Author: srj641

It takes a lot of courage to sell your home and move into a 30’ RV. Another way to look at it is that you must have suffered a stroke somewhere along the way (I have, actually) and are willing to throw caution to the wind. Motivations aside, we did it. There is a degree of romanticism involved and, to be certain, uncertainty.

Our brief career as real estate agents is behind us, and we turned the keys to the Johnson compound over to its new caretakers this past Tuesday. I have a good number of friends in the real estate sales industry and mean absolutely no disrespect to them, but selling a home is not a difficult proposition. Times have changed as have the rules today. I owe our success here to Sharon’s tenacity. A lecture or two recounting our success at selling various vehicles, boats and the jetsom and flotsam of life convinced Sharon that we could sell ourselves and save a pile of money. I was not convinced, but am now.

We have stored our earthly possessions, our cars and clothes in Springfield, as one day, perhaps sooner than later, we fully intend to return to normalcy with a new compound somewhere, likely still in western Missouri. Sharon has enjoyed stability most of her life, raised on a farm, but embraces travel with gusto. My life has been anything but stable, the result of being an Army brat and the penchant of the Highway Patrol for relocation as you advance. We love people and are excited about the prospect of meeting new folks. Our years of RV travel have eliminated many of the surprises attendant to a nomadic lifestyle.

Health concerns prompted me to fight my absolute love of food with a little belly shot once a week. GLP-1 has managed to consume 23 pounds of excess in 5 weeks. No more pre-diabetes, no more high blood pressure and no more runaway appetite. Long term success remains to be seen, but I sleep better than I have in 30 years. By the end of the year I will be at my fighting weight, last seen in the Academy. For those who see us as long in the tooth for this adventure, fear not, age is just a thing. We refuse to let the old man (woman) in.

We will develop a good number of relationships with interesting folks who have a story to tell, and write about them and the places we find. We are “off the road” travelers who revel in hidden eateries and places. Our parameters are clearly defined with little travel in blue states and a reluctance to spend even a single dime in them. We are done with mealy mouthed Democrats and their abandonment of sanity these days.

God willing, we will return to our roots wiser, and with a deeper appreciation for the geography and culture of folks different than us…..but not too different as in liberals. We’ll stay in touch and keep the Taz-M-Haul’s awning lights on!

Have a good week!

SR

Since the election of Mr. Trump, and giving the Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth his due credit, our military is enjoying tremendous recruiting success. Folks do not join a military organization to be woke and share a fighting position with a sexually confused person. The motivations are many and I applaud this resurgence in the popularity of our Armed Services. Recruiters are well schooled in answering the questions that are posed by folks interested in this early option in life, but I have seen little written about the long term effects of military service. Until now.

You WILL change as a result of your experience. Some changes are in your face, some very subtle. I am an Army brat and served a hitch in the US Army, replete with a tour in Vietnam. The memories are etched into my mind.

We are all proud of some aspects in our life. The military is going to instill pride in your soul. You will learn to function in tandem with another soldier, squad, platoon and company. You learn to feed on the strengths of your fellow men and women and to understand human frailty. I was an artillery Fire Direction Control specialist. It was my computed data that was fed into an artillery piece guiding the deadly munition to an appropriate target. While proud of this experience, I have an unbridled respect for the incredible power of a well led rifle company. The combat arms branches, where steel meets flesh, is but a small part of the massive machine our military represents. There are millions of good soldiers, airmen and sailors who have supported the point of the spear, the combat arms. Your post military pride will know no bounds, nor should it.

You will learn to do as you are told, with no compromise. A combat action requires a carefully choreographed weave of disciplines and duties. Our young people today desperately need this discipline and for once in your life you will know and appreciate it. You will understand the necessity for uniformity in your existence. If subjected to a deployment, you will learn to manage fear and turn this emotion in to strength. The very real possibility of dying sharpens your mental and physical reflex in ways you could not have imagined.

You will develop a lifetime and deep appreciation for the concept of leadership. The military quickly separates bullshit artists from leaders. This ability will follow you in life. You will develop an appreciation for your limits in life, whether they be physical or mental. Your ability to adapt to a rapidly changing environment will be sharpened and you will rely on this ability for the rest of your life.

Finally, you will have earned the standing to raise hell about the political climate in our country. The proliferation of the aforementioned bullshit artists that permeate government will cause you to wince and smile simultaneously, another skill you will have developed.

If your son, daughter, or grandchild is headed in this direction, smile. Rest assured they will be better for it!

Have a great week!

