srj641

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

The New Year is upon us. My wishes for my readers is for a year of good health, prosperity and confidence in America. Unfortunately, past experience has taught us that for approximately 24% of American women, the year will end with a devastating attempted or completed rape. This past year saw a good number of sensational sexual attacks, some ending in murder, of unarmed women. In reviewing the statistics for this year, one won’t find a single incidence of a properly trained, gun carrying female who was raped and/or killed. This year also marks the end of the single most anti-gun administration in our nation’s history. Perhaps it is time to turn to turn these statistics around.

“The purpose of a pistol is to a stop a fight that somebody else started, almost always at a very short range.” Col. Jeff Cooper, gun advocate and master tactician.

Men tend to buy handguns for many reasons, personal defense, competitions, and hunting being among them, while women are buying handguns at an unprecedented rate for personal defense. In 2005, women comprised about 13% of the gun owners in America. In 2020, the number rose to 25% and has grown steadily since, in fact comprising the single fastest growing demographic in that group.

Is this the year that women in your household or under your influence join this movement? It will take years for an Administration to seriously challenge lawlessness in America, which has grown exponentially under the current woke administration and courts that are unbelievably soft on crime. This is why I begin the New Year advocating for the safety of the female population in particular and the rest of the population in general. Now for some advice……

Pictured below are three currently popular concealed/carry handguns. There is no point in training and understanding armed self defense if you do not plan to train and actually carry. These pistols are all effective personal defense weapons, however so is a 1911 pistol that weighs 3 times more and is far more effective ballistically. The difference is that few women will sport a 1911 pistol but can most definitely carry one of these smaller handguns. The pistol on the bottom is a Ruger LCP in a basic caliber, .380 ACP. The next up is the superlative Smith&Wesson Bodyguard, also in .380 ACP and the top is a FN Reflex in 9mm Luger, a very powerful personal carry caliber. All three are comfortable carry pistols, however the LCP is not comfortable to shoot while the other two are. I know better than to recommend guns and calibers to my readers, many of whom are very familiar with hand gunning. The fact is that preferences will be dictated, most likely, by a male shooter acquaintance of the women taking up this business.

I want to start the New Year off with a dose of reality. Our lax courts, handcuffed law enforcement coupled with the proclivities of people who turn to violence in increasing numbers have resulted in this piece. You do not choose to be assaulted but you can damn sure choose put a stop to an assault. This is one way!

Have a wonderful New Year filled with success and good health. While you are at it, train and equip to underscore personal safety.

Have a great week!

SR

A while back I wrote about the stimulating nature of sounds that invoke memories and promises. This exercise prompted me to begin collecting the everyday scents in life that evoke memories and signal contentment. I am sure we all have such a list, perhaps not as eclectic in nature. The following scents have special meaning to me.

Patchouli oil based colognes and incense. Patchouli, to me, signals the necessity to take one’s mind out of gear and coast mentally. It is strongly associated with the early hippy culture

Sourdough bread, both rising and baking. I know of no one who can resist this comforting scent. An aroma that takes me back to my grandmother’s kitchen

Thick sliced, hickory smoked bacon in the skillet or on the grill. Bacon is savory, and produces an immediate salivary response.

Freshly mowed hay or a lush lawn. On a summer morning, a cut hayfield will more than offset the discomfort of a car window rolled down.

A puff of hardwood smoke upon opening a wood stove. It signals warmth and another small win over nature.

The scent of a woman. One can approach this consideration from several angles, but the scent of subtle cologne and a hand lotion on a woman signals any number of pleasures for her and you. Men are carnal in nature, let’s be honest here.

The smells in a horse barn. These gentle beasts have a scent of their own. Their scent reminds me that horses are in the servitude of man, creating a unique bond between them and us.

Leather. I absolutely love the smell of leather. Whether it be furniture, a saddle or jacket. It conveys strength, quality, and endurance. I own many leather bags and coats, choosing it over synthetic materials anytime I have the opportunity.

