Patterns of Intrinsic Beauty

Patching together dissimilar pieces of loose individual materials from worn out clothing and cloth into patterns of intrinsic beauty that butterflies into a quilt is what my mother has done all my life. One Christmas a few years back she sent to each of my children a quilt she had made uniquely for each one of them. She started working on them after each of them were born years before. As the youngest got to around six and it was pretty obvious that we were “done” having more children, she shipped ‘em our way. Included was a quilt she had put together for me. It was made up of pieces of material she put back in a bag since I was a little boy.

I find myself gazing at the multiplicity of designs on each piece of cloth that make up the members of that pattern. As I scan my eyes back and forth, I find myself zeroing in on a particular pattern here and there that position me back into a different place, setting, and time. Each singularly possessing a unique memory: “Oh – I remember that shirt!”; “Hey… those are my jeans!”; “Wow, I forgot about that table cloth!”; “Is that my old sheet?” Every recognition has attached to it recollections wrapped around a journal of times past with family, friends, and relationships long floated down the streams of my mind.

Every family has its own way weaving and stitching together the treasure and the trash of those memories. Some are extremely precious, others are overtly perilous; some are exuberantly happy, others are extremely and overwhelmingly sad; most we want to remember, a few we would just as soon forget. Patiently with time and wisdom, we forgive and forget, acknowledge and honor – then we sew it into intrinsically beautiful patchwork quilts in our mind.

The Fruit of the Christmas Spirit

As a father, I find myself reliving nostalgically in my mind parallel experiences to what my children are living today. Being a tightly budgeted family of six with limited income we have to be committed to not dousing the spirit of Christmas by worries of affording the season. All four children find themselves most excitedly and with great anticipation shopping at the local Dollar Tree. Each child is assigned to buy a gift from them to the other three siblings and two parents. A grand distribution of $5.00 each ($20.00 total) is divvied out. The joyful hunt is on that doesn’t neglect the whole spirit of giving. It makes Christmas morning package opening a grand round of joyful expectation and satisfied anticipation.

Years ago, back in the day (as my oldest son Joel likes to say), our mom (Evelyn) dropped us off from an older model metalic blue Oldsmobile station wagon at the Whitehaven Plaza to do Christmas shopping with money that my brother saved from his neighborhood paper route. It gave her time to do some other Christmas shopping that needed to be finish up. Mom had given me a little bit of change and a bill or two to spend at what was even an obsolete name back then … the "Five and Dime store". Our sister (Elizabeth Ann) was still too young to go along.

At the local McCrory’s in the plaza we would shop in the downstairs basement. The staircase was right at the front entrance as you stepped through the inside door. It was just fun to run up and down the stairs (this was before malls). I remember looking everywhere making “little kid” suggestions out loud to the almost irritation of my older brother (didn’t want to mess up the whole Christmas spirit thing). We’d go up one aisle and down another.

Though we got a little something for everyone, Mom’s gift was pretty much the priority. She collected salt and pepper shakers of all types, styles and shapes. “Oh look over here!” I’d bellow out in excitement. Big brother (Jimmy) would make a considering short gander for a quick contemplation, but – ultimately (over and over) would say a thoughtful “Umm-naahh! Uh-uh”. After getting nearly to a point of total frustration … finally – as if by divine calling, we both wide eyed a whole aisle (both sides) dedicated to every kind of realistic looking fake plastic fruit you ever saw. This was almost as fun as the toy aisle, but not.

We carefully selected just the right bowl that we thought “fit” mom. We didn’t even verbally agree that this was it, but … this was it! So we collected and threw into this perfect round basin just the right bananas, oranges, green apples, red apples, green grapes, purple grapes with leaves on a vine, a lemon and a lime ... and then the final touch – the coolest looking pineapple (at least I thought so) we’d ever seen. Now to pay for it, Mom was waiting upstairs out in the car.

When we made our way to the counter with our bounty of booty it seems that we were a little short of the cost of our synthetic Christmas surprise for Mom. The cashier, after carefully counting the loose wadded bills and various change we dug out of everyone of our pockets, informed us that we “… didn’t have enough”. It was Christmas time; we were cute; we were sincere; and it was the late 60’s. She reached under the counter and pulled up her purse paying the remainder out of her own money.

With a great deal of humble thank-you’s, we scurried off with our various paper bags to meet Mom upstairs who was waiting in the station wagon with a few Christmas surprises of her own behind the back seat. You know ... Mom kept that bowl of artificial fruit for years and years as a center piece on her kitchen table even after we both got grown. The fruit was fake, but the love that brought it together wasn't.

Merry Christmas!

Who Is This Guy?

Son, Husband, Father, "Big Brother", Friend ... Hero!

You know 'em ... you love 'em!

