Honor

I was talking to a fella recently about a business deal and at the end I asked if we needed to write anything down. He stuck out his hand and said "This is all I need." We shook on it and as far as I'm concerned that was as strong as any contract.

I'm a born and bred Mid-Westerner. Missouri to Illinois. In twenty years of running an insurance sales office I noticed a distinct pattern. Not absolute but enough to notice. Mid-Westerners showed up to meetings on time. Southwester's and Californio's didn't. I was told once to -just relax. It's no big deal. We're just not as uptight.

They miss the point. It's not about being uptight. It's about honor. You agreed to the meeting then you agreed to show up on time. It's a matter of your word. If you can't make it on time, say so. One of my very pet peeves is being promised something will happen, then it doesn't. It is really easy. Say what you're going to do, then do it. Don't say it unless you mean it, if you mean it then do it. If you can't do it, say you can't do it. If you intend to do it, but something gets in the way, call as soon as you can and explain why you can't do it.

Why do I bring this up? I see many young people brought up to be okay with just being kinda close to honoring their word. "Don't worry about him, he's always late." Bad on him. If I can't trust him to keep his word about being on time, I can't trust him to keep his word on much else.

"Son, I want you to take out the garbage."
"Sure, Dad."
"Son, why didn't you take out the garbage?"
"What's the big deal, they'll be around again in a couple of days."
"The big deal has nothing to do with garbage. The big deal has to do with you giving me your word you would take it out."
"I didn't give you my word."
"You agreed to take it out."
"But I never said I give you my word."
"Who's words were they?"

This can be a lesson for my daughter and all her friends but it's a lesson for some older folks too. We were at a gathering of family and friends and one of the invited called to say they would be a few minutes late. This was met with amusement. They must be really uptight to call just because of a few minutes. My thought was - right on!

How do you teach someone? Tell'm, tell'm what you told'm then tell'm again.

Here's the lesson. Don't say you'll do something unless you are going to do it. Don't agree to someone else's timetable unless you are positive you can meet it. If you can't say so. You can still do the thing, but it must be known that the timing will be yours. If you can't do something, or you can't do it in the timeframe requested, then say you can't do it. Don't just try to make people happy by agreeing to something you know will not come to pass. They will be much unhappier when the promised thing doesn't get done.

And, if you do these things you can go to sleep knowing that whatever else, you are an honorable person.

I guess some of you would think I'm just a grouchy old stickler.

What's that got to do with what I'm talking about.

Starting a new painting

Thanks for all the kind comments on my last painting "First Roundup". Kind words are always appreciated. I've started a new one. A friend of mine, and a fine photographer, John Foley, took a series of promotional pictures of a dancer for her portfolio then at the end he shot some more just for himself. One of these really caught my attention and he has given me permission to paint it. See below. What you are seeing is the first step which is to pencil draw the portrait. The next stop is to begin putting oil to canvas. The working title is "Hard Audition".

Thanks John!!

Quail Fest 2010

To my tight nit group of quail hunting friends the two and sometimes three trips out into the wild to hunt those elusive little birds has become along the importance of Christmas and New Years. You can guess that the birds on a scale of one to ten in importance of the trip ranks around a four. As far as the yield, some years are banner years and some are not. With the situation of the drought the last three years, they have been mostly not. We'd get birds but not in large quantity.

So, imagine our surprise when my friend Brent pulled the frozen little critters out of the freezer we had almost eighty of them. More than enough for what isn't but should be an annual gathering of the hunters and wives for a quail feast. Quail Fest we call it. Brent held it at his house and took charge cooking the bacon rapped birds on the grill. The rest was potluck with lots of food to be had. It was a great time. Charlie came up with a hilarious list of what should be future Quail Camp Etiquette which I would list but I didn't get a copy. Maybe later.

After the meal, the scotch and the cigars came out and for some reason the women disappeared into the house. It didn't take long for the conversations of the men to completely resemble the questionable discussions around the hunting night fire. Questions like if Colin's fascination with Andrew Boccelli was sufficient enough to cast a pall on his sexuality? And, like just exactly when during the night does scotch begin to taste like spiced rum. Questions like, just how can a grown man get shot by a single BB in the tongue? Does that man hunt quail with his tongue hanging out like Michael Jordan going for a layup. And, was the guy that shot him a really good shot, or a really bad shot?

And, should each of us wear junk protectors when hunting with the likes of us?

All good questions that were never sufficiently answered. We were simply laughing too hard. Yes we are that easily entertained.

Off to Pana this week. Be back a week from tomorrow.

Be well, do good.

Time doth fly

Hard to believe but Carol and I are heading to the cabin in Pana next week. I've waited for this since last November and it always seemed so far away, now it's here. We are informed by Carol's family that all seems to be in working order. It's a blessing having family back there to keep an eye on things.

