I should be sleeping, but I find myself here again at midnight enjoying the after taste of my coffee from a land far away. Times like this are vital to my existence. I lean back, close my eyes, and listen to the silence. Tonight I’m reflecting back on some of the clumsy things my best friend did back when we were younger. I wasn’t a witness to his hot tub fail, but the story goes like this...
On a senior trip to to the beach, he and his cohorts checked out the hot tub area at their fancy condo. To their delight, it was full of other party animals who were there to live it up for a week.
“Do y’all mind if we join you?” Ben asked as he probably flexed his pectoral muscles. He had a way of doing that without even realizing it.
“Come on in!” the single ladies replied.
With a full display of machismo, he climbed to the top edge of the hot tub. Being careful not to slip, he placed his foot onto the step just under the surface of the water. The problem he ran into at that point was...there was no step. He had just placed all two hundred forty pounds onto a step that did not exist. SPLASH! He instantly found himself submerged in a tangle of a dozen unknown legs and feet. I can only imagine the uproar that followed.
There was another hilarious incident. He was at home when he tripped over one of his nephew’s toys. Stumbling and bouncing off the furniture, he spun around backwards and violently crashed through his living room window. He managed to keep from falling completely out of the house by grabbing the window frames at the sides. So, in essence he crashed his butt through the living room window. Things like this were so normal, he thought nothing of it!
I had a large group of friends over one night. He and some others scaled the rafters through my attic to see a “Barbie” Corvette. It was hidden up there for my niece’s Christmas present. Somehow, everyone made it back down without a hitch...except Ben. There were at least a dozen people in my living room when his elephant skin cowboy boot crashed through the ceiling! Drywall chunks, dust, and insulation bits dropped from the ceiling like baby meteors. His leg dangled there for a second and then slowly retracted. When he came down, he had that “Did anyone notice?” look on his face.
His clumsiness was a very endearing quality to me. We all have personality traits or quirks that are part of who we are. These things are no accident. King David wrote: “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They can’t be numbered!” [Psalm 119: 13-17].
We are all “Fearfully and wonderfully made” for a specific purpose. If we are witty, reclusive, bold, strong, athletic, etc... it is not by accident. God knew the type of person He wanted each of us to be. “Qualities” that we sometimes view as flaws are what enable us to impact certain people like no one else can. Even as you read this, God is using Ben’s clumsiness to have an effect on you. He made my life better by reminding me not to take myself so seriously and giving me memories to share with others. We know he could heap trouble on himself and find a way to wreck, get stuck, blow up, or bust anything in sight....and then laugh about it. The question is; what about you?
Showing posts with label Funny Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Funny Stories. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Friday, February 15, 2019
Trying to Find a place to Take a Nap
Have you ever been caught off guard and then reacted by doing something totally off the wall? Of course you have. Maybe someone startled you and you blurted out something you should've kept silent. Perhaps you just did something, spur of the moment, that turned into an epic fail. One cool winter night, my best friend did just that...all of that and then some.
Ben had been talking sweetly to one particular young lady for a week or two. It seemed that she was becoming more interested in a relationship, so he decided to do something special. A few days later he devised a plan. I should interject here, that Ben wasn't a planner. He had a keen ability to heap trouble upon himself WITHOUT a plan. So if he took the time to make a plan, the potential for disaster became exponentially higher.
After "casing" her home like a bank robber, he planned it all out in his mind down to the smallest detail. Her quaint little home was surrounded by cow pastures with one neighboring property. The neighbor had a dog, but it wasn't very close. Lastly, a security light dimly lit the area around her home. With all of this in mind, he plotted a discreet, in and out, stealth mission of romance. We should call this: "Mission Candy Cane."
The purpose of said mission was to use the cover of night to sneak across the pasture to her house and place a gift on top of her car. Early the next morning she would discover it and decide that he was the man of her dreams. Harps would be heard and Cupid would shoot his arrows from the clouds. What could possibly go wrong?
Nightfall came and the moon rose high. He waited until the small hours when all good folks should be sleeping. Dressed in full camouflage, Ben idled his Mustang into the neighbor's driveway. Softly clicking his door shut, he assumed the prostrate position and began low crawling across the pasture. About the time he had crawled far enough to be fully committed, the neighbor's dog went crazy! He had anticipated this, so he opened a can of Starkist tuna and hurled it into the guard dog’s direction. The startled K-9 inspected the peace offering and was infuriated over the tuna fish. It became even more agitated and started barking profanities at Ben! He barked words like: "Are you calling me a cat?, What kind of a dog eats tuna? Who sent you? What are you doing here?....and why do you have a candy cane?"
So here we have a man with a choice to make. Should he persevere, hoping everyone would ignore the barking dog? Or should he retreat? Lying there in the grass, he pondered for a moment. The security light seemed excessively bright, and even in camouflage clothing, he felt a bit too exposed. With the dog still cursing at him like a Chicago crime boss, he began low crawling back toward his bright red convertible. Mission aborted. Ben almost made it back to his chariot when he suddenly became blinded by a bright light as if it was from an angel.
"Son, what in the world are you doing?" said the angel. Angels usually don't say stuff like that! They say stuff like "Fear Not!" and "Thus sayeth the Lord!" The deep voice behind the bright angelic light was actually the neighbor’s voice from behind his foot long flashlight. Yes, this neighbor just happened to be one of the town’s police officers! In a moment like this, the very next thing you say bears much weight concerning how and where you will spend the next day or two of your life. This would have been a good time for Casa Nova to have taken a mental inventory of his options BEFORE answering the officer's question!...Here we have a grown man...dressed like Rambo...slithering through the grass on his belly...carrying a plastic candy cane full of jelly beans, and a can opener...