From Your Little Brother

When my brother was in the fifth grade, it was he that took me to my first adventure to school as I began first grade. We traveled quite an adventurous route through dangerous terrain from my “younger brother” perspective. We traveled down a set of railroad tracks jumping from railroad tie to railroad tie straight down the middle. This would have been 1963.

Wandering thoughts would drift to the stories our parents told of how dangerous it was to do this. What if my foot got caught in the rail or stuck under a railroad tie leaving me helplessly waiting for an on coming train? Visions of our neighbor across the street, that survived the loss of his arms up to his shoulders when run over by a train, came rushing into my brain.

We were supposed to cross over the tracks at a designated point, but I don’t ever remember him following the prescribed path. If there was a train resting on the track, we’d risk life and limb to scale the crumbling slopes underneath a small wooden bridge that supported the tracks. I don’t remember having much of a choice in regard to following my fearless leader. I could actually see the wheels of the train close enough to touch them seeing my own reflection on the shiny edges; but he would warn me that the train could move at anytime.

Once we crawled our way through to the other side, I recall always seeing a ledge along the top of a drainage concrete ditch through a cyclone fence. I’d remember some kind of story or rumor of a boy who slipped off that ledge and drowned in that very ditch. I envisioned him every time wearing a striped short sleeve tee shirt and shorts lying face down at the bottom.

Any doubts that I might have had in regard to following his lead were erased by his big ole “Jimmy” smile (full of confidence and assurance) and that outstretched fifth grader hand coaxing me to “Come on!” Safely on the other side of the tracks, we would walk along the back yard fences of people who lived next to the tracks.

Hopping over the peeled back corner of another cyclone fence attached to someone’s backyard we would stumble through a set of semi rusted trash cans. We’d then sneak pass the side of a worn out looking rental house toward our destination. Crossing over a street shaded with old trees led us over to the next street to where the crossing guard was located. She helped us safely across the busy four lane highway to our school.

The next year our parents made a decision to move south of Memphis out of the city schools to the county school system. A new school meant new adventures. We didn’t live across the railroad tracks from the school any more, but rather to its modern equivalent – across the interstate bridge.

I was, at this point, in the second grade and my brother was in the sixth. He was now taller, bigger and seemingly the brightest of any of his dumb friends. To me he seemed adult like. The school was about a mile from our home, so we walked or rode our bikes to get there.

Early each morning on our way to school, we would maze our way through the intersections of our neighborhood along the sidewalks. The crossing guard, who just happen to be our next door neighbor, would help us across the small highway; but not before she would complain to us about the kids further down the highway cutting across the two-lane. She would smile, greet us, stop traffic and have us walk our bikes across. Mounting our bikes as quickly as possible, we would dart straight toward the beaten path through the tall uncut grass that led us underneath the interstate bridge.

Beneath that bridge were huge slanted slabs of concrete leading up to the steel girders that supported the weight of the interstate traffic above. At the top of those slanted slabs was a platform of concrete tucked right below the bridge giving about four feet of head room between the steel girders. I could feel the vibration and hear the traffic above whizzing by with drivers on their way to work. Perched up there was like sitting on top of a tree overlooking the whole world from above. Graffiti left evidence that we weren’t the only ones to brave this adventure. Our parents explained to us that we weren’t supposed to go up there because it was dangerous.

Did our fearless leader lead us to safety? – Of course not. Parking our bikes or just laying them down in the overgrown grass, he would lead the charge scaling up the slant sideways. The best part was quickly scooting down the cement slide in order to not be late for school. We generally repeated it on our way back home after school. Mom had to put a lot of patches in the seat of our pants due to the fact that they simply couldn’t afford to buy us new ones. I’m sure she knew how those pants got so worn out.

After bedtime, I would occasionally sneak over to his upstairs bedroom to sleep and play around with my “big brother” before going to sleep. It was located right above our parents’ bedroom. He would tell me some crazy story and then tickle me afterwards. Somehow he could bring my favorite stuffed monkey (D.C. – Danny Civilized … named that because they called me “Dan, Dan, the monkey man”) to life. “Pop” (our dad) would mysteriously appear in the doorway to let us know that we were being too loud as we were jumping around. Flicking on the overhead light for a moment he would say “Settle down and go to sleep boys”, but he never would send me back to my bedroom. I’m sure he knew the value of our limited bonding.

Our family spent many good days and time together at Fairhaven Harbor growing up. Actually, we were at the lake water skiing, camping and swimming while Fairhaven Harbor was being developed. Mom and Pop tried their best and succeeded in providing for us wonderful memories of our childhood at the lake.

In later years, our little sister and I went to a different school than our big brother did, so I was never over shadowed by being “Beach’s little brother”. She unfortunately had to deal with being “Beach’s little sister” because of me at our school.

