Author: srj641

As often happens, an evening of banter and shallow concern with the status of our country led Sharon and I into a deeper conversation about the success of the Democratic Party in America. This writing is not a fluff piece, rather it is an attempt to frame a powerful political movement that is on a roll while conservatives sit back and wring their hands. Whether you like him or not, the Trump prosecution for monetary issues surrounding his alleged dalliance with a porn star is a clear indication of the scorched earth policies that are serving the Democrats very well. We are burning Trump at the stake while Gentleman Joe skates through his clear connections to a foreign enemy with the loving support of an adoring press and social media controllers. Here is how an old cop from the Ozarks see’s it.

The Democrats, who hang together with the tenacity of a television glue ad, have devised a strategy that Machiavelli would marvel at. Truth and honesty is not in their recipe for ultimate control. They clearly understand how to exploit the inherent weaknesses in a Democracy to gain power and thus perpetuate their ultimate goal, total control. As examples of this exploitation, the Soros backed socialist agenda has delivered a number of major city prosecutors who do not prosecute, thumbing their noses at the rapidly declining concept of “rule of Law”. Major cities are predominately under Democratic control which feeds the decline of these same cities in a quest to promote woke agendas. The Democrats, through the feckless policies of Gentleman Joe, have infused our military with wokeness to a degree not imagined just a few years ago. The Democratic incursion into our schools at every level insures generations of like minded folks that will soon enough be in charge of America.

No description of their tactics would be complete without noting the other pillars of their strategy. Our police forces are increasingly being led by woke administrators who are steadily eliminating the tools that have always been effective in maintaining law and order. The Democrats virtually control the tech world and are transforming our media to champion their ideologies. Our disastrous monetary policy is in the hands of the tax and spend woke movement within Congress. The counter balance to this transformation is supposed to be the Republican Party, the same party who cannot close ranks on something as innocuous as Daylight Savings Time. This being said, the best of the Democratic strategy is yet to come.

The Democratic strangle hold on social media opened the door to their success in the last Presidential election. The corrupt Biden relationship with China was quickly smothered and still smolders under the blanket of protection afforded by the media. Now we have this business of AI, or Artificial Intelligence, that most of us don’t take the time to understand. It represents a supreme opportunity to control our world. AI can be groomed to lie and infiltrate virtually every aspect of our existence. We are playing with a force that few, except the visionaries that are creating this beast, can completely understand. Most of these visionaries are liberal bastions of consciousness and will most certainly structure the entire phenomenon to suit the liberal, Democratic party’s needs.

While the issues are apparent to some conservatives, the solutions are not. When you give folks like Biden the reigns, it is a liberal dream come true. He has lost the mental capacity to make rational decisions, a tragedy exploited by the Democratic Party principals in their pursuit of absolute control of the world as we know it. Add in the rapidly expanding power of the tech world and we have the perfect storm. This old officer believes we are on the precipice of absolute domination by the Democratic Party. If you have stayed with me to this point, remember my admonition. Artificial Intelligence will be the plain brown wrapper the end of conservatism comes wrapped in. As sure as the silence of a snipers bullet, most will never see or hear it coming.

Have a great week!

SR

She walked in wearing a starched white coat bearing her name. This was my first meeting with Dr. Yi Qin, MD. She is a diminutive lady standing around 5’4’’ and weighing no more than 90 pounds. I quickly learned that 70 of those pounds are brains. She is a gastroenterologist whose specialty is dealing with esophaguses that are less than cooperative. She had researched the information forwarded from the doctors who were guessing my problem to be spasms of the esophagus, which for the uninitiated closely resemble a heart attack. I could see immediately there would be no guessing with Dr. Yi Qin.

I have previously written about the Cleveland Clinic and it would serve no purpose to further reinforce my firm commitment to this facility when you are up against a serious issue. I was tired of running to an ER every time my esophagus decided to express it’s displeasure with something in my lifestyle that offended it. Dr. Qin ordered an esophagram, an esophagogastroduodenoscopy, and manometry. In hillbilly terms that translated into a scope down the gullet, drinking 20 gallons or so of barium while being x-rayed and having a thin tube passed through your nose into your stomach and swallowing 15 sips of water while the tube measures swallowing pressure. They knock you out for the scope, smile while you gag the barium down and offer their sympathy while trying to swallow the nose tube without throwing up. It was a long day…but productive.