SR

We both were raised in modest environments, Sharon in neat farm homes and me in a military officer’s abode where excesses simply did not exist. Notwithstanding her father who kept every nut and bolt and other pieces of stuff that you tend to accumulate in a machinery shed, if we didn’t need and use it, we didn’t own it.

We have scheduled the fabled three men and a truck to load out our furniture, my tool chests and outdoor cooking appliances. We need young muscle for those tasks although the move to a storage facility is a short one. We decided to move our “household goods” ourselves, the other stuff you collect over time. It is important to note that we lived at Truman Lake for ten years, collected quite an array of stuff and chose a reputable auction service to assist us when we left. In short we left with the clothes on our back and enough tools to fill a widow’s tool box. That my readers is the way to do it….start fresh with new stuff and roll on.

I asked Sharon as we lifted another carefully packed and labeled box into our storage facility if she believed we are hoarders. We agree that we must be. When we finally settle someplace, it will be after another glorious sale of the jetsom and flotsam we have collected in ten short years. We have stuff we have never used and lots of stuff we used once. The retail world loves us especially the outlets that sell clothes. Hundreds of pounds of clothes, some the result of a waistline that is anything but static, some impulse buys, some from our professional existence and a precious couple of items we wear regularly. It is no small wonder third world countries despise us.

I could provide detail to support our realization that we have crossed some line in the acquisition of stuff but it is embarrassing. One simple example of our full throttled consumer lifestyle is a huge box filled with bird feeders. Birds could care less what they eat out of as long as they eat. I am sure some of my feeders would attract a flock of Pterodactyls if they were still flying around. I am equally sure this concern is addressed in the hundreds of pounds of books from our library.

Suffice to say, this new realization has jolted us into reality. We are getting ready to live in a modest travel trailer which will be refreshing as the favorite shirt I always reach for is likely to be one of a precious few items in the wardrobe. We are about to find out what a modest living environment is all about. We are going to shake this self described hoarder lifestyle and learn to exist without the trappings of a runaway consumer. Wish us luck….and do not judge us harshly. Look around your own abode before you ridicule us, uh huh, just what I thought.

Have a great week!

SR

Sharon is consumer savvy. She buys an occasional treasure on an auction website that markets Amazon and Costco returns and other assorted items. She can put a jar of Piney River gravel on one of the many websites that folks peruse……and sell it. I accompany her to her retail outlet, the parking lot at a box store near us, for her MM in deliveries of stuff she decides we no longer need. Put a plaid sport coat and checkered tie on her and she would make a wonderful salesman at Big Al’s Quality car-mart.

As an example of her marketing savvy, I was involved in watching the Chiefs on a bright fall day, sitting on a leather couch we did not particularly like. My game was interrupted by a knock on the door. I hopped up to see what fertilizer service was working the neighborhood on a football Sunday and was met by a well dressed gentleman who announced he was here for a couch that Sharon had sold him an hour or so before his arrival. She had sold the couch out from under me leaving a gap in our living room furnishing and relegating me to a chair I moved into the vacant space.

There is no doubt Sharon has “saved” us a fortune by pedaling stuff that we bought in a moment of weakness or the need for retail gratification. We all do it. When you flip the television on you are bombarded by clever advertising for products ranging from feminine hygiene to shrinking garden hoses. Madison Avenue has devised innumerable, often subtle, colorful, and enticing ads to hawk stuff that Amazon can put on your doorstep tomorrow. I marvel at big pharma’s ability to direct market a plethora of fabulous new drugs that will cause your hair to fall out, teeth to loosen, lose control of your bowels and possibly give you cancer…..but your headache will go away.

There is a caveat to our retail experience. Seldom do we profit. We have mastered the art of buying high and selling low. I doubt that any marketing professor at our political meccas, excuse me, I meant to say universities, teaches this unusual retail tactic. The standing joke when we acquire something new, is to estimate our losses on Facebook Marketplace when we decide we have, again, been duped. So it is. You can go online and have anything delivered to your doorstep from infant formula to caskets for the do it yourself funeral experience. America has become a land of excesses, with a thriving retail experience available at every turn. Be alert for folks like us. We may just have what you think you need and will gladly absorb the normal retail mark up to deliver the product in a Menard’s parking lot at a fraction of the cost new.

As I write, I can report that I still own the nice recliner I am sitting on….at least until the dreaded knock on the door!

Have a great week!

