Immovable Object

My father, William T., was an accomplished boxer. He fought for the Golden Gloves championship of Michigan three times before he turned nineteen. One Christmas, the sons got boxing gloves. We quickly went into training in the basement. Only seven or eight years of age at the time, my record quickly advanced to zero and nine in a weeks time. Taking a jaundiced view of the game, I tossed in the towel for good. Number two contestant, Butch (JD), took to the sport with a holiday spirit, as did Mike, the oldest son.

Later, our family moved to an urban area, and JD began running the streets. One night, he climbed down the tree from the second story to further investigate night life. At the end of the evening, when he climbed back up the tree to return home, little did he suspect William T. would be waiting for him. An irresistible force met an immovable object. 

Taking a Break

Among Wm T's many accomplishments was the fact that he was a great cook. In fact, he taught Hope how to cook. "A practical man"  would teach his wife to cook, since they were coupled with the enterprise of raising twelve kids. Pictured below is William T. contemplating the "God of things as they are"

Recoup the Soup

Third time is the charm.  Second attempt miserably missed the target. I had to ramp up my efforts to achieve the missing element, flavor. The smoked ham hock in the center tipped the balance.

Bear Facts

Via SMS, I got the message - there are bears in the neighborhood. They haven't tipped over any cars or done demonstrable damage, but Guicci (aka Mr. Handbag) is barkative in the presence of sentient beings. This has the potential of undoing everything he has learned about meeting new life forms.

Debris

Love the sound of that word. It has such an impact, and yet isn't read as it appears. Anyway, as the world turns, there has been a lot of  debris at the Outpost. Now, like magic it is gone. Thanks to the hard working Matt and Layla Team, coupled with the home made trailer.

Eyes Have It

I went yesterday for an eye exam. Since it has been about three years, I figured it was time. Two very nice people helped me in my effort to see farther down the road. When the doctor was finishing up, I related my favorite three stooges skit to him. Larry, Moe and Curley barge into a dentist office. The patient is in the chair with his mouth braced open. Curley looks at the hardware in his mouth and says, "You're eyes are bad, they will have to come out." The doctor's back is turned to me as I relate tale, but he says to me, "I'll have to use that some time."

Then, the lady fitting my glasses, keeps gently suggesting that I pick something more modern for my frames. This continued for a while until I made my basic philosophic point, "People expect more of you when you are in style." She laughed and let me go in my own backward style.

Time to Make a Move?

I'm thinking to myself, "Do I really need a house in a warmer climate?" Weighing the pros and cons eventually places us in Solomon's camp, not an easy task. The one thing from the experts that I always fall back on is, Location, location, location. Where would we be without cliches? Plus, it is an election year. Will the property hold its value? Anyway, nature hates a vacuum, and it is time to think about something.

Day to Gamble

A gambling friend of mine always said, "You gotta believe in your luck." At first blush that sounded superstitious, oh so many years ago. Then, as now, I tend to shy away from anything that even smacks of the feeling. Time does lend its hand to understanding, and now at this late date, I think I understand what was meant. So today, Friday the 13th, I initiated the MPCU to assist friends and family who are down on there luck and might need to borrow a few. A round about way of saying I believe in luck.

Flight of Fancy

Sometimes you leave in spite of the fact that it doesn't look like a traveling day. Bilbo must have thought such thoughts. Run out the clock, eat a bowl of soup, take a hike. It really must be warmer anywhere else.

Longstreet

Confederate general James Longstreet spent a night in a tavern in Dandridge, Tennessee during the Civil War. His plans never materialized, but I imagine he occupied himself with other things since he was on the job. It was a rush for me just to sit on a bench outside that little ale house, even though it was empty.

While I continued walking around town, I saw a little house down the street. This house isn't famous, but I liked it better.