Sounds ominous, but it isn’t. It is mind over matter, like a boxer keeping his head in a fight to avoid getting his head pummeled. The good doctor definitively diagnosed esophageal spasm and prescribed a heavier dose of Omeprazole as well as a nifty little anti-acid not available in America, except through Amazon, named Gaviscon ADVANCE. Hopefully, I’ll no longer need the nitroglycerin tablets that controlled the spasms before visiting with Dr. Yi Qin. These remedies also preclude me from flipping a coin when these attacks happen, heads a heart attack, tails the old esophagus.

Back to the premise for this piece. There are many really good things that come in small sizes. For instance there is the genius of Dr. Yi Qin and a small plastic bottle of a UK produced anti-acid. We are fortunate in America to be blessed with health care at every level that is the envy of most of the world. I hope this writing reaches you well enough to enjoy the spring season when nature awakens……and able to enjoy it with good health. Take care of yourselves and have a great week. Oh, and when your grandmother told you it was the little things that count…….now you know why!

SR

It is the day after St. Patrick’s day, the day where we celebrate the death of St. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland, whom legend has it drove the snakes out of Ireland when there were no actual snakes there. One could easily surmise the “snakes” were the pagan inhabitants of early Ireland that the good Saint converted to Christianity. With certainty, we know Ireland is a relatively rough and tumble country, racked by political and religous strife throughout history. Out of this past, a cliche’ rooted in truth, was born, that of the “Irish Cop”. How did this happen, you ask?

St. Patrick’s day is marked by parades, shamrocks, corned beef and cabbage, a degree of ribaldry and lot’s of green denoting the Emerald Isle. The early Irish were a rough hewn people, mostly rural who settled their differences with fists and certainty. They were among the poorest of immigrants to America and were reduced to manual labor in the big cities during the 19th and into the 20th century. Their existence was viewed as the “Irish Problem” by the civic leaders of the day. They were often involved in petty crime and prostitution and stereotypes began to develop. Forward thinking leaders thought that by assimilating them into the police culture, the Irish Problem would be mitigated. All of this was happening under a broad umbrella of Catholic/Protestant conflict, only recently brought under control in the motherland. Being Irish meant being rough around the edges and handling conflict at a base level. Enter a black population, post Civil War, and the Irish of the day had yet another ethnic group to be handled with street justice. The Irish, it was thought, were ideal candidates for police service. They began to thrive in the police culture and today can be found in police service all over the country in rather disproportionate numbers. Indeed, the longest reigning Police Commissioner in New York was Raymond Kelly, an Irishman, one of a number of Irish descendants to fill that role. In the early days of policing, jobs were tough for the Irish, and policing was not considered a refined and attractive occupation, ideal for a hard drinking Irishman who could handle situations with fists, boots and a club.

Historians generally agree the country’s first Irish cop was one Barney McGinniskin, an Irish laborer from the streets of Boston. He was tossed out of the service just 3 years later when a fiercely anti- Catholic bunch of Neanderthals took control of the state legislature. Seeing the writing on the wall, the Irish began working their way into political power as much a result of their rapidly increasing numbers as anything. More and more Irish cops led to the hiring of their friends, and they began their quest for power in police service. They also still controlled street gangs and organized crime, thus they controlled both sides of the crime equation. They are still evident in police forces today where their past has taught them to remain loyal to their heritage. So it is, we have an understanding of the meaning and origin of the hard drinking, scrappy “Irish Cop”.

Perhaps the legendary discord between the Hatfields and McCoys is the best American example of Irish heritage at work. This issue wasn’t to be settled until blood was spilled. A 19th century Irish Cop had no problem drawing blood in the resolution of a street scrap…and a legend was born. Certainly, it can be argued, the application of the early Irish style of street resolution to petty crime has a place, but may be gone forever in the face of a kinder and gentler style of policing. God love the Irish, folks in my professional heritage, who solved problems back in the day that stayed solved. Raise a glass of Guinness next St. Patrick’s day in honor of a good old fashioned “Irish Cop”. They made America better.

