bad advice. You go to Las Vegas, there's like a devil and a devil and they're just battling it out the whole time. It's like, "Stuff more dough in that machine" and "Brang me another drank"???? And then the ole fat boy says, "YEA! Yea, this is a good town (at least til the hangover and bank deficiency reality sets in).
This July Fourth celebratory last the ranch hand and his gorgeous bride ambled northwest to the land of sin and frivolity "just because"?
Ya gotta know that LV is a land of alien strangeness with no comparison. Ya see folks and thangs that exist no where else on Mother Earth.
Independence Day celebration found your humble scribe perched on a casino bar stool suckin' down libation while "mindin' his own" at a video poker money pit. Up walks a rather sophisticated patron of the female persuasion looking expertly coiffed, spectacularly bejeweled....and definitely on the sunset side of 60???
"A white wine bartender"....."Yes Ma'am, will our house wine be OK"...."It will NOT" (with an aristocratic sniff of contempt)....Mr. Bartender proceeded to pour his "best" into a plastic cup and presented same on the bar.....Ms. Royalty stared briefly at the plastic chalice and offered a look that would melt titanium as she coldly uttered, "Do I look trashy to you?"....Ole humble pie sheepishly said, "No Ma'am"......Whereupon the apparently wealthy dowager promptly pulled down her blouse to expose her right breast and the large butterfly tattoo thereon stating with a mischievious grin, "Well, I am trashy"
Yeah, it's a weird place with weird people, but if ya think about it, it's just like retirement. Ya want to enjoy it to its fullest, ya just don't wanta run outa money?
This July Fourth celebratory last the ranch hand and his gorgeous bride ambled northwest to the land of sin and frivolity "just because"?
Ya gotta know that LV is a land of alien strangeness with no comparison. Ya see folks and thangs that exist no where else on Mother Earth.
Independence Day celebration found your humble scribe perched on a casino bar stool suckin' down libation while "mindin' his own" at a video poker money pit. Up walks a rather sophisticated patron of the female persuasion looking expertly coiffed, spectacularly bejeweled....and definitely on the sunset side of 60???
"A white wine bartender"....."Yes Ma'am, will our house wine be OK"...."It will NOT" (with an aristocratic sniff of contempt)....Mr. Bartender proceeded to pour his "best" into a plastic cup and presented same on the bar.....Ms. Royalty stared briefly at the plastic chalice and offered a look that would melt titanium as she coldly uttered, "Do I look trashy to you?"....Ole humble pie sheepishly said, "No Ma'am"......Whereupon the apparently wealthy dowager promptly pulled down her blouse to expose her right breast and the large butterfly tattoo thereon stating with a mischievious grin, "Well, I am trashy"
Yeah, it's a weird place with weird people, but if ya think about it, it's just like retirement. Ya want to enjoy it to its fullest, ya just don't wanta run outa money?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
JONO
Just between us and the chickens, there is an esoteric society of folks with a warped sense of humor ("warpees") hovering mostly underground, but occasionally bustin' into uncontrollable fits of gut splittin' public laughter at the absolute most inappropriate times imaginable?
Daddy (Gene) was a "warpee". Gene spent his entire existence with no care for conventional fashion, rules, or common sensibility. He said whatever he was thinking in any venue....and certainly often offended many.....but due to obvious genetic influences, the ranch hand usually busted out laughin' during those same "inappropriate" circumstances?
Now "laughing" ain't no bad thing. Well...at least not if it ain't in a movie theater during a scene when no one else laughs...or in the middle of a wedding...or...well heck, at a funeral.
Confession time: Me and Gene done all them things???? Ain't proud of it, but a "warpee" got no control sometimes?
Me and Dad went to the backyard wedding of a valued family member once upon a time. Due the abundance of mass (AKA "lardass" present in the females of the wedding party) (and their high heel shoes), them puppies was continuously spiking them heel nails in the turf plumb to paydirt and near fallin' over... (like me and Dad?)....we was chokin', red-faced, tear stained, and near aspyxiation before them "I do's" was spoke?????
Gene was the caretaker at a country cemetery. We was there to "clean up" after a funeral. As the solemnity of the service waned, two elderly matrons approached and asked if we thought the rose bushes they brought to plant at the grave site would grow. Dad knew that plants would greatly add to his burden of cemetary care and thus sadly intoned, "No ma'am, rose bushes never grow here.". The octogenerians steadfastly forged forward and planted them anywho. After all departed, Dad (the original "warpee") remarked as he was spraying Roundup herbicide on the roses, "Hell, I tole 'em these wouldn't grow here!" (and yours truly bout rolled on the ground guffawing!!!!)
Well hallelujah and pass the biscuits....the apple don't fall far from the tree. Brother JRM was renowned during his life (and celebrated at his passing) for being a lifelong "warpee". Ole JRM said more funny stuff bout life, neighbors (Mr. and Mrs "P"???), friends, family, and all manner of stuff than Methusala could ever have imagined.
Which brings us, sports fans, to the official "honoree" of this humble blog space: JONO.
Jono recently "came out of the closet" and confessed to being the DNA "warpee" clone of her beloved Dad, JRM. Welcome to our esteemed "club" gorgeous gal cuzin....you, me.... we is in fine company....on earth, and in heaven!!!!!!!!
Daddy (Gene) was a "warpee". Gene spent his entire existence with no care for conventional fashion, rules, or common sensibility. He said whatever he was thinking in any venue....and certainly often offended many.....but due to obvious genetic influences, the ranch hand usually busted out laughin' during those same "inappropriate" circumstances?
Now "laughing" ain't no bad thing. Well...at least not if it ain't in a movie theater during a scene when no one else laughs...or in the middle of a wedding...or...well heck, at a funeral.