The ink is dry on the contracts and we anticipate the transfer of FSB Johnson to its new inhabitants on or about the 11th of next month (FSB stands for Fire Support Base, which was a hole in the Vietnam jungle where you stuck a couple of howitzers). It doesn’t seem possible we have been here 10 years or so which is pretty long for us. The location of our next FSB remains to be seen, to be established after our tour of interesting places in America.

In Florida, a few years back, we visited with a seasoned RV salesman at one of Florida’s mega RV shows. He was an interesting guy who had a deep grasp of the RV industry. We were in our second RV at that point and he assured us we would own 3 more before we settled down. So it is that we have again swapped RV’s letting our 38’ trailer go in favor of a new Grand Design 2500RL, weighing in at about 3,000 lbs. less than our current monster. The new guy is 30’ long, thus protecting us from the worry about knocking over gas pumps and clipping innocent bystanders at fuel stops. It is number 5 and likely the last in our lifetimes.

We are mapping out a travel plan these days and have noted that a number of interesting places are, unfortunately, in blue states. We have both had our shots and should be able to withstand whatever it is that afflicts folks in those places that causes them to self identify as cats, snakes, and hermaphrodites. We are traveling without our Tazzy, but plan to stop at a number of kennels that produce light colored Labs to continue our journey in life, in honor of Mr. Taz. Our new rig, the Taz-Ma-Haul, will be a constant reminder of the wonderful life we gave that boy with an eye to the future. The rig will proudly display his name on the back.

Now, we are high maintenance campers. That means nice RV parks, with electric, water and sewer drops at each site, preferably with a nice pool and no alligators. I am taking a generator this time, because occasionally you miscalculate an arrival and are forced into a Cracker Barrel or Wal-Mart lot in a brutally hot location in places like Arizona or west Texas for a nite. I quit sleeping in the heat when I left Vietnam.

I plan to keep writing as our adventures unfold. It will be an adventure unto itself as we will have no FSB to return to until the wanderlust is abated. This prospect has my distant relatives and friends deeply concerned less cousin Eddy and Miss Sharon drop in unannounced (with the black tank full). Most will know what this means.

We will rely on my gracious daughter to handle mail and such and provide us with an address for the tax collector, and the BMW’s have been assigned to a caretaker to keep them lubricated while they repose in storage. We are excited about being Vagabonds for once in our lives…….

Have a great week!

SR

Thank you for tolerating one more piece about the yellow dog. We will heal, one day, but the loss of Tazzy is still fresh, more as a result of the circumstances as the death itself.

We had arranged for Tazzy to be delivered by our mail lady, a sweet woman who always had a treat for him. In exchange for the treat, she would hand him a piece of junk mail and he would proudly hurry to one of us with the mail, tail wagging and very pleased with himself for doing what Labs do. She alerted the Post Office that if Tazzy showed up, and she was off duty, she was to be called in or Tazzy secured until she could deliver him to us personally. She wanted the yellow dog to ride up front with her as she was captivated by him, referring to him as “her baby”.

Instead of the US Mail, the folks who handled Tazzy decided to send him via UPS. Tazzy was unceremoniously delivered by a UPS guy who left him on the front porch, unbeknownst to us until late in the day. We discovered him yesterday evening and brought him in, unboxed him and apologized for missing his last ride with the mail carrier, as promised.

It is not unusual for medical procedures to fail in delivering the desired result. Tazzy, carefully protected from the hard side of life, spent his last week in a cold medical crate at MU rather than with “his people”. The surgery and anesthesia exacted the ultimate price and he died in our arms suffering from diffused pneumonia that did not respond to treatment.

I have been around death in its many forms from tragic to peaceful. Long ago, an older physician assured me there is no dignity in death, even under carefully controlled circumstances. You would think these experiences would have prepared me for the end of Tazzy’s life. Not so.

Our previous labs are all home with us, and my daughter is to place a bit of their ashes in the vessels that convey us to eternity. Our family will again be together, enjoying the life we knew and loved.

Only if you understand the contribution to human existence that a dog can deliver, will you understand the depth of our loss.

We have this Tazzy, forever.

SR

I was raised in a Baptist Church by a mother who attended regularly and a father, a warrior, who attended seldom. A Southern Baptist Church in rural South Carolina was as traditional as it gets. The minister could raise hell, warn against sin, and preach the Gospel all in a single service that might last several hours or more. We had funeral home fans and sat quietly less your grandmother or grandfather squeeze your collarbone in some sort of a marshal arts hold taught to all grandparents. They could come close to extracting your collarbone and beating you with it. There was little political commentary and I had no idea what a gay person was, but I endured the sermon and loved the hymns.