Have a great day!

SR

Military veterans, especially those that served in a war zone, earn a unique privilege in America. When we see something that confounds belief, related to the very messy business of fighting and killing, we get to speak up or choose silence. I am of the speak up variety. It marked my tenure as a soldier, as well as a trooper for some 27 years. I understand there are ways to communicate that are sophisticated and polished and there are ways to convey a message with brutish authority. I have done both. Marine veteran Sgt. Tyler Vargas-Andrews has left me with a profound contempt for those who direct combat operations from the comfort of a ornate office after having never tasted the fog of war. I reserve my most intense contempt for Joseph Biden, the head of the snake.

Vargas -Andrews was a member of a Marine scout-sniper team at Abbey Gate on August 26, 2021, when he lost an arm and leg to a suicide bomber that he had positively identified and begged permission to kill, before the Godless creature could detonate his device. His chain of command was wracked with timidity and fear, the result of rules of engagement that are a part of every modern conflict. I am a product of the military establishment and, given what they were witnessing, am amazed at the timidity of the commanders on the ground. You should know at this point that reliable intelligence sources had identified the bomber with a high degree of accuracy and told the commanders he was headed to Abbey Gate.

Before the bombing, the Marines had watched the Taliban execute numerous Afghans within a few hundred yards of their position behind shipping containers set us as a barricade. Suicide by razor wire was preferable to the torture the Taliban would have inflicted if they did not cut your throat or shoot you immediately. ( The Afghans were throwing themselves into the razor wire.) These atrocities were reported but ignored by military commanders. The bomber was not apprehended outside the gate so as to not compromise the asset who identified him, and instead was permitted to do his grisly work. Vargas-Andrews was waiting for an Afghan interpreter to arrive when he felt the flash that shredded his right arm, opened his abdomen and cost him a leg as well. The same right arm that could have placed a rifle round into the head of the bomber if someone could have been found with the courage to order the shot. I have prayed for Vargas-Andrews. His cross is heavy.

The take away is easy. The withdrawal was an unmitigated disaster ordered by a man unfit for office of any description. Our military must reflect his priorities and follow his orders, or we will cease to exist. Even the orders of the likes of Joe Biden. Timidity in a combat situation is inexcusable. Horrible mistakes were made, and the commanders will not accept responsibility. Biden will never accept responsibility because he has zero familiarity with the horrors of combat or the killing in front of Abbey gate during this evacuation. Bold, self confident commanders love bold subordinates, while self conscious, shaky commanders abhor bold subordinates, less they threaten their security. I have seen this in the Patrol and in my combat experience. Say a prayer for our military today. They deserve commanders less focused on liberal ideology and more focused on the business of fighting and crushing our enemies. Abby Gate was hell….a mishandled hell from the ground up.

As for Joe Biden. He should be made to decorate the graves of each service person that was killed at Abbey gate, after himself having been subjected to the smell, sound and sight of combat. Joe has got go in ‘24.

Have a great week.

SR

By any accounting, it has been a busy week in America. A legal giant is beginning the rest of his life rubbing elbows with the worst offenders imaginable, an election reveals the true feelings of folks relative to the crime tsunami in Chicago and ESPN continues to fuel the fires of racism. We are seeing folks cue up earlier than ever in what promises to be a white hot election cycle and our finest universities are dumbing down rather than demanding excellence. I trust my readers are news conscious, however, this week I wanted to add another perspective to the world we live in.

First up, Lori Lightfoot. After having her political butt kicked to the curb, the vanquished darling of the liberal establishment has the audacity to suggest she was defeated because she was a “black woman”. My dear Lori, what in the hell do you attribute previously winning the office in a landslide to? You lost because you never did get it when it comes to crime and governance, running an inept administration that garnered a total lack of respect. It had not a thing to do with your skin color and race.

