Good night , sweet dreams. Wherever you are.

I have been given the number 6

1. When I took my 2*** lever engineering classes, I cheated most of the quarter until things finally started making sense to me. There were many mornings where I had the Isentropic Expansion and sonic velocity formulas written underneath the band of my watch. 
2. When I was younger, I got into a lot of needless fights because I felt slighted by people. It gained me a reputation for being angry all the time. But, all I really wanted was to be ignored and to let me go on my way as I saw fit. 
3. This internal quest for concurring my hidden fears is getting expensive as well as proving more and more challenging as the list grows shorter and shorter. 
4. Sharon and I have decided to go our separate ways for the Thanksgiving holidays. She is going to be in Louisiana with her friend Mandy, while I will be in Commerce for a couple days with family and the rest in NY for some extra work/money by taking over a contract so a co-worker can be at home with her husband. 
5. I can eat absolutely anything on the face of the earth, except natto. Just the smell of the stuff turns my stomach. The feeling of it in my mouth is absolutely revolting. How in gods name, can people call this stuff edible. 
6. I evaded a police DUI checkpoint the other night. Yes, my licence is valid. My insurance is up to date. No, I hadn't been drinking. There really isn't any reason for me to of taken off on a side road, other than I just really do not like the police in Atlanta. I think that they when there is a checkpoint, it is a constitutional violation as to the right not to be stopped without proper cause. 

Every morning, on my way to work, I pass a couple fields which change crops through out the year. There is a cotton harvest coming in soon and the entire field looks like it is covered in snow. The blossoms are patches of pure white surrounded by the brown stalks of the plants beneath them. It is beautiful.
As I passed this morning, there was a single heifer loose from the adjoining pasture making her way through the stalks. It reminded me of another memory of my childhood. I've told you about Gus, this one is about "Jumper". Jumper was a pity cow. I got Jumper from my Uncle Jackie when I was around 6. She would always push through or jump over the barbwire fences that seperated the upper acreage from the lower because she wanted to be closer to the barn where as a calf, I would feed her sugar cubes as a treat when I got off the bus from Benton Elementary.
One day Jumper had gotten into the field just below my parents house at the time which was being used as a soy bean growing field since money was tight from the meat market at the time. It was before dawn, I remember because my father had just gotten home from work, I was pulled out of bed by my Great Grandfather and told that one of my cows was ruining the crop. Bleary eyed and half awake, we popped on the three-wheeler and took off with Daddy and Jackie to see Jumper shoulder deep in the crop. There was a trail of eaten soybean plants behind her as she zig zagged her way through the field all night. It looked like a slime snail train across a pavement, you could see exactly where she had come through and started the feast. That was the only time I ever remember hearing Papa Jack curse.
We eventually got Jumper back into her own field after a rather humerous (Benny Hill type ) chase.
When all was done. Jumper back in her field, the barb wire mended, and a breakfast at Big Grannies house in my stomach I went to the road for the bus to school. That afternoon, as Mr. Pete, my bus driver, pulled down Groaning Rock Road, we passed Jumper in the back of a cattle truck heading to the auction house. I did love the cow. I loved every single cow I had. They were like my pets. But, I knew that she had to go.
The money from her sale did pay for the lost crops and a great BMX bike for myself so I wasnt't totally heartbroken.
The cow wandering thoough the crops just brought back a great memory of my childhood and I wanted to share it with you.

Story TIme:

Yes, I know I haven't written in quite a long time. I have been super busy lately and just didn't have the time to relax as I have in the past. But, even if another deadline is looming over my head, I felt the need to take a couple minutes and share something.

A couple weeks ago, I sold the Jenny L. She was a wonderful ship and I will miss her terribly. There just wasn't enough time to spend with her as needed. When a ship sits in dock, unattended, things have a habit of breaking and ruining other systems onboard. She is currently at a dock somewhere in South Florida with her new owners, who are going to live aboard her as the husband gets his masters degree at UF Maimi. This makes me happy.
The main reason I bought the boat was to prove to myself that any fears can be tamed, if you keep putting yourself in situations where the fear is previlant. Even though I am always going to be a sailor, I am afraid of sailing alone away from land being within sight. I concoured that fear very efficently.
So. With one phobia checked off, it was time to move on to another.

The summer between Eighth and Ninth Grade, I had a rather horrible motorcycle wreck which would of ended my life if not for myself being extremely lucky and a good helmet. I was hit head on by a Jackson EMC power  truck on a deserted dirt road where Banks County and Jackson County meet. My passenger and I were on our way to a "party" (a bunch of socially ostracized teenage boys sitting around drinking stolen Miller High Life bragging about how supposedly cool we are to each other), when in the middle of a sharp curve, I was blind-sided by the truck driver, who was taking a shortcut home.
I swerved as well as I could to avoid the huge truck, but alas, all I did was move our impact from square in the grill to the front corner. My friend at the time, Gary Scales, was thrown into the bushes where his leg was broken by a fence post. I was slammed into the hood which broke my wrist and tossed over the cab. As I was in the air, my left leg was caught by the utility bucket and ripped open. I lost consciousness upon impact with the road as I landed.
When I awoke, Gary was screaming his head off in the bushes. The driver had gotten out and was attending to him since he was closer. I sat up, oblivious to my condition of the time, and tried to get up. I remember trying to dust off a Japanese beetle from my wound but my hand wouldn't work. I could see my femur and the muscles from underneath my shredded jeans. The shock must of not worn off until later because I was clear headed about the whole situation until later in the ambulance. No one else could describe to the operator where we actually were.
Anyway, even since then, I have been deathly afraid of being on another motorcycle. My father and brother have their own. But every time that they suggested that I join them on one of their rides, I would come up with some asinine excuse as to why I wouldn't. Sharon hates them. I don't have the time to ride it. They are not fun. Why would I want a bike when I could just ride in comfort from the driver's seat in the Jeep? But to be honest, every time I would get on something that was not protected by a roll cage, air bags, safety belts, or some other manner of protection I would revert into the same feelings as I did on the ride to the hospital. Everyone on the road is going to hit me and actually kill me this time.
Anyway. I am of the age where I cannot let my fears drive me anymore. When I sold Jenny L, I actually made quite a profit. That windfall bought me a new motorcycle.
Yes, I am still deathly afraid of going into a blind curve. There is one on my way out of Atlanta for the day,  just as you pass the Van Leer building. Every time I go through the curve, I get the same cold feeling in my stomach. But, that is something I will work through eventually.
I'm sick of secretly being afraid of certain actions/situations. I should have fought these demons a long time ago. Every step is a step forward...right?

