A few days ago I found myself staring at our brown Bermuda grass in the front yard. Of course it was dormant and like me waiting for warmer weather. It seems like yesterday when I was a stickler for winter rye and the warmth of green grass during the winter. Strange how age and Mother Nature can kick your butt when it comes to yard care and other things.

In somewhat of a hypnotic state of mind staring at the yard I was reminded of our small front yard in my small hometown in Eastern N.C. Not even age or Mother Nature could erase the vivid memories of that small patch of land that became my personal playground.

To begin with, there was no grass and a town owned drainage ditch ran down the middle of the front yard. At the time I would challenge the best agronomist at N.C. State to grow a stand of grass surrounded by huge Loblolly pines, a large Maple and a Chinaberry tree. A side note of the Chinaberry tree. It produced a small berry that today the U.S. Department of Agriculture has declared an invasive species. The berry if ingested can be poisonous. I always wondered why the Blue Jays would eat the berries and fall to the ground in a drunken stupor.

So, how did one tend to the front yard to meet the standards of the HOA ( haha) , you raked it. Yes Louise, I said raked it. The yard was composed mostly of small gravel rocks and black soil (Southern for dirt). The pine needles were great for banking Azaleas, but the acidity was disastrous for grasses. The tool of choice was a metal leaf rake that would catapult the pine needles three to four feet depending on man power. When raking carful attention was given to the section where tag, marble games, hopscotch, or hitting rocks with a tobacco stick took place. If you fell during tag, a scraped knee was a badge of honor. And, not once was anyone called down and told to put their cell phone away ( Again haha).

The old homeplace was sold a few years ago and is in need of repairs, but at last accounts My Playground was still rocks, black soil and memories. Simple life simple pleasures.

Be safe

“Without change nothing happens”. Probably just like you ,Thanksgiving has become the gateway to Christmas. In my youth ( yes, I was young once) the Thanksgiving feast was an event separate and apart from Christmas. Now fast forward to the twenty-first century. Yes Agnes, most of my family has their Christmas trees up and burning brightly and Turkey Day is days away. I must confess our Charlie Brown tree is up and the Star of Bethlehem is shinning brightly.

Admittedly, at eighty plus years of age decorations on the tree are like a time traveler hurtling through space. Even though we have cut back drastically on our decorations each has a memory when it is placed on the tree. Some of those memories go back decades and others are as recent as last Christmas. Like life these decorations speak of love, heart break, tears and laughter. Elvis Presley had a hit song, ” Memories”. One of the lyrics says, ” memories pressed between the pages of my mind”. So spot on.

A few years ago I posted a blog explaining how this old guy handles the stress of Christmas. Its very simple, find you a comfy chair near your tree with your beverage of choice, put on The Carpenters or Buble’ and ” count your lights”. Between the lights and decorations each is symbolic of a loved one, a memory, or maybe a quite prayer of thanks. There are lights that burn brighter than others, but it is not the illumination only the memory. There are no guidelines when counting your lights. The gamut could range from a medical trauma that almost took a loved one, or Angel wings that speak softly to you, or the loss of a nineteen year old four legged house guest that became family. Your light, your choice.

Warning! As you get settled in to ” count your lights” take a few Kleenex, you will end up laughing until you cry. Remember, ” without change nothing happens”. Maybe change is as simple as lights on a Christmas tree. Look what happened to the Grinch.

Happy Holidays–Be Safe.

Decembeer 29th. 1953. It was four days after Christmas and there was still excitement in the air. Children were riding their Schwinn bikes and pulling their Radio Flyer wagons up and down the street. Talk of a better 1954 filled the soda shop at Bridgers Drug Store. The mill was running three shifts and all was well. However, by mid-day the complexion of our town totally changed. There was shocking news of dogs and farm animals having been discovered decapitated and in some instances the blood had been sucked out of their carcass. Thus the saga of The Beast of Bladenboro had begun.

For the next thirteen days Bladenboro N.C. became the talking points for television and newspapers. What was this strange creature lurking in the swamps of this small Eastern N.C. town? The dawning of each day filled the town with more animal kills and sightings of a large creature with black piercing eyes and the sound of eerie screams that filled the night air. At night doors were locked and shades were pulled. Farm animals that usually were free to roam were locked in barns and dogs were brought inside to avoid possible encounters with whatever was terrorizing the town. If you had to venture to the outhouse after dark a shotgun went with you.

Hunters with their dogs were coming from near and far in an attempt to hunt the creature down. It was a carnival atmosphere. On January 5th. 1954, five hundred people turned out to hunt down and rid Bladenboro of the creature, but to no avail. One hunter from Wilmington said, ” We tracked it for three miles before the dogs lost it’s scent”. January 6th. 1954, eight hundred people turned out all bearing arms ready for whatever the beast had to offer. Sheriff Roy Fores was afraid this was too dangerous and called the hunt off.

I was twelve years old at the time and my imagination was running wild. There I was standing ready with my Daisy Red Ryder BB gun ( you know guys, like the one Ralphie had in the movie The Christmas Story). As fate would have it, on January 11th. 1954 the killing stopped. As life returned to normal the barking of dogs in the night made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, had it returned?

