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Yes, I am a little over the top with motor equipment, having a life long passion for cars, trucks and motorcycles. When I was a kid, a friend and I would ride our bicycles around the ‘hood and identify the year of manufacture of cars parked on the street. For confirmation, we relied on the dates of manufacture of the taillights on the cars. I am still fairly competent today in the ID of older, American cars, a talent with declining usefulness in today’s world of imports and late model vehicles. My fascination has taken a hit lately, caused by the inordinate costs associated with today’s fleet.

Our current fleet is comprised of an 8 year old BMW convertible (the orange crush), a much newer BMW (the gray ghost) and Cirrus the Ram my testosterone laden pickup. Leary of dealership costs, the Crush is serviced by an independent garage, Important Specialists, while the other two are still under full warranty. I am addicted to vehicle maintenance, resulting in more than one disagreement with the Patrol motor sergeant over tires. His definition of worn out and mine were simply not in synch as I refused to drive over 100 MPH on worn tires and loathed snow tires on the cruiser.

Imagine my horror and surprise when I drove into our RAM dealer to have the batteries load tested. You see, this truck, a diesel, has two behemoth batteries that apparently wear out quickly. Not wanting to be RVing in some exotic location and wake up to dead batteries, I thought a check would be good. The service manager reported to me that my batteries were at less than half strength, and I ordered up a pair of new ones. I wasn’t concerned about the cost, as a battery is a battery.

I should have been concerned.

The smooth talking service manager found me sipping a “complementary” coffee in an opulent waiting area, watching a gas log fireplace burn and reading a brochure describing the latest offerings from Stellantis. The truck had just turned over 30,000 miles and needed more than batteries. It is equipped with a heavy duty transmission that needed to have the oil changed and bands tightened. Wait, there is more. It also needed the oil changed in both differentials and my fuel filters (yes two of them) had timed out. I Instructed him to do the work, grabbed a package of “complimentary” cookies, fresh coffee and settled in. Let’s cut to the chase.

The heavy duty AGM batteries set me back over 300.00 each and they require extra effort to get to and change out. The other services netted me a total bill of over 2K. It seems the Eisen transmission requires the pan to be dropped in order to service it and well you by now understand my shock. What ever happened to dropping into O’Rileys and picking up a battery, slapping it into your truck and motoring on for well under a hundred? The final blow came when I got home and Sharon confronted me with her I-phone, displaying the charge on our credit card. She asked me if I had traded trucks. A fair conclusion when I left shopping for a battery or two. She misses nothing.

I should have known, as not too long ago, I replaced three trolling motor batteries in my bass battleship and was similarly stunned. Preventative maintenance, tires, wiper blades and such is a priority with me…and today you pay dearly for it.

Have a great week!

SR

Troopers owe their existence, sometimes literally, to the tow truck operators that work our roads and highways. They clean up the carnage on our highways, facing the gore in the aftermath of killing accidents and the extreme tension when assisting with accidents where folks are pinned in, around or under cars and trucks. In my days on the road, they were under compensated, often providing services to indigent folks without charging or charging very little.

In the early ‘70s, in Odessa, Mo., we were blessed with two ultra reliable tow truck services that evoke fond memories of my years patrolling I-70 and Lafayette county. They were Gene Carroll and Walter Douthit, a man we called Popeye. Gene ran a service station and was always quick to respond to wrecks and any service needed on the road. Walter, on the other hand, operated out of a small shop where he slept on a cot next to his wrecker and telephone. He had no family and was a man of service, as reliable as an atomic clock, who lived to provide assistance, sometimes free. As I recall, Walter died prematurely, in a VA hospital, after a heart procedure. I have known many service oriented folks in a Patrol career, none exceeded his capacity to help out, 24/7, 365.

This work is anything but easy. Crawling through snow, creek water, deep ditches, culverts, anti-freeze, gasoline and oil to hook up and pull is their life. When the event required a police presence, we never lost sight of protecting the tow operator who needed total concentration to do his job. We did not have the magnificent equipment in use today, the work was manual in nature….and dangerous. On occasion, cables parted when under extreme tension, and were lethal in recoil, easily severing the leg or arm of an operator or bystander not paying attention.

