Author: srj641

I retired after a 27 year career with the Missouri State Highway Patrol, where I attained the rank of Major before retiring a Captain in 2000. Majors serve at the pleasure of the Colonel, the last permanent rank is Captain. I then went to work for the Missouri Gaming Commission as the Director of Enforcement, Chief Deputy Director and served a short time as the Acting Executive Director before retiring yet again! I attended the University of Missouri at Rolla and Kansas City and am a graduate of the FBI National Academy. I have resided in Japan, Germany, Okinawa and Vietnam, a number of military posts, five cities in Missouri and currently in Springfield, Mo., with my retired school administrator wife, Sharon and the household CEO, a yellow Lab, Taz'm. I fish, hunt, ride a Harley, fly, read, write and take the time to laugh, really hard, every day. I believe in collective reasoning and contributing to the common good through dialogue, opinion and your presence in the voting booth! Finally, I recognize that everything is important to someone!

Do Real Men Use Bidets…….

Okay, let’s set the tone here. I am a 100% American male and can easily define the differences between the sex’s. My interest in the opposite sex manifested itself at about 14 and my interest has not waned at all. This is to say I am normal…..but can be brutally honest.

At the age of 76, I was introduced to the Bidet when I discovered their presence in an upscale fuel stop. Of course I knew what they were, but never relied on one for their intended purpose. Sharon, on the other hand, was familiar with their use and extolled their advantages over a tree that had been cut and highly processed into a roll of paper familiar to most folks in the western world. I noticed them in the bathrooms of several friends, but stayed away from the array of buttons and such, less I do something wrong and scald my nether regions with the gentile spray of heated water. Most of the things have the ability to modify the spray pattern to accommodate the anatomical differences between the sexes. I can only imagine the anxiety of a sexually confused person who was born one way but identifies as the other.

It takes guts or senility to pen a piece promoting the unbelievable advantages of the Bidet. I have had 4 hand surgeries and a shoulder replaced which makes for interesting times when personal hygiene comes into play. The Bidet shrugs this inconvenience off with ease. Their heated seats and unbelievable efficiency are most welcome when your hands are out of order. Trust me when I tell you that shaving and other personal functions present a whole raft of anxiety inducing considerations when your hands are not available for their intended purposes.

He knows! The secret appliance you will never do without again!

Had I written about these modern extravagances when a young Highway Patrolman back in the dark ages, I would have enjoyed coffee and meals alone. I can also assure that, after experience in the mud and nastiness of fighting in a war, and relying on balance and the tiny rolls of tissue packed into rations, I could have easily killed for the convenience of a Bidet.

So here is the answer to the question raised in the title of this piece. For many men, the use of a Bidet, much less admitting it, or God forbid, recommending one is still taboo. The discussion of a Bidet at a football game or in a Bass Boat would still likely result in a single seat season ticket or fishing alone. I don’t go to many games any more and those same hands that fail me when trying to tie monofilament to a bait also make other processes in life more challenging. To simplify things for my readers, hell yes, real men use Bidets. For us, the use of a Bidet is like driving an Edsel, there is nothing wrong with it, you just don’t want any one to know you have one.

The Siren Call Of The Auctioneer……….

My first experience with the call of the auctioneer was at the age of 9 when I stood with my grandfather, EC Cooke, at a tobacco auction in a small town in rural South Carolina. You don’t need to understand the staccato call of these guys….unless it is your pallet of tobacco being considered by industry buyers from P. Lorrilord or RJ Reynolds. I was fascinated and in awe of the big tobacco buyers who made these judgements on our tobacco.

I have attended all of 4 auctions in my adult life. I enjoy them but am fatally flawed. If you are even a little bit competitive and determined to win, please stay away from them. When we sold out of our place on Truman lake, we hired a well known auction company to conduct the sale of nearly everything we owned, save the clothes on our back. It was big sale, with 3 rings and a 1 acre parking lot filled with the cars and trucks of attendees. The rings were organized with one selling tools and equipment, one selling household furnishing and one for sporting equipment, including a number of rifles and shotguns. It was a success beyond our wildest imagination, raking in many thousands of dollars, much of which was in personal checks. I was needlessly concerned about the checks as every single one cleared with no problems. The chief auctioneer assured us this would be the result.

My first experience as a serious buyer was at a school auction in Warsaw to benefit a faculty member stricken with cancer. I noted that two gooseberry pies were being offered, allegedly from the finest gooseberry pie maker in Missouri. I love gooseberry pie and got in early, determined to take these pies home. This is where it gets interesting. Most folks dropped out at nearly 100.00 dollars, leaving me and a well healed gentleman, obviously better financed than me, locked in a bidding contest. A competitive nature and a large crowd watching this struggle, along with pride (not particularly well healed against wealth) and the fight was on. I bought the pies for north of 500.00 dollars and left with my pride intact and two allegedly wonderful pies. They were good, but not 500.00 dollars good. Sharon insisted I eat every last crumb, and I did.

