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The Morning Ritual….

Among my cologne collection are a couple of bottles of ancient scents, Jade East, British Sterling and English leather to be specific. They are reminders of what happens between 16 and 76 in terms of the “morning ritual”. Gone are the days when you sprang out of bed, showered in 5 minutes, shaved in 3, perused your modest wardrobe and slid into a pair of shoes out of your stable of 3 pairs, total. Out the door could be accomplished in 10 minutes flat, 15 if you were indecisive along the way. As a mobster would say “forget about it”. It takes 30 minutes to get in and out of the shower.

First off, there are places on your body that can be reached only after the greatest of effort. I envy a yoga class at the gym and these folks ability to twist and turn in ways that would leave me permanently contorted before I remember their moves closely resemble mine in the shower. Replacing the single bar of soap we have a collection of body washes and shampoos to choose from, all in different shaped containers, done for the convenience of mature folks who can’t read the labels. Shaving, for me, is a formidable task. I have more shavers than Leno has cars, and still struggle to reach parts of my head that used to be covered by hair. Shaving your head will remind you of just how complicated head architecture really is. Today, I slip on my trifocals and squint into the mirror attempting to find hair that has migrated to my ears, nose and eyebrows. Miss one and Drill Sergeant Sharon will come at me with tweezers. Speaking of mirrors, these slabs of glass are unforgiving. Dad’s bods morph into grand-dads bods and one does not want to lollygag in front the damned things.

After showering, toweling is the next obstacle. Bending over to dry your legs, much less your feet, runs the risk of not being able to straighten back up. Then a lotion to lend pliability to skin that has dried to the texture of fine Corinthian leather. This ritual alone involves reaching your feet and toes that seem further away than ever. Men and their feet generally are not acquainted with each other, a sad reality brought home by the silky smoothness of your lady’s feet between the sheets. In days gone by, I wouldn’t be caught dead getting a pedicure. Not so today, the technicians are more knowledgeable than a bartender who has been sampling his spirits, and they are miracle workers with feet. Trust me here, your lady friend will appreciate your sacrifice.

Old men are like old cars. They require a lot of TLC to remain presentable in public. 10 minute mornings are a thing of the distant past……but we’re still here, upright and taking nourishment. At our ages, that is quite an accomplishment or good fortune or both.

Working Traffic…

Do you like cars? Are you equipped with an heightened sense of awareness? Can you multi task? Do you meet people well? Do you love to solve puzzles? Are you an adrenaline junky? Is making a difference important to you? Can you recall details with clarity? Do you enjoy techy things? Can you manage confrontation? Can you manage sympathy, empathy and flint hardness on demand depending on circumstances?

If the answer is yes, I have just the job for you. Become a state trooper and begin a career on the road enforcing not only your states traffic laws but the criminal code. You can go home after each shift knowing you have made a difference and improved the human condition. Almost all police careers begin with traffic enforcement to some degree with State Troopers majoring in it. Your career is likely to end where it began, 24” off the road and 30” behind a windshield. In all honesty, I loved every minute of it until my focus shifted from police work to management with a rewarding interim of direct supervision of superb traffic officers. Like all uniformed services, the internal and external politics that accompany a position of authority will test your will.

Your shifts begin with the heightened sense of awareness and anticipation of what is to come. The sound of the engine in a police cruiser coming to life is exciting. When you turn out onto the highway, you are, in a sense a predator, looking for something that is out of place or someone who does not play by the rules. It is not personal until someone makes it so. When they do, you know your training has prepared you to handle the situation, as confrontation is your constant companion. In these moments, you must win or the penalty can be severe. Physical confrontations are not commonplace, but they will happen and your role is to manage them and restore dignity. Unlike in my day, your every action is likely being photographed by a citizen carrying a gun. I acknowledge the dramatic change in society’s dynamics and suspect the job today is more demanding than ever. The significance of traffic enforcement is misunderstood and tends to be relegated to the bottom rung of agency priorities, an extremely unfortunate circumstance. I am retired and content, however; give me 10 officers with exclusively traffic responsibilities and we would terrorize the city I live in, reduce accidents significantly, catch more felons and teach this populace all about rules and responsible driving. We would recover a small fortune in delinquent license fees and sell car insurance at an unprecedented rate. In short, we would make a difference and the city safer.