We are in the midst of the biggest standards reduction in the history of higher education. Columbia College is dropping the SAT/ACT requirement for admission to their school, one of the nation’s finest. Why you ask? It is in the interest if inclusion as they believe that testing exhibits a racial bias. Add to Columbia a number of other universities already on the racial bandwagon, Cornell, Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, Stanford, Northwestern, and Boston University. Here is a thought from a regionally educated man residing in the Ozarks. I really don’t give a tinkers damn what color my doctor, airline pilot, engineer, or attorney is. I care about his or her competence and excellence. The current trend of pushing excellence to the back burner in the interest of inclusion is going to bite us where the sun don’t shine. Here is another flash for the admissions people; some folks are very bright, some are not, some folks are tall, some are not, some policemen are superlative, some are not, etc. You want one size fits all, go to work at a Twinkies factory, precise replication is welcomed there.

ESPN, always on the edge of the racially infused atmosphere that surrounds professional sports has suggested that Nikola Jokic will likely be the MVP in the NBA, because he is white. No ESPN, he is a great candidate because he is as strong as a bull, can clear a lane with the precision that few have and plays at 100%, 100% of the time. He also has the numbers…….careful ESPN or you will be in the company of CNN, sinking like a rock.

If you cook over a gas stove and have a little time on your hands, you might shop around for an electric one to replace it with. The Biden Cartel has placed gas appliances on the endangered list. The unmitigated idiocy of these folks is almost humorous. China is blustering, Russia is in a proxy war with us, inflation is crushing our economy, fentanyl is available on every street corner and these clowns target gas stoves. I suspect the man hates gas. I can only guess he spent time growing up with an old, flatulent uncle.

My last consideration this week is the disgraced, (in ways that we can’t measure) lawyer, Alex Murdaugh. An OJ jury would have acquitted him, in spite of the overwhelming mountain of motive, certainly the means, and the obvious opportunity. Rest easy, Alex killed his family, as was pointed out by the superlative judge overseeing the trial. The one question that was never answered was why two guns? For me the answer is obvious. In South Carolina, shotguns must be plugged, meaning limited to three shells. When you are in the middle of a killing spree, it would take too much time to locate additional shells, load and return to your slaughter. He shotgunned the boy, ran out of ammo and reached for the rifle to kill mom. This was not brought out in the trial. In the end, it matters not as he is going to consort with the sorriest examples of humankind imaginable. As a matter of fact, he is a perfect fit, and somebody in there is going to have a score to settle.

You can’t make this stuff up! Have a great week.

SR

I am back at the keyboard after a short sabbatical to address a couple of health related loose ends at the Cleveland Clinic which gave me time to reflect on what I see around me. These days, I see a heck of a lot of pick-up trucks prompting me to look into the popularity of these vehicles. Much has been written about these American behemoths (the full sized guys) and I could end this piece by suggesting it is simply utility. That doesn’t tell the story though so maybe just a little background on these ultra practical vehicles is in order.

The popularity of the pickup began to grow in the early 1900’s when the farming community discovered the utility of a vehicle configured in such a way as to carry just about anything needed to work small family farms. I can vaguely remember my grandfather back in the late 50’s hauling an entire crop of tobacco to market in a powder blue step side Ford. That was a big day in the warehouses as the buyers from the major tobacco companies walked the isles bidding on your efforts. Today’s trucks are bigger, pricier and a heck of lot nicer than in those days of vinyl, analog instrument clusters and manual transmissions on the steering column. On my daily drives to the gym, I like to take different routes through neighborhoods and note vehicles in driveways, a hold over from my policing experience. I am astonished at the number of pickups on display. Our local dealers have noted this as well, as the big three crowd their lots with the tremendous variety of trucks available these days.

In 2000, the top selling vehicles in America were the Ford F-150, Chevrolet Silverado, Ford Explorer and Toyota Camry, respectively. In 2022 the lineup has shifted to the Chevrolet Silverado, Ford F-150, Toyota Rav 4 and the Ram, respectively. The Ram has enjoyed a steady rise in popularity as much for it’s opulent interiors as anything.