As I said earlier, Ben wasn't much of a planner. He was more of the “just wing it” type of guy. In keeping with this, he didn’t really ponder much. He simply blurted out “I was just trying to find a place to take a nap.” With a chuckle, the officer replied “Well Son, I think I can help you with that. I know just the place for you to take a nap!” I don’t think a jail cell is much good for napping, but to find that out for sure, we’d have to ask Ben.
As I recall, the relationship between my best friend and the mysterious woman never materialized. He certainly didn’t win her over that winter’s night. The next day he was released from the confines of the jailer’s napping place without any further incident. It might not have made for a successful mission, but it sure made a good story. I’m certain that if Ben were able to do it all over again, he’d probably opt for baked beans, mushroom soup, or some other delicious dog treat to silence the K-9.
Have you ever been caught off guard and then reacted by doing something totally off the wall? Of course you have. Maybe someone startled you and you blurted out something you should've kept silent. Perhaps you just did something, spur of the moment, that turned into an epic fail. One cool winter night, my best friend did just that...all of that and then some.
Ben had been talking sweetly to one particular young lady for a week or two. It seemed that she was becoming more interested in a relationship, so he decided to do something special. A few days later he devised a plan. I should interject here, that Ben wasn't a planner. He had a keen ability to heap trouble upon himself WITHOUT a plan. So if he took the time to make a plan, the potential for disaster became exponentially higher.
After "casing" her home like a bank robber, he planned it all out in his mind down to the smallest detail. Her quaint little home was surrounded by cow pastures with one neighboring property. The neighbor had a dog, but it wasn't very close. Lastly, a security light dimly lit the area around her home. With all of this in mind, he plotted a discreet, in and out, stealth mission of romance. We should call this: "Mission Candy Cane."
The purpose of said mission was to use the cover of night to sneak across the pasture to her house and place a gift on top of her car. Early the next morning she would discover it and decide that he was the man of her dreams. Harps would be heard and Cupid would shoot his arrows from the clouds. What could possibly go wrong?
Nightfall came and the moon rose high. He waited until the small hours when all good folks should be sleeping. Dressed in full camouflage, Ben idled his Mustang into the neighbor's driveway. Softly clicking his door shut, he assumed the prostrate position and began low crawling across the pasture. About the time he had crawled far enough to be fully committed, the neighbor's dog went crazy! He had anticipated this, so he opened a can of Starkist tuna and hurled it into the guard dog’s direction. The startled K-9 inspected the peace offering and was infuriated over the tuna fish. It became even more agitated and started barking profanities at Ben! He barked words like: "Are you calling me a cat?, What kind of a dog eats tuna? Who sent you? What are you doing here?....and why do you have a candy cane?"
So here we have a man with a choice to make. Should he persevere, hoping everyone would ignore the barking dog? Or should he retreat? Lying there in the grass, he pondered for a moment. The security light seemed excessively bright, and even in camouflage clothing, he felt a bit too exposed. With the dog still cursing at him like a Chicago crime boss, he began low crawling back toward his bright red convertible. Mission aborted. Ben almost made it back to his chariot when he suddenly became blinded by a bright light as if it was from an angel.
"Son, what in the world are you doing?" said the angel. Angels usually don't say stuff like that! They say stuff like "Fear Not!" and "Thus sayeth the Lord!" The deep voice behind the bright angelic light was actually the neighbor’s voice from behind his foot long flashlight. Yes, this neighbor just happened to be one of the town’s police officers! In a moment like this, the very next thing you say bears much weight concerning how and where you will spend the next day or two of your life. This would have been a good time for Casa Nova to have taken a mental inventory of his options BEFORE answering the officer's question!...Here we have a grown man...dressed like Rambo...slithering through the grass on his belly...carrying a plastic candy cane full of jelly beans, and a can opener...
As I said earlier, Ben wasn't much of a planner. He was more of the “just wing it” type of guy. In keeping with this, he didn’t really ponder much. He simply blurted out “I was just trying to find a place to take a nap.” With a chuckle, the officer replied “Well Son, I think I can help you with that. I know just the place for you to take a nap!” I don’t think a jail cell is much good for napping, but to find that out for sure, we’d have to ask Ben.
As I recall, the relationship between my best friend and the mysterious woman never materialized. He certainly didn’t win her over that winter’s night. The next day he was released from the confines of the jailer’s napping place without any further incident. It might not have made for a successful mission, but it sure made a good story. I’m certain that if Ben were able to do it all over again, he’d probably opt for baked beans, mushroom soup, or some other delicious dog treat to silence the K-9.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Val vs El Toro Loco
Enjoying a fresh a fresh cup of coffee before the kids awaken often allows me to ponder a few random thoughts. Sometimes they are meaningless thoughts about the birds and squirrels I see or maybe reflections of life in general. This morning I am sitting here thinking of how my two boys have fallen in love with catching fish...any kind of fish. It is a joy to watch them interact at a creek or river while on the quest for the next fish. Their enthusiasm constantly inspires me!
Case's first name is actually "Brazos" which is the longest river in TX as well as the name of the county in which he was born. The early Spanish explorers called it "Rio de los Brazos de Dios" translated as "The River of the Arms of God". It flows approximately eight hundred forty miles through the center of Texas and is mentioned in many songs form all genres of music from Lyle Lovett to ZZ Top. A battle between the Texas Navy and the Mexican Navy was fought on the Brazos during the Texas Revolution as well. It is dammed in three places and runs along side nineteen major reservoirs before it empties into the gulf near Freeport, TX. In Brazos County, TX there was one historic event that I haven't read about in a book.