Confession time: Me and Gene done all them things???? Ain't proud of it, but a "warpee" got no control sometimes?
Me and Dad went to the backyard wedding of a valued family member once upon a time. Due the abundance of mass (AKA "lardass" present in the females of the wedding party) (and their high heel shoes), them puppies was continuously spiking them heel nails in the turf plumb to paydirt and near fallin' over... (like me and Dad?)....we was chokin', red-faced, tear stained, and near aspyxiation before them "I do's" was spoke?????
Gene was the caretaker at a country cemetery. We was there to "clean up" after a funeral. As the solemnity of the service waned, two elderly matrons approached and asked if we thought the rose bushes they brought to plant at the grave site would grow. Dad knew that plants would greatly add to his burden of cemetary care and thus sadly intoned, "No ma'am, rose bushes never grow here.". The octogenerians steadfastly forged forward and planted them anywho. After all departed, Dad (the original "warpee") remarked as he was spraying Roundup herbicide on the roses, "Hell, I tole 'em these wouldn't grow here!" (and yours truly bout rolled on the ground guffawing!!!!)
Well hallelujah and pass the biscuits....the apple don't fall far from the tree. Brother JRM was renowned during his life (and celebrated at his passing) for being a lifelong "warpee". Ole JRM said more funny stuff bout life, neighbors (Mr. and Mrs "P"???), friends, family, and all manner of stuff than Methusala could ever have imagined.
Which brings us, sports fans, to the official "honoree" of this humble blog space: JONO.
Jono recently "came out of the closet" and confessed to being the DNA "warpee" clone of her beloved Dad, JRM. Welcome to our esteemed "club" gorgeous gal cuzin....you, me.... we is in fine company....on earth, and in heaven!!!!!!!!
Big Un'
The ranch hand recently had the soul satisfaction of re-yoon-yun with Glenn Bert (Big Un') as a ghost from high school days past.
Big Un' was a patient feller as evidenced by his unsucessful attempts in Joinerville to teach your humble scribe a few simple chords on his Sears and Roebuck Wright City git-fiddle?
Big Un' was...well "big" as he towered over every one else in our lil' country school?
And Big Un' was exceptionally articulate.
This ole fat boy remembers a friday night gridiron tussle when an offensive play resulted in Big Un' runnin' down hill with the ball like a Sherman tank burnin' nitro....that puppy was pumpin' them knees, snorting snot like a freight train, and bowling down every last man on the hapless defense like they was rubber ducks in a shootin' gallery.....(Oh yeah, with each mighty step he was cussin' like beelzebub incarnate yellin' every profanity this ole cuntry boy ever knew and a few...I suspicion were made up on the "fly"???)
Inevitably, the ref didn't appreciate the finer esoteric value of Big Un's vocabulary and promptly informed the obvious Heisman candidate that such ungentlemanly conduct would not be tolerated. To which the ever gentlemanly Glenn Bert replied, "Aw sh*t, I'm sorry sir!"
For more country memories about the ole war hawse, read Big Un's blog at:
http://www.glnroz33.blogspot.com
Big Un' was a patient feller as evidenced by his unsucessful attempts in Joinerville to teach your humble scribe a few simple chords on his Sears and Roebuck Wright City git-fiddle?
Big Un' was...well "big" as he towered over every one else in our lil' country school?
And Big Un' was exceptionally articulate.
This ole fat boy remembers a friday night gridiron tussle when an offensive play resulted in Big Un' runnin' down hill with the ball like a Sherman tank burnin' nitro....that puppy was pumpin' them knees, snorting snot like a freight train, and bowling down every last man on the hapless defense like they was rubber ducks in a shootin' gallery.....(Oh yeah, with each mighty step he was cussin' like beelzebub incarnate yellin' every profanity this ole cuntry boy ever knew and a few...I suspicion were made up on the "fly"???)
Inevitably, the ref didn't appreciate the finer esoteric value of Big Un's vocabulary and promptly informed the obvious Heisman candidate that such ungentlemanly conduct would not be tolerated. To which the ever gentlemanly Glenn Bert replied, "Aw sh*t, I'm sorry sir!"
For more country memories about the ole war hawse, read Big Un's blog at:
http://www.glnroz33.blogspot.com
Friday, June 29, 2012
THE BAREFOOTIN' HIP-HOP
Raisin' up in Wright City meant traipsin' down oil field black top roads.
Seein' as how crude oil was cheap and plentiful in them days, county comissioners stirred up sandy soil and crude to make stuff to pave the dirt country lanes.
It was all we knew...including the facts that when it rained they was slicker than owl sh*t, and when it was HOT, the oil would pool in spots like shiny ebony rainbows in the July sun.
Course, being "country" meant bein' " barefoot". An being barefoot (from Easter day til "caint") meant contendin' from daylight til dark with the ferocious East Tex grass burrs...and that dad-gum oil road.
Probably country folks is born with callouses on they feet??? The ole ranch hand well remembers skippin' cross sticker patches like it was cotton candy......but them dang roads was a different brand of devilment.
They weren't but one way to survive on that steamin' boulevard and it was "run like hell till ya feet smoked...and then jump on an adjacent tuft of grass on the side of the road to let your tootsies unbake"??? Run again, hop on the grass, etc.
The ole fat boy shore was grinnin' when Dad brought home a junkyard ragged bicycle so the bumpkin could glide down those rural paths.
Life was good in them days!
Seein' as how crude oil was cheap and plentiful in them days, county comissioners stirred up sandy soil and crude to make stuff to pave the dirt country lanes.