Trucks do enjoy incredible utility. You can have a tailgate that offers three kinds of access, built in toolboxes (Ram, and I love mine) and interiors that shame the competition in the car segment. Pickups are fitted out in the latest navigation systems, Bose listening, and all the latest in electronic gadgetry. The big three have frames rather than unibody, stiffer but balanced suspensions, depending on your need, and powerful diesels that can yank around 20 thousand pounds with ease, or smaller engines for the commuter. Pickups rule when it comes to depreciation, evidenced by the current pricing of used units. You sit up higher, see more, haul more and are safer in a crash as a result of the higher center of gravity. In a recent Consumer Reports polling of drivers in America, it was gratifying to note the Ram pickup was listed in three categories reflecting America’s opinion of the most loved brands. In comfort, the Ram was second behind the Genesis, sixth in driving enjoyment, and first in cabin storage. The Ram was the only truck that America mentioned! Unfortunately, it polled as the least satisfying in terms of ownership cost. I drive a fully loaded Ram 3500, HO diesel, and can confirm this ultra reliable monster costs a lot to own and operate. On the other hand I think I can see it smile when we back under our RV for another adventure. As the big boys like to say, the Ram ain’t afraid of anything.

I have owned and enjoyed a variety of vehicles over the years, from Corvettes, BMW Z-cars, and Nissan 300Z’s to sedate family haulers. I have also owned a variety of trucks with a single disappointing model in the mix. I sincerely believe that as long as I can climb into a conveyance, it will be a pickup truck. Today’s pickups are not your grand-daddy’s old farm truck, but can easily slip into that role. All hail the pickup truck, a uniquely American tradition.

As a final point, where would country music be today if we didn’t have pickup trucks? Now that is something to chew on…….

Have a great week!

SR

The incidents keep coming. The latest homicidal behavior by folks who are sworn to protect us has once again put the profession of policing in the spotlight. The Memphis beat down was a abomination and once again society (political leadership) has turned to some form of “police reform” as the answer to aberrant behavior by rogue officers. The problem is that we expect our police function to somehow solve the mess we see today on the streets while we turn a blind eye to the role our gendarme plays in a country that refuses to accept responsibility for their share of the violence (on the streets).

I left the profession 23 years ago. I still have family involved in policing and my prayer is they live to retire and join the masses intact, mentally and physically. What has happened in the years since I put the badge away is accounting for the mass exodus from the profession and a remarkable inability to attract applicants to a business that is rapidly losing respect of even hard core proponents of law and order. To put my observations into perspective, I doubt I could do the job today. I offer my sincere respect for those so engaged and will support and respect them. You have to wonder, though, what attracts them to this business in today’s climate. In fact, applicant pools are the smallest in 60 years.

What in the hell has happened? The current level respect for law, rule and discipline is abominable. Children are being raised in one parent environments and shuttled off to schools where discipline will get administrators sued. There is a steady decline in spirituality, especially Christianity. I can’t remember a greater disdain for authority in my 50+ years of observing human behavior. Our political leadership, where lying is a matter of daily conduct, sets the poorest possible example for citizens of every age. We are at the mercy of progressive prosecutors who refuse to prosecute out of some twisted notion of disparity and equality. We hand out money like party favors, bruising the notion that reward is the product of work. We are a culture in decline, displaying the narcissistic tendencies of great empires that are long since lost to history. Our sharply divided political environment sees todays societal problems through a prism that filters out the people’s role and sees only the police function as worthy of “reformation”.

A great starting place to address the current rather sad perspective relative to policing begins with salaries high enough to attract top tier applicants. Our selection processes need to be turning applicants away not begging them to stay. Many departments are staffed well below their authorized allotments, understandably. We have a skewed view of the role police officers play. It is not to police casinos, conduct school bus inspections and inspecting cars for safety defects. The roles need to be streamlined and funneled into aspects of policing that might require the application of force, to include deadly force, as well as more traditional police duties. Perhaps the biggest contribution to the redesign of policing would be to preclude the continued politicization of the our police agencies. The involvement of blue ribbon agencies in the furtherance of political goals is devastating and undermines the sanctity of law enforcement in general.