On a personal note, Douthit responded quickly and pulled me out of a ditch, buried in snow, behind our weight station where I was headed for fuel. Not as embarrassing as sliding down a 50’ embankment, in deep snow, with a probationary officer in the seat next to me! Douthit was there in minutes, and we continued to a fatal accident, a chagrined training officer and a prob with dinner plate eyes. The lesson here was that MoDot maintenance crews turned around at the end of their district, and the next crew may or may not have gotten to the next section of Interstate. There isn’t a trooper alive that hasn’t over driven a situation and ended up on the hook behind a tow truck…….yes, we too have our moments.

Thank you to the guys who saved the day when I needed them on our roadways. God bless this understated occupation as their work is in His hands every time they hook up.

Have a great week!

SR

Sharon and I have very strong farm roots. My farm experiences began as young boy in rural South Carolina, where I spent a lot of time living with my Grandparents on a farm producing cotten and tobacco. We raised and slaughtered pigs, had a milk cow and enjoyed bountiful garden produce. Sharon was raised on big Missouri row crop farms, where her folks also raised swine early on. We both loved the farm existence where if you walked upright you worked.

We also have immensely enjoyed each part of Missouri the Patrol has taken us. The Patrol moved us up and down western and central Missouri. Springfield is a nice town, but we have searched long and hard for a rural acreage to build our forever home in the form of a shouse. I’m old(er), but love construction and a shouse affords us the opportunity to have our toys under one roof. ( A shouse or bardominium is, as the name implies, a steel sided and roofed residence with a massive attached garage.) Yesterday, we went under contract for our little piece of earthly heaven with a small Polk county acreage overlooking a massive, irrigated grain farm. It met our needs perfectly, a paved road, elevated perfectly, a flat building surface, with the grain farm beginning on the opposite side of the road we will be on. We love vistas and we can see from one side to the other of an expansive row crop operation. I will do the contracting and Sharon has a terrific eye for interior design. As a plus, the deer have stomped a trail through the middle of our ground between the grain fields and a pond on the back side of a neighbor’s acreage. Our years of searching are over. Our Eureka moment occurred when the seller accepted our offer. We are minutes away from excellent medical care at Bolivar’s Citizen Memorial Hospital and a half hour from the metro conveniences of Springfield. Thank you Lord for shielding us from settling on a parcel that was compromised in some way, and saving this patch for us.

Gone will be the convenience of a ten minute drive to the dining opportunities of a big town, replaced with the serenity of nature. We are very ready and our many friends in Springfield will be welcome to our place that I have named Hill 49. I have attached a few pictures of our views and the planned front of the barndo, (not in the colors we have selected).

Here is hoping it is never too late to begin another adventure, replete with that big garden we both remember so fondly. Sorry about the delay in publishing this blog, yesterday I was negotiating instead of writing!

Have a good week!

A friend of mine recently showcased his handyman ethic with a ceiling fan that he had taken apart and repaired. Another friend tore in to a clothes dryer and made an internal repair that was impressive. It occurred to me that we have raised a couple of generations that find it much easier to fill a landfill with appliances and gadgets that, for want of ability, would be serviceable. These generations prefer to simply replace the offending devices with a new one.

A recent news article showcased the enormous waste in America, all the result of folks challenged by anything more sophisticated than a flat blade screwdriver. We pay enormous fees to have the “guy” come and fix something. This nonchalance is being capitalized on by manufacturers who build damned near everything under the credo “planned obsolescence”.

This new attitude was driven home this summer when our central air capacitor shot ace-deuce on a scorching day. I called and every service business in town was on a call and they were charging accordingly. I mentioned this to my neighbor, Mike, an accountant who is afraid of nothing mechanical, who then hopped over and tested the capacitor with a volt meter, and produced a spare that he kept on hand. Presto, I was back in cool air. It isn’t at all unusual to see him hunkered over a lawn mower or working on his RV repairing a tricky plumbing issue even tracing an electrical problem with the unit’s A/C and repairing it. He reminds me of a Patrol colleague, Lee Plunkett, who could repair damned near anything in existence.

