Sometimes the Sequel is Better


It’s not often that a sequel is better than the original. I know we’ve all sat through a corny remake or a sappy follow-up and said, “Absolutely, the original was far better. I find myself doing that all the time because I am a lead actor in a long-running family drama. My grandfather John lived an exciting life. Born in Indian Territory in 1906 it was just one year before Oklahoma would be recognized as a state.

He worked for the old Kansas Railroad and replaced a little known telegrapher named Gene Autry. Autry, would later become a matinee superstar and singing cowboy of the silver screen. Later while owning a tire store in Joplin, Missouri, he served the Floyd family as frequent customers and friends. The Floyd’s young son, Charles Arthur, would later grow up and gain fame as Public Enemy #1, the notorious gangster Pretty Boy Floyd.

My grandfather’s last career became his most rewarding, as he became a skilled and self taught engineer in the oil industry. He went to Columbia South America to help build an oil pipeline in the early 1930’s. I have his diary of that excursion. He talks about iguana hunting and barroom brawls by inebriated and homesick colleagues, the narrative of his life never lacked energy. Yet, the central theme in all his writings was the love he had for his wife and four children left back home in the states.

The sequel to his story came by way of his son Jack, my father. A gifted musician, thespian, story teller, teacher, pastor. Like his father, he could keep a room spellbound with his stories and no one could ever deny that he too wasn’t the consummate family man.

The long running series of story tellers continued when in 1961 another by the name of John entered the arena of life; that would be me. This sequel could never gain traction with audiences like the previous two, how could it when the two previous characters were bigger and are bigger than life? But one thing this thespian can be proud, the central theme of the family drama is still intact. The audience can still identify with the storytelling, humorous anecdotes, and close family ties. But stay tuned, my newly married son Chris called me and apprised me of the next installment in the drama. He told me that since he got home early from work, he had cleaned the house and made a gourmet meal for his bride.

Stay tuned, I think the series is going to improve dramatically with my son. I do believe that his sequel WILL be much better than the previous installment. And as for me, I’m just so happy that for my Dad and me, our series hasn’t been cancelled yet by “The Producer”!

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Tired of being Scared


It dawned on me the other day while listening to main stream media outlets, that I’m sick and tired of being scared. Every day, I am broadsided with one crisis after another. It seems as if our political system as well as our own daily lives can’t seem to thrive unless we’re in a crisis. This week alone I heard our President talk about our economic crisis, our education crisis, and why gas prices keep bouncing like a yo-yo. What about the global warming crisis? Of course, this crisis is a tough sell to Vermonters and North Dakotans. Especially in January when they endure snow drifts that resemble a glacier and wind chills that would depress an arctic penguin.

Imagine my dismay this week when yet another recall of commercial meats was diagnosed with some streptococcal backa-fungateria or some other unpronounceable vermin. I now find myself walking the grocery store aisles in a daze like an amnesia patient; looking for pesticide free, dolphin-safe, rainforest, non-depleting, organically grown, no-MSG, wild leeks for a lunch snack. Why you ask? Because apples may have one-trillionth parts per million Alar contamination and Twinkies could put me into diabetic coma.

Try to sit down at your favorite restaurant and recall just what the experts say about everything on the menu. Coffee? Nope…causes jitteriness. Milk on your cereal? Uh, uh….has to many hormones a man could develop breasts. A hamburger?… Are you kidding, Mad Cow Disease. A drink of water? No way, it’s tainted with bird droppings that can cause flu-like symptoms. Breathing air?…What, with all the ozone depletion? What about the lowly saltine cracker?…Nope, may have hidden trans fats that could make me buy the farm too quickly.

Fear has even spread to our churches. I recently saw a church sign that proclaimed, “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather fly than fry!” Even paradise is now laced with scary pitfalls.

Twice this week, news magazines reported on the probability of extramarital affairs. When I first got married, the only thing I feared was her meatloaf. Now, thanks to the media, I have to worry about the vinyl-siding salesman.

I’m sorry, but starting today I am no longer going to allow any political candidate, right or left-wing zealot, or nutritionally unbalanced vege-terrorist scare me into living the “good life”. Tonight, I’m going to run with scissors, drink diet soda, eat a tuna sandwich, talk with my mouth full, sit on a cold floor, and swim on a full stomach.

