Molly

She's just a dog. Yet she fills my heart to the brim. Her tenderness with everyone fills the room. Her look is one of complete adoration. Her touch is one of maternal devotion. Her outlook on life is always fresh, always eager, always to capture the moment. Molly. I will love her for eternity. Her and Sparkle II. Her and Gypsy. Her and Mopsy. Her and Bingo. Her and Sparkle I. She fills my heart to the brim. She's just a dog.

Klutz - In Action

It was damn cold in Des Moines. The teens. I was busy finding out that a bum hip in the cold turns into a “bummer” hip, hence the expression (at least for me that is). So now, when you hear someone say, “that’s a bummer” you know they are talking about Tom’s hip… of course.

I returned to the Courtyard, walked into the lobby and headed straight for a parson’s table that had some magazines on it. They are usually free for the taking and I was trying to store up reading material for the plane flight home. Well, I didn’t exactly head straight for it. I had to dodge two small yellow pylons that warned of a “wet floor”. I checked out a Newsweek at the table for a few seconds, decided it fit my criteria (very low) for in-flight reading material and turned away from the table... magazine in hand.

I had forgotten about the little yellow pylon right behind me so the two of us immediately got into a wrestling match to maintain balance. Fortunately it was a tie and we both remained upright but not without making a lot of noise and attracting looks from a few folks in the lobby area. I made some dumb little comment and took two more steps whereupon I caught my foot on a runner they had placed in the lobby to collect some of the snow and other crud people were tracking in from outside.

I survived that encounter too but just barely. The runner and I did a little tap dance with some flapping and shuffling thrown in for good measure. That had the lobby gallery looking on again but strangely silent. I am guessing that is because they couldn’t believe what they were witnessing.

Through it all I managed to make a couple of moves that would have made a junior high school halfback proud…I think. I am also thinking Chevy Chase would be proud of me even though I failed to execute a complete somersault in either pratfall attempt. In any event there is a message here. Beware of unfamiliar objects placed strategically in normally empty hotel lobbies. If it seems they are out to get you, they probably are.

Butt Warm

About a recent trip from Sacramento to do some work for some good folks in Helena, Montana... United doesn’t fly into Helena and I am a slave to frequent flyer miles so I flew in to Bozeman, the Northern Gateway to Yellowstone National Park. Bozeman is 90 miles South of Helena…part freeway and part highway. The first stretch is about 30 miles along Interstate 90. It is in a valley and the mountains of Yellowstone are not too far off on the right.

At the turn off from Interstate 90 to head north is a community known as Wheat, Montana. There are signs advertising a bakery/deli there that get you to thinking a quick stop would be good. It’s interesting. The place has an official Guinness World Record announcement hanging on the wall…the record is for the fastest from field to table, that is, unharvested wheat to bread…8 minutes and 24 seconds! For some reason they used microwaves in the process and I guess that speeded things up. There is other stuff on the wall indicating the "Today" show has been there checking things out also.

I had a terrific cup of soup with a fresh French roll followed by a very nice cinnamon raisin roll and a fine cup of decaf (too late in the day for regular). It seems there are more people in the deli than there are in the whole town…lots of locals with the farmers apparently coming in for treats.

Pulled out of there pretty satisfied and headed up the two-lane highway about 60 miles to Helena. There was some tall (about a foot) wheat stubble in the fields around, lots of fresh snow and purple mountains off in the distance. So, you guessed it, I started doing my best imitation of Ray Charles singing “America the Beautiful”. You know, “amber waves of grain, purple mountains majesty” and all that stuff. Killed (and I don't mean in a good way) the song pretty good on the road that day…

It’s great being out on a good, fairly quiet road with all that beauty unfolding in front of you – lets you unload the vocals and brain cells a little. Only thing better would have been to be there on the Harley-Davidson Road King instead of in a rental car, with Julieann tucked in behind me, keeping my butt and heart warm…

Poor Man

Martha and Ray Campbell,
somewhere in North Dakota,
married for over 50 years.

Poor man, poor man
Rich man, chooser man

Born in a Pontiac
Pontiac Michigan that is

Daddy was a wandering man
“We won’t have much
But we’ll have a lot of laughs.”
He told my Mother
Before they got married
And that’s the way it was

We were poor people in a poor town

Moved to North Dakota
Tiny town, Willow City
Population 200-300
Brother was born
Dad was Mayor
He managed a lumber yard

Still poor people in a poor town

Couldn’t make it in Willow City
Packed all worldly possessions

Tom C and the Pontiac that would carry us
and all our possessions to Michigan in the mid 50's.
Had to sell the bicycle because the car was too loaded.
Willow City Elementary is in the background. 

The four of us
In and on a late '40s Pontiac

Then moved back to Pontiac
Michigan that is
Dad worked at Pontiac Motors
Mom was an artist and homemaker
We were hayseeds from North Dakota

Still poor. Still in a poor town.

Moved to Ohio
On the shores of Lake Erie
Dad was a janitor
Everyone had more than us
Or so it seemed

Poor people in a not so poor town

Moved to Seattle
Slept on a cot in Uncle’s basement
Dad was a janitor again
I attended high school  

With a huge student body
Disappeared among them

Poor people in a rich town

Finished High School
Joined Air Force
A little money from Air Force pay
Seemed like big bucks
Grew some independence
Good company with good people
Naïve but learning every day

Poor man with a future

Met Julieann
Saw my destiny in her eyes
She believed in me
And that I could do anything

Poor man rich with wife’s faith

Got degree
Became commissioned officer

Not so poor…anymore

Finished Air Force career
Great success
Backed by the best in Julieann

My heart was then rich

Two children, Tyler and Samantha
Within their growth and achievements
We find the meaning of life
They believe they can
They believe in Mom and Dad’s love

We are rich

We seize the day
Each of us
In our own way
Julieann, Tyler, Samantha and I
That is our choice

We are rich, and we have choices

Poor man, poor man
Rich man, chooser man

Made in America
It couldn’t happen anywhere else
Could it?

Ham-mered

Ham mered (ham’erd) 1. To hit, esp. repeatedly 2. Informal to keep at something continuously: hammered home the point. 3. Me: after having a margarita and 2-3 glasses of wine – yeah I know I’m easy. 4. Me: while watching retirement investments vanish into either the Bull or Bear’s anus… repeat hammered #3.