I had heard that many monster size Catfish called the Brazos River home, and had seen evidence along fences near the river. Locals displayed their trophies by hanging big fish heads over their fence posts. Valerie and I decided to see if we could catch a monster so we headed to a friend's farm that would give us access. Here, the Brazos River cut through fields and pastures and had muddy steep banks with many fallen trees. A few head of cattle took shelter nearby as we walked through the woods with our fishing poles. There were feral hogs all over the river valley so we took our guard dog, "Gretta Bean" just in case.
Gretta Bean was a mighty black and tan hound that stood a full eight inches tall and measured over a foot long. There was never a slice of Granny Smith Apple or any pecan half that she didn't tear to pieces and devour. It is safe to say that we were protected.....from apples and pecans maybe...
Val and I grew up in Tennessee near the same town and went to the same schools. We were both as country as jelly beans but I was around cattle a lot and had zero fear of the bovine critters. I was about to discover that Valerie and I did not share in this same temperament! As we walked up and down the edge of the high bank searching for a place to fish, a distant bull screeched. The screech I am talking about is the classic high pitched "whoooooooh" that you hear them do all the time. "What in the heck was that?" she exclaimed. "A bull" I said without looking at her or breaking my stride. After she asked me a time or two more, I paused to reassure here that he wasn't close and that there was no danger. I did notice that here eyes had gotten sort of big and she had taken the persona of a very paranoid individual.
After a few minutes the bull "whoooooohed" a few more times as we walked passed cows on our search for water access. By this time,Val had gotten plain old skittish. She was looking from side to side and creeping like she was stalking a cougar or something! Our attack hound, Gretta, was happily trotting ahead of us sniffing all things stinky. I must say that I was amused at Val's obvious fear of the distant bull. O Father forgive me for I could not resist the temptation to be mischievous! I fell behind her a few steps and just kept chatting with her from behind. When the bull screeched again she asked "Can you see the bull yet?". I didn't answer her. I just paused a second or two and then sprinted past her. As I passed, I was looking backwards over my shoulder and exclaimed, "You Better Run!" in my most fearful voice. The next few seconds made Brazos River history...
I will tell you that it doesn't really matter how short your legs are. If you have the proper motivation, you can run FAST! Before I even had my head turned back around straight, Val had sprinted passed me, reached down and scooped Gretta Bean up, and was melting the soles off of her shoes. Before she reached the next zip code she turned to see if I was close behind. What she saw was me gasping on my hands and knees laughing uncontrollably. The bull was still off in the distance but he stopped screeching and started laughing too! As soon as the color returned to my beautiful wife's face, she chuckled a little in between all of the threats she was shouting at me.
I don't even remember wetting a line that day. If we did, we certainly didn't catch a fish! What would life be without a little light hearted humor? We need to remember to live in the "now" and try to make every single day one worth writing a story about. If we do this, it will keep our perspective and maybe make our history books a little bit thicker!
Case's first name is actually "Brazos" which is the longest river in TX as well as the name of the county in which he was born. The early Spanish explorers called it "Rio de los Brazos de Dios" translated as "The River of the Arms of God". It flows approximately eight hundred forty miles through the center of Texas and is mentioned in many songs form all genres of music from Lyle Lovett to ZZ Top. A battle between the Texas Navy and the Mexican Navy was fought on the Brazos during the Texas Revolution as well. It is dammed in three places and runs along side nineteen major reservoirs before it empties into the gulf near Freeport, TX. In Brazos County, TX there was one historic event that I haven't read about in a book.
I had heard that many monster size Catfish called the Brazos River home, and had seen evidence along fences near the river. Locals displayed their trophies by hanging big fish heads over their fence posts. Valerie and I decided to see if we could catch a monster so we headed to a friend's farm that would give us access. Here, the Brazos River cut through fields and pastures and had muddy steep banks with many fallen trees. A few head of cattle took shelter nearby as we walked through the woods with our fishing poles. There were feral hogs all over the river valley so we took our guard dog, "Gretta Bean" just in case.
Gretta Bean was a mighty black and tan hound that stood a full eight inches tall and measured over a foot long. There was never a slice of Granny Smith Apple or any pecan half that she didn't tear to pieces and devour. It is safe to say that we were protected.....from apples and pecans maybe...
Val and I grew up in Tennessee near the same town and went to the same schools. We were both as country as jelly beans but I was around cattle a lot and had zero fear of the bovine critters. I was about to discover that Valerie and I did not share in this same temperament! As we walked up and down the edge of the high bank searching for a place to fish, a distant bull screeched. The screech I am talking about is the classic high pitched "whoooooooh" that you hear them do all the time. "What in the heck was that?" she exclaimed. "A bull" I said without looking at her or breaking my stride. After she asked me a time or two more, I paused to reassure here that he wasn't close and that there was no danger. I did notice that here eyes had gotten sort of big and she had taken the persona of a very paranoid individual.
After a few minutes the bull "whoooooohed" a few more times as we walked passed cows on our search for water access. By this time,Val had gotten plain old skittish. She was looking from side to side and creeping like she was stalking a cougar or something! Our attack hound, Gretta, was happily trotting ahead of us sniffing all things stinky. I must say that I was amused at Val's obvious fear of the distant bull. O Father forgive me for I could not resist the temptation to be mischievous! I fell behind her a few steps and just kept chatting with her from behind. When the bull screeched again she asked "Can you see the bull yet?". I didn't answer her. I just paused a second or two and then sprinted past her. As I passed, I was looking backwards over my shoulder and exclaimed, "You Better Run!" in my most fearful voice. The next few seconds made Brazos River history...