The ultimate and ever big brother grew up and left me when I was in the 8th grade. Often times for years afterwards it seemed that he still “left me when I was in the 8th grade”. I grew up too, but traveled a different road. As he liked to tell folks on a trip here to North Carolina a few years back, (tongue and cheek) “You see, you have to understand … my brother – he’s the white sheep of the family.”

We have had our own adventures in life that have brought about both joy and sorrow, successes and failures … both separately and together – with our families and each other. Despite the limited time, circumstances, and distance we have remained loyal to our love, care and concern for each other.

It’s always good “to hear from Jim”, my children’s favorite uncle and my only (and favorite) brother. It’s particularly good to hear that my brother is, as he puts it, “lucky”, but I might categorize it as “blessed”. Even a massive heart attach becomes an adventure for him. I am especially blessed (and lucky) to have him as my brother – I love you bro’.

To My Big Brother

Bien, el hermano mayor, yo estoy agradecido también. Yo no puedo imaginarme un mundo que no tiene usted en ello. Bueno, puedo, pero chupo. Usted siempre ha sido mi héroe. Su tiempo y la aceptación y el amor han ayudado color que soy. Usted es quién yo siempre deseo en mi rincón. Te quiero, el hermano mayor. Permanezca afortunado. Permanezca sano. Permanezca.

Serious as a Heart Attack

I've always considered myself lucky. Now, I can add to that: lucky to be alive.

After working overtime on the political conventions for about a year and then three weeks of 18-20 hour days during the Democratic and then Republican conventions, I took a week of vacation. Of course I went to FHH to relax and visit family. I should have known better. Every time I visit FHH something happens: a house burns up, a crime is committed or I have a kidney stone. My sister says I shouldn't think like that. It would jinx my visits. Well, now, it might be too late to ignore reality.

I spent most of the week goofing around, visiting, playing dulcimer and trying to find someone to cut my overgrown yard. Hurricane Ike passed over and knocked down a bunch trees and wrecked the marina pretty good. My boat came partially loose and lost a 24 foot long piece of aluminum strip on the port side. Someone had stolen the two new extra deck lines I had attached before the storm hit.

On Friday, I gave up and started on the yard work myself. I cut a bunch of saplings and vines on one side of the house. My neighbor (and FHH darts champion) saw me working and offered to let me dump everything on his burn pile. I wasn't over-doing it but, I was up to my neck in Poison Ivy and chickers and decided to call it a day.

I went in and showered, dried off and changed into some clean clothes. I talked to my sister on the phone a few minutes and was about to do a little light plumbing work on my bathroom sink and toilet.

All of a sudden I was sweating from head to toe for no apparent reason. Then my chest started hurting. It was like someone was standing on my chest. I felt a sharp distinct pain from under my left arm out to my elbow. If I was in a denial stage, it was only for a split-second. I have been a cop for over 30 years and attended at least that many First Aid/CPR classes. Those were the classic signs of a heart attack.

Knowing my environment and not feeling like a long explanation, I called my sister instead of 911. I had to add a caveat, "I'm not joking. I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack."

That's all it took. Within a few minutes my sister was there with an EMT in tow. Her office is right next to the Police and Fire Departments. The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. I'd made the right call. Everything after that was pain and an inability to breath.

What I remember was all in bits and pieces, the EMTs moving me over to the cart, trouble getting out the door, roof line, trees, sky and lights in the ceiling of the ambulance. On the way the older male EMT was having some type of medical problem of his own and was having trouble holding on as the ambulance negotiated all the curves and hills. The female EMT was holding my hand and telling the other one to just hold on, she'd take care of everything.

I was beginning to think I was on an episode of the Twilight Zone. I didn't know if she was concerned about me, the other EMT, or both when she yelled above the siren noise at the driver, "Faster! Drive faster now!" In my mind I could see the ambulance driver (Dan Akroyd) from the last scene of Twilight Zone the Movie, look back and say, "You want to go for a ride?"

The female EMT kept was giving me updates on how close we were to the hospital and told me to keep hanging on. Even through the pain and desperately trying to get air I could hear the panic in her voice. She apologized for not having any oxygen, that they really weren't a lot more than transportation. "Don't worry we have a police escort now, honey." Then she turned to the driver, "GO FASTER!"

I was trying to keep a positive attitude but, all this was not reassuring so far.

I don't remember the hospital emergency room. My mom and sister told me I was evaluated as having pneumonia and put in a room. Then "Dookie Howser" came in and looked at me. He over-ruled the older doctor and called in a Care Flight to take me to Little Rock. He figured out what I knew in the first minute. I had a heart attack. My mom had a few choice words for the first doctor.

I remember the helicopter and asking if my sister could come along. There wasn't room. As my gurney was loaded in I thought Landon, one of the guys at work, would love to take the ride. I always get him helicopter rides on details we work. Oh well.