We were in Florida when the instant hot water heater quit working in our RV. We called a mobile tech, a terrific guy, who found a leak in the system but had no idea what the part was that was leaking. He jumped on his cell phone, identified the part, which was not available, bypassed the system and left us with cold water. I should have been able to do what he did and keep my money in my pocket. To this end, I intend to attend a week long RV repair and maintenance school currently available. Even Apple is getting in on the action. They are now building certain cell phones that cannot be cracked open for repair, necessitating a replacement.

I am not without a few skills. I am handy with wood and have developed an ability to trim houses. I can paint, a skill that I developed after retiring, even forming a one man company, “IPC Painting”. (I Paint Cheaply”) I quickly discovered this work was physically exhausting, if done correctly, and abandoned this experiment in favor of trim work. My first car, a 1967 GTO, was easy to work on. I changed the plugs, condenser and points, and learned to set time with a timing light. I learned to do body work, amassing a great deal of time wet sanding for a local body shop. I could work on old tractors, changing belts and swapping out implements.I have a collection of basic tools and once upon a time changed my own oil and rotated my own tires. I am a hopeless idiot with any electrical issue, do not do anything on a roof, and can turn a basic plumbing issue into a monumental project that is laughable.

In short, we “call the guy” for stuff that I should be able to do. If you are one of those gifted folks who can dive into any repair, my hat is off to you. We are spoiled. There is a guy for everything and they are worth every penny when you are clueless. My grandfather, Mr. EC Cooke, a farmer, could repair anything in sight. I sincerely hope he isn’t judging me harshly from his lofty perch. I regret my ineptness and should know better. Meanwhile……if it involves wood, I’m “your guy”.

Have a great week!

SR

Optimism is a concept that we haven’t felt in quite awhile. This is not intended as a political piece, rather a view of America from the front porch. I am confident everyone in America is responding to what they see on television and hear in the streets. Some will have a narrow, pessimistic view of the changes in our posture, but have to concede, in their quiet moments, we are on track.

As a trooper, I never felt the need to throw my hat in the room before I walked in. My existence was centered around making a positive difference every day that I worked. Never did I envision working from home every day of my life as thousands of folks are doing in government. The Patrol worked lean. There were enough of us in each of our zones to handle our responsibilities with efficiency. If we fell behind, an officer from the next zone was pressed into service to handle the incident or event. It is exactly what I signed on for, with a clear understanding my time belonged to the state. There were no federal rules that limited our time in the car, and “overtime” was accepted, even relished. There was no extra compensation for the long hours. I can recall a superintendent that gifted unpaid overtime to the people of Missouri over the holidays. We eagerly made good on that promise.

The new faces in government are selected on their ability to get the job done. Their sexual preferences, sexual identity and race is secondary to the job. Confused men strolling into a ladies restroom will likely end up getting their asses kicked up between their ears. Gender will no longer be a mystery. An example of this new standard is Pam Bondi, the new Attorney General who brings a tremendous prosecutorial pedigree to the table. Looking at Christy Nome, sitting in the saddle and riding with the Border Patrol, in the field, is another. Pete Hegseth, working along side of his fellow soldiers, listening, learning and experiencing the military based on palpable interaction is gratifying. His goal of an efficient and supremely lethal military force is incredibly gratifying. The Army, lagging behind recruitment goals over the past few years has seen a dramatic increase in enlistments. Our renewed interest in domestic energy production and a different approach to our monetary policy is welcomed. Our last approach was a dismal failure.

We are the greatest country on the face of the earth. We are not apologists for our success and international policy will reflect our world domination. I am incredulous at the resistance to cutting the tons of fat from a bloated government, handing personal responsibility to our citizenry rather than attempting to make government the answer to the inherent problems we face on a daily basis. We have a tremendously competent businessman in the Oval Office and businessmen understand efficiency better than any politician possibly can.

Finally, a word about criminality. The focus on criminal justice efficiency is music to my ears. We are going to see police executives that are focused on the job and not the political well being of politicians. The once vaunted FBI will return to their roles as envisioned years ago. The clown faces on the doors of their management will disappear. We will also see the worst of the worst of the criminal element that has walked into America unfettered, on an airplane back to their place of origin, thus freeing up space in our jails for our own criminals who will again fear and respect the police.