I will tell you that it doesn't really matter how short your legs are. If you have the proper motivation, you can run FAST! Before I even had my head turned back around straight, Val had sprinted passed me, reached down and scooped Gretta Bean up, and was melting the soles off of her shoes. Before she reached the next zip code she turned to see if I was close behind. What she saw was me gasping on my hands and knees laughing uncontrollably. The bull was still off in the distance but he stopped screeching and started laughing too! As soon as the color returned to my beautiful wife's face, she chuckled a little in between all of the threats she was shouting at me.
I don't even remember wetting a line that day. If we did, we certainly didn't catch a fish! What would life be without a little light hearted humor? We need to remember to live in the "now" and try to make every single day one worth writing a story about. If we do this, it will keep our perspective and maybe make our history books a little bit thicker!
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Val's Scary Fish
Take a moment and picture your version of a perfect day of fishing. It probably involves beautiful scenery, a perfect day, and an image of yourself fighting with a big fish. To be completely honest, I don't know how many...if any...fish were caught on this particular warm summer evening. My wife Valerie, Daren, and I were fishing in a flat bottomed boat in an old isolated gravel pit pond. This was a peaceful place away from everything, and it contained an abundance of bass along with the occasional big catfish.
We fished for a couple hours casting for bass while each of us had a catfish rig hanging peacefully off the side of the boat. To display an accurate picture of how "professional" we must have looked, we always kept our trusty .22 rifle in the boat to shoot the bigger fish as soon as they surfaced. This kept them from getting free or snapping the line during the fight to get them completely in the boat. Daren was barefoot of course, and wore his usual frayed, scissor shortened Liberty brand overalls. His paper sack of "flea market wonder" fishing lures was present. Valerie was a beautiful sun tanned country girl with sunglasses and shorts. Insert mental image here: Val-- "country music video girl casting her line" in slow motion. As for me, I am telling the story, so I was naturally the the smartest one in the boat. We'll leave it at that.
As the evening sun sank into the horizon, we all knew that we had time for only a few more casts before we had to pack it up. Daren was switching lures every other cast at this point trying to surprise any wise old fish with something weird. While rustling through his paper sack, he noticed that he had a toy rubber snake inside. As he gestured and showed it to me, we engaged in a silent conversation with our eyes and hands while Val gazed at the sunset over her fishing pole....
Daren baited his catfish rig with that rubber snake. He let it sink to the bottom and must have waited for fifteen more minutes for "dusky dark" to arrive. Then suddenly, he sprang up from his seat, shaking the boat, and shouted "Got a big one!" He really played up a fight by making his rod dip into the water and dart from this direction and that. The whole pond had erupted with excitement! We were all whooping and shrieking with anticipation! As he reeled the line in closer, he caught a glimpse of the snake and knew it was close enough. "Grab the line Valerie!" he barked as it seemed to pull his rod toward her side of the boat. Excited, she leaned way over the boat's side and reached for his line. At that exact moment, Daren jerked the snake up out of the water and began shaking it right in front of her. "Snake!" she screamed as she scramble backward. I don't think at this point she would still appear like the "romantic country music video girl" from earlier. In fact, I'd say that my wife actually levitated above that boat for an instant while still managing to kick over everything within eight feet of her short legs! In an instant, Daren had to drop his fishing pole, and literally football tackle her to keep her from jumping overboard. During the commotion, he had to bear hug her for a bit longer to keep her in the boat! Me? I was already slumped over from oxygen deprivation from laughing so hard.
Her eyes were bigger than silver dollars, and after she realized that it was a joke, came her barrage of swats and threats...like "I am gonna keeel y'all!", and "you just wait!"...."it goes both ways!"...etc.... Of course she was shouting all these threats between long flurries of laughter. I will never forget the simultaneous look of terror and surprise on her face! The sound of Daren's raspy laugh mixed in with our own will be ingrained in my memory forever. I am sure that the laughter continued long after we left as the bull frogs and the mud turtles compared their own accounts of the event.
God puts us all here for a reason. If we seek after Him and live according to His will and purpose for our lives, random funny moments like these can come about so easily. Casting our cares on Him enables us to live with a "carefree attitude" that makes life less stressful and more memorable! Don't worry about tomorrow, just have some fun today and make some good memories.
We fished for a couple hours casting for bass while each of us had a catfish rig hanging peacefully off the side of the boat. To display an accurate picture of how "professional" we must have looked, we always kept our trusty .22 rifle in the boat to shoot the bigger fish as soon as they surfaced. This kept them from getting free or snapping the line during the fight to get them completely in the boat. Daren was barefoot of course, and wore his usual frayed, scissor shortened Liberty brand overalls. His paper sack of "flea market wonder" fishing lures was present. Valerie was a beautiful sun tanned country girl with sunglasses and shorts. Insert mental image here: Val-- "country music video girl casting her line" in slow motion. As for me, I am telling the story, so I was naturally the the smartest one in the boat. We'll leave it at that.
As the evening sun sank into the horizon, we all knew that we had time for only a few more casts before we had to pack it up. Daren was switching lures every other cast at this point trying to surprise any wise old fish with something weird. While rustling through his paper sack, he noticed that he had a toy rubber snake inside. As he gestured and showed it to me, we engaged in a silent conversation with our eyes and hands while Val gazed at the sunset over her fishing pole....