I woke up the next morning in a hospital bed tied down with EKG lines, three IVs, a catheter, blood pressure cuff, a pump in my right leg, a B-tap (Forced oxygen mask) over my face and pulse monitor clipped over my right ring finger. There was a nurse with a small desk set up right next to my bed and I apparently now had two stints in my heart.

I was told that I had a very serious heart attack with 100% blockage on one side 80% on the other. Everyone, staff, family and friends kept referring to it as a "Widow-maker." Very few people survive it.

I spent the next two weeks in the Arkansas Heart Hospital. The first full week was brutal, flat-on-my-back dependent on forced oxygen, IV pushes and lots of drugs. The nurses and staff we fantastic and constantly attentive. They all were shocked at my first diagnosis. They said I would have died up there and that I was very lucky I was finally helicoptered down to get proper treatment.

I agree. I am lucky. And, I lost 20 pounds!

Melinda

I was riding in the rear of a Union Pacific business car between Denver and Minneapolis, enjoying the scenery and playing my dulcimer, when a crazy little Jewish woman named Leslie asked me a pretty good question. What was my dulcimer's name? I didn't have an answer.

Most dulcimer players I knew, after their first student dulcimer, had picked out a special dulcimer for a long term relationship and soon given it a name. I should have said, given her a name, because I've only heard women's names given to dulcimers. It may be the majority of dulcimer players I've met are men.

Of course, I say majority are men but there are many, many women dulcimer players. They might even actually be the majority. It's just that I haven't asked their dulcimer's name. My bad.

In fact, it was a 13 year girl, named Cathy Morrison, that got me into dulcimers. I had attended a couple of Friday night music get togethers at Lonnie Lee's house in Fox, Arkansas. I was 16 years old and played guitar and mandolin, trying to keep up with the old-timers. The first time I saw her, she had a dulcimer in her lap, playing Barbara Allen along with the everyone else. I was just trying to keep up with the right chord changes and not doing a bang-up job of it. Cathy was wearing a colorful patchwork quilt dress that went down to her ankles and a white long-sleeve blouse with just a minimum of lace at the neckline. I thought I was in love.

She was married off to a 40 year old local farmer, who had quite a bit of acreage, before I got back to my parents' cabin in Fox the next summer. I didn't have a shot at all.

It did get me interested in playing dulcimer and a few years later I owned my first one. I have been playing ever since. In fact, I turned on a couple of my high school buddies to dulcimers and they are still playing to this day. I didn't name my first dulcimer either.

About 12 years ago I was in McSpadden's Dulcimer Shop in Mountain View, looking at dulcimers. Nothing caught my fancy. I wasn't really in the market for one and I really didn't have the money either. One of the clerks saw me monkeying with several instruments. I guess I was frowning at the results of my strumming. He came over and asked if I'd like to try out one of the dulcimers from behind the counter.

It felt like I was like buying a Rolex watch just off of Times Square. He looked around before he pulled one out and said, "Why don't you try out this baby for size." The way he talked about it in hushed tones, I got the impression he didn't show these to just any tourist walking into the store. They probably didn't. The ones on the display wall were pretty beat up. Tourists! They're messing it up for everybody. Especially the Yankee ones.

The moment I touched her, before I even strummed the first chord, I knew I had to have her. She was of matched dark walnut construction of the box, shapely and lovely in the classic hourglass design. She had a rosewood fretboard and rounded edge brass frets, a small ivory bridge and mother of pearl inlaid markers in the traditional style. Her polished chrome keys where like a woman's earrings and had matching pairs of heart shaped sound holes at lower waist and upper body. What was not to love at first sight?

The first note she produced for me was not a disappointment despite my anticipation. It was sweet nectar to the ear. The easiest touch of the strings to frets solidly held the notes. My hands and fingertips glided easily up and down her body. The harmonics came with just the lightest brush of her strings at just the right points.

I had to take her with me. I had no emotional detachment in which to negotiate a price. She was $430 before tax, retail. I paid it quickly in case the sales clerk saw my anxiousness and raised the price. Which I knew would have payed, whatever it was.

So, it comes back to this: I really didn't have an answer for why I hadn't named her. After all this time it seemed pointless. If a name doesn't come to you in the first week or so, it's not gonna happen. Or, so I thought.

I showed Leslie a little bit of music on the dulcimer. She sang a few tunes to which I roughly accompanied her. She has a most beautiful voice. However, I was getting a drowsy from the gentle rocking of the train and drifted off while Leslie strummed a few tunes herself on my dulcimer.

I was asleep only a few minutes but, I'd had an awfully long and detailed dream. I woke and announced that my dulcimer's name was Melinda. And, that she asked me why I'd never asked her what her name was? Apparently we had been acquainted for quite some time before I acquired her at McSpadden's. Leslie