It was all we knew...including the facts that when it rained they was slicker than owl sh*t, and when it was HOT, the oil would pool in spots like shiny ebony rainbows in the July sun.
Course, being "country" meant bein' " barefoot". An being barefoot (from Easter day til "caint") meant contendin' from daylight til dark with the ferocious East Tex grass burrs...and that dad-gum oil road.
Probably country folks is born with callouses on they feet??? The ole ranch hand well remembers skippin' cross sticker patches like it was cotton candy......but them dang roads was a different brand of devilment.
They weren't but one way to survive on that steamin' boulevard and it was "run like hell till ya feet smoked...and then jump on an adjacent tuft of grass on the side of the road to let your tootsies unbake"??? Run again, hop on the grass, etc.
The ole fat boy shore was grinnin' when Dad brought home a junkyard ragged bicycle so the bumpkin could glide down those rural paths.
Life was good in them days!
Thursday, June 28, 2012
THE LAKE
The ranch hand was born/raised slap dab in the middle of heat/humidity USA.
Started out workin' in the East Texas coastal bermuda hay fields....sweated out two-a-day football workouts with Glen Burt on the sandy grass-burr farm....and toiled in the slimy oil pit infested Kilgore oil field til hell wouldn't have it.
One can remember days in Wright city when ya saw the robins pullin' worms outa the ground usin potholders and we had to feed the chickens crushed ice to keep them puppies from layin' hard boiled eggs?
The ole cars Dad had back then came with hard plastic steerin' wheels. In July ya quickly learned to do the guidin' with jus' two fangers as that rascal would leave blisters (thank goodness fer them swing round full-open vent winders to blow enuff to stop the smokin'??)
Ya might say, your humble scribe thought he was bullit proof and blade steel when it comes to workin' on warm days!
Nope....this summer is startin' out like armageddon on steroids (I swear yesterday a squirrel wuz pouring gatorade on his balls?????).
The fat boy is feeling the full weight of it.
Revelation (21:8) describes hell as a "lake" that burns with fire and sulphur where the smoke of torment goes up forever and ever?
Bless us with patience O' Lord for the fall (and Your saving grace) shall one day soon bring the cool and we shall rejoice in Your name.
Started out workin' in the East Texas coastal bermuda hay fields....sweated out two-a-day football workouts with Glen Burt on the sandy grass-burr farm....and toiled in the slimy oil pit infested Kilgore oil field til hell wouldn't have it.
One can remember days in Wright city when ya saw the robins pullin' worms outa the ground usin potholders and we had to feed the chickens crushed ice to keep them puppies from layin' hard boiled eggs?
The ole cars Dad had back then came with hard plastic steerin' wheels. In July ya quickly learned to do the guidin' with jus' two fangers as that rascal would leave blisters (thank goodness fer them swing round full-open vent winders to blow enuff to stop the smokin'??)
Ya might say, your humble scribe thought he was bullit proof and blade steel when it comes to workin' on warm days!
Nope....this summer is startin' out like armageddon on steroids (I swear yesterday a squirrel wuz pouring gatorade on his balls?????).
The fat boy is feeling the full weight of it.
Revelation (21:8) describes hell as a "lake" that burns with fire and sulphur where the smoke of torment goes up forever and ever?
Bless us with patience O' Lord for the fall (and Your saving grace) shall one day soon bring the cool and we shall rejoice in Your name.
Monday, June 25, 2012
MEAN MUTHAS
The ranch hand built a genuine rustic outdoor kitchen/chuck wagon last year and has spent many the hour savoring the pleaures of smokin' meat, grillin', and boiling up shrimp and such.
This Sunday last the ole fat boy decided to put on a bodacious cajun style pot of shrimp, taters, sausage, and cob corn to feed the beautiful bride's in-laws, out-laws, and such.
Course....settin' up the rig required a douse of H2O from the ranch well. Amblin' that direction, the self-styled chef/cookie/chuck wagon boss extraordinaire was purty cocky bout the coming feast.
Mother Nature had other "ideas"?????
The first red wasp POPPED the neck nape (no doubt mesmerized by the gorge-i-mus silver...OK, thinning hair there) causing the neophyte assistant chef to near slap his-self goofy swangin' at them varmits.
This extrememe indigity to your humble almost-boiler's mate was immediately follered by a ZAP immediately under the right nose hole causing unmitigated pain, rage, and (staggerin', blind...uh, the soon-to-be dishwasher's spectacles was long since "slapped" into outer space...and mass confusion soon prevailed!!!).
The bride's brother (watching with astonished amazement???) later said, "I thought the sum-bitch wuz havin' a stroke, a conniption fit, or at least hydrophobia????).
No worries....being a manly man...impervious to pain...a true WARRIOR...the dishwasher trainee soon succumbed to anaphylactic shock and started systematically shutting down all the unnecessary systems (like breathing). Again, no worries....the bride ripped open a store bought vial of magic elixar...poured that puppy down the blubberin' idiots guzzle....and soon, "they lived happily ever after"....Uh, except for the next part:
Now the bumbling child seized upon revenge/retribution as the true course of action. There weren't nuthin to do but "gas" them puppies in their lair and forever establish the "boss" of the ranch......except somebody forgot to tell the damn wasps and they immediately EXCRUCIATED the left little pinky of the absolute coward causing said digit to swell to absolute uselessness.
Wave the white flags, cede all previously conquered territory, and bust the ceremonial sword for truly....
Mother Nature can be a "Mean Mutha"
This Sunday last the ole fat boy decided to put on a bodacious cajun style pot of shrimp, taters, sausage, and cob corn to feed the beautiful bride's in-laws, out-laws, and such.