This week we attended a large auction at the invitation of a good friend held by his Rotary Club. Sharon threatened to tape my hands to my forehead, less I repeat the pies fiasco. Four good seats and a parking pass to a November Chiefs game was put up along with a signed and framed Chris Jones jersey.

Uh oh. We have long since abandoned live NFL games as they are simply outrageous to pay for, and Sharon wanted to attend one more game at Arrowhead. I got in (we had done quick searches and knew what the package was worth) and found myself pitted against a man from a commercial bank sponsored table. Nearly 2 grand lighter I out dueled the banker guy and owned the jersey and seats. This was actually close to the retail for this package and we are satisfied at my foolishness as a patron at auctions.

From a salute to the military game, entirely appropriate for my office

I’ll end with this. To be successful at an auction, check your pride at the door, and manage your competitiveness as the next morning both will vanish.

Auctions are fun, and great buys can happen, but be damned careful. My terrible instincts have cost me a lot, but hey, it was fun. In fact auctions are a hoot!

Fighting Back….

It has been a vicious summer season for folks who grow things, from hay to crops, gardens to lawns. The answer, of course, is the timely and appropriate application of chemicals and plenty of water. This summer, I bet on Mother Nature…..and lost. She failed to deliver the rains that she always promises, even if delayed or sporadic. I have no idea just how much water it is going to take but I know how much I am willing to provide……the answer being a lot. Between the pool and the lawn, I should get a card and box of candy from our water district this Christmas……

This morning the fight is on. We have reset our irrigation system to provide 40 minutes per zone, (eight zones) and I can hear the meter humming from about 0300 to 0900. No skip a day, this is daily until we see improvement. It will take UPS to deliver our water bill, but I cannot take a burned up lawn. Like the guy who ignores, or in my case denies, the little black mole on your cheek until the dermatologist somberly tells you it is melanoma, I have walked past a lawn flying into dormancy, that is if my prayers are answered and it isn’t dead instead.

I didn’t know it at the time but I should have been a row crop farmer from the beginning. I love crops, the smell and vibrancy of a field of mature corn or soybeans is nectar to me. I don’t mess with agricultural chemicals, there is too much cancer in my lineage, so I hire an outfit to take care of this for me. In this case it is Ryan’s, a respected and big company based out of Kansas. They handle my lawn, trees and landscaping, from the chemical standpoint, while I handle the sculpting. (Except for trees, I pruned my own trees until I fell off a ladder doing so and took my first ambulance ride to the ER some years ago.) Their applicator was by yesterday, declared my lawn dormant, applied a quick releasing nitrogen, and suggested heavy watering and then additional water as time wore on. I had carelessly left our irrigation on a spring mode instead of summer setting. We’ll see, but I have ordered aeration and over seeding this fall, just in case.

I rely on a lawn mix for my yards, with the ratio tilted in favor of a lawn fescue. It is damned hard to kill fescue, but I have come close this year. Now if I am boring you with this stuff, you probably are not a grass person. I make no apologies, and smile broadly when driving by a bank or hospital that has an endless supply of capital, thus the ability to maintain beautiful lawns. Move over guys, as bought learning is real learning (A theory of my zone Sergeant, Bob (Dutch) Plymell from back in the day.) So, spare the rod, spoil the child and…..spare the water and kill the lawn. I get it. It is no wonder that aquifers out west are perilously low……water is, indeed, precious. I am going to find out just how precious this fall!

The Word Game…..

One of the most creative tools in the world of words is applying euphemisms to the spoken or written word. The left is incredibly adept at this, giving us self serving, misleading names to various aspects and things in our society. I love words, having a modest but honest library in my office. I have discarded a number of books over the years that I thought would be intellectually challenging and easy to read. After just a few pages I toss ‘em when the authors delve into mind games through the use of words. I prefer authors who use plain vernacular to express an idea. I’ll provide a few examples of what I am talking about.

Let’s start with “ghost guns”. A descriptive designed to attach a supernatural and sinister cloud over firearms, mostly handguns, assembled by home bound gunsmiths. They are custom firearms, period. Next up is “undocumented immigrants” a clever and soothing way to say illegal aliens. The over-riding consideration is that they do not belong here, if they are here illegally, thus the illegal in their proper descriptive.