What ever the beast was, it was never found. There were rumors of large bobcats, cougars, and wolf’s being killed, but none fitted the description of what witness’ had experienced. The Beast of Bladenboro left this small town with a legend that to this day has not been solved. Could it return? Who knows what secrets the deep bowels of the nearby swamps hold. When old timers are asked that question they smile, but their eyes say, ” maybe”.

Be safe.

Of course your first impression of the word GIFT may be God’s grace, or Christmas or birthdays. However, this gift carries a little different connotation than those mentioned above. For the few followers of this blog, let me explain.

In 2005′ my better half received a call from an expectant daughter. It was not a pregnancy issue but more of an itch that could not be scratched.

” Mom, can you keep Kemper ( a four pound Maltese puppy ) for a few days? His constant yapping is stressing me out”. On the surface that did not sound like an unreasonable request.

We had met Kemper on a recent visit and was taken back at how cute he was. And yes, he was very energetic. How could this little ” ball of fur” be a problem? As I arrived home from a business trip my wife called me to the master bedroom. ” Come see our guest”. Sitting on a white duvet I would not have known there was a puppy on the bed other than his black nose and dark eyes. The manner in which he was sitting told me, ” This little bundle of fur acts as if he is king for a day, and he was.

That was almost nineteen years ago. Sadly, Kemper succumbed peacefully to old age a few days ago. During that time he brought us much joy ( and some stress ) but mostly joy. He was our four legged child. As emotional as his passing is, we did find comfort in a wonderful poem from our vet. Beloved pets go to a place called Rainbow Ridge. In short it is described as a heaven for pets. The only time the pets take a break from being happy is when they see the ones that cared for them and the reunion begins.

We have a lovely Momento of Kemper in a place we pass every day. There is always a kind greeting from eah of us. And on some days if you linger a few seconds and listen carefully you can hear Kemper Willie yapping saying, ” Hey guys, how about a little attention”? In the near future there will be a Kemper II, but Kemper Willie can never be replaced. He was an original and as they say, ” When he was born they broke the mold”.

Be safe

Several years ago one of my granddaughters and I were having a conversation about all things how hot the summers were in N.C. Of course, I was quickly reminded of my upbringing in a section of Eastern N.C. that is hotter in the summer than Charlotte. As I was explaining to my granddaughter how hot our little nine hundred square foot home could get in the July and August summers she innocently replied, ” Why didn’t you just turn down the thermostat on the a.c. unit”? After bursting out laughing, I gave her a little history on our thermostat.

As most of the residents in my small town the only “a.c.” unit was a large window fan. Only the upper class on front street could afford the a.c. window units at the time. The installation of the window fan was simple. You placed the fan in the most central window location in the your home. For us it was my parents bedroom. The fan was set up to blow out rather than in. At night we would raise our windows about four inches allowing the window fan to pull damp cool air through the opening. On many a night I would sit directly in front of the opening breathing in the cool air, simple pleasures.

Summers in the South are always hot and humid. As a youngster you accepted the heat as just another season realizing the only relief was heading to Butler Mill Hole for a dip in the pond. And then there were the tobacco fields that offered your only means of earning a few dollars. Imagine standing in the center of a twenty acre tobacco field where you cannot see the end of the row and on a sunny day the temperature is a hundred degrees or more. Youth somehow can disguise hard times, but when its all you know it is alot eaiser to justify. At the end of ten hours in a tobacco field you looked forward to three things, getting your five dollar wage, washing the tobacco gum off your body, and sitting in front of the window with the fan blowing damp cool air on you. Oh! the only thermostat setting we knew was low, medium, and high.

Stay cool and be sage.

Edward-Bulwer Lyton, a playwright from the 1830’s ( Are you kidding! Of course I Goggled it) wrote the line, ” The pen is mightier than the sword”. In today’s world I beg to differ.

Residing in the largest city in N.C. it appears the current fashion trend for the younger generation is not Polo, Lu-Lu Lemon or Nike ( wait for it) ” Do you own a Golck 9, Beretta, or AR-15″? Forgive my old age stupidity, but where the hell do these misdirected juveniles get the money to purchase a Glock or an AR-15?

“Mom, I opened a savings account today” ” Son, that is wonderful. What are you saving for, college”? “No Mom, the black market is selling gun’s to any race, color, creed, or mental instable person for half price”. Forgive my sarcasm, but in reality it is that simple to purchase a gun.

Probably if you are one of the few left that reads this silly little blog, you know where your children are after eleven o’clock. However, where are the parents of the youth that make the traumatic news headlines at six a:m the next morning. ” Youth (s) shot and killed at two-thirty a:m in downtown Charlotte.” It may be old fashioned in today’s politically correct world of raising children, but would it be such a “grave” injustice to ask the five W’s. WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE AND WHY?

Recently my neighbor asked me, ” Joe, if you could go back ten years in time, would you do it”? My reply, ” Not in today’s world”. With indifference to Mr. Lyton’s quote, in today’s world the sword has become more mightier than the pen.

For God’s sake, be safe.