Course....settin' up the rig required a douse of H2O from the ranch well. Amblin' that direction, the self-styled chef/cookie/chuck wagon boss extraordinaire was purty cocky bout the coming feast.
Mother Nature had other "ideas"?????
The first red wasp POPPED the neck nape (no doubt mesmerized by the gorge-i-mus silver...OK, thinning hair there) causing the neophyte assistant chef to near slap his-self goofy swangin' at them varmits.
This extrememe indigity to your humble almost-boiler's mate was immediately follered by a ZAP immediately under the right nose hole causing unmitigated pain, rage, and (staggerin', blind...uh, the soon-to-be dishwasher's spectacles was long since "slapped" into outer space...and mass confusion soon prevailed!!!).
The bride's brother (watching with astonished amazement???) later said, "I thought the sum-bitch wuz havin' a stroke, a conniption fit, or at least hydrophobia????).
No worries....being a manly man...impervious to pain...a true WARRIOR...the dishwasher trainee soon succumbed to anaphylactic shock and started systematically shutting down all the unnecessary systems (like breathing). Again, no worries....the bride ripped open a store bought vial of magic elixar...poured that puppy down the blubberin' idiots guzzle....and soon, "they lived happily ever after"....Uh, except for the next part:
Now the bumbling child seized upon revenge/retribution as the true course of action. There weren't nuthin to do but "gas" them puppies in their lair and forever establish the "boss" of the ranch......except somebody forgot to tell the damn wasps and they immediately EXCRUCIATED the left little pinky of the absolute coward causing said digit to swell to absolute uselessness.
Wave the white flags, cede all previously conquered territory, and bust the ceremonial sword for truly....
Mother Nature can be a "Mean Mutha"
Friday, June 22, 2012
MODERN
The ole ranch hand was raised up in a time before electronical contraptions.
The most Wright City could boast was vacumn tube black/white TVs that got one channel (if the weather wasn't too bad or the outside antenna hadn't blown down).
There just weren't no such thang as computers, the internet, space travel, cordless phones, or a vast myriad of other things that are taken for granted by the younger generation.
A bit late in life, your humble scribe took the plunge (OK, maybe stuck one reluctant toe) into the cyberspacial realm by using computers.
After a time, the ole fat boy stuck a cell phone on his belt. Now this was a big deal for a fellow that was in high school before he ever talked on a phone for the first time (a 10 cent machine in a red wooden booth on a street corner in Henderson)? The ranch hand's cell phones of choice since then have intentionally ONLY included the functions of "send calls" and "receive calls". Nothing fancy for oil field folks.
All of which brings us to today's "issue":
Yours truly decided to get a "smart" phone. Yeah, this puppy does internet, motion pictures, lattes, butt scratchin', (and according to the slick salesman, "access to 5,000 apps")????
Only problem is, ever time the wanna-be nerd is trying to navigate them "apps", the phone will ring......and ol' dumbutt can't figger out how to answer the call????
So...bottom line....done went from only "send/receive" calls on a dumb phone to "no clue" how to make/answer calls on this damnable "smart" phone.
Some folks just ain't built for "modern"?
The most Wright City could boast was vacumn tube black/white TVs that got one channel (if the weather wasn't too bad or the outside antenna hadn't blown down).
There just weren't no such thang as computers, the internet, space travel, cordless phones, or a vast myriad of other things that are taken for granted by the younger generation.
A bit late in life, your humble scribe took the plunge (OK, maybe stuck one reluctant toe) into the cyberspacial realm by using computers.
After a time, the ole fat boy stuck a cell phone on his belt. Now this was a big deal for a fellow that was in high school before he ever talked on a phone for the first time (a 10 cent machine in a red wooden booth on a street corner in Henderson)? The ranch hand's cell phones of choice since then have intentionally ONLY included the functions of "send calls" and "receive calls". Nothing fancy for oil field folks.
All of which brings us to today's "issue":
Yours truly decided to get a "smart" phone. Yeah, this puppy does internet, motion pictures, lattes, butt scratchin', (and according to the slick salesman, "access to 5,000 apps")????
Only problem is, ever time the wanna-be nerd is trying to navigate them "apps", the phone will ring......and ol' dumbutt can't figger out how to answer the call????
So...bottom line....done went from only "send/receive" calls on a dumb phone to "no clue" how to make/answer calls on this damnable "smart" phone.
Some folks just ain't built for "modern"?
Thursday, June 14, 2012
PATIENCE
Beggin' ya'lls pardon, but the ole ranch hand be forced to add a "P.S." to the last blog, "Angel Chorus".
To add insult to injury, your humble scribe was in the garage today and noted that the bride's Tahoe (Smoky) had a rather obnoxious dent in the left front fender from the airport parking lot inflicted while the eclectic couple were frolicking in Maui????
Oh Lord, let us always be reminded of Ecclesiastes 7:8...."The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride."
To add insult to injury, your humble scribe was in the garage today and noted that the bride's Tahoe (Smoky) had a rather obnoxious dent in the left front fender from the airport parking lot inflicted while the eclectic couple were frolicking in Maui????
Oh Lord, let us always be reminded of Ecclesiastes 7:8...."The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride."
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
THE ANGEL CHORUS
Brad, the oldest son, recently anounced his intention to take a bride for the first time at the ripe old age of 38....joy reigned throughout...and the fact that it would be held in Maui, Hawaii significantly enhanced family enthusiasm.
Accordingly, the ole ranch hand acquired the requisite reservations and started the epic journey by rising at 4AM to arrive at the Austin barnstormin' hanger on time. Then confidently mounted the assigned aircraft at the appointed hour for a brief hop to Dallas for a plane change for the final run to Maui.