The next time you pass an officer who has a vehicle stopped, smile and remember his role. It is not easy out there, and he/she is making a that difference!

Have a good week!

A Quick Note On Carrying Concealed…..

Well over 21 million Americans have a permit to carry concealed. The number is likely higher, as 29 states now allow “Constitutional Carry”, and these folks are mixed in and out of known statistics. The numbers of folks who carry with little or no training is a matter of concern, as there are limitations, some lawful, some practical to the practice of walking out the door strapped.

I am a firearms enthusiast, not an expert. I carried a sidearm professionally for some 28 years, and lived through the metamorphosis from wheel guns (revolvers) to automatics, ostensibly to give law enforcement more firepower, increasing the number of rounds from around 6 to 15 or more in a single magazine. Various shootouts around the country pointed out the fallacy of being underarmed when confronting bad guys who were well armed. I am writing today to defend the seemingly ancient wheel gun for folks who no longer enjoy the hand strength necessary to run today’s automatic pistols. I am one of those folks.

Various studies indicate that the average armed encounter involves the expenditure of between 1 and 3 rounds when the encounter does not involve a law enforcement officer. As a practical matter, few law enforcement encounters involve the expenditure of more than 6 rounds. A law enforcement encounter is also more likely to involve an offensive posture as opposed to the nearly always defensive posture of a civilian involved shooting. Enter the venerable wheel gun.

I have carried a number of pistols in my lifetime and enjoyed range sessions with most of them. Today’s small hand cannons are not pleasant to shoot for the most part, but are far more concealable than full sized pistols. The same can be said for small revolvers, such as the J-frame guns made by Smith & Wesson, if you practice to any extent. My carry today is typically a J-Frame, 5 shot revolver in .38 Special. With custom grips it is virtually invisible, even under light summer clothing, and most importantly, easily run with hands compromised with arthritis. It is not practical for offensive situations (going after a “church” shooter and such) but plenty adequate for “get off me” defensive situations.

My carry firearms. Top is the J-Frame S&W .38 Special Bottom is a FN sub compact in 9mm. With range fodder, the S&W is comfortable, while the FN is very “Snappy”

I will close with two advisories. First training is imperative as is practice. You must know the limitations of your carry and be proficient in its use. Training must also include the legal ramifications of any activity involving the use of a firearm. Secondly, in a small revolver with a short barrel, today’s hot defensive ammunition may not perform well in some popular calibers. These little guys do not generate enough velocity to cause the bullets to expand and penetrate as they would in a full sized pistol. Talk to a “gun guy” and he will explain the intricacies of ballistics and short barrels. You need penetration, not necessarily expansion.

I hope this helps. From time to time I get inquiries from friends and friends of friends about concealed carry, and this is my mantra. Train, practice and select the handgun that fits you. Are you one of the 21 millions folks who carry? It involves more than strapping one on and calling it good. Much more.

Aisle Law……

I know we are at war, gas prices are astronomical and groceries are forcing us to eat genuine food, but it is high time someone addresses a real crises in America……aisle law. There needs to be a law that designates a single day, say Tuesday, for folks with common sense and decorum about them, to grocery shop.

If you shop Costco, Sam’s Cub, Wal-Mart or your home town grocery store, you know what I am talking about. Aisle rage easily eclipses road rage on the scale measuring serious societal problems. If you suffer from one of these short comings while shopping, please seek an intervention.

Folks like to visit, but a gaggle of old folks, gathered in front of the beer cooler talking about gout and arthritis is aggravating. Visiting is not okay if you are blocking access to a needed item by a serious shopper.

When you first choose your cart, it is not the time to stop and rummage through your purse, dial up Uncle Freddy on the cell phone or administer corrective advice to your untrained rug rats. Cart selection is serious business, avoid the cart with a front wheel spinning like a ballerina on crack or locked up tighter than a prom queen’s knees. Conversely, when your groceries are loaded into your chariot, please find one of the hundred or so cart corrals to return the cart to. It is the height of laziness to leave an empty cart 10 feet from a corral.