I am optimistic, proud and contented with this new approach to leadership in our Republic. Our trip back from the gates of hell is underway. Don’t you love it?

Have a great week!

SR

In an ongoing effort to meet with as many folks as possible in Springfield’s health care industry, I have become acquainted with yet another malady closely related to arthritis. I’m not complaining here, this week we are celebrating the life of an ex-sister in law who succumbed to pancreatic cancer in a matter of days. Even so, arthritis and age will put you on a first name basis with your providers and pharmacist, as it is a plague all in its own. Most people can avoid a malady called cervicogenic headache, or ram’s horn headache as it is sometimes called, even if they have disc disease in their neck. A textbook description of this headache is that it…….”is characterized by chronic hemicranial pain referred to the head from the cervical spine and/or soft tissue in the neck.” A hillbilly would say it’s is a pain in the neck and head. The pain radiates upward, in the shape of a ram’s horn. They are miserable

Folks may not realize that by the age of 20, 37% of us have disc disease, by 50, 80% and by 80 ( I can see it from here) 96% of folks have some form of disc disease. They do not always have OA to deal with, however, I do. My PCP was able to diagnose the malady very quickly and prescribed physical therapy to address the problem. Your neck is one busy piece of anatomy…..and you have to get it back to a normal configuration to solve the problem and deal with it. The alternative is to eat NSAIDS like candy and risk tearing up your gut or narcotics and join the street people in San Francisco.

Enter physical therapist Riley Lekarczyk, DPT and Jeff Martin, PTA. As a result of their expertise, I now have a neck like a linebacker. To say they know things is a huge understatement. Riley is also able to use “Dry needling” somewhat similar to but not acupuncture. The therapy (16 45 minute sessions) has greatly resolved the headaches. I now hold a laptop differently, sit differently and have become adept at isometric exercises. PT worked, but you must continue with the training regimen they teach. Their bag of tricks is very impressive. I cannot say enough about their dedication, expertise and compassion. Thanks guys, your art is impressive. I was a little skeptical, but my PCP, an osteopathic physician, nailed the diagnosis and I am no longer in the Advil hall of fame!

There are many causes for headaches, and it takes an accomplished practitioner to sort them out and once again I am fortunate…..as well as getting older by the minute. Medical whack-a-mole is not fun, the alternative is far worse. I have gone from a stiff neck and headache to having a neck like an owl…..almost pain free. Now about that arthritic left knee……

Have a great, headache free, week!

SR

Between the 24 hour news cycle and the internet, we are being spoon fed “misinformation” (Mr. Trump’s vernacular) or reams of bullshit (my interpretation). Who would have guessed 30 years ago, that you would have to verify virtually every piece of information that you receive? As if extreme political bias isn’t confusing us enough, add AI to the mix and trusted sources are few and far between.

If that huge bass you are looking at isn’t a picture that you personally took, you may well be looking at a cleverly photoshopped creation by an individual whose place in life revolves around fantasy. Advertisers today think nothing of using AI to convince otherwise reasonable folks the celebrity of the day has endorsed their offerings. It has become so commonplace, the idea of suing someone over this practice isn’t worth the trouble, as “everyone does it”. Reliance on the concept of Caveat Emptor is more important than ever before.

Information isn’t the story. The source is. When we recount a piece of interesting information, we are obligated to report the source, thus warning the listener that what you are saying may well be pure crap. I follow a number of internet sites related to hunting and fishing, but don’t believe much of what I read. Advances in AI renders photographic evidence equally suspicious.

Lying is the norm. Notice I don’t use cute euphemisms like “misinformation or misspeaking, or sources tell us” etc. I am talking about bonafide lying. The previous administration brought lying into mainstream America, relying on an adoring press equally capable of gross dishonesty. Mr. Trump, for all his good points, is the master of embellishment and overstatement. He must be watched, especially with numbers. Even so, he is light years ahead of the previous occupant of the White House. I have passed along internet BS, having not verified its accuracy. We need to be careful and not rely on whether or not we wanted something to be true as opposed to verifiable fact.