Another euphemism is “disenfranchised citizens” used to describe the lazy parasites that beg on our street corners. This also applies to folks who choose to drop out of society and live under blue tarps in our neighborhood fringes. They are also referred to as. “un-homed”. “Weapon of war” or “assault rifle” are examples of renaming self loading firearms to insinuate they are deadlier than the miscreants who come into their possession. A “correctional facility” is an attempt to insinuate the positive value of being in jail. Very little correction actually occurs there and they exist to remove society’s worst from our midst, if even temporarily. They are jails or prisons. When you shop for a car, you are either looking for a new or used vehicle. If it is used it is used but “pre-owned” sounds better. “Enhanced interrogation” is yet another example. It is designed to make us feel better when a prisoner is getting the hell beat out of him to gain information. When you “cook the books” you are lying about numbers and likely involved in theft or fraud. A “Gentleman’s Club”is either a brothel or strip joint. When you tell a child their favorite pet is “going to the farm” you are avoiding the truth about its demise. If a person “was not entirely truthful” he was lying. The “Golden Years”, well by now, you get my point.

A liberal media description of a home invasion may read as follows:

“An undocumented immigrant gained entry into a properly secured home last evening. He was greeted by the entitled owner who produced a high capacity firearm in an attempt to dissuade the unfortunate, disadvantaged immigrant. The immigrant resisted the heavily armed owner who then emptied the high capacity magazine into him, resulting in a needless display of excessive force on the part of the owner. It is reported the immigrant produced a small edged instrument, likely intended as a bartering tool, offering it in an exuberant manner, thus frightening the owner who relied on his white privilege to protect him from accusations of excessive force.”

Euphemisms are the American way, in use by most of us. I like them to create humor or disguise sarcasm. They are also useful in talking or writing about taboo subjects. Still, one needs to be careful. When a politician offers a cute euphemism for a process or happening, beware. Look just a little deeper and “do not check your senses at the door”. Of course, this advisory does not apply to humor.

In Pursuit Of Tools….

I have a friend who is incredibly capable when it comes to existing in the modern world. He is a retired American Airlines senior Captain. He is enjoying the fruits of a long career driving 777’s around the world, and has an appreciation for complexity, whether in the fiber world or tooling a boat around Lake of the Ozarks. His motor equipment is top shelf and he is the guy who will have 2 Garmins on the windshield along with the in-car navigation. After all, John has literally navigated the world and appreciates the value of knowing precisely where he is.

We have shared a number of laughs over hand tool acquisition and their use. I have always preferred Milwaukee, DeWalt, Makita or lately Ryobi, all expensive and inherently accurate and precise. He eschews such extravagance and prefers the value in cheap stuff from Harbor Freight and similar tool “outlets”. He believes in their value and quality, humorous to me who tries to avoid Chinese stuff when I can.

I was wrong and he was right. I am now a member of Harbor Freight’s in house program that gives me an extra savings when they conduct one of their sales or promotions. The fact is, the Chinese are manufacturing many of the branded tools, slapping them into the trappings of the big, American tool companies and shipping them to us. I still prefer branded tools for precision work, but have wasted a lot of money through vanity when it comes to my work bench. Harbor Freight is a gold mine when it comes to so many things the average home craftsman needs from nitrile gloves to screw sticks, compressors to generators and virtually everything else needed to run and maintain a household……at a fraction of the cost of the big guys. Buy their warranty and they replace a tool, no questions asked, forever. A disclaimer, I avoid their house branded drills and such. I also refuse to add another line of batteries and chargers. I have another trusted friend, a craftsman in his own rite, who managed a Harbor Freight store. Don advised me to shop their line. Thanks, Don.

I have also become a devotee of battery powered stuff. This is a complex world, as you need brand specific batteries to run branded tools, causing me to have chargers for Makita, DeWalt, Crftsman and Ryobi on the battery shelf. I refuse to acquire another line of tools as these batteries are exorbitant in price…..and they work.

I may need an intervention. When I run into an issue and don’t have the right tool for the job, I acquire it instead of borrow or rent it, even when its future use is not likely. It has opened my eyes to such extravagances as oscillating saws and high speed tile, wood or metal saws, 3”, that will cleanly slice through these materials with minimum effort (they are also great on wood, with the right blade). I have a pretty good selection of tools on my garage workbench, out in the mower shed and in the Ram box for stuff while out RV’ing. To add to the confusion, you are likely to need a metric tool instead of SAE tool…necessitating duplication across the board.

Vanity aside, stop in and peruse the selection at Harbor Freight or Grizzley tools in Springfield. If you are hopelessly afflicted with the need for tools, they are gold mines in many cases. I admit my weakness and have arrived at real world economics when it comes acquiring tools…..now if I can overcome the need for more firearms.

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.

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