Another issue is your “service dog”, the dirty little rat sized critter you have drug out of the litter box, who must have his blanket adjusted in the cart before proceeding. “Service Dog’…..I hardly think so.

Speaking of kids, aisles are not race tracks, and your fat little junior is breaking down the cart hanging on the front munching Cocoa Puffs out of a just opened bag. He is why cart wheels spin and lock up.

Folks you are not the only one shopping. Leaving your cart in the middle of an aisle while you select a container of cottage cheese at the other end of the store is bad. It takes time to get the cottage cheese from the back of the display while avoiding a carton of melted ice cream that some moron decided he didn’t need and deposited in the cottage cheese display.

Inordinate patience is required when standing behind bacon and watermelon shoppers. The first will carefully examine 70 or so packages of bacon, making judgements about leanness and the second believes he can thump 50 watermelons and locate a sweet one. Scanning and thumping takes time……

Tattered, discolored lingerie, clearly visible under your sagging, filthy flannel pajamas is not appetizing. Please make an attempt to locate your cleanest, dirty shirt to cover up your prison ink and sleep wear.

A word to my handicapped and ample friends who rely on one of the little blue scooters to peruse the goods. You are not the only one shopping. You still must look as you turn corners and stopping sideways in an aisle is frowned upon by your more mobile neighbors. Pick a side and stay in if you can and watch where you drive. Kind of like driving a car. You are entitled to privilege, but don’t abuse it.

Finally, if you are a sample bandit, gliding between samples of cheese and the latest bottled water, take your sample and move on. These little offerings do not represent an all you can eat buffet. Sending your progeny for additional bites is also in bad taste while you hide in the potato chip aisle.

A grocery store is a great place to discern the character of folks. Even untrained observers can form accurate opinions about the nature of folks by watching them in this environment. Think about it…

Old Sol…..

I am on the deck early, enjoying coffee and thinking about the coming few days in the company of Old Sol, a sometimes friend and often a nasty companion. It is 82 degrees at 5 AM and promises to be a mid 90’s day with plenty of humidity to ice the cake. My thoughts have drifted to the times when I was unbearably hot, marveling at our ability to adjust and survive.

I spent several of my early years in places like rural South Carolina and Okinawa. Both locales will dish out plenty of heat, but when you are a kid, it makes little difference. Growing up leaves little time to worry about the weather, and my memory of those years is dim. In another trip down memory lane I recall several occasions when I seriously wondered if I was going to make it.

I began my Army service with basic training in a sand trap in July. Sorry, but that is how I remember Ft. Polk, La. July and August of 1969 were hell on earth with heat indexes off the charts, a matter of passing concern for the US Army. We were face down in the sand for calisthenics at day break, sweat pouring off you and consuming a steady diet of salt tablets. Our uniforms were covered in sand, sweat and the white residue from the incredible amount of salt deemed healthy back then. We cooled off by marching to some training area in the company of Old sol, thirsty but alive. One blistering day found us in a line, arms bared walking between two medics nailing you with those pneumatic vaccine guns popular in that era. A number of my contemporaries passed out, not a popular thing to do under the circumstances.

Another memorable experience was climbing into a Cessna 162 with my instructor, building time and gaining experience. There are two tiny air vents on the side windows of these little jewels and it was so oppressive, my instructor, a super pilot named Jeanne’, thought to bring iced towels in a cooler to lay on our necks. Really small airplanes are like greenhouses when you are buttoned up in them.

There were about 300 of these hotboxes built before Cessna gave up on them

My listing is not inclusive, however two other occasions had me at my survival limits. As a young trooper, I was called to an accident on I-70 involving a car full of folks, a Buick, turned upside down in a ditch with the makings of a picnic lunch all over them. It was nearly a hundred and there was little air down in that ditch as we extricated these folks through a back window, not seriously hurt but covered in potato salad and beans. Obviously it didn’t kill me, but I am sure St. Peter was standing at the top of that ditch just in case. We wore long sleeve, wool shirts in those days.

