A Long Overdue Vacation

My dear friend Lucy lives in Munich, Germany. A few months back, the two of us were talking about meeting up with one another. Although I have always dreamed of going to Europe, time, finances, or circumstances have prevented me from going. Until now.

I am not sure if there is anyone that still does not yet know that I have a vacation planned for next month to Munich, though perhaps planned is not quite accurate. I have my passport and tickets, my bags are essentially packed, and my time off from work has been approved. Everything on this end is waiting for the countdown timer to run out.

However, by accident or design, there is no itinerary of what to do when I arrive. Over the course of many discussions, there has been a multitude of locations to visit as well as things to do and all of them sound excellent, but absolutely nothing has been decided on.

At this point, I am offering an opportunity to you. Below are a few of the ideas discussed. You can recommend one, some, all, or tell me some of your own ideas. There is no guarantee that I will do everything, but I intend to make the most of my visit and enjoy every waking moment.

Here are some of what has been mentioned:

Drink beer in a beer garden
Dine out
Neuschwanstein and other castles
Pinakothek and other museums
English Garden
Marienplatz and shopping at Viktualienmarkt
Schloss Nymphenburg
Check out the night life
Enjoy Lucy's company (this is not negotiable)

Please remember that I have only a week for this visit. So what do you think?

Dies Natalis Resumo Solis; A Renewal of a Holiday

This year's Christmas is as different from last year as night and day, because there was no Christmas for me in 2008. No music, no decorations, no dinner, not even a single present; nothing, because I refused to have anything to do with the holiday. There was simply too much death and darkness in my soul to allow a single candle's light to shine.

2008 was the year that my girlfriend of 10 years walked out of my life. There was no argument or fight; at the time, my mother was dying, and I spent so much time caring for her that I hardly noticed that my partner had packed all her things and left. When my mother succumbed to the inevitable, I suddenly realized that I was living in an empty house. But then I was overwhelmed with the task of dealing with the funeral, the estate, working, and dealing with a new set of responsibilities. And grief. I was trained to deal with grieving people to an extent, but that was from an external view. My father died 8 years before, but I had dealt with that loss with an almost professional detachment. My mother was like a rock, and I had to be strong for her. But now she was gone and I was totally unprepared for the emotional onslaught.

A few months later, I thought I had managed to take some control of my life and emotions when I was notified that my cousin had died. Then 6 days later, his mother, my mother's oldest sister died, and the whole process started over again, like someone had ripped the scab off the original wound. My son had to drive me to the funeral, because I could not do it. I would have never made it across the bridge crossing the Mississippi.

By late November, I had managed to have every emotion wrung out of me to the point where I had no feelings left. I had isolated myself from my family and the few friends I had, believing that I had nothing to offer them and to allow them near me only opened me to more pain. That Christmas found me in an empty house, leaving only to answer two calls where death visited their homes that day.


Not very long after the holidays, I was surfing the internet when I came across a website that intrigued me. Some women wrote on this blog and others responded with wit and humor. I bookmarked it and soon found myself going back there more and more often. I found myself chuckling, then laughing; awakening feelings that not 6 months before were not there. Then a day came where I reached out and posted a comment, then another. These women not only responded to my posts, but warmly welcomed me into their collective. At lezbang.com, I found a home.

As the months passed, I learned more of these women, and my heart opened to them. With childlike wonder, I relearned the beauty of the human spirit, and allowed others to be a part of my life again. I remembered that I had dreams, and I was taught that dreams can come true.

This year, I am celebrating. Not the big commercial deal with gaudy lights and big parties. I am celebrating an old fashioned holiday with a real tree, decorated with antique ornaments and candles. And Love. Lots of love.

Now I am writing on this joyful Christmas morning, sharing with you the gifts I have received this year. I have renewed the relationships I have with my children and granddaughter, and are closer than ever. I have a new grandson who will grow up with a loving and attentive grandma. I have friends, scattered throughout the world, and I hope they realize the gratitude that I have for their friendship. To those of you reading this (you know who you are), I have 2 things to say to you: I thank you with all my heart, and I love you.