Daren baited his catfish rig with that rubber snake. He let it sink to the bottom and must have waited for fifteen more minutes for "dusky dark" to arrive. Then suddenly, he sprang up from his seat, shaking the boat, and shouted "Got a big one!" He really played up a fight by making his rod dip into the water and dart from this direction and that. The whole pond had erupted with excitement! We were all whooping and shrieking with anticipation! As he reeled the line in closer, he caught a glimpse of the snake and knew it was close enough. "Grab the line Valerie!" he barked as it seemed to pull his rod toward her side of the boat. Excited, she leaned way over the boat's side and reached for his line. At that exact moment, Daren jerked the snake up out of the water and began shaking it right in front of her. "Snake!" she screamed as she scramble backward. I don't think at this point she would still appear like the "romantic country music video girl" from earlier. In fact, I'd say that my wife actually levitated above that boat for an instant while still managing to kick over everything within eight feet of her short legs! In an instant, Daren had to drop his fishing pole, and literally football tackle her to keep her from jumping overboard. During the commotion, he had to bear hug her for a bit longer to keep her in the boat! Me? I was already slumped over from oxygen deprivation from laughing so hard.
Her eyes were bigger than silver dollars, and after she realized that it was a joke, came her barrage of swats and threats...like "I am gonna keeel y'all!", and "you just wait!"...."it goes both ways!"...etc.... Of course she was shouting all these threats between long flurries of laughter. I will never forget the simultaneous look of terror and surprise on her face! The sound of Daren's raspy laugh mixed in with our own will be ingrained in my memory forever. I am sure that the laughter continued long after we left as the bull frogs and the mud turtles compared their own accounts of the event.
God puts us all here for a reason. If we seek after Him and live according to His will and purpose for our lives, random funny moments like these can come about so easily. Casting our cares on Him enables us to live with a "carefree attitude" that makes life less stressful and more memorable! Don't worry about tomorrow, just have some fun today and make some good memories.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Run-Away Flatbed
Once while Ben and I were tooling around his parent's farm, we spied an old truck. It was a big two ton cab-over flatbed truck that was hiding in the tall weeds behind a farrowing barn. "What's the story on that old truck?" I asked. "Dad used it a long time ago to haul stuff" he replied. It was sitting there all by itself, kind of peacefully aging in what seemed to be its death bed. As curious teenage farm boys so often do, we decided to venture through the weeds and investigate.
As we climbed over the front wheel and plopped down in the dusty vinyl seats we could smell that unique "big truck smell". I won't say that it is a particularly pleasant smell though. You might could imagine the old farm truck. It would have certainly spent long days sitting beside dusty fields, occasionally getting rained in. Also, the dust, corn feed, and grit from years of use had formed a thin crust on the floorboard that crumbled under our feet. All of these things plus old potato chip sacks and coke bottles combined to have that distinctly pungent "big truck smell". Neither bad, nor good, it is just distinct. As our nostrils filled with that smell we gazed at all of those gauges, levers, and buttons. How invigorating it would be to be able to drive such a monster! Bear in mind, that we were probably not even fourteen yeas old at this time.
We admired the wagon wheel sized steering wheel and crooked gearshift while noticing how high up we were. You could see everything from up there! It was then that one of us noticed the key in the ignition. "Do you think it would start?" I asked. "I know one way to find out!" chuckled Ben. With no further discussion of the matter, Ben reached over hastily and turned the key. The next thing we knew, the big ugly beast roared to life as if it was thanking us for one last shot at glory. There was no pumping the accelerator, spinning the starter, or anything...just VROOM! We were dumbfounded as we looked at one another with our eyes bigger than half dollars. The old rascal was saying "Point me somewhere and lets GO!".
Seeing as it was Ben's tail on the line, and not mine, if someone were to be displeased about us hi-jacking the old spook, I hoped he was gonna try to drive it. I gave him all the encouragement he needed simply by being in the passenger seat. Ben was not a person in need of ANY encouragement about things like this. He is the very definition of "shoot first, ask questions later". I could really envision him shooting a case of ammo into the woods and then walking in to see if he hit anything. From watching his dad drive, he knew how everything worked so it was no more than half a second before the surge of granny gear slammed my head backwards. We were off!
For a few minutes we circled the farrowing barn, drove through the weeds, and over big bumps in awe of how high up we were. This big old truck would go anywhere you pointed it with those big tires! Ben and I both were avid ATV'ers, so it wasn't long before we were bored with this spot. Nearby was a drive that would take us deeper into their farm. It promised to lead to bigger and better ways for us to be manly truck drivers. Up to this point, granny gear was about as fast as we had gone. We would power up the little embankments around the barn and let the engine slow us down on the return.
Once we got to the main road, in typical "Ben Fashion", he floor-boarded the old monster, and then found another gear. It probably wasn't second gear either, because I remember it being much much faster than granny gear. The truck was doing us proud while celebrating its new found freedom. It throttled up and was humming along at about ten miles per hour when all of a sudden a clump of wires dangling from underneath the dash began to move...a lot. He motioned for me to look at it since the engine noise was too loud to talk over. As we were looking more under the dash than at the road, we noticed that it was a BIG SNAKE shaking those wires! At that instant, it thrust itself downward into the floor board and went crazy! I don't remember seeing Ben even try to stop before he flung his door open and jumped out! Well, I wasn't about to sit in a truck being driven by a chicken snake, so I jumped out too! Once I got off the ground from my little tumble, the rear of the truck was passing by, leaving nothing but thin air between Ben and I.
We couldn't really say anything other than some colorful words we wouldn't want our mothers to hear. We trotted behind the runaway beast in panic. Thankfully, it was only seconds before it edged into the ditch and died. No one was coming down the road, and no one got hurt. Whew! As soon as the adrenalin began to subside, we began to laugh hysterically. Then we began to ponder what the consequences for Ben would be when his dad got home. "We could get back in and park it back where it was" I said. Ben replied "If we get back in YOU ARE DRIVING!". Needless to say, I had no plans in my near future of re-entering that cab, so we just left it there. It was crooked, in a ditch, on the side of the road.