The smell of coffee in any form. It is impossible for me to resist the smell of freshly ground coffee or the brew it produces. Coffee has been the currency of the world for many years, responsible for huge swings in world markets. There is a reason.

A puppy’s breath. The subtle smell of mother’s milk on the breath of a little puppy will melt the heart of the hardest individual.

I have never used tobacco but absolutely love the smell within a humidor where pipe tobacco nestles with other tobacco products. A tin of cherry tobacco reminds me of my pipe smoking ancestors and their incessant use of it.

The smell of a bookstore. I own many books and a bookstore signals literary excitement. The fresh smell of new books is stimulating, reminding me of a beautiful time before computers.

Finally, my list includes the smell of dryer vents on a Sunday morning. We lived, for awhile, in a condo on the Lake of the Ozarks, one of precious few permanent inhabitants. The dryer vents dispensing their promise of clean laundry, also indicated the hell raisers were on their way home returning peace and solitude to the permanent party.

Other aromas include; a balsam Christmas tree, chain saw smoke, burned gunpowder, corn dogs at the State Fair and freshly popped movie popcorn.

As I get older, I increasingly marvel at what our senses provide us, and am very sympathetic to those who have lost one or more of their precious senses. Again, I urge my readers to never take these gifts for granted.

Have a great week!

SR

We have survived another wild and wooly political season. Once again America has elected a President with great hair (well, a lot of hair anyhow), relegating bald men to lesser offices across our great land. As a bald man who refuses to comb over the skunk stripe that envelopes my shiny crown, I long for another bald President. Ike was our last elected bald President (Ford doesn’t count) marking the beginning of the great hair period in Presidential politics. Eighty years is a long dry spell for hair challenged folks like myself.

While watching political contenders hurl verbal insults at each other, I found myself pulling for the bald down ballot contenders. They did okay, but aren’t likely to achieve the rarified atmosphere reserved for men of hair. Facial hair is also a taboo in Presidential politics, dating back to 1836 and Martin Van Buren, who was bald but sported magnificent sideburns. The WWII era gave us leaders like Ike, Churchill, Gandhi, and David Ben-Gurion, a golden age for shiny pates. It should be evident to my readers that good hair is political cover. The idols of the good hair politicos would have to be Kennedy, Reagan and Clinton. The truth is that good hair got two of them in trouble with admiring constituents. As further evidence of a fetish for hair, remember McCain, a loser whose hairline was receding and Biden, a winner, whose hair was reseeded.

Us hair challenged folks can’t all project the aura of Micheal Jordan, Sean Connery or Buddha, so we often spend hours cultivating facial hair, quite fashionable these days but a challenge to folks whose hair is running away from their beard.

I doubt I will live to see another bald President or a return to some form of facial hair on a serious contender. Such is my curse. Sharon tells me she likes my soon to be short sculptured beard even though I have nothing to tie it up to on the dome. That is why barbers have been busy cultivating a perfect fade, permitting your beard to slip into a barren but sublime infinity on one’s head. I never aspired to the challenges of the political world which is a good thing, as the curse of baldness would have been a serious handicap.

As a final insult, it appears the bald breeds of dogs never win top honors at Westminster, yet further evidence of the curse of hairlessness. You live and learn. It is time to procure another bottle of SPF 30 to keep my scalp cancer free. At least my dermatologist admires my pate and the care I’ve given it. To all the great hair guys out there, charge on with the morning ritual of managing your locks. I can bounce out of bed, slather a little sun screen on and hit the deck running. That is the benefit of being in the baldtocracy!

Have a great week!

SR

A foray to Bass Pro Shops, conveniently located only a few miles from our compound, triggered the beginning of the Holiday Season for me. The store was packed with all manner of folks wrapped in Christmas revelry. Back in February of 2020, I wrote about my hearing decline in a piece entitled “The Silent Disability”. My hearing loss continues to progress, however; technology stays a step ahead. It was the murmur of the crowd, expressions of surprise and the wonder of the outdoors brought inside that triggered today’s writing. I sat back with a cup of coffee and thought about the many sounds that bring or have brought a smile to my face.