I began today watching the funeral of the Pope, the head of the very large Catholic Church. He was a controversial Pope by any standard, leading a church that was, as many faiths today are, suffering through turmoil with a strongly political or sexuality overtone. Even so, we never doubted his goodwill and deep Christian roots. He is counseling with the Master today, as sure as the sun rises this morning. There is something reassuring about the Catholic Faith. Not unlike the military, that I revere. They are wrapped in pomp and circumstance, with a ritual for any conceivable human activity from birth to death. Even the non-faithful are awed by the smoke, kneeling and Latin in traditional Catholic services. Their devout nature, somehow, is reassuring. Today the Cardinals and attendants will awe the world with their strictly structured funeral mass as they set aside the internal politics of the Church. The Holy Father will be rightfully honored in front of the world.

After this beautiful send off to eternity, the politics will begin at the highest level in the Church. I remarked to a devout Catholic friend that the halls of the Vatican will resemble the halls of Congress, perhaps in a more civil manner. He agreed, there will be religious and political intrigue until the next Pope is selected. I once sat on a Methodist Church Board, and believe me when I tell you the gossip and opining will shock you. Being a Church leader, in any faith, in today’s climate is a job for iron willed folks with uncanny leadership ability.

I am writing today, not to warn about the human nature of the Church, rather to commend the Catholic Church that I hold a deep respect for……with an honest appreciation for both it’s strength and notable weaknesses. My deepest respect is for the fourteen men who hoisted the platform with the Pope’s coffin onto their shoulders. If you watch closely, they are close to herniating themselves in this task. The Pope was a large man, and the Catholic Faith dictates a lead lining to the coffin which is made of a dense wood, cypress. Were I to attend this ceremony, and have the occasion to meet with the folks handling this event I would heartily shake the hands of those fourteen men. They are symbolic of the strength of the Catholic Church. May it forever endure.

Have a great week!

SR

It has been three weeks since Tazzy escaped the trials of an older dog who was not well. I have not handled it gracefully as he, like so many other dogs in peoples lives, had worked his way into our hearts, leaving the proverbial paw print. Last night, I reviewed my photos captured on the cell phone and noted that most of them, by far, were of Tazzy doing Tazzy things. If you are the owner, past or present, of a dog, you know about things such as innocence and loyalty. Age has softened me, admittedly, and I no longer hunt (a noble sport) as I no longer like the killing part. Truth is, I said a prayer over the body of every deer that I killed thanking them for the hunt, as I have always viewed animals as a sacred trust. So it is that I immediately started contemplating the fate of Tazzy after his last breath.

My fate with the Almighty is still being negotiated. Those that know me know I have a hard edge, tempered by time and occupation, but this isn’t about me, it is about an innocent and loyal friend who has left us, Tazzy Johnson. We gave him the best life and I want the same for him in the afterlife.

Theologians are divided on the matter of dogs in heaven, many believing they have no souls and there for are denied a heavenly presence. Many others argue this point. The Creator attached great significance to animals, dogs included, as evidenced in these passages from the Bible.

“God made the wild animals according to their kinds the livestock according to their kinds and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds and God said that is good.” Genesis 1:25

“For every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills.” Psalm 50:10

“For the fate of humans and the animal is the same: the same fate awaits them both: as one dies, so does the other. All animals have the same breath, humans have no advantage over animals.’ Ecclesiastes 3:19

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you”. Job 12:7

Finally….

“Even the sparrow has found a home and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young, a place near your alter, Lord Almighty, my King and my God”. Psalm 84:3

God cared about every creature on the face of the earth, and arranged for dogs to have a special place in our hearts. My plea is simple, please prepare a place in Heaven for Tazzy, a big yellow dog who taught us about innocence, loyalty, humor and love. You’ll like him, Sir, he is the big dog that is always smiling.

SR

Last week was the longest week of Sharon’s and my life. It was the shortest week of our Tazzy’s life. We made the drive to the University of Missouri’s Veterinary College so that Tazzy could have a hour long procedure to tie back a portion of his larynx to help him breathe as he was suffering from a dread malady known commonly as Lar-Par, in his case refined with the acronym GOLPP, Geriatric Onset of Laryngeal Paralysis and Poly neuropathy. This disease is particularly fond of Labrador Retrievers. The procedure took 5 hours with the left side tieback failing and a second incision in the right side of Tazzy’s throat.The surgery was on Monday, we took him home on Wednesday and rushed him back to MU on Thursday, as it was evident he wasn’t doing well.