In my lifetime we have gone from not buying a mule until we examine it to buying used cars on the internet without seeing them first. We go through life busier than a mosquito in a nudist colony, happily gullible and feeding on the media and internet. I am a Missourian and my resolution this year is to promote our identification as the “Show Me State”. The truth is elusive, a fact epitomized by the media and internet. Skepticism is the order of the day. Go forth cautiously and dispense trust sparingly…….very sparingly.

Have a good week!

SR

Sure, I am a little (lot) slower, what little wit I once possessed is slipping, and younger Centurions are much quicker in an exigent circumstance. The beauty of aging is the accumulation of hard earned wisdom, great memories, appreciation of an old dog and the love of a wife in spite of the chore of counseling an old man.

In order to understand what it feels like to reach your 75th birthday, still standing and recognizing your place in a world that is rapidly leaving you behind, I’ll share a little of the wisdom accumulated over 75 years.

In oriental cultures, age is accorded deep respect. In our culture, age is accorded respect in stages. Folks under the age of 40 are still absorbed in their immediate circumstance, with little regard for “tomorrow”, believing they are immortal. Mortality, as a concept, has not hit them between the eyes just yet. From 40-50, you are beginning to establish a persona and are accorded a reasonable amount of respect, especially if you are established in a profession or vocation. Your experience is beginning to show. You are able to handle 80% of life’s challenges with competence. From 50-60, folks are deferential to your accumulated wisdom, and often refer to you as sir, or ma’am, and you have reached a balance between what you can do and what you should do. Between 60-70, you lose your fastball. The balance between “should and can” accomplish things begins to slip just a little. Young baristas are usually very deferential, and accord respect to your station in life, based entirely on your grey hair, or shiny pate as the case may be. Then comes 75.

At the age of 75 (or so) the sirs that are proffered are a mixture of respect and sympathy. Behind your back, you are an “old man” who used to leap over tall buildings and stop bullets with your teeth. The truth is you now dread tall buildings and can’t find a bullet in your pocket. You tend to be generous and wait staffs view you with respect, commensurate with your tip level. Immortality haunts you and every little pain is viewed with deep suspicion. You are more vulnerable than you have ever been in spite of the bravado you project.

I am fortunate. Good medical care, a host of friends who accept me for what I am and what I used to be make life a treat. My irreverence is accepted and I have earned the privilege of raising hell when I think it needs to be raised. Sharon is the perfect foil, able to jerk the reins tight when they need to be jerked and display the patience it takes to live with an opinionated old man who cries over old dogs and passes judgement on life with little restraint.

The big news is I am still having fun, attempt to do and lift when I should not and reside in a state that exudes practicality. You get here with great friends, many acquaintances and a just a few enemies. Thanks to all that have acknowledged my advanced age today. I could not be at this point in life without you. It is too late to change, and you know what you have. Enjoy the week!

SR

In every ground war fought since the beginning of time, combatants expended tremendous effort in scouting the land they were to fight on. As a general rule, commanders sought the high ground on a battlefield, however this consideration wasn’t necessarily important. A copse of trees, trenches and structure also figured into the battle plan. Knowing the ground was vital.

When I entered the Highway Patrol academy some 50 years ago, one of our first academic exercises was to memorize the 114 counties in Missouri, the county seats and the major road intersections in each county. The exam consisted of a blank map and you filled in the aforementioned information. This seemed like more of test of one’s ability to retain information than a matter of practicality. I was wrong, as it became an invaluable bit of information in your road career, as an unfathomable number of motorists were hopelessly lost, having no idea where they were going or how to get there. We also distributed thousands of Missouri roadmaps to these folks, in an effort to encourage research and independence while traveling. A good number of folks in this predicament were amazed at our knowledge of Missouri history and geography. We knew our “ground”.

We were shirkers, as compared to the folks who assemble groceries for the lazy folks who see no need to peruse the local Wal-Mart or Sam’s club. You know precisely what I’m talking about if you have ever looked for something on a super sized grocery’s shelves. These “shoppers” are responding to an uber busy society’s quest for efficiency at the expense of folks who will fill a cart for them and meet them at the door to load the goods into their cars, or folks who would rather sit on the porch chewing on a straw and talking to an old dog.