In no particular order, these are among the sounds that I have experienced in life that will always give me pause and make me smile.

1. The sound of big rigs on an Interstate. I lived with this wonderful sound of efficiency and progress too many years to not smile when I hear it. This sound represents the power and majesty of America.
2. The sound of a bass boat transom splashing into the lake at first light, signaling the beginning of another day on the water with a friend. Closely behind is the scream of a two stroke outboard spooling up as it lifts the bow of the boat. These sounds signal great expectation.
3. The subtle sounds of nature, including the cry of a barred owl at dusk, the quiet, endless murmur of a riffle, a gentile surf and the subtle sound of a breeze through pine trees.
4. The soft sigh of Tazzy stretching out for a nap at my feet, signaling contentment, trust and devotion.
5. The sound of a congregation singing traditional Christmas Hymns is a reminder of the church before the advent of rock music blasting through the sanctuary.
6. The mesmerizing crackle of a fire place or an open wood stove door. A sound that signals a small win over a relentless Mother Nature as it replaces bone chilling cold with warm wood heat. The tattoo of a gentile rain on a tin roof represents yet another small victory over nature.
7. Conversation is a reminder of the strength of the spoken word. A truck stop waitress at 2 in the morning, pouring a fresh cup of coffee and making conversation reminds me that courtesy never sleeps. The coffee splashing into the cup is most welcome after hours at a freezing wreck scene.
8. Certain voices always catch my tired ears. Who cannot enjoy actor Ving Rhames baritone elucidation about Arby’s sandwiches? Sam Elliot talking about cowboy things is an instant conveyance of country wisdom. Paul Harvey narrating the life of a farmer is heart warming. You just have to believe these guys.
9. The beautiful lilt of a hammered dulcimer in the hands of a master. The drone strings harmonizing perfectly with the tune itself. A sound almost as soothing as the laugh of a small child, conveying innocence and trust.
10. Much has been written about the sounds of a Huey, a sound that is imprinted in the minds of those of us who depended upon them. This sound was most welcome when waiting for an extraction, chilling when coming to take you to the fight.

Finally, after years of living and growing together, the sound of Sharon at bedside asking me how I am doing as I rouse from anesthesia from one of my 12 or so surgeries, is a reminder I am never really alone and am, indeed, alive to fight another day. I am guessing that my readers all have a sound or two that is forever etched in the pleasure center of their minds. Please never take sound for granted. As I age, my ability to hear subtleties is all but gone, so enjoy sound whenever you can. It is a most precious gift from the Master!

Have a great week!

SR

In our compound, we name things. My Beemer is the “Orange Crush”, Sharon’s new Beemer is the “Gray Ghost” named after Civil War Confederate General John S. Mosby (her car is Brooklyn Gray in color)and our home is the J-Compound, a moniker that could have been a Fire Base in Vietnam. The State Farm driving monitor is “Shikles” after the Chief Driver Examiner when I was on staff (Dale Shikles) and my carry pistol is “Mr. D”. The D is for dignity which it lends to a possible violent confrontation. So it should be no surprise that our latest acquisition, is one of those little round vacuum cleaners that has our house programed and puts itself to bed after vacuuming the place. Sharon starts the thing with her cell phone. Who would have thought?

Once upon a time, some 20 years ago, Sharon was an elementary administrator in a school some 30 miles south of our home and I drove 90 miles one way to work in Jefferson City. Our days were long and we relied on a wonderful local lady, Miss Shirley to help with our housekeeping responsibilities. Shirley is among the most thoughtful, kind people in this world and we love her as if she was a family member. As you may have guessed by now, we have named the vacuum Shirley II.