The jet jockey was jus' bout to put that puppy in rear/verse when one solid citizen-passenger pointed out to the cabin waitress that a small 4"X18" strip of plastic in the ceiling of our craft had one of its two metal screw fasteners backed out nearly half way.
The brakes went on....Mr. Technician showed up.....carefully studied the phillips head screw that had partially come unwound....and took it out completely and pulled the plastic strip down a mite to verify there was nothing but a narrow hollow space beyond. Brother Techie then wallked off the plane for a few and our driver announced they be required to file a "damage" report with FAA, file a written plan for repair, and a (backup) written plan for replacement.
So we waited...and we waited....and we, hells bells....sat there for over three hours on the tarmac while the maintenance crew and FAA played passenger tiddly winks or sumpthin?????
Finally the gods of fate intervened and the joy stick bombadier said that we had received "verbal" approval for the "plan", but would have to wait for a hard copy of the paper work before implementation.
Bout 20 minutes later our screw driver guru entered our tense domain, turned the screw a few rounds, and seemed surprised at the standing ovation given by his audience.
Unbelievable!
Finally got to Dallas...just in time to miss our flight to Maui????
Managed to wrangled another flight scheduled a bit later, but in a different terminal....RAN down the halls, up the escalators, dived into the tram cars....and plunged headlong down the coridors of the new terminal to the gate......just as that flight left?????
One more chance...the ole fat boy and his child bride got on "back-up" status for the last flight of the day to the next stop (not Maui...Los Angelas...and then to Maui????)
Yep, ran like crazed gazelles to....A DIFFERENT TERMINAL....and found there were 78 people on stand-by for that flight (but we were numbers 14 and 15).
Started praying like the God fearing, true believers we are for Devine intervention....cuz we were fresh out of bullets, near the end of the trail, and no posse left.
Every other human being at that gate got on the plane, except the two pooch lipped Tin Star Ranch country bumpkins???
The ticket agent announced there was one seat available....the mother of the groom-to-be gratefully boarded the plane with promises that her slow witted husband would be along shortly as the Lord always provides for his most humble servants. Yeah, the bride bawled and protested at going "alone", but reluctantly walked down the jetway to her matrimonial destiny.
And then a miracle began to unfold....
The little ticket gal smiled at the kindly gray haired old fart in front of her and said she would do her best "to make things right"....had to tell that charming soul flat out that if God wants me on that plane, God will put me there.....
Bout that time the angel chorus started a hollerin', trumpets blared, and that skinny leg reservation woman whipped out the last ticket for the last seat on a plane that had to hold the door open while grandpa wheezed (one mo' time) on an Olynpic sprint to his wife.
Anywho, got to LAX for the last lap of our journey to Maui....it was a wunnerful feelin'...well... except for the fact that we was runnin an hour late due to a flight delay in Dallas????
Dammit....we took off runnin' like diarhea crazed monkeys on a steady diet of ex-lax bannanas with no toilet paper. Rounded the last corner to our gate (where not one other soul was standing) just in time to hear the proclamation that boarding was over....
SLAPPED them boarding passes up side the head of the single remaining airline employee at the gate and charged like two rabid rhinos down that jetway just in time to slide our hot feet across the door and be called safe.
And just think...only 19 hours from home to hotel that day?????
(On our second day in Maui, our bag that was stranded in Dallas and the one left in LA arrived at the hotel....thank the Lord for Walmart for essentials in time of need?)
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Piece de Resistance
Doin' Que is an absolutely soul satisfying vocation, avocation, hobby, (excuse to drink beer?), pastime, mouth-watering, mindless, relaxing, coooool thang ta do!!
Ya start before the rising sun...light the seasoned oak carefully laid in the BBQ fire box the night afore...and wait til there aint nuthin' but red coals.
Get the "pit" to the right temp...slap that lovingly seasoned protein of choice on the expanded metal grate...and start the mouth watering, uncontrollable salivation, ballet of smoke and smell that would tickle the tonsils of the most devout vegetarian.
(This might be the part where more beer might be appropriate???)
Bout ever thirty minutes ya "check" the pit temp and the fire box...need wood?...use your expertly experienced eye to see-lect just the right size/shape piece of forest fuel to keep the temp right....flavor the meat lovingly...and...aw hell, open another col' beer?
Dependin' on the menu....have that steel pipe low/slow oven puppy on auto-pilot for 8-12 hours....pull it off to allow the piece de resistance to "rest"....
Slice/serve/enjoy...and the rest is culinary history.
Taste buds the world throughout...REJOICE...and chill with another beer......
Ya start before the rising sun...light the seasoned oak carefully laid in the BBQ fire box the night afore...and wait til there aint nuthin' but red coals.
Get the "pit" to the right temp...slap that lovingly seasoned protein of choice on the expanded metal grate...and start the mouth watering, uncontrollable salivation, ballet of smoke and smell that would tickle the tonsils of the most devout vegetarian.
(This might be the part where more beer might be appropriate???)
Bout ever thirty minutes ya "check" the pit temp and the fire box...need wood?...use your expertly experienced eye to see-lect just the right size/shape piece of forest fuel to keep the temp right....flavor the meat lovingly...and...aw hell, open another col' beer?
Dependin' on the menu....have that steel pipe low/slow oven puppy on auto-pilot for 8-12 hours....pull it off to allow the piece de resistance to "rest"....
Slice/serve/enjoy...and the rest is culinary history.
Taste buds the world throughout...REJOICE...and chill with another beer......
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Megan Laura
BLESSED ARE THE CHILDREN (PSALM 128)
Blessed are the children
who walk in the Lord.
Blessings and joy shall be theirs.