Finally, I vividly recall an outdoor wedding feast in the Florida Keys, a beautiful evening, however: the Keys were under an excessive heat advisory. Need I say more? I soaked through my tropical attire……and lived to tell the story by way of ice water poured on my wrists discreetly under the table.

We all are here, better for the experience. A famous man once quipped, “If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger”. Old Sol has tested all of us at some point and I take pleasure in your presence to read these remarks. We beat him…..now is not the time to quit.

Squeaky Wheels..

Yesterday I authored a post expressing my utter frustration with insurance, Medicare and a recalcitrant provider system, so we went to work on the phones for a couple of hours. We started with my very patient Doctor’s office, all of whom have to be in counseling over the handling of the governments so called “bridge” program. This program is designed for old people like me to gain access to the GLP-1 medicines to manage weight. You must meet a couple of requirements related to health to qualify, conditions that most of us are familiar with. There was some urgency as when I became involved in this quest, the prescription for Zepbound I was taking at my own expense was cancelled. Competent physicians and insurers frown on multiple Rx’s for a given med. If enough time lapses between doses of these meds……you start over with micro doses……the physiology is the domain of medical specialists, not me. Thus the urgency

The issue was simple. I could not find exactly where my new Rx was in the food chain. It was the tweed ring on steroids, everybody pointing at someone else as the cause in the delay. Sharon and I began working the phones, asking pointed but reasonable questions, always polite and deferential. I know when I am being blown off and, well, Sharon is a walking polygraph. Answers were like assembling a picture puzzle with pieces from different boxes.

We determined that Mercy Medical relies on an in-house “prior authorization group” to obtain prior approval. The system has your records and they can do the research, submit the forms and make life easier. This is a secret place. The word is mum and they will not tell you what is going on with a given request, however you can plant the seeds of discontent. We also managed to get to the right person in Mercy administration which immediately prompted their dive into the problem on our behalf. Next is our insurer. They could not have been nicer or more efficient but knew virtually nothing except that Medicare had to approve this med and then they would cover it. Next was Medicare where you need a law degree, medical degree and the tenacity of a bulldog with a toothache. We finally learned my request had been received and was in queue……

The conclusion to this novel. We must have stepped on the right toes as suddenly my pharmacy received the documentation necessary to fill the script under the bridge program. I will have the med Monday.

The saga isn’t over. Out of concern for a gap in using this medicine, I thoughtlessly ordered the med from one of the recommended online providers, sent my money and, on the same day, tried to cancel the order because the bridge came through. Their adds say you can cancel anytime but they don’t want to refund my payment for a 3 month supply. Believe me, they will or I will turn their lives into a living hell online. I DO NOT recommend you go this route and I did so against the sound advice of both my physician and pharmacist. PM me and I will explain why, beyond the obvious.

Thanks for indulging me and maybe this treatise will help you. I abhor incompetence and was subjected to it in this process. In summary, the problem lies with Medicare, not my provider, not our insurer and not Mercy systems. all of this occurred yesterday, a day’s work.

The squeaky wheel gets the oil!

Steve

The Horizon….

Explorers have long looked to the horizon in anticipation of what lies ahead. It is a wise man who keeps his eyes on the horizon as not only beautiful things lurk beyond it, but evil and stupidity also lurk just beyond.

Under the Biden administration, a grant was granted to the National Institute of Dental and Craniofacial Research, a subsidiary of the National Institutes of Health which funded an item titled “Integrating firearm secure storage counseling into dental practice: opportunities for dental practice-based research.” This program was published in the May 2025 Journal of the American Dental Association. This nonsense was the brainchild of former Attorney General Murthy’s stewardship, in short another angle in the attack on gun ownership. Dentists, it was suggested, should inquire about the safe storage of firearms in the home, thus providing an opportunity to lecture them about gun safety.

Holy smokes, somehow oral hygiene, to these small minded people, is related to gun safety. To a gullible electorate, firearms were being treated like some dread pathogen and needed to be eradicated. They have actually conducted studies concluding that gun violence is more prevalent in poorer neighborhoods who lack access to dental care. No kidding. These studies and conclusions were conducted on your and my dime, absurdity at its best. These folks actually believed that dentistry had the potential to be at the forefront of reducing gun violence. These are the same rocket scientists that believe it is a good thing to teach your 1st graders about the benefits of sex change, so they may be prepared for the confusion that may occur later in their childhood.