Things seem to go so quickly. Soon newspapers will be obsolete. Books will be downloaded, making my bookshelves irrelevant. Gone will be music albums or CD's, everything downloaded at 69 cents a song to your mp3 - whatever that is. Soon the network television channels will be just another number on the remote. Movies can be streamed directly to your laptop which will be replaced by the I-Pad or something like it. Children will become sickly from being indoors all the time playing Nintendo type games. Imagination will be banned and any college kid thinking outside the box will be expelled. The country will be completely divided between ambivalent liberals and the knuckle draggers. Each will start only shopping at their designated retail outlets as long as they last, which won't be long. On line shopping will replace money. Investors will be able to buy gold out of ATM type dispensers. Three mega- conglomerations will own majority shares in all major corporations and their CEO's will be given one of the smaller eastern states as compensation. Geek will take over Hollywood and only really despicably pimpled boys that can belch at will are stars. Actresses will remain young, skinny and beautiful but no longer will fall for the handsome actor, only the bespeckled pimple popper will get the girl. And the bigger and grosser the booger or penis joke the bigger the gross receipts. Gross receipts takes on a new meaning.

Ah Pana, where are you. I'm ready for a little redneck ignorance. None of our neighbors in Pana have computers. They believe bowling is a national sport and their children run barefoot and fish with Zebco 202's. The state drink is PBR and a cocktail is a glass of whiskey on the side.

Here we come!!!!

There is a Counselor in the family.

Thank God! Now all us messed up people can get help at family discount rates.

Amanda and the extended family traveled to Flagstaff Friday to attend Amanda's graduation for her Master's degree. The weather was perfect, the ceremony ended just as my butt turned numb and the restaurants were packed but manageable. We had a great time. It was gratifying to sit on the outside second story, narrow balcony of the Travel Lodge in chairs we drug from our rooms and hung out like one big hillbilly family. It seemed like we had the entire second floor for no one dared venture up there. Only when the boys brought out cigars did the girls move far away. The highlight - besides Amanda getting her diploma of course - was at one point we were all listening to the gurgling delightful sounds of Allison and Blake's baby, Fischer. The first grandchild. It was wonderful, he wasn't asleep but seemed perfectly happy, gurgling and cooing over the little monitor they had in the room with him. He was just living in that world that babies live in. He seemed so happy no one wanted to check on him for fear of ruining the moment. But, of course, Mom finally had to check, so Allison went to the room and a moment later stepped back out, her eyes as big as saucers and her mouth working like a fish on land.

The boy had done a very big job. I mean a very big job. And by golly, it's just as much fun as silly putty. Poop was everywhere. From head to foot and on everything within reach. I did mention we were at the Travel Lodge, not the Ritz. There was no ventilation, no exhaust fans, no windows that would open and man oh man that room was ripe. I think they ended up purchasing a case of Frebreeze.

I tell you what, I was proud of the boy. I couldn't have done better myself.

And, of course we are all proud of our dear Amanda. Way to go girl!

I stole this

I saw this on a website online and had to share it. I love good writing and especially if there is truth involved. I don't know if I can get in trouble for copying this but I don't care. I give tribute to the author.

SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION by TONY HOAGLAND

AND WHEN WE WERE EIGHT, OR NINE
OUR FATHER TOOK US BACK INTO THE ALABAMA WOODS,
FOUND A ROTTEN LOG, AND WITH HIS HUNTING KNIFE

PRIED OFF A SLAB OF BARK
TO SHOW THE HUNDRED KINDS OF BUGS AND GRUBS
THAT WE WOULD HAVE TO EAT IN A TIME OF WAR.

"THE ONES WHO WILL SURVIVE," HE TOLD US
LOOKING AT US HARD,
"ARE THE ONES WHO ARE WILLING TO DO ANYTHING."
THEN HE POPPED ONE OF THOSE PALE SLUGS
INTO HIS MOUTH AND STARTED CHEWING.

AND THAT WAS LESSON NUMBER 4
IN "THE GREEN BERET BOOK OF CHILDREARING."

I LOOKED AT MY PALE, SCRAWNY, KNOCK-KNEED, BUG EYED BROTHER,
WHO WAS IDENTICAL TO ME
AND SAW THAT, IN A WORLD THAT ATE THE WEAK
WE DIDN'T HAVE A PRAYER.

AND NEXT THING I REMEMBER, I'M WORKING FOR A LIVING
AT A BORING JOB
THAT I'M AFRAID OF LOSING.

WITH A WIFE WHOSE LACK OF LOVE FOR ME
IS LIKE A LACK OF OXYGEN,
AND THIS DEAD THING IN MY CHEST
THAT USED TO BE MY HEART.

OH, IF HE WERE ALIVE, I WOULD TELL HIM, "DAD,
YOU WERE RIGHT! I ATE A LOT OF STUFF
FAR WORSE THAN BUGS."