What is happening to us? I was raised in the straw broom era, when the floors were all wooden, and a dustpan full of dust was casually tossed out the screen door. Imagine my surprise a couple of weeks ago when Shirley II was ordered to vacuum the living room and demanded I pick my feet up while she worked. I am slow to embrace technology and laughed at the prospect of a lidar guided device vacuuming my house while I watched television or read. I am not laughing now…..believe me.

Sharon is the neighborhood electronic/technical warfare officer and loves this stuff. My use of a computer today is the result of her tutelage and the efforts of my last Administrative Assistant, Cathy Flannigan. (I also subjected myself to a 3 hour college course in computer science.) Sharon loves gadgetry and is far better than I am at reading schematics and trouble shooting stuff that’s runs on electricity. Between her and my daughter, who has never seen a tool she can’t use or a challenge she won’t tackle, I can sit back and languish in peace. The Shirleys of this world, backed by my personal staff of tech oriented folks make life easy for this old man. If you have not yet embraced one of these vacuums, get one soon. You will be stunned at its efficiency. As I said earlier, who would have thought?

Have a great week!

SR

Inquiring minds want to know. Knowledge comes in many forms and can be found anywhere. That being said, there is no greater location that offers the awareness and knowledge that fairly flows through a barber shop. Mind you, I am not talking about a stylist with his or her bag of tricks to transform hair into a work of art, rather a retail establishment run by folks who can taper, cut and humanize the most unlikely of patrons.

I shave my head these days, a reality brought about by genetics. The males in my family have all had a tough time keeping hair from slipping off their heads. I am not sufficiently vain enough to subject myself to the many snake oil salesmen who suggest they can return a luxurious mane to my rapidly emptying head. As they say, it is what it is. This practice denies me the opportunity to keep up on sports, politics, gossip and vociferous opinion that wafts through a good old fashioned barber shop. To suggest the information exchanged behind the striped pole is invaluable is a gross understatement.

I recall sitting in a gorgeous shop in St. Joseph, Missouri that was blessed with a contingent of excellent barbers, when a fellow officer entered with his grandson who was vehemently opposed to having his hair cut. The shop was full of waiting patrons, all watching in amusement as the young man was seated in a booster chair against his wishes. His protestations were loud, verbal and heart rending and grandpa could say or do nothing to assuage the young man. The situation required a well framed intervention and I stepped up. In front of 20 or so patrons and barbers, all watching closely, I walked over to chairside and was immediately able to calm the young man with a simple promise. I told him that if he sat calmly for a haircut, his grandpa was going to buy him a pony. His grandpa nearly fainted as the child accepted my offer and sat for the haircut, much to the amusement of the patrons. It was all I had…..but it worked. Grandpa has never forgiven me.

On another occasion, I stepped into a popular Jefferson City shop, where I was 6th or so in line for one of three hair magicians. I had a preference as I was sporting a flat top those days, and one of the barbers was masterful in cutting this challenging style. I was in uniform, which was unfortunate. I picked up the latest issue of Playboy magazine and became enamored with a stunning pictorial when a nice lady sat down with two young boys to wait out their haircuts. She sat next to me, much to the amusement of the barbers as I opened a fold out photo of the month’s centerpiece, who was constructed out of the “ A box” of female anatomy. I glanced up and the nice lady was also studying the center fold with the same interest. It was the Governor’s wife and I was speechless. She diffused the situation by suggesting the lady in the picture, was indeed, stunning. I was as red as a hothouse tomato. She smiled at my discomfort and we exchanged pleasantries. She was an affable First Lady, as I thought about the likely reaction of another First Lady who likely would have had me drawn and quartered. This was an incident where my usually reliable situational reasoning skill abandoned me.

By now you get the picture. These anecdotes are but an example of life in the chair with a barber, who typically has his or her finger on the pulse of America. I miss it. If you are still in possession of enough hair to qualify for a coveted seat in the chair of wisdom, enjoy it. To be denied this pleasure is discouraging, but inevitable, for some of us.

Have a great week!

SR