A busy weekend

Saturday

After a long work week, I look forward to kicking back and relaxing on the weekends; however, sometimes it does not work out as intended. As I went through this weekend, I took some pictures with my phone to document events as they happened.
Saturday morning, my son woke me to take him to get a tire repaired and do some grocery shopping. While we were putting up the groceries, the pager went off for a "grass fire". This was actually a woodland fire that covered almost 2 square miles and threatened 7 structures. It took 4 1/2 hours to get it under control. No loss of life or property, just a lot of heat, smoke and soot that needed to be washed off. Except I discovered the result of a tumble I took did not wash off.

Coming out of the shower, I discovered a missed call and 2 texts. My daughter was letting me know that my granddaughter was following family tradition of being a crack shot and bagging a deer on opening day of the juvenile hunt, and could I come over and help with processing? So I gathered my knives and went to cut meat. While we were cleaning up, my phone rang; A woman who lived at one of the houses I was working at earlier had seen fire behind her house and wanted to know if she needed to call 911. I told her that I would come over and look at it. So I drove over and stomped in the dark 20 yards beyond the firebreak to where a tree laying on the ground was burning. I sprayed the area with a foam solution from a pump sprayer to assure her that even if the tree kept burning, it wouldn't spread. By the time I returned home, it was almost 1am.

Sunday

Sunday morning, my son asked me to ride with him to my sister's house in Missouri where he had to pull a starter from one of the vehicles. After that, he wanted to stop at a friend's house to swap a game. Then he asked what I wanted to do. I mentioned checking out some property I have in Tecumseh. My son, his friend and I headed out, but at the last moment I suggested a side trip to Dawt Mill. There is a restaurant there that my ex-girlfriend works at, and I had not been able to get there before. For a place off the beaten path, the service was good and the food was excellent. My son actually compared it to Montgomery Inn in Cincinnati. I didn't get a picture of the restaurant, but I took a picture from the front porch. We then went and checked on the property, dropped off his friend, and headed home. On our way home, my resident redneck called and asked if I'd pick him up from his dad's place, a few miles north of Yellville. So I had a nice drive in the dark, dodging the nocturnal critters, out to the middle of nowhere. While on my drive, I stopped to snap a picture of the Cotter Bridge.

The past 2 days had fire and ice, up and down, in and out, everywhere and nowhere. All in all, it was a good weekend.

My dear friend Lucy had been begging to see pictures. Despite my preference of camera backsides, There are some photos in existence. So without further explanation, here they are.

Oh yeah, I just added one for Rocket; I took a picture of myself this afternoon in my back yard, wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and sandals (only because I couldn't find my long flannel shirt- I think someone borrowed it.) Enjoy!

Granny shoots

Just to let you know, I’m a history geek. Ancient, modern, or period: I am so there. One of my passions is genealogy, because it is family and history. Not to mention scrutinizing hundreds of archive documents in print and microfiche to verify a single fact. I have tracked down many of my ancestors, yet have a few that are still tantalizingly out of reach. But this is not a mere listing of births, marriages, offspring and deaths. There are stories in those lives that begging to be brought to life again.

When I was young, the different family members told me stories about growing up, their parents, etc. Great stories, but not any better or different than what I could read in books. Some of them seemed to be just tall tales for my amusement. After all, who could imagine that my 70 year old grandmother (who weighed 100 pounds fully dressed in winter clothes) would have ever carried, much less shot a .45 pistol?

Later I learned that she was born in 1902, in a town that is now at the bottom of Lewisville Lake, Texas and later moved to Sadler, Texas. As a family of farmers living in a sod house close to the Indian Territory, they had a need to protect themselves from “outlaws and renegade Indians”. The part that ran chills down my spine was when I was visiting my aunt and she showed me the actual pistol, which my grandmother had gotten from her father.

My grandmother led a long and fascinating life. I miss sitting and chatting with her, drinking tea during the day and sipping elderberry wine after the kids went to bed. There are many more interesting stories about her and my other family members, but I’ll save them for another day.