AND I WAS EATEN, I WAS EATEN,
I WAS PICKED UP
AND CHEWED
AND SWALLOWED

DOWN INTO THE BELLY OF THE WORLD.

I realize why this hit a nerve with me. Between the age of 19 and 29 I lived that despair.

Be well, do good.

Who's Kit Carson?

Amanda just asked what I was blogging about. I said, "Who's Kit Carson?" She said, "Kit Carson, did he die?" I said, "Do you know who he is?" She laughed, "No."

That's my blog. Being an old guy I worry that some things of our culture will fade away. I was researching images of the Old West for subject matter for my next painting and I came across an old, old photo of Kit Carson. The famed scout that led the way down the Santa Fe trail. The Santa Fe what?

See what I mean.

As a boy the settling of America, to me, wasn't that far away. My great grandparents were pioneers, coming from Kentucky and Virginia in wagons to settle in the west. Putnam County Missouri. Carol's great grandparents came from Uvalde Texas before the Civil War and settled in Macon County Illinois. We both grew up with family photos and interesting stories of these pioneers. As a child of ten almost 80% of television shows were westerns. Gunsmoke and Wagon Train and Wild Bill Hickok with Jingles his side kick. Wyatt Earp with his natty clothes and his Buntline Special. (It was a specially made, long barreled pistol.)

I grew up reading the exploits of Daniel Boone and Davy Crocket. "Davy, Davy Crocket, king of the wild frontier". As kids, we played at being Mountain Men, roaming the wild Rocky Mountains in search of beaver and other fur bearing critters. Every boy in my fifth grade knew who Kit Carson was.

This connection to our past is fading with each generation. Ask your twenty something today to name a pioneer and you'll likely get Bill Gates. Or the slightly more educated might say Neal Armstrong. Both would be right but, the men and women that build our country from the wilderness are largely forgotten. Too bad.

They say this is the information age. The age of sound bites and snippets of headlines on the Internet maybe. Seems to me like the information about our forefathers is on page ten of the search engine. You know, so far back you've given up before you get there.

Buried and soon to be forgotten.

This and That Again

Ain't human nature grand?

I just shake my head over this. There is a huge uproar across the United States and into Washington, California and certainly Arizona about this new illegal immigration bill the Governor has signed into law recently. It is interesting and dismaying to see how easily we humans can be emotionally swayed. Swayed by emotion, not with reason. Just a couple of weeks before the 2008 presidential election, Vice President Dick Cheney gave a powerful damning speech that was widely covered in the press. In effect he said that if John Kerry were elected President the radical terrorists would be on our shores within days. I know those weren't his words but it's what he said. 4% of the frightened undecided switched to President Bush in those two weeks and he won re-election.

Just days before Governor Brewer was to make her decision about whether to sign the immigration bill or not, a southern Arizona rancher was murdered. Almost everyone supporting the bill jumped on this terrible circumstance to bring justification to passing the bill. It was widely reported that footprints had been found leading back to Mexico. Everyone thought the heinous deed was committed by an illegal, probably a drug smuggler. People went up in arms and the Governor signed the bill.

Now the Pinal County Sheriff is indicating that the person suspected of the crime was probably not an illegal at all, but an American citizen. Really? An American? Too late. The wolf is loose. No one but the immediate family will remember nor care what nationality the murderer will turn out to be.

We are so easily led.

On another note, is it possible to be ready for the onset of summer? When I was growing up in the mid-west we couldn't wait for summer. Warm weather, fishing, baseball, Fourth of July, picnics, getting a tan. Now it's like waiting for hell to break loose. Thank God it's only four months. I'll do the best I can with my swimming pool and cold drinks. Okay, maybe it's not that bad. Okay, maybe I like some of it. When else am I forced to go the mountains to relax?

Here's another thing. Most know that Amanda's having a baby in September. Suddenly in my house I'm finding car seats and pack'n plays and baby stuff. "What's all this," I ask Carol. I get the look. We're being prepared. When my first kids were babies we put them in blanket lined bathtubs. Their playpens were cardboard boxes. Best invention ever, a wind up swing that put the kid to sleep in thirteen seconds flat.

In the book Tortilla Flat, John Steinbeck wrote about the Mexican woman who had several little babies to care for. She was very poor and lived in a shack with a dirt floor. She would cook her frijoles and then toss them on the floor and the fat little naked babies would crawl around and stuff the beans in their eager mouths. One day the local Doctor came to visit and was aghast at this dreadful state of affairs. He insisted she cover the floor and insisted she bath the children regularly and feed them from a table with clean utensils. Within days all the little babies fell ill. The wise woman went back to her dirt floor and tossing her frijoles and the babies went back to stuffing the beans in their eager mouths. And they all became healthy and fat again.

My friend Charlie and I have talked about the wild and unfettered things we did as growing boys and neither can remember anyone dying from it.