Theirs is the bounty,
the fruit of the vine.
Theirs is the joy of God's care.
The ranch hand's three year old niece is a pleasure to behold.
She is the embodiment of innocence, smiles, and exuberant joy on a daily basis....and she is honest.
It is so refreshing to view the world thru the eyes of a yonker. You ask a question...you get her unvarnished deadpan opinion. No dressing, no sublte meaning...just the world as she sees it.
Ask if she thinks the ranch hand is an old fat man...get ready for the answer. Ask if so-and-so is "nice" or not....yep, same stuff. The truth is the truth and they have not learned to lie, flatter, connive, or otherwise deceive.
If only the world were more child-like.
BLESSED ARE THE CHILDREN.
Blessed are the children
who walk in the Lord.
Blessings and joy shall be theirs.
Theirs is the bounty,
the fruit of the vine.
Theirs is the joy of God's care.
The ranch hand's three year old niece is a pleasure to behold.
She is the embodiment of innocence, smiles, and exuberant joy on a daily basis....and she is honest.
It is so refreshing to view the world thru the eyes of a yonker. You ask a question...you get her unvarnished deadpan opinion. No dressing, no sublte meaning...just the world as she sees it.
Ask if she thinks the ranch hand is an old fat man...get ready for the answer. Ask if so-and-so is "nice" or not....yep, same stuff. The truth is the truth and they have not learned to lie, flatter, connive, or otherwise deceive.
If only the world were more child-like.
BLESSED ARE THE CHILDREN.
Friday, June 1, 2012
DETAILS
The Roman poet Virgil wrote, "Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore."
("But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.")
Someone once told the ole ranch hand that all that matters is the bottom line.
Not how ya got there or how "purty" it might have been"....and don't sweat the details.
Oh yeah, the most important advice.....it's all "details".
Reckon it took awhile for such wisdom to sink into a formidably thick skull, but the ole fat boy is actually starting to kinda get it these days looking back on the totality of personal existence.
A lot of it was rocky, more of it dang sure wasn't purty....but hell if I didn't wind up at the twilight of my existence in a good place, with a good woman, in a world that is comfortable, secure, and a pleasure to wake up to each morn!
“Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding..... (Proverbs 3:13)
("But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.")
Someone once told the ole ranch hand that all that matters is the bottom line.
Not how ya got there or how "purty" it might have been"....and don't sweat the details.
Oh yeah, the most important advice.....it's all "details".
Reckon it took awhile for such wisdom to sink into a formidably thick skull, but the ole fat boy is actually starting to kinda get it these days looking back on the totality of personal existence.
A lot of it was rocky, more of it dang sure wasn't purty....but hell if I didn't wind up at the twilight of my existence in a good place, with a good woman, in a world that is comfortable, secure, and a pleasure to wake up to each morn!
“Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding..... (Proverbs 3:13)
Thursday, May 31, 2012
WEEDS
"I appeal to you as a soldier to spare me the humiliation of seeing my regiment march to meet the enemy and I not share its dangers" (George Armstrong Custer)
The ranch hand has toiled in the garden of the ranch pond for nigh on eight years to raise a decent crop of bass, bream, and channel catfish.
Other than a scourge of locusts, most ever thing else has befell that ever so humble endeavor.
We be talkin' drought, turtles, snakes, predatory birds, racoons, and WEEDS!!!!
This annum, the weeds have gone steroidal, rampant, and homicidal as they have gorged on the pond nutrients to the point of fiber explosion.
E'nuff is e'nuff.
The ranch hand oozled off to "town" this fine day and secured some scientifically proven (yeah right?) liquified dynamite to ee-lim-nate the offending party.
Generously "shared" said cocktail with the "guests" this day, said a prayer (for their comfortable, but SWIFT death) and await the final results?
Now join me breathen as we say, "Bless their hearts" (not)
The ranch hand has toiled in the garden of the ranch pond for nigh on eight years to raise a decent crop of bass, bream, and channel catfish.
Other than a scourge of locusts, most ever thing else has befell that ever so humble endeavor.
We be talkin' drought, turtles, snakes, predatory birds, racoons, and WEEDS!!!!
This annum, the weeds have gone steroidal, rampant, and homicidal as they have gorged on the pond nutrients to the point of fiber explosion.
E'nuff is e'nuff.
The ranch hand oozled off to "town" this fine day and secured some scientifically proven (yeah right?) liquified dynamite to ee-lim-nate the offending party.
Generously "shared" said cocktail with the "guests" this day, said a prayer (for their comfortable, but SWIFT death) and await the final results?
Now join me breathen as we say, "Bless their hearts" (not)
FRIENDSHIP
Lots of things change in life.
The ranch hand's ubiquitous body build has somehow expanded in some places, fallen in unfortunate areas, and wrinkled beyond belief in others????
Beloved family members are gone, but not forgotten....treasured for their wisdom, contributions....and their love.
The world has somehow evolved cell phones (some smart...some Wright City dumb..like mine), computers, HD television (we had only channel 7 in B/W), and a myriad of scientific gibberish that an ole fat boy could never fathom?
Some things never change.
Starting first grade, the ranch hand made some friendships thru the various public school grades that have lasted for the long run....55 years and counting on a few. That is a measure of wealth that can not be denied.
On occasion, an ole buddy rises from the ashes of your humble scribe's senility and re-awakens that kinship of a shared past.
Thank you, GLNROZ, for that which can be truly valued.
The ranch hand's ubiquitous body build has somehow expanded in some places, fallen in unfortunate areas, and wrinkled beyond belief in others????
Beloved family members are gone, but not forgotten....treasured for their wisdom, contributions....and their love.
