srj641

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

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!