It may take years, but one day we’ll learn all along, that cancer in laboratory rats was caused by the aluminum cages they lived in.

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I Long for Manners


I was waiting in the doctors office recently, an older woman sat across from me was also awaiting her appointment. From out of nowhere the most annoying ring tone with the volume of a tornado siren blared. It was an obnoxious hip hop tune that kept ringing incessantly. The ring seemed to go on for infinity. Midway through the ring cycle trying to show kindness, I offered the woman a helpful hint, “You know you can silence the phone by pushing the button on the side.” She answered, “I know”. And then continued to sit there with a smile and let it ring it’s full torturous cycle. Was it annoying? Here’s a clue, take that phone to Gitmo and use it as a means to break a terrorist. If I had to listen to that thing for another ten minutes, even I would have confessed to being the second gunman on the grassy knoll!

This week alone, I can’t count how many times I have waited an eternity for a car to drive by, only to have it pull into an entrance before reaching me. No blinker, no apology, no nothing. Okay, cue the tantric chant of peace and harmony so I won’t increase my blood pressure.

In Walmart recently, two women stood side by side chatting and blocking virtually the whole aisle. Despite the fact that both saw me patiently waiting to get by, one of the women pushed her cart further in front of me to cut off my access to the personal care section as I endeavored to squeeze by after a ten minute wait. Learning from my church upbringing that in times of stress it is imperative to redirect your thoughts heavenward when exasperated, I thought, “Think of a church hymn”. ‘Blessed be the Tie that Binds’ was the only one I could come up with, and I am positive the author of that song wasn’t thinking rope like I was at that very moment.

Another time, I was standing in line at the same store to send money to one of my college kids. Having waited 15 minutes thus far, I stepped out of line for a minute to grab a pen and fill out the requested form. When I returned to my place in line, an angry woman who looked like a twin for the Kool-Aide man, sported a ‘real’ attitude. Raising her voice, she instantaneously got into a one-sided jawing match with me saying I had stepped out of line and forfeited my place. She was insistent that I had to get back behind her and start over again. Oddly enough, no one spoke on my behalf, I think everyone was frightened of her imposing persona. Despite having been there longer than she, I had to keep peace, that’s what the weekend church sermon admonished. So to keep her from losing her helium, I returned to where it had all started, at the end of the line. Wow another 15 minutes with warm and fuzzy people.

To fix the worlds ills, I believe we need to revert to the lessons we learned in kindergarten. Share your toys, be nice to others, show impeccable manners, and when you get too cranky, take a nap. Oh, and just like back then, the favorite part of the day is getting a Happy Meal on the way home!

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When my wife is absent


Today I am challenged with independence. I say this because my wife is gone for ten days. Wow, ten glorious days! I can push the envelope and no one will know. I can rent the movie Old Yeller and no one will see me cry. I can eat on a paper doily and not a clay plate that sports an apple design; thus no dishes to wash. The temperature in the house can stay consistent and won’t fluctuate like the winter months on the planet Neptune. I can stay out late, I can eat a Little Debbie and I won’t hear my wife say, “If your Body is the temple of God, why do you have to tear yours  down and put up a Pizza Hut”?

In addition, I won’t have to worry that an offending snack wrapper will be found under the driver’s seat. I won’t see a Soymilk carton in the refrigerator. You see, I have a firm belief if God had wanted us to drink Soymilk, he would have placed udders on beans!

I can hog the blankets, stay up late, dress myself without her ‘wise counsel’, and listen to my favorite songs on the radio while I travel. I can even wear a Speedo to the pool if I want. Okay scratch the last one, I don’t want an eery silence falling upon nature and crickets when they see me. I can take out the car and I don’t have to choose between driving or steering, I can actually do both.

Yup, the world is my oyster for the next ten days. I can do whatever I want, yes siree, whatever I want……. Who am I kidding? (sniffle, sniffle) I miss her already and it’s only been 15 minutes. Forget it, who needs Ole Yeller, I’ve got tears now. 😦

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