Say what? I have a toothache and you are worried about my neighborhood and gun safety????

Why do I talk about this? The Democratic Party, where liberals cohabitate and produce more liberals, have not gone away. They are wounded by the realities of conservatism under the current administration and are currently hiding under rocks and in shallow holes until the tempest passes. They are in fact, lurking just beyond the horizon. The real problem is that such idiocy as this sucker punch with Dental professionals, is the tip of the iceberg. They will stop at absolutely nothing, as evidenced by the political successes of suited up clowns like Mamdani and the bright blue haired freak that walks the halls of Congress. These folks, remember, allegedly garnered a majority of the vote somewhere in America.

The current administration is burning time and elections will again be the talk of the times. You want to be lectured by your dentists about gun safety and the need for male athletes to shoot up with various hormones and kick your daughter ass in a track meet? Easy, get up, put your blinders on and leave these decisions to the idiots who will soon be digging out of their holes and attempt to convince you that cavities and gingivitis can be stopped cold by storing your firearms safely. That is the new horizon.

“Speaking of oral hygiene, where do you keep your firearms?”

We enjoy a wonderful nation, governed by a flawed but somehow effective process. What a great place to live…..but it requires maintenance. Never drop your guard. Be ready for your dentist to back you into the chair while he or she explains how your handgun, if not locked in a safe where it is useless when a thug is standing at the foot of your bed, drooling over your wife, is going to result in the necessity for a root canal.

I kid you not…..

Holy Smokes……

Last night, actually this morning at 2AM, we were awakened by an explosion. I kid you not, I hopped up to see which house in the neighborhood was leveled by what had to be a horrible natural gas explosion. I was wrong.

Somebody, one street removed, and surely liquored up, thought the middle of the night would be a great time to set his fireworks off. This explosion, rivaling the blast of incoming mortar rounds in Vietnam, was followed by 3 more similar bangs. I will check this morning, but would not be surprised to find the street in front of their house cratered. He (she) surely has access to dynamite from a construction site. Such was the blast(s). I am no stranger to blasts, and this was a dandy series.

The wife of a Patrol colleague, many years ago, operated a fireworks stand on the Missouri line up north. He was modest about the profitability, but I suspected she did very well. On every corner, it seems, around Springfield, there is a tent, mostly bigger than ever, where fireworks are sold. In 2024, not an Anniversary year, America spent about 2.7 billion on fireworks. Listen up, 2.3 billion was spent by the consumer (tents) leaving a paltry .4 billion expended in commercial displays! Wonder which state is the fireworks leader? Look no further than home, where in 2025 Missourians spent 13.84 per person on fireworks. About 30% of these expenditures were online.The average back yard display set the shooter back between 200 and 500 dollars. Missourians, one hell of a patriotic folk, is just ahead of Nebraska and Kansas in sales. We have lots of rural ground and are flyover patriotic reflecting our love for this country.

Uh oh. The down side. In 2025 there was an estimated 13,029 fireworks caused visits to an ER (nationwide). Folks under 30 made up 63% of those injuries. I’m guessing they are more likely to to say “hold my beer and watch this”. Breaking this down, predictably, 29% of these injuries were to the hands and fingers and 19% to the head, face and ears. Eyes made up about 16%.

But wait, there is more. Americans while lighting them up, consumed over 150 million hotdogs, this in spite of 85% of folks grilling hamburgers and steaks! Wow, have times changed. Americans spent 8.9 billion on food on the 4th with about another 3.7 billion spent on alcohol. Finally, 56% of these expenditures were from Wal-Mart.

On a personal note, I worked many, many 4th Holidays while on the road and they all seemed to generate a tragedy, namely death and destruction. For me, it was the worst holiday period in a calendar year.

America is 250 years old. Enjoy this special 4th Of July, celebrate wisely, keep the Pepto Bismal close and stay out of the ER’s.