The debacle in Memphis is heart wrenching. The officers are going to pay a tremendous price and a life was lost. That being said, I cannot imagine going to work in the jungle they were directed to police, horribly undermanned, directed by superiors who either were blind to the frustration of that environment or, God forbid, a part of that dog eat dog culture that creeps into the hearts and souls of officers ill equipped and under supervised, left to their own devices to meet the challenge of lending dignity to folks who have no dignity.

There is no quick fix for a society in decline. There is however a strategy for addressing the abysmal reputation that is starting to envelope policing. Hire outstanding applicants, pay them well, supervise them skillfully, equip them with the best in gear and transportation and train, train train. We still don’t know what precisely went wrong in Memphis, but the evidence thus far points to an incredible lack of effective supervision as a huge contributor. Excellent officers make excellent supervisors. It has always been that way.

Policing is a profession, not a job….treat it like a profession.

Have a great week.

SR

Older folks spend a great deal of time trading health related information with each other. For most of us, those carefree days of youth and indiscretion are well behind us, and each new twinge or minor pain conjures up images of paramedics pounding on our chests attempting to bring us from the brink and delaying a meeting with the big guy in a heavenly setting. I have a cardiac history and am no Mr. Rogers, having lived on the edge for many, many years. This past week found me at the prestigious Cleveland Clinic (these folks literally saved my life by diagnosing a shot valve, repairing it and adjusting the timing in my heart through two cardiac ablations, all 10 years ago). They are that good. Any trip to Cleveland in the dead of winter is an adventure.

Chest pain and a recent abhorrent emergency room experience locally found us on the phone scheduling the big guns in Cleveland once again. This time I spent quality time with an incredible gastroenterologist as the pains could be related to esophageal spasm, which mimics a heart attack. We return in mid February for additional tests related to the esophagus and digestive tract and a visit with a clinical cardiologist who will then quarterback an in depth look at how the heart plays into these “attacks”. Kings, Oil Sheiks and the rich and famous find their way to this clinic but they treat an old, retired police officer with the same respect and diligence as Shiek Bigshotto from Dubai.

Old person health talk aside, the pain issues are not why I write. This past summer, while enjoying a RV sojourn to Hidden Valley, my daughter introduced me to a novel way to soothe my feelings as they departed on a Niangua River float while I stayed back to guard the campsites. A recently reconstructed rotator cuff precluded me from paddling a canoe. The oil on troubled water? A bottle of Shanky’s Irish Whip, a kind of, well, Irish whiskey. Most likely, you’ve never heard of the stuff, I hadn’t but am now enjoying what I hope to be a long relationship with this spirit, in moderation of course. Some years ago, I met the definition of a “binge” drinker, someone who never drank during the week, but who tied one on Friday nights at our local Eagle’s Club. I generally finished the evening with an Irish Coffee, a concoction of Bailey’s and coffee. I still love this drink, but now rely on Shanky’s to take coffee from a wonderful beverage to a sublime treat.

Shanky’s Whip is an Irish whiskey that features a rich cream flavor with hints of vanilla and caramel blended with a smooth black liquor. Think a good Irish Whiskey without the cutting edge that can leave your throat feeling like it has been subjected to a wood rasp. It is, at once, slightly sweet, creamy, velvety and has a long finish. It is wonderful in coffee or over ice, never biting and always pleasing to the palate. A shot of Reddi Wip Sweet Foam, from your dairy section, sets it off nicely. Shanky’s is distilled in Cavan, Ireland. It is a small batch liquor but commands a rather reasonable price. It is not easy to find, (not available in Springfield) and we travel to Mac-a-Doodles in Osage Beach for ours. I have managed to addict two of our closest friends and my sister to this nectar and we generally check with one another before going near a liquor store that carries it. As I write, I am enjoying a very good coffee infused with an ounce of this black magic. It takes my mind off such things as “lake affect” snow and a 10 hour drive through all the weather you could ever hope not to see.

