Today I did a search for “missing climbers” and a site popped up with the headline, “climbers missing since November are feared dead”.

“HUH??”

I was waiting in the Lounge in the Tulsa, Oklahoma airport, to board my plane for Portland, when a Southwest Airlines announcement over the intercom said, “Now Boarding non-stop to Phoenix, LA and Oakland.”

Say, “WHAT??”

Radio announcement: “The ice storm has created slick conditions. Please drive carefully.”

“REALLY??”

In this era of Political Correctness you have to be very careful what you say. For instance, one little slip of the tongue can buy you a few hours of classroom time on “sensitivity”. But the really funny stuff comes from the news media folks! It’s amazing to me how people communicate, especially in the mass media!

The scene is the approaching “cold front” from the North, and the warm, moist air coming in from the ocean. An hour before the first snowflake hits the ground the live news crew is “on the scene” in the West Hills, an area of higher elevations than downtown Portland, where the first flakes will most likely fall.

The “live coverage” starts with the Reporter standing on the street as traffic flows in the background with no “apparent” (another favorite media word) impediments. He tells us that nothing is happening, and then has the camera swing down and around to SHOW us that nothing is happening. Then it’s “back to you, Tracy”. Then Tracy says, “We’ll go back to Billy Bob for another live update in a few moments, but first, news from Hillsdale on a failed bank heist with a big shoot-out….”

So, Billy Bob comes back on in half an hour to show us the “near blizzard conditions” by turning the camera on the nearby stop sign, where three tiny icicles are beginning to form…..

Is it just PORTLAND…..or, are there others out there?? Where else, but PORTLAND, do lame reporters find jobs?? Hours later, the same lame reporter is showing us the same three icicles, now grown to 4 inches in length! But not just HIM! We now go live to 3 other lame reporters watching a few flakes fall to the ground from various vantage points across the city! The end result was after several hours of first class reporting, the winter storm dumped “more than an inch of snow” on Portland.

Are there DARWIN AWARDS for lame reporting??

Bill of Rights: Don’t Mess With Mom

(Note: Having raised 3 kids, I have memories that have remained with me for a long time. I am reminded of the time that my daughter was convinced by a friend of hers that being raised under the jurisdiction of CSD (as her friend was) would be much better than having to obey Mom & Dad’s rules. I read this poem one day and laughed over it because it hit so close to home.)

My son came home from school one day,
With a smirk upon his face.
He decided he was smart enough,
To put me in my place.

“Guess what I learned in Civics Two,
That’s taught by Mr. Wright?
It’s all about the laws today,
The ‘Children’s Bill of Rights’.

It says I need not clean my room,
Don’t have to cut my hair.
No one can tell me what to think
Or speak, or what to wear.

I have freedom from religion
And regardless what you say
I don’t have to bow my head
And I sure don’t have to pray.

I can wear earrings if I want
And pierce my tongue and nose.
I can read and watch just what I like
And get tattoos from head to toes.

And if you ever spank me
I’ll charge you with a crime.
I’ll back up all my charges
With the marks on my behind.

Don’t you ever touch me,
My body’s only for my use;
Not for your hugs and kisses
That’s just more child abuse.

Don’t preach about your morals,
Like your Mama did to you.
That’s nothing more than mind control,
And that’s illegal too!

Mom, I have these children’s rights,
So you can’t influence me,
Or I’ll call Childrens Services Division
Better known as C.S.D.”

Of course, my first instinct
Was to toss him out the door.
But the chance to teach him a lesson
Made me think a little more.

I mulled it over carefully
I couldn’t let this go.
A smile crept upon my face
He’s messing with a pro!

The next day I took him shopping
At the local Goodwill Store.
I told him, “Pick out all you want,
There’s shirts and pants galore.

I’ve called and checked with CSD
Who said they didn’t care
If I bought you K-Mart shoes
Instead of Nike Airs.

And I’ve canceled that appointment
To take your driver’s test.
The CSD is unconcerned
So I’ll decide what’s best.”

I said, “No time to stop and eat,
Or pick up stuff to munch.
And tomorrow you can start to learn
To make your own sack lunch.

Just save that raging appetite,
And wait till dinner time.
We’re having liver and onions
A favorite dish of mine.”

He asked, “Can I please rent a movie,
To watch on my VCR?”
“Sorry, but I sold your TV,
To put new tires on my car.

I also rented out your room,
You’ll take the couch instead.
All that CSD requires
Is a roof for over your head.

Your clothing won’t be trendy now,
And I’ll choose what we eat.
That allowance that you used to get,
Will buy me something neat.

I’m selling off your Jet Ski,
Dirt Bike and Roller Blades.
Check out the ‘Parents Bill of Rights’,
It’s in effect today!

Hey, hot shot, are you crying,
And why are you on your knees?
Are you asking God to help you out,
Instead of CSD”?