On Friday morning the ER vet at MU called us and told us Tazzy was not responding to the pneumonia protocol and we hurried to the clinic to see what was going on. Upon arrival, they took us to “the room”, an office with two plush chairs, and a stack of pamphlets on the counter recommending a crematorium for pets. We knew it wasn’t good. The ER doc that admitted Taz entered and explained that Taz was in for a very poor quality of life, if he survived the current pneumonia, and it was time for us to make a decision. We did, out of tremendous love. Tazzy was brought in and we laid on the floor with him before they took him back to his bed. At 12 Noon, Tazzy was brought back in and we said our goodbyes as he died in our arms. Understandably we were and remain devastated.

Go back in time to the middle of September in 2013 when we picked Tazzy up from the breeder, the only yellow Lab in a litter of blacks and chocolates. Like all Lab puppies, he got into our hearts within hours. We were experienced with Labs, Tazzy was number five for us, and we loved every one of them. He was laying in Sharon’s lap and I looked over and said “little man I already love you, but one day you will break my heart”. The heartbreak occurred at noon one week ago today. The “Image Armor” that good police officers wrap around themselves to protect us from the harshness and emotion of the world, has long since melted away. I have asked myself just why it is that a rational human being would get a dog, knowing they were time limited, fall in love with them, only to be crushed a decade or so later. Dog parents know why.

Tazzy was with us, virtually 24/7, for over 11 years. He was wise, smart and comical and returned the love every day of his life. It is this love that makes it worth while.…and is so crushing. I am sorry that everyone reading this did not meet the TAZ, your life would have been better for it.

A final point. The Bible says that dogs have no soul and cannot be admitted to heaven. Billy Graham took issue with this and said heaven is a place of perfection. Graham also said there cannot be perfection without his dog(s). I’m betting on you Billy and I pray you, sir, are right.

SR

We are living in a golden age of change, brought about by technological advances that are staggering. Change is sometimes wonderful, sometimes unnecessary and often vexing. If you are a tax paying adult in America and read a periodical or watch the news, you understand the driving forces behind change. They are profit and convenience.

This past week, with freezing weather and record highs the next day, we hung around the thermostat as if it was a coffee bar. Imagine my surprise when I dialed up a little heat and got nothing. It was Saturday, and rather than pay an inordinate fee for weekend service we waited until Monday to call the guy. When the guy arrived, we discovered the guy was a young lady, polite and entirely competent. She quickly diagnosed the problem and left to procure some sort of an induction motor as ours was shot. She returned, installed it and presented us with a bill for north of 600.00 bucks. The motor has bearings and the bearings, as bearings do, were shot. They were also strategically sealed in the motor housing, and thus unserviceable. I’m guessing 10 bucks would buy the bearings, but replacing the whole motor was much more profitable.

My good neighbor, Mike the accountant, who is remarkably savvy when it comes to cars, repairs and fixing things mentioned that his wife’s daily driver, a newer, very nice vehicle, needed rear brake pads. That is counter intuitive to his and my experiences with brakes. (Patrol cars eat brakes and tires like Skittles.) Front brake pads wear much quicker than rear, don’t they? No, not today said the mechanic Mike talked to. Cars today are engineered to more evenly distribute the brake load, and rotors are lighter, to save weight and squeeze another fraction of a mile per gallon to meet EPA standards. Planned obsolescence. Lighter rotors warp much quicker and have precious little extra metal, to save weight. A brake job today will drain your wallet.

Profitability has driven the cost of ownership up dramatically, especially technology driven change. I own a number of Makita power tools, all battery powered. They are marvels of efficiency, plenty of torque and handy, precluding extension cords and inconvenience. I love them until it is time for a new battery. If you have owned a battery powered tool of any description, you know to hang on when it is new battery time. Convenience is expensive. We live in an era of convenience and the rule is replace not repair. My grandfather, and Mike, my neighbor could and can “fix” almost anything. Not today, Bubba.

My advice is to buy a bigger trash can to take your trash to the curb. Bigger will hold the everyday stuff you discard because it cannot be fixed. I took a printer to an electronics salvage yard this past week, not because it was broken, rather because the ink was more expensive than a new printer. Everybody was happier. The salvage center, Sam’s Club and Canon, that makes these things.

As a final note, you will do just fine with a wholesale club close by and an account with Amazon. God help you if you have to call the guy. Change ain’t cheap.

Have a great week!

SR