America has it going! Charge on……

Age And Circumstances….

Off and on deluges today have provided the perfect opportunity to sit around with the Command Staff (Sharon and Kai) and think about my age and circumstances and how they co-exist. The males in my lineage do not enjoy longevity, making me an exception to the early demise plague in the Johnson line. Still yet, I am having as much fun as is possible, seeing new things and enjoying new experiences. I would, however be less than candid if I failed to note things I miss in my life over the years.

In the outdoor world, I really miss the sound of the transom of a bass boat as it first slaps the water on an early Truman Lake morning. Arthritis and hand surgeries (4) have precluded the sound of a bass breaking water when hooked up or the gentile plop of a crappie jig in a promising spot. I recall with a smile a momma goose scolding us as we got the boat too close to her nest. I will never forget breakfast in a mom and pop restaurant with my fishing friends and the anticipation of a day on the water. I no longer burn wood, thus have sold my chainsaws and splitter. The scent of woodsmoke from an old stove should be bottled and sold as cologne. My hands have long ago negated the early morning summer rides on a motorcycle, catching the familiar smells of farm country where freshly turned earth and mowed hay offers the security we take for granted.

Honestly, I miss the feel and excitement of a Patrol Cruiser as you break 100 MPH in pursuit of a violator or handling some exigent circumstance requiring a police presence. An early breakfast and coffee stop in a local cafe, in uniform, always resulted in conversations with the locals who appreciated your presence, and I theirs. The sound of a jail cell door closing behind a miscreant, particularly a drunk driver, always made me smile.

Interviewing perspective guests for a free night at the county jail!

I miss the drum of a big green tractor as you till a field or the sound of a barber apron snapped open before a haircut and catching up on the news of the day in banter with the barbers. Finally, I suspect I have seen my last pain free day, arthritis and surgical corrections of a recalcitrant shoulder remind me that I am deep into the “golden years”. Please do not consider my musings as complaints or regret at today’s existence. I am in the middle of a good run and thank the Lord for giving me what I prayed for as a young man. Our life is as good as it gets…..given my age and circumstance and I hope you can say the same.

Have a great week!

Happy Father’s Day….

A short note today to wish all the father’s out there a Happy Father’s Day. There exists a lot of confusion today on the definitions of a father, to be expected from a society that his having a great deal of trouble discerning the difference between a man and a woman, both necessary to produce a child, thus the holiday “Father’s Day”.

Around our compound, a week or so in front of a holiday, the question hangs in the air like a dense river fog on the Gasconade on a summer morning. What do you want for Father’s Day? (Mother’s Day, birthday, etc.) More about that shortly.

Being a father isn’t easy, not to take away from being a mom…..I am confident my father, not a patient man, gave occasional thought to eliminating my presence as a favor to the world. It all came together, though, I became productive and fulfilled his vision early on that I would end up a “cop” or game warden somewhere, as my interests always were thus focused. He did not choose those vocations, but demanded productivity. It is all we can ask of our children, as their choices in life are theirs to make.

Kids are vexing. Of that’s there can be no doubt. Dad’s wander about wondering why it is we can not put their knowledge and experience to work for us, before remembering they suffered the same lack of focus. It is a fate that will forever remain wrapped in mystery.

Here it is. Thanks dad for imparting the wisdom I needed and did not ignore. Thanks for emphasizing the importance of reasonable behavior, sometimes at the end of a belt applied with love, and for honest assessments of situations I managed to get myself into. Thanks for pointing out the obvious, and starting my productivity cycle at the age of 15 in the form of an introduction to my first employer at the Ft. Leonard Wood Commissary where I mastered the art of bagging groceries.

Being a dad isn’t easy…..except when it is!

With all my heart, I wish you were still here. I hope I met your expectations. As for what I want for Father’s Day, the answer is simple but impossible. I want my life to continue as it is, two terrific and responsible kids, four grandchildren who understand productivity, a patient and knowing wife, a house and a young pup with lot’s of promise, and more years to fine tune that existence. I want those around me to respect me and at least give deference to the opinions I deserve to have. Is this too much? I think not…

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