The world has somehow evolved cell phones (some smart...some Wright City dumb..like mine), computers, HD television (we had only channel 7 in B/W), and a myriad of scientific gibberish that an ole fat boy could never fathom?
Some things never change.
Starting first grade, the ranch hand made some friendships thru the various public school grades that have lasted for the long run....55 years and counting on a few. That is a measure of wealth that can not be denied.
On occasion, an ole buddy rises from the ashes of your humble scribe's senility and re-awakens that kinship of a shared past.
Thank you, GLNROZ, for that which can be truly valued.
Fire and Brimstone
"Upon the wicked He shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and a horrible tempest, this shall be the portion of their cup." (Psalm 11:6)
Never let it be said that the ranch hand does not sleep soundly for a least a few winks per night.
Last night being no different, the ole fat boy hit the designated snooze pad bout 10PM and went into blessed oblivion.
At some unknown point beyond the know meridians....the good Lord reckoned it was time to wake up the gray haired fat man and do a bit of spring cleaning on the Tin Star Ranch.... and thus it was so.
Sports fans, we is talkin' "snares and fire" (thunder/roar), "brimstone" (lightnin' on steroids) and "a horrible tempest" from hell (AKA brute force wind).
Needless to say, this morn's cheery greeting include downed trees, limbs cast akimbo, everything inside the "yard"....outside the "yard" (some of which left the county).
God's will be done!
We are now cleansed....our palette is refreshed...and we are ready to start anew (Uh....dear Savior...could we maybe hold off on the next "blow" for a few til your humble ranch hand ketches up with the "clean up" on this blessing?
Never let it be said that the ranch hand does not sleep soundly for a least a few winks per night.
Last night being no different, the ole fat boy hit the designated snooze pad bout 10PM and went into blessed oblivion.
At some unknown point beyond the know meridians....the good Lord reckoned it was time to wake up the gray haired fat man and do a bit of spring cleaning on the Tin Star Ranch.... and thus it was so.
Sports fans, we is talkin' "snares and fire" (thunder/roar), "brimstone" (lightnin' on steroids) and "a horrible tempest" from hell (AKA brute force wind).
Needless to say, this morn's cheery greeting include downed trees, limbs cast akimbo, everything inside the "yard"....outside the "yard" (some of which left the county).
God's will be done!
We are now cleansed....our palette is refreshed...and we are ready to start anew (Uh....dear Savior...could we maybe hold off on the next "blow" for a few til your humble ranch hand ketches up with the "clean up" on this blessing?
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Work of His Hands
“The heavens declare the glory of god; the sky’s proclaim the work of His hands “ (Psalms 19:1)
God’s palette is never better illustrated than at sunset on the ranch.
The melding of pink, blue, gray, and dark hues of every description are beyond comparison or description as they become a muted blend from the horizon to infinity above.
It is but a fleeting glimpse of His glory as the scene changes each moment until it is rendered to mere history.
Mortals could never hope to transcend or duplicate this level of ethereal wonder.
The slowly moving comfort of drowsing clouds, the excited whir of the cicadas from nearby trees, and the calming dark as it settles upon the earth is like a comforting mantle.
Calming in its manner, ever gentle in its delivery.
All is right in the world and the Lord is our Savior.
God’s palette is never better illustrated than at sunset on the ranch.
The melding of pink, blue, gray, and dark hues of every description are beyond comparison or description as they become a muted blend from the horizon to infinity above.
It is but a fleeting glimpse of His glory as the scene changes each moment until it is rendered to mere history.
Mortals could never hope to transcend or duplicate this level of ethereal wonder.
The slowly moving comfort of drowsing clouds, the excited whir of the cicadas from nearby trees, and the calming dark as it settles upon the earth is like a comforting mantle.
Calming in its manner, ever gentle in its delivery.
All is right in the world and the Lord is our Savior.
Crossing the Pond
In Wright City, overseas was referred to as "across the pond" or "across the waters".
If folks got drafted by the military and sent to the hinterlands, yep....they went "across the pond".
The ranch hand and his beautiful bride first crossed that pond in the recent past to spend a sojourn in Spain...(goes without saying...growin' up in Wright City...or Joinerville for that matter...did not prepare a couple of country bumpkins for that experience?).
Week next, the ubiquitous duo will adventure to Maui, Hawaii for a beach safari extraordinaire.
All ya'll pray that our marginal public school education will finally "kick in" and we will find our way back to the ranch in due time??????
If folks got drafted by the military and sent to the hinterlands, yep....they went "across the pond".
The ranch hand and his beautiful bride first crossed that pond in the recent past to spend a sojourn in Spain...(goes without saying...growin' up in Wright City...or Joinerville for that matter...did not prepare a couple of country bumpkins for that experience?).
Week next, the ubiquitous duo will adventure to Maui, Hawaii for a beach safari extraordinaire.
All ya'll pray that our marginal public school education will finally "kick in" and we will find our way back to the ranch in due time??????
OLD LIONS
The ole fat boy been pistol popping for more years than he might like to admit.
Started with the venerable .22 long rifle cartridge, ambled up to a .357 six hole wheel gun...eventually transitioned to a "lectric" shooter (.45 semi-auto), and followed with 9mm, .357 Sig, .40 cal. and .380 (just for extra "seasoning").
The ranch hand's chosen profession required semi-annual proficiency qualification. Either pony up and do the do...or give up the job (obviously no pressure?)
Today marked the 42nd year (started at age "3"...OK, maybe not?) for your humble scribe to toe the line at the firearms range and "compete".
Yeah, time has made the eyes suspect and the hands a mite on the yippy side, but the young'uns on the line got a lesson in humility this day.