Speaking of interesting old ladies, I got a tip to check out a blog by two old friends. I enjoy reading it because they shoot from the hip like my grandmother did. Check it out at:

http://margaretandhelen.wordpress.com/

Don’t tell them I sent you- Grandma never liked a snitch.

Water

Over the past month or so, I have learned of several friends’ experiences in the water. I now know that Rusty is diligently working at prevailing over her fear of water and learning to swim. Brenda is also taking lessons. Diving at Possum Kingdom Lake gave Westie one hell of a headache, and Lucy was small but fearless when she was young. Minnie and others visited various places where rivers, lakes, and oceans were focal points.

My home is located in a water rich location. Lake Norfork and the Norfork River are a short distance to the east, and Bull Shoals Lake and the White River to the northwest. The Buffalo National River is less than an hour away. The area has been listed in outdoor magazines as among the best outdoor living and fishing in the nation. Forbes just put us on their list of top ten best trout fishing in North America. We boat, float, fish and swim almost all year. When time allows, I enjoy going down to drown some worms, going out on the boat, or taking the kids and their friends to jump off the bluffs. I have actually taken my kids swimming several times in November.

In the summer of 2006, I had a unique opportunity to go out on Lake Norfork. Our fire department was paged out for a boat fire, so I joined several of the guys down at the marina to take care of it. The boat that was on fire was about 100 yards from shore. Two other firefighters and myself had to stand in a boat in full turnout gear to be ferried out to the fire, grab it with pike poles and drag it to where our hoses could reach the flames. There were a few things wrong with this scenario. First, turnouts weigh about 40 pounds- four adults plus an additional 120 pounds standing in a small fiberglass boat. Second, we grabbed short pikes; they are only 8 foot long, which put the flaming floater much closer to our ride than we liked. Most importantly, from my viewpoint, there was no life jacket within my reach. Unfortunately, like Rusty, I do not swim. I am not really afraid of the water, but I have never had any desire to learn how to swim. I still don’t. So why I hauled my ass into a boat without a life jacket is beyond me. We managed to get the boat within a few feet of shore, doused the flames, and then dragged what was left of it onto the shore. This was accomplished with typical firefighter bravado and dumb luck.

Since then, I have taken classes in water rescue and learned that structure fire turnouts should never be worn on or near water as they will soak up to triple their weight. If somebody was on the boat, our job should be to get them out; otherwise, we should just sit back and watch it burn.

The Beast Lives

Back in spring of 1998, I was driving home from work when I spotted this ugly old truck parked by the road with a cardboard sign saying $350. So I picked up my brother in law and went back to look at it. Any woman who lives in a rural area knows to take a guy to shop for these kind of things, because many of the "good-ol' boys" still don't believe in talking to gals unless it's for sinful purposes. We looked it over, started it up (with a screwdriver) and took it for a short test drive, while the owner was listening to an old fart who was haggling about the price. We waited until the old fart ran out of wind, and when the seller asked us if we had any questions, I smiled and asked if he had change for a hundred. The old fart stormed off and a few minutes later I was driving the beast home.
The beast was used daily until about the middle of 2000; my mother proclaimed the beast unworthy as a family vehicle and purchased a '92 F150 Supercab 4x4 for me. The beast was sent to my sister's farm to haul wood and turn to rust.
A few months ago, my brother in law was looking at a car that a friend had given me and offered to buy it for the motor. I told him that if he brought my beast back, he could have the car. A week later, the beast was unloaded in my yard.
The poor thing had 3 flat tires, no exhaust system, and the bed was rusted away, but I put fresh gas and a battery in it and it fired right up. My son and I worked on it; we removed the bed and replaced it with a flatbed. Rewired the tail lights. He welded a receiver hitch on the back, and we reworked the exhaust (in true redneck fashion) into dual straight stacks. Then we finished the exterior with a little touch up paint and a toolbox bolted to the bed for storage. We originally were trying to create "the ugliest truck in the county" but we actually found one that would outdo this one. One thing is certain: this is a true butch ride.
It still needs some work on the interior, but it is insured, tagged and roaring down the road.