Happy birthday Beautiful

While heading home from Atlanta the other day, I took a back road to get away from the highway for a while.
 Got lost. Oh well......

Stories

My mother was a wonderful cook when I was little. I remember her and my Grandmother feeding the extended family every Sunday afternoon after church to well that at the end of the meal, we would all congregate in the living room just to sit and talk after eating with most of the men sleeping and the kids watching cartoons late into the evening. That was until her first bout with chemo. It seemed as if her sense of taste just vanished. 

The first time I noticed that something was seriously wrong was when I was volunteered to read to the underprivileged kids at the Commerce library. A couple girls, Myra (sp), the Gary triplets, and I were to come dressed up in Halloween costumes to read while the kids munched on cookies and juice. I was talked into bringing some cookies, sugar cookies. 

The evening before, Mama and I gathered up all the ingredients on the kitchen table. ( Sugar, butter, flour, eggs, and salt) I had to work on an English paper that night, so Mama took over the brunt of the labor while I sat at the kitchen table to write. We talked for a while, we mixed for a while, I proofread for a while, she sat at the table and talked to me, and just bonded over tea and how my teacher at the time had taught her in high school. When the cookies were mixed up in the bowl, I took over to partition them out on the pan and to do the actual baking. As I spooned out the last cookie ball, I noticed that there was an awful lot of sugar left over. When I mentioned this, her solution was that we should just sprinkle the remaining sweetness over the cookies for a nice crunch. The cookies went in. A half hour later, they came out perfectly. They smelled wonderfully. I thought that is was a shame that I was forbidden to eat a single one since we had made just enough for the kids to have the next day. The cookies were cooled and stacked in a basket just as Myra wanted. 

You know me. I cannot turn down a cookie. I love LOVE them for breakfast. On the way to school the next day, temptation got the better of me. As I drove to town in the Camaro, I reached into the back seat and snatched a couple.....There was no way of describing how quickly I spit the first bite out. There wasn't enough time for me to even roll the window down. I had spit the crumbs all over the window, the steering wheel, and my lap. The reason there was so much sugar left over was that she had mistakenly mixed up the salt for the sugar and couldn't taste her mistake. 

I couldn't bear to tell Mama that her cookies were horrible. They all ended up in the river where 441 passes the Commerce Dragstrip. Before getting to school that morning, I made a quick stop at Ingles for some deli cookies that looked at least similar to hers incase she decided to stop by and see her son read. (Which she did). The other mothers complemented Mama on her cookies and I could see her smile that beautiful smile she had as they talked. Her salt lick cookies never got into the public and now you are the only other person that knows. 

This is the moment when you're doing work from home purely because you want to and you realize it's 11:30 at night.

Hello old friend.

To the woman at Nordstrom who called me "Handsome".

Thank you.
I was desperately looking for some new clothes this afternoon. Unfortunately, I am at the age where I do not feel comfortable wearing printed t-shirts, sport team jerseys, or ripped up/faded jeans. Yet, I am too young to get away with a suit for everyday wear. So usually I have to pick through the clothes stores looking for something that isn't going to make me look as if I am trying to be the old guy that wants to be hip.
While the sales people just sat on their rumps judging everyone around then or glaring at anyone that asked them a question, you took a moment of your day just to give me a compliment which I rarely get. As I wrangled the pile of shirts which I was going to try on, you just said with honest sincerity: "You don't have to look so hard. They all are going to look good on you. "
I wish you could have realized how much those words meant to me. Men do not really get many compliments in modern day society. (At least I don't) While I was growing up, my family went through one financially lean time after another. My mother always tried her best to make sure that my clothes were not worn out and that I was warm in the winter, but they were never in fashion. I never got the new clothes everyone else did, we had to made due with shopping in the bargain bin store next to Quality Foods. This mental hang up never let me see myself as good looking when it comes to fashion. Growing up, my father was never really around. He was constantly working the night shifts. So I never got the chance to have the "dress like a man talk". I (painfully) taught myself how to shave. My grandfather was the one that taught me to tie a tie when he saw my pitiful attempts for school dances. So when someone from outside of my family actually paid attention to my looks it has usually been in the negative context.
The words you just casually said as you passed by may of been innocuous to you. You may go around complimenting every harried or stressed out man you see shopping alone. But, the complement stuck with me and alone made me feel like a million bucks.
Thank you.

Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are.