My parting shot. All doctors and all troopers are not created equal. For that matter neither are all shoe salesmen. Neither are whiskeys. If you have had about all of the local talent you can take and are suffering from a serious issue, particularly heart related, check out one of the 300 cardiologists that practice at this clinic or hundreds of other specialists who make the grade as a Cleveland Clinic doctor. Even if they only confirm what your local doc has ordered, it could be a second opinion that keeps you around to read my musings for a while longer. I hate losing readers and love you all. By the way, please accept my deepest gratitude for the heartwarming birthday sentiments. Age has a few advantages, one of which is trusted friends and another is the refined pursuit of excellence, whether it be medical care, good whiskey or an old dog who gets you.

Have a wonderful week!

SR

“If it flies or floats, rent it, don’t buy it” the immortal words of some poor pilot who doubled as a water sport enthusiast on weekends. (My closest old friends know that I add another concept to be rented rather than bought, not suitable for print!) This past week I attended a small, by today’s standards, boat show where boat peddlers offered deals on the industry’s latest proffering. Over the course of my journey through life, I have acquired too many firearms, too many boats and far too many automobiles and trucks. Each was and is a passion and while I still love vehicles, arthritis has slowly distanced me from hand gunning and boats. The boat show, and my lustful leering at some of the latest floating technology stimulated a review of the what and why of boats. Sharon was carefully monitoring my thought processes for any sign that I was thinking purchase as opposed to admiring. She is pretty good at that!

A summary statement on the subject of boats is easy. They permit you to fly up and down a lake in pursuit of one of the greatest delicacies known to man, crappie. To test your competitive drive, bass offer a world class challenge and change of pace, but I would not class them as a delicacy. I have not put a knife to a bass in many years, instead I fight with them, poke holes in their lips and turn them back to do bass things. I have owned 10 bass boats, 1 johnboat, and 1 pontoon boat. A brand review would reveal Fisher, Ozark, 2 Rangers, 3 Champions, 1 Xpress, a Javelin and a Triton. My inventory today is limited to an Osagian canoe and a couple of “Botes” we have yet to pick up in Florida. The Botes are inflatables, designed for lazy drifts down our beautiful rivers. My total boat experience is paltry when you consider there have been just under 300 bass boat manufacturers in America, many of which are still in production, and I personally know about so few of them.

What has this experience taught me? First, a boat is simply a hole in the water that you fish out of. Secondly, I have yet to see a fish of any description indicate a boat brand preference. Next up, boats feed an addiction for fishing equipment that has more than kept up with inflation. The 50 buck reels of 1975 are easily 300 bucks today. Baits that you hid from your wife at a couple of dollars apiece are well over 10 dollars today, with “swim baits” hand painted replicas of bluegill, going for 50 dollars apiece at the show. When I reduced my lure and tackle inventory earlier this year in a garage sale, I needed a shot of Shanky’s Irish Whiskey to keep from crying over my return on investment. With whisky bolstered courage, I remarked to Sharon that it was better to spend on tackle than frequent a tavern nightly. I am not sure she agreed as her gaze passed over the outlay for sale.

In the end, you can’t put a price on the sound of a transom slapping the water on a ramp at daybreak when the crappie are on the bank. The conversations with friends deep in a Truman Lake cove and the anticipation of that tap that signals a fish who has let his appetite override his desire to avoid a cooker full of hot peanut oil, is priceless. Deer on a bank, carefully watching you or an old momma goose in a broken snag scolding you for getting too close to her brood cannot be valued in monetary terms. The sound of an Evinrude or Mercury coughing to life is sweeter than a violin virtuoso at a concert, but only to the ears of a boat owner and outdoorsman. Arthritis has taken a rod out of my hand for all but a few hours at a time, but it has done nothing to clear the memories of hours in a boat and a beautiful, blue backed crappie coming over the side. An occasional boat race was icing on the cake for a guy who considers the smell of an old two stroke oil burner sweeter than that of cologne on a prom queens neck.