These “shoppers” are flat out amazing. Their ability to locate a particular brand of avocado oil or some exotic canned bait, excuse me, I meant to say seafood, is incredible. They can fly down aisles at breakneck speed, loading their carts on the roll and manage to not run over the little old ladies with their “support” dogs, cats or lizards as the case may be. If you are stumped and cannot find something, ask them. They will know which aisle, which side of said aisle, and the particular shelf the product is on.They are walking directories, and on good days, will also provide information as to how many cans of mushroom soup are left on the shelf. They also rely on their cellphones, carefully programed to back them up in a pinch. At Wal-Mart, they also will not accept tips, carefully declining the offer no matter how enticing or veiled it might be. These shoppers know their ground.

The trade off? This strategy kills impulse buying, which constitutes about a third of our cart on any given day. Next up is fresh meat. Shoppers do not carefully sort through dozens of packages of bacon, looking for the slab with some actual meat on it. You’re going to get the first thing their highly sensitive hands touch. You also want to be extra careful about which bread you want as well as be willing to accept some pretty sorry produce as they must have been instructed to grab the stuff in the front of the case, condition be damned. (I am the Johnson Compound produce authority, having lived out of a big garden while growing up in South Carolina.) You will also loose sight of the latest trends in pajamas, currently the wardrobe du’jour in our grocery stores.

Sam’s Club, another grocery epicenter, is equally efficient, except the orders often fill a big commodities cart, since an order for a box of cereal will net you about a hundred pounds of the stuff, wrapped in cellophane. Is it any wonder that third world countries hate us? They fight for a cup of goat’s milk and scrap of bread like substance and we have hundreds of dollars worth of groceries deposited for us in our late model family hauler.

Have a great week! It is time for serious football and the latest killer snacks while the wind blows colder than ever.

SR

I had been suspicious for a couple of weeks. Our Tazzy seemed to tire a little more on his neighborhood patrols and his panting was, we thought, a little more frequent than normal. Last week, on his walks I began to notice a raspy pant as we walked and my suspicion grew. Sharon and I are experienced Lab owners and understand their inherent weaknesses as a breed and decided to take him to our Vet, just to be sure that we did not have a serious problem with Mr. Taz, who turns 12 in August. It turns out we do have a serious problem after all, an idiopathic malady known as laryngeal paralysis. We have been through this two times before and lost our Labs before we could respond. This malady, routinely referred to as Lar-Par, is a neurological problem that affects the larynx and usually the back legs of your dog (and sometimes cats). It is progressive and deadly, resulting in the suffocation of your dog, especially if they become agitated or overheated.

We did not get caught short this time. Our Vet quickly went to work, confirming the diagnosis via a laryngoscope examination. Both sides of Tazzy’s larynx are completely paralyzed and without intervention, he is very close to a catastrophic event that is life ending. Our job is to keep him calm, carefully monitor his feeding and get on MU’s vet school surgical list for what is called a tie back procedure. We have also scheduled a breathing and swallow test to insure he is a good candidate for this surgery, that is not without significant risk. Cup your hands, palm inward, and the opening resembles a dog’s larynx. Slightly open the space between your hands and you are looking at what happens when a dog breathes or swallows, The larynx is the gateway for all breathing, eating and drinking. In the procedure one side of the larynx is “tied back” with sutures thus guaranteeing a clear breathing opening.

Obviously, this solution presents a problem when the dog is eating or drinking, as food or water can be aspirated into the lungs, causing aspiration pneumonia, which can also be deadly. We will feed him a special diet and watch his drinking from a specially designed bowl that slows the drinking down. An additional heartbreak is this marks the end of his swimming, as he would drown quite easily when tied back.

Sharon and I are heart broken, to be expected when your dog is the center of your life, but we are going to fight like hell to improve the quality and longevity of Taz. The tie back enjoys a 85% success rate, IF you handle the pup postoperatively, as you should.

As a side note Lar-Par can be found in all breeds, however the large breeds predominate. Of all the cases, across all breeds, some 60% of cases are found in Labs. Wish us luck as we navigate these choppy waters…….Taz loves everybody and doesn’t know a stranger. Please Lord, give us a few more years.

SR