Jungle Survival School

Prior to landing on Vietnam soil, the Air Force needed to teach us how to survive “in case….” “In case of what?”, I asked. “In case you are shot down”, they said.

My first school was 6 weeks in Amarillo, Texas, where we learned all kinds of things about survival, in a classroom setting. We learned about survival techniques from the steamy tropics to the frigid arctic weather; how to evade the enemy soldiers AND their bad dogs!

The second school was in Spokane, Washington where we went through some classroom work, then ran a night-time obstacle course to “evade the enemy”, which culminated in getting “caught” at the end of the obstacle course and thrown into a POW camp. We were “tortured” in the POW camp and we learned how to deal with mental and physical fatigue, POW organizational structure and non-cooperation with the enemy. From that we were sent out into the wilderness for a whole week with only 3 days food rations and were instructed to “survive off the land”. (I am here today to tell you that “I made it”.)

The third school was in the Philippines at Clark AFB. We learned jungle survival and how to “live off the land”. The whole idea of survival was to assume that our airplane was going down and we would crash land easy enough to survive the crash. We would have limited food supplies, weapons, ammo and other gear. We did have waterproof maps of Vietnam for survival purposes. I still have those.

The final day of Jungle Survival school was instruction to “fan out”, alone, unarmed, without anything except our clothes and a Poncho; it was Army green, like you remember seeing soldiers wear in the movies. We had 30 minutes to find our hiding spot before the military superiors “released” the enemy. The enemy was native Filipinos called Negrito. They were told they could hunt us down and if found, we gave them a “chit” that would be worth 2 or 3 pounds of rice to them. We carried 3 chits.

We could not move from our spot once darkness fell. The terrain was much too dangerous and soldiers have died from doing such things. My night alone was spent off of the “trail” about 100 yards in the trees on a sloping hillside. I positioned my feet against an old Banana tree so I wouldn’t slide down the hill much. The Poncho came in very handy when the heavy rains came. It seemed to rain all night! Water ran down the hillside and nothing was dry, except me inside the Poncho. I was curled up in the fetal position all night with my feet planted against the Banana tree so I wouldn’t slide down the now very slick, hillside!

I can’t explain much of how I felt because there are no words for it! Alone, in unknown territory, with unknown sounds, fighting my own imagination of all the evil things that were lurking just outside my Poncho, played tricks on my mind. I just KNEW I was about to be “eaten” any second by a Panther or something. I also felt insecure about sharing my Poncho with a large snake! All I can say is, it was a LOOOOOOOOOONG night alone and I wouldn’t EVER do that again!!

Memories....

With the approaching winter weather and my mind riding fresh upon the coattails of a recent ski trip to Timberline Lodge, thoughts of snows past come to my mind. I love beautiful snowfalls that are wet and heavy. To watch the big flakes falling to the ground, thick and heavy is perhaps one of the most awesome sights I know!

My fondest memories of beautiful snowfalls occurred as I was growing up in NW Arkansas in the 50’s. Our farm of 360 acres would take on a coating of snow that transformed the landscape into something only imagined in a storybook. Pine tree branches would be heavily covered, bending low beneath the weight of the snow. The cattle pen, thick with “muck and yuck” was covered by a pure white blanket of beauty that made you forget you should put the BOOTS on before crossing the pen!

Stacked snow was everywhere to be seen; fences and fence posts piled high, limbs of trees had all they could balance, clusters of Black Walnuts still hanging were now covered with a white cap of snow, as was the framework above the Well where we drew water. Today there would be no wind to blow away The Master’s handiwork.

Bundled up in warm clothes, coats, gloves and boots, double socks and caps, we boys were the first to disturb the undisturbed covering. We made tracks and snow angels and followed our own footprints back to the house, one adventure after another. We threw snowballs at each other and anything else that moved or sat still. We rolled up giant snowballs and made snowmen taller than we were, attaching hats, sticks, scarves, and anything else we could find to make them come alive. We hunted snow birds with our Daisy BB Guns and fed our kill to the cats, who eagerly dined on the fresh food.

We explored everything and left nothing unturned. Even the Barn was inviting and cozy. The cows and chickens were warm and dry in their stalls and nests. The hay was dry and offered a place to sit and play. It wasn’t long until we were back outside exploring and using our imaginations at being better Cowboys than the real ones!

I particularly remember us venturing way out on our property to select the perfect Cedar Christmas Tree to bring home to Mom. The longer we walked, the more beautiful each tree looked! At last, we decided and lay down in the snow to saw it down. We each helped or took turns at dragging the tree home across the snow, like we were pulling a sled. Mom would always tell us how pretty it was and there was much joy as it began to look more like a Christmas tree. We had fun decorating it with tensile, lights and bells. We popped Popcorn, threaded it like beads on a string to make a garland for our tree. At the top, a beautiful Star crowned our tree, and we rested.