His Christian name was Richard, known to everyone in our small town as Dick. The locals thought nothing of seeing Dick all around town. It was only the tourist that rubbernecked at the only stoplight in town as they headed to Myrtle Beach. You see, Dick was born with no legs. His torso stopped at his waistline

Dick would navigate the sidewalks using small paddles for maneuvering his skateboard. His movements were as fluid as the famous skateboarder Tony Hawk. To the locals it was not his birth defect that was unusal, it was his exceptional talent as a window painter. If this form of talent had ever been categorized, Dick would have been as famous as Andy Warhol.( famous painter of Marilyn Monroe and Prince). In order for Dick to be able to center the lettering for a window he had small pallets that acted as scaffolding which he could climb like a skilled gymnest. For those passing through town that might stop for Cox’s Hamburgers or peep into Azzie’s Barber Shop they were amazed at his talents. Dick was very eccentric usually from a hangover from his love of moonshine. He would growl at on lookers, ” What is the big deal with all the staring, never seen an artist at work”. And of course there would be a few expletives thrown in for effect. His only trademark was the small D.H. painted in the last letter on the window. Dick and his wife only lived in our town for six months a year. The rest of the year they traveled the South with a carnival.

When I was in the eighth grade one of the highlights was the annual trip to the N.C. State Fair in Raleigh. As me and three of my bud’s strolled the midway, the marquee at the large tent advertised, ” see the siamese twins, the sword swallower, tatoo lady ( Dick’s wife), seven foot giant, bearded lady and other freaks of nature.” for the small admission of twenty-five cents. Halfway through the sideshow we came upon the “man with no legs”. As we approached Dick he smilled ,” Hey boys, how are things in the Boro?” We just replied, ” Good Dick, when will you be coming home?” He said, ” Probably September”.

As we exited the tent we began to laugh. We had just spent twenty-five cents to see Dick H. our hometown anomaly.

Be safe.

Patience leads people to believe waiting WITHOUT AGITATION is an admirable quality. Patience is also Biblical ( Galatians 5:22-23 ). As my family will attest when God passed out patience, I must have been standing under a tree.

Having been blessed with good health for eighty-plus years, it has been very difficult in the last several months to deal with some major health issues. Enduring numerous medical procedures and enough medicines to stock the local CVS getting back to a ” normal ” lifestyle is a daily process. Of course as my family would comment, ” Doc, he never was normal, so do the best you can”. Realizing these new chapters of getting well were not in the scheme of things, my patience has been running very thin. I commented to my cardiologist recently ” In my small home town, baking soda and vinegar would unclog anything”.

After a blood clot procedure and two heart catheterizations I had somewhat of an epiphany regarding patience. When one of the best cardiologist in the South looks you in the eyes and says,” Your steps to better health are not sprints, they are marathons, so put on your patience pants and let’s get you better”. Kindy puts everything in perspective.

I am working on other fascists of my patience. However I still get a little peeved when the driver in front of me is texting while the stoplight is green. Forever gratful to all.

Be safe.

In 1985 Michael J. Fox and Christofer Lloyd starred in the highest grossing movie of the year Back To The Future. If you had the opportunity to see the original or any of the sequels the story line is Michael J. Fox returned to his younger years in a time machine. So, if you would indulge me for a few moments allow me to take you back to my youth from the late forties and early fifties.

I was raised in a small textile town in Eastern N.C. In the summers you woke to a hot humid house and in the winter you woke to a chilly and/or cold house. After dressing in whichever attire the season called for, you made your way to the small kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast was an adventure because on many occasions you were on your on. ( side note: my mom worked the mill and needed to leave home by 5:30 a:m. My dad was the butcher for the mill’s general store requiring him to leave by 7:00 a:m, thus the adventure for breakfast.). My perfect breakfast was my grandfather Troy frying eggs and cornbread fritters in the same skillet. His secret for this combo was a slather of mustard between the fritter and the egg. I know what you are thinking, it was an acquired taste. If Troy had too much moonshine the night before and was a no show, we did have options.

Our second option was loaf bread lightly buttered with a slab of hoop cheese on top thrown into a hot oven until the cheese was golden brown. Option three was rice from last night’s supper scooped into a glass and covered with a half glass of milk. This may have been Kellogg’s first version of Rice Krispies before today’s modern version. ( hells bells, we could have been eating a million dollar enterprise) The last option was then and STILL TODAY—–wait for it—-a mustard sandwich. My family thinks I am weird ( and rightly so) when asking, ” what did you have for lunch”? Answer, ” a mustard sandwich, pickle, and chips”. Jersey Mike’s eat your heart out.

You may be asking, “what promoted this topic”? When I walked into our kitchen for morning coffee, here were the choices of appliances and food selections: Keurig coffee maker, Ninja Air Fryer, microwave oven, Gerorge Foreman grill, and of course an oven. There were three types of cereal, instance grits and oatmeal, sixty second egg omelet, sweet rolls, and raisin bread whew!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AS my coffee cup was slowly filling up, yes I felt blessed, however it did take me back to my upbringing. In my mind for just a few moments it was my Back To The Future.

Be safe.