srj641

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!

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