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!!!!!!!!

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

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!

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.

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"

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"?

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."

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?)

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......

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.

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)