Bottom line: Beware of the Old Lions or they may devour your ass when you least expect it.
Started with the venerable .22 long rifle cartridge, ambled up to a .357 six hole wheel gun...eventually transitioned to a "lectric" shooter (.45 semi-auto), and followed with 9mm, .357 Sig, .40 cal. and .380 (just for extra "seasoning").
The ranch hand's chosen profession required semi-annual proficiency qualification. Either pony up and do the do...or give up the job (obviously no pressure?)
Today marked the 42nd year (started at age "3"...OK, maybe not?) for your humble scribe to toe the line at the firearms range and "compete".
Yeah, time has made the eyes suspect and the hands a mite on the yippy side, but the young'uns on the line got a lesson in humility this day.
Bottom line: Beware of the Old Lions or they may devour your ass when you least expect it.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
The Renewal of Life
The bride and I strolled to the ranch pond about an hour after dawn this morn to feed the catfish in the early cool.
At the spillway end of the tank we saw a fawn in its first moments of life as it struggled to stand and take its first wobbling steps.
After a few brave ventures, it sank into the tall grass to gain strength and comtemplate a new world outside the womb.
Life renews each spring on the ranch and we are but the grateful recipients of its bounty.
At the spillway end of the tank we saw a fawn in its first moments of life as it struggled to stand and take its first wobbling steps.
After a few brave ventures, it sank into the tall grass to gain strength and comtemplate a new world outside the womb.
Life renews each spring on the ranch and we are but the grateful recipients of its bounty.
Monday, April 30, 2012
BUMPS
The beginning of each season of deer hunting begins with the end of antlers.
The bucks endure the annual shed as their calcified headress falls to the earth to be consumed by the elements of nature.
After a time, the process begins anew with the emergence of new horn growth signifying the initiation of the new season.
The Tin Star Ranch bucks have traveled this well worn trail yet again as evidenced by the sprouting of "bumps" on their foreheads as precursors to their "crowns".
And so begins another year of patient observation of what may be, the trophy that could allow collection in a moment of fortunate circumstance, or simply the heart-felt appreciation of another opportunity to enjoy the wonder of God's creations.
The bucks endure the annual shed as their calcified headress falls to the earth to be consumed by the elements of nature.
After a time, the process begins anew with the emergence of new horn growth signifying the initiation of the new season.
The Tin Star Ranch bucks have traveled this well worn trail yet again as evidenced by the sprouting of "bumps" on their foreheads as precursors to their "crowns".
And so begins another year of patient observation of what may be, the trophy that could allow collection in a moment of fortunate circumstance, or simply the heart-felt appreciation of another opportunity to enjoy the wonder of God's creations.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
HOT COFFEE
Dad spent his life brewing his morning cup o' joe on the natural gas kitchen stove top using an aluminum percolator pot. It had a glass "bubble" on the top and when the lava hot liquid spittin' into the "bubble" was the right color..... it was ready.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
HEAVENLY PLEASURES
Year last the ole fat boy obtained hybrid bass and bream and "stocked" the ubiquitous ranch pond/tank with future protein, fun, and enrichment.
Mother Nature had other ideas and the seven year drought "sucked" the water from that ever so precious water hole and the ranch "babies" evaporated before predators, heat, and all manner of depredation.
Life begins anew in the spring and this fine 2012 begins (after heavy rain) with the introduction of channel catfish to their piscatorial garden of Eden.
The fond memories of the ranch hand's grandmother includes her homemade "bonnet" and long sleeved/long hemmed dresses as she gathered her bamboo pole and beef liver to saunter to her brother Charlie's pond to collect supper for her and Granvil.
More often than not, that fine lady would return from her pasture adventure with a wriggling recalcitrant channel slider ripe for the skillet with a grin on her face that could brighten any moonless night.
For you, my dearest Ola Mae, I dedicate this renewal of a catfish garden for your heavenly pleasure.
Mother Nature had other ideas and the seven year drought "sucked" the water from that ever so precious water hole and the ranch "babies" evaporated before predators, heat, and all manner of depredation.
Life begins anew in the spring and this fine 2012 begins (after heavy rain) with the introduction of channel catfish to their piscatorial garden of Eden.
The fond memories of the ranch hand's grandmother includes her homemade "bonnet" and long sleeved/long hemmed dresses as she gathered her bamboo pole and beef liver to saunter to her brother Charlie's pond to collect supper for her and Granvil.
More often than not, that fine lady would return from her pasture adventure with a wriggling recalcitrant channel slider ripe for the skillet with a grin on her face that could brighten any moonless night.
For you, my dearest Ola Mae, I dedicate this renewal of a catfish garden for your heavenly pleasure.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Process
Dusk on this fine day signaled the end of yet another central Texas deer season.
The ole fat boy put a measure of venison in the freezer, but no horns.
Maturity (or age) has a way of letting one understand that "trophies" ain't where it's at.
The "process" is the key.
Watching deer develop through out the year...filling the corn feeders...identifying the game trails...learning their habits...following tracks...that is the true source of the pleasure.
Did a trophy rack go on the office wall: NO
Was this an awesome season of hunting pleasure...ABSOLUTELY!
Life is good Uncle Wayne.
The ole fat boy put a measure of venison in the freezer, but no horns.
Maturity (or age) has a way of letting one understand that "trophies" ain't where it's at.
The "process" is the key.
Watching deer develop through out the year...filling the corn feeders...identifying the game trails...learning their habits...following tracks...that is the true source of the pleasure.
Did a trophy rack go on the office wall: NO
Was this an awesome season of hunting pleasure...ABSOLUTELY!
Life is good Uncle Wayne.
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