Being poor folks, the grownups took few pictures; even then they were black and white prints from a Brownie Camera. But the pictures we took with our minds, with our imaginations, are still, today, just as vivid and clear as the day we snapped them. They will forever remain, unfading, unblemished and in full color!

Occasionally I reach back into the archives of my mind and pull forward those memory shots of beautiful snows and rolling hills covered by Jack Frost. I feel certain that all of us have a place in our hearts reserved only for our fondest memories. To those of you, who are young, or young at heart, probe the minds of your parents and grand-parents and I believe you will be surprised at the stories you hear. Ask them about the good old days in their lives. Record their thoughts and pass them down as a heritage of adventure to your children.

It begins: “Once Upon A Time”….

Being a Newlywed takes on a different meaning in the context of the following story:

"A little known fact is that it (newlywed) was named after a handsome man named John Newly, a devout bachelor from Atlanta in the 1800’s. For a long time, he had quite a chasing of lovely ladies vying for his hand in matrimony. Years of chasing passed by like a barefoot race along a rocky trail, until one day, a beautiful young lady from Iowa in Atlanta for a Corset Convention, accidentally bumped into John on a hurried trip to the Powder Room. Capturing his heart, they were soon married at his Grandfather’s mansion and moved to Iowa to become a corn farmer. For years, the lovely ladies of Atlanta continued to look for John, often coming to the mansion to inquire of him. Grandpa would always simply reply, “Newly wed”.”

Stories like this one are often times hard to swallow due to their ambiguous nature and from an often “suspect” source. It got me to thinking about how much we take for granted in life. Occasionally, we will be talking to a friend or acquaintance and hear things that are questionable. Choosing to believe everything we hear labels us with gullible, while disbelieving sometimes labels us just the opposite. Perhaps the answer lies with having a trusting nature. People we are close to might be easier to believe than strangers with a gift of gab. But not always.

I write this because I have recently dealt with a friend who has chosen to sharpen his “gift of gab” and tell some whoppers that seem genuine and honest. I am somewhat known as a "skeptic" and tend to analyze a lot of things that I shouldn't. But I believe that one cannot be too careful. First Thessalonians 5:21 says, “Test all things, and hold firmly that which is good.” Perhaps we should be better listeners.

The above story is certainly ambiguous because I made it up entirely. So remember…. some sources are certainly “questionable”!

36 Years



Today my wife and I celebrate 36 years of wedded bliss together. Yes, it’s our 36th Anniversary! Some say the traditional gift suggestion is Bone China. That doesn’t sound very good to me, however. It congers up thoughts of eating off of china made from the hind leg of a mad cow somewhere in India or something. Perhaps, renaming that piece of china with a name that could “whet” the appetite instead of “churning” it would be a better option.

Instead, I went shopping with one thing in mind, and two thoughts of possibilities; the second being an Emerald, her favorite birthstone.

Last Sunday, our preacher talked about the “Pearl of Great Price”, found in the Good Book, that says: “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. (NRSV) Matthew 13:45.

Armed with pearls on my mind, I set out with two “surrogate daughters” for the local Lloyd Center Shopping Mall to search for my pearl of great value. The parking lot was crowded but we managed to park nearby the “MACY’S” entrance, entering onto the main floor nearby the Jewelry Department. Following the scenic walkway, we couldn’t help but notice the brightly lit pearls in the glass case and the flashy 40% to 50% OFF signs. A very nice, more mature, lady (my wife’s age)….and just as charming….came over to ask to help. She showed me exactly what I was looking for; at “half off” it appealed even more so! I told her that I was going to go think about it and would return.

We stopped into 4 or 5 more Jewelry stores, always inquiring about pearls, and always finding smaller lengths and higher prices. MACY’S was looking good! One young lady in one particular store was showing us their line of pearls, named MIKIMOTO. These are supposed to be the ultimate heirloom quality of pearl perfected by Mr Mikimoto in the early 1900’s. They also boost a proud price tag! I asked the young lady about “sale prices”, as were common in other stores. She said theirs were very special pearls and no discounts were offered because of the “name”.

Now, being from backwoods Northwest Arkansas, uncouth, unrefined, and often unappreciated for my humor, I said, “Mikimoto….I’ve heard of that name! Don’t he live in Disneyland”? The previously nice saleslady quickly straightened up, turned her mostly artificial head sharply to her right side and said, “Oh my god!”

Well, in the first place I was only making a wisecrack; certainly not serious! In the second place, I don’t appreciate anyone using that kind of disrespectful language to my God….so I was definitely finished with her at this point! But it was the funniest thing of the day!

So, two more stores later and I was on a pearl trail back to MACY’S, where the same nice lady asked if I was ready. I told her I was and bought the necklace, as well as a pair of earrings for my honey of 36 years. Add to that, 3 dozen of her favorite flowers and I went home, invincible!