If the Lord granted me a mulligan, I would find another blood red Champion with a big Merc on the transom and head to the ramp, rods carefully arranged on the deck, with a friend worthy of the experience. We didn’t know what we had then……..and that is a sin. To my younger friends, don’t get so busy with life, you don’t take time to live along the way. You’ll get old one day, God willing, and today is what you’ll have to remind you of your life in review. Will you smile or frown?

Make it a smile.

Have a good week…..

SR

SR

In 1960, 39% of licensed drivers in America were women, with that number growing to 40.8% in 1965. We were starting to see the fork in the road, relative to male and female roles, merge into blurry intersections requiring lots of signage to get through. Gender specific roles still exist, of course, but one needs to tread carefully if one is prone to broad generalizations regarding the women in our lives. I like it that way and would not change a thing. It wasn’t apparent at the time, but I married Beth Dutton, of Yellowstone fame. Let me explain.

First of all, I married a country girl, raised on a farm where you are toughened by the reality that folks eat animals that must be killed. You learn that getting dirty, I mean really filthy, is a daily occurrence. Grain dust and dirt are unforgiving companions and gun grease on your hands means you are maintenance inclined with your machinery and equipment. Sharon’s father was hard as flint. He was a night hunter, kept hounds, and raised more than one coon to train his pups with. When it rained you got muddy and when it didn’t you got dusty. His vocabulary was colorful, a huge understatement. When little Sharon mashed a toe, he reached for pliers to pull the offending nail out. He was, by today’s standards, a Neanderthal. Sharon can handle a very big 350HP tractor pulling monster equipment as well as any man out there. This is an environment that will make you tough, irrespective of your gender. All this aside, she will fool you into thinking she is refined, articulate and a work of feminine art. Appearances can be deceiving, just ask the car salesmen who have crossed swords with her.

I carry Sharon’s lunch when we shop for “her car”. She begins her association with the poor devil who thinks she is a cultured lady and knows nothing about the car business, helping her. She usually begins her dialogue with a warning. “When we get to the bottom line, if my husband enters this conversation and is able to reduce the price by a single thin dime, I am out of here in a heartbeat”. She means it and has walked. When a store clerk miscalculates a sale price, Sharon, the professional teacher, is more than happy to help with the math, one time. She will ask for a manager at the drop of a hat, knowing full well where the buck stops. Disrespect her, and you will pay a price.

A recent experience prompted this writing. Sharon was talking with a dear friend and related how she responded to an error code on our clothes dryer. She called an appliance repairman, ascertained what the code meant, and then moved the washer and dryer to gain access to the vent hose on the dryer. She then unscrewed the face plate on our exterior wall, assembled a fiberglass extension rod with a brush, and proceeded to clean out the line. She then reassembled the vent hose, at both ends and the error code went away, just as she anticipated. The friend asked where Steve was. Uh-oh. My Sharon will point out rather quickly that when Steve is needed, she will call him, but Steve isn’t needed for 90% of what happens around a house. Two years ago, I went to the deer woods for a few days, and Sharon tore out all the racks and shelving in our master closet, patched and textured the sheet rock and repainted the walls, getting everything ready for the design and installation of new racks. I was involved only in the installation of the new, much more substantial racks, my only contribution. This lady will cut grass, hook up the Rv, trim hedges, prune trees and haul rock in a wheel barrow. She can dress a limit of crappie with the smoothness of a surgeon. She thought nothing of tying onto our Airstream and delivering it to a waiting doctor in coastal Mississippi where she closed the deal with him and returned home with a check, a trip I could not make because of a back issue.

Where does Beth Dutton come in? Sharon goes about life as any educated lady would. She is pleasant, conversational and usually a step ahead of those she is associating with. She can turn into a wolverine when others might withdraw and cry out of frustration. She cannot stand to be high hatted, despises a liar and is profoundly practical. She is loving and is moved to tears over human tragedy. Just don’t disrespect her and avoid, at all costs, lying to her. She can handle the truth as she is a country girl with an education, and country girls get it.

Beth Dutton channels her inner being……and I wouldn’t change a damned thing!

Have a great week.

SR