Soon, Ben's father returned home from work. After being informed of the day's events, his dad laughed in his usual subdued manner. Charles Wayne's little chuckle, Ben and I learned throughout our young years, had the unspoken words, "did you learn anything?" concealed inside. It turns out there were no consequences for our adventure, and his dad returned the beast to it's hiding place. Although there were many other joy rides, none had a chicken snake doing the driving. Memories like this remind me of how blessed I was, even before I realized, to grow up in the country with loving families and friends all around.
As we climbed over the front wheel and plopped down in the dusty vinyl seats we could smell that unique "big truck smell". I won't say that it is a particularly pleasant smell though. You might could imagine the old farm truck. It would have certainly spent long days sitting beside dusty fields, occasionally getting rained in. Also, the dust, corn feed, and grit from years of use had formed a thin crust on the floorboard that crumbled under our feet. All of these things plus old potato chip sacks and coke bottles combined to have that distinctly pungent "big truck smell". Neither bad, nor good, it is just distinct. As our nostrils filled with that smell we gazed at all of those gauges, levers, and buttons. How invigorating it would be to be able to drive such a monster! Bear in mind, that we were probably not even fourteen yeas old at this time.
We admired the wagon wheel sized steering wheel and crooked gearshift while noticing how high up we were. You could see everything from up there! It was then that one of us noticed the key in the ignition. "Do you think it would start?" I asked. "I know one way to find out!" chuckled Ben. With no further discussion of the matter, Ben reached over hastily and turned the key. The next thing we knew, the big ugly beast roared to life as if it was thanking us for one last shot at glory. There was no pumping the accelerator, spinning the starter, or anything...just VROOM! We were dumbfounded as we looked at one another with our eyes bigger than half dollars. The old rascal was saying "Point me somewhere and lets GO!".
Seeing as it was Ben's tail on the line, and not mine, if someone were to be displeased about us hi-jacking the old spook, I hoped he was gonna try to drive it. I gave him all the encouragement he needed simply by being in the passenger seat. Ben was not a person in need of ANY encouragement about things like this. He is the very definition of "shoot first, ask questions later". I could really envision him shooting a case of ammo into the woods and then walking in to see if he hit anything. From watching his dad drive, he knew how everything worked so it was no more than half a second before the surge of granny gear slammed my head backwards. We were off!
For a few minutes we circled the farrowing barn, drove through the weeds, and over big bumps in awe of how high up we were. This big old truck would go anywhere you pointed it with those big tires! Ben and I both were avid ATV'ers, so it wasn't long before we were bored with this spot. Nearby was a drive that would take us deeper into their farm. It promised to lead to bigger and better ways for us to be manly truck drivers. Up to this point, granny gear was about as fast as we had gone. We would power up the little embankments around the barn and let the engine slow us down on the return.
Once we got to the main road, in typical "Ben Fashion", he floor-boarded the old monster, and then found another gear. It probably wasn't second gear either, because I remember it being much much faster than granny gear. The truck was doing us proud while celebrating its new found freedom. It throttled up and was humming along at about ten miles per hour when all of a sudden a clump of wires dangling from underneath the dash began to move...a lot. He motioned for me to look at it since the engine noise was too loud to talk over. As we were looking more under the dash than at the road, we noticed that it was a BIG SNAKE shaking those wires! At that instant, it thrust itself downward into the floor board and went crazy! I don't remember seeing Ben even try to stop before he flung his door open and jumped out! Well, I wasn't about to sit in a truck being driven by a chicken snake, so I jumped out too! Once I got off the ground from my little tumble, the rear of the truck was passing by, leaving nothing but thin air between Ben and I.
We couldn't really say anything other than some colorful words we wouldn't want our mothers to hear. We trotted behind the runaway beast in panic. Thankfully, it was only seconds before it edged into the ditch and died. No one was coming down the road, and no one got hurt. Whew! As soon as the adrenalin began to subside, we began to laugh hysterically. Then we began to ponder what the consequences for Ben would be when his dad got home. "We could get back in and park it back where it was" I said. Ben replied "If we get back in YOU ARE DRIVING!". Needless to say, I had no plans in my near future of re-entering that cab, so we just left it there. It was crooked, in a ditch, on the side of the road.
Soon, Ben's father returned home from work. After being informed of the day's events, his dad laughed in his usual subdued manner. Charles Wayne's little chuckle, Ben and I learned throughout our young years, had the unspoken words, "did you learn anything?" concealed inside. It turns out there were no consequences for our adventure, and his dad returned the beast to it's hiding place. Although there were many other joy rides, none had a chicken snake doing the driving. Memories like this remind me of how blessed I was, even before I realized, to grow up in the country with loving families and friends all around.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Staying on Task!
Did you ever hear of "Murphy's Law"? It is the old saying; "anything that can go wrong will go wrong". I generally scoff at such blankets of negativism spoken over an activity but I can't deny that I give Mr. Murphy a margin of respect. I usually try to minimize his presence by planning for the worst and hoping for the best. Recently, I discovered a clause that should be added to "Murphy's Law". It has to do with staying on task.
My in-laws were building a new home so I volunteered to mow their construction site with our newly acquired tractor. This grand old tractor was acquired to replace two smaller tractors and was to be the saving grace of our property. It turned out to not be so grand after all. I won't go into mechanical details, but suffice to say that this blue tractor was more "tired" than we originally thought. To be efficient, I planned for the mowing to take more time than I deemed necessary and fired up old Blue. Then I headed eight miles down the highway to be a good son-in-law.
Things went smoother than fresh butter running off of hot corn bread. I clipped along in high gear and arrived at their home-to-be in thirty minutes. It took a couple hours to mow the grassy lot, visit with "Papi", and head back for home. This was demonstrating to my wife that I was "the man with the plan". I was staying on task to boot! She had expressed doubts about me finishing early enough to work on our renovation project. She never actually "said" anything to express those doubts. It was more of a "look" on her face when I announced my plans for the day. A woman truly does have a special type of intuition.
My brother owns a nice deer hunting spot along the way and had recently mentioned mowing it. As I clattered toward home on the blue beast, I could see his deer property across the way. The road leading in was very grown up! I wouldn't want to drive my truck through all those weeds! So I made a sharp turn into the easement intending to mow one swipe going in and one swipe coming out. This would create a ten foot wide "driving" path. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if even that! From this point forward, it would be safe to say that I was officially OFF TASK and might as well have invited Murphy to come ride the tractor with me.
Eagerly, I shut off the engine on Blue so I could engage the PTO and start it up again. If you are not familiar with tractors, you should NOT have to kill the engine to engage the PTO...Blue will sound off a gear grinding symphony if you don't take this extra step. Despite this inconvenience, Blue roared right back to life with the bush hog singing. I started mowing in "granny gear" just to be safe. Slowly I mowed along the easement leaving a clean path behind the tractor. About fifty feet into my off task endeavor, Murphy arrived. There was a deep wash-out hiding in the weeds! Before I saw it, my front wheels fell into the wash-out, hitting so hard it rattled my teeth! My feet flailed off the foot boards as the tractor's front end hit bottom and bounced up and down. Before I could stop the madness, the rear tires caught traction mashing the front wheels into the soft dirt on the other side. This caused the steering wheel to spin like a tazmanian devil in my hands. In just a couple of seconds, I saw Jesus, got beat half to death, and had my achy back re-adjusted! I eventually pressed the clutch and got the fiasco under control. Then I eased backwards out of the mess and it seemed that the only thing damaged was my nerves...
I could hear my inner voice pleading that it would be best to quit now and drive home while I was ahead. After all, my brother planned to mow it himself but who really listens to that silly inner voice anyway? In true manly-man fashion, I dodged the wash-out and mowed all the way down and back again. Voila! It seemed I had just given Mr. Murphy a bloody nose...then I tried to make the right hand turn to get back on the highway. Blue "veered" in that direction, but he sure wasn't "turning"! Well Dang! Dumbfounded, I dismounted and walked around to assess the problem, The "steering arm" is a long (straight) steel rod connecting the steering gear box to the front axles enabling you to turn right and left. I had bent it into a "C" shape like a archers bow! I now had a friggin' tractor that would turn left, but only "merge" right!
This story ought to end here with me phoning in some help and repairing the tractor on the spot. It doesn't. There is an unspoken "code" among "good ole country boys" like me that connects pride to ego like an umbilical cord. This "code" is the idea that getting something that you broke home without help is the true mark of an intelligent man. As long as I was driving down the road, veering is all I really needed to do anyway! I joyously wobbled toward home in high gear and ALMOST made it there before Blue's engine began to sputter. Noticing that I was going to be stranded, I veered into the ditch to avoid blocking traffic. A few minutes and a phone call ascertained that the jarring impact from my little episode had dislodged some trash in the fuel tank. This trash had sucked into the the fuel line, clogging it! In a few aggravated minutes, I jerked the rubber fuel line off and blew into it with my mouth to unclog the line. There's nothing quite like the taste of good old diesel fuel in the mouth....Yummy.
It worked! In a moment I was hitting the starter button! In case you haven't run a diesel engine out of fuel.....don't. The entire fuel system usually needs to be bled out in order for it to start up again. A passing neighbor saw me grinding on the starter and took pity on me. He was carrying a can of ether! Ether is a highly flammable gas that many people consider unsafe for use around engines. It has been known to cause air cleaners to explode! Angry enough to be totally care-free by this time, I told John to spray it into the breather until Blue started or we both fainted from the fumes. Eureka! Now I would finally get home. Thank you Jesus! This tale really ought to end here, but sadly, it doesn't. Murphy wanted to help me repair the tractor!
Early the the next morning I took my three year old son "Case" outside with me to witness the repair. To a redneck the word "repair" is a relative term. Repairing the steering arm for us was going to involve a sledge hammer and a tree stump. After removing it I laid the steering arm on the stump and knelt beside it. Then I began to pound it. Picture the game at the circus where you try to ring the bell by using the big hammer to hit a pad. This beating with the hammer made me feel all hairy chested like I was getting back at someone. Suddenly, I felt a fire ant bite me on the arm but when I looked down to brush it off....I saw four million MORE ants on me from by boots to my shirt collar! The stump I was using for an anvil was their home! Case, ironically named after high quality, American tractors, really enjoyed my skat dance. He giggled as he watched me running, swatting, wiggling, and shedding clothes while singing a medley of garbled words!
Eventually Blue got repaired and this is where the story ends. My son, who is named after a good tractor, witnessed cheap entertainment while watching me fix a Romanian hunk of steel. Murphy's Law is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It has a way of starting small and getting larger as it continues. Getting off task must be one of Murphy's favorite triggers....as I have discovered on numerous occasions. Stay on task! Plan for a few hiccups and Murphy will watch you from the shadows. Get off task or ignore a woman's intuition and prepare to get snowballed!
My in-laws were building a new home so I volunteered to mow their construction site with our newly acquired tractor. This grand old tractor was acquired to replace two smaller tractors and was to be the saving grace of our property. It turned out to not be so grand after all. I won't go into mechanical details, but suffice to say that this blue tractor was more "tired" than we originally thought. To be efficient, I planned for the mowing to take more time than I deemed necessary and fired up old Blue. Then I headed eight miles down the highway to be a good son-in-law.
Things went smoother than fresh butter running off of hot corn bread. I clipped along in high gear and arrived at their home-to-be in thirty minutes. It took a couple hours to mow the grassy lot, visit with "Papi", and head back for home. This was demonstrating to my wife that I was "the man with the plan". I was staying on task to boot! She had expressed doubts about me finishing early enough to work on our renovation project. She never actually "said" anything to express those doubts. It was more of a "look" on her face when I announced my plans for the day. A woman truly does have a special type of intuition.
My brother owns a nice deer hunting spot along the way and had recently mentioned mowing it. As I clattered toward home on the blue beast, I could see his deer property across the way. The road leading in was very grown up! I wouldn't want to drive my truck through all those weeds! So I made a sharp turn into the easement intending to mow one swipe going in and one swipe coming out. This would create a ten foot wide "driving" path. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if even that! From this point forward, it would be safe to say that I was officially OFF TASK and might as well have invited Murphy to come ride the tractor with me.
Eagerly, I shut off the engine on Blue so I could engage the PTO and start it up again. If you are not familiar with tractors, you should NOT have to kill the engine to engage the PTO...Blue will sound off a gear grinding symphony if you don't take this extra step. Despite this inconvenience, Blue roared right back to life with the bush hog singing. I started mowing in "granny gear" just to be safe. Slowly I mowed along the easement leaving a clean path behind the tractor. About fifty feet into my off task endeavor, Murphy arrived. There was a deep wash-out hiding in the weeds! Before I saw it, my front wheels fell into the wash-out, hitting so hard it rattled my teeth! My feet flailed off the foot boards as the tractor's front end hit bottom and bounced up and down. Before I could stop the madness, the rear tires caught traction mashing the front wheels into the soft dirt on the other side. This caused the steering wheel to spin like a tazmanian devil in my hands. In just a couple of seconds, I saw Jesus, got beat half to death, and had my achy back re-adjusted! I eventually pressed the clutch and got the fiasco under control. Then I eased backwards out of the mess and it seemed that the only thing damaged was my nerves...
I could hear my inner voice pleading that it would be best to quit now and drive home while I was ahead. After all, my brother planned to mow it himself but who really listens to that silly inner voice anyway? In true manly-man fashion, I dodged the wash-out and mowed all the way down and back again. Voila! It seemed I had just given Mr. Murphy a bloody nose...then I tried to make the right hand turn to get back on the highway. Blue "veered" in that direction, but he sure wasn't "turning"! Well Dang! Dumbfounded, I dismounted and walked around to assess the problem, The "steering arm" is a long (straight) steel rod connecting the steering gear box to the front axles enabling you to turn right and left. I had bent it into a "C" shape like a archers bow! I now had a friggin' tractor that would turn left, but only "merge" right!
This story ought to end here with me phoning in some help and repairing the tractor on the spot. It doesn't. There is an unspoken "code" among "good ole country boys" like me that connects pride to ego like an umbilical cord. This "code" is the idea that getting something that you broke home without help is the true mark of an intelligent man. As long as I was driving down the road, veering is all I really needed to do anyway! I joyously wobbled toward home in high gear and ALMOST made it there before Blue's engine began to sputter. Noticing that I was going to be stranded, I veered into the ditch to avoid blocking traffic. A few minutes and a phone call ascertained that the jarring impact from my little episode had dislodged some trash in the fuel tank. This trash had sucked into the the fuel line, clogging it! In a few aggravated minutes, I jerked the rubber fuel line off and blew into it with my mouth to unclog the line. There's nothing quite like the taste of good old diesel fuel in the mouth....Yummy.
It worked! In a moment I was hitting the starter button! In case you haven't run a diesel engine out of fuel.....don't. The entire fuel system usually needs to be bled out in order for it to start up again. A passing neighbor saw me grinding on the starter and took pity on me. He was carrying a can of ether! Ether is a highly flammable gas that many people consider unsafe for use around engines. It has been known to cause air cleaners to explode! Angry enough to be totally care-free by this time, I told John to spray it into the breather until Blue started or we both fainted from the fumes. Eureka! Now I would finally get home. Thank you Jesus! This tale really ought to end here, but sadly, it doesn't. Murphy wanted to help me repair the tractor!
Early the the next morning I took my three year old son "Case" outside with me to witness the repair. To a redneck the word "repair" is a relative term. Repairing the steering arm for us was going to involve a sledge hammer and a tree stump. After removing it I laid the steering arm on the stump and knelt beside it. Then I began to pound it. Picture the game at the circus where you try to ring the bell by using the big hammer to hit a pad. This beating with the hammer made me feel all hairy chested like I was getting back at someone. Suddenly, I felt a fire ant bite me on the arm but when I looked down to brush it off....I saw four million MORE ants on me from by boots to my shirt collar! The stump I was using for an anvil was their home! Case, ironically named after high quality, American tractors, really enjoyed my skat dance. He giggled as he watched me running, swatting, wiggling, and shedding clothes while singing a medley of garbled words!
Eventually Blue got repaired and this is where the story ends. My son, who is named after a good tractor, witnessed cheap entertainment while watching me fix a Romanian hunk of steel. Murphy's Law is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It has a way of starting small and getting larger as it continues. Getting off task must be one of Murphy's favorite triggers....as I have discovered on numerous occasions. Stay on task! Plan for a few hiccups and Murphy will watch you from the shadows. Get off task or ignore a woman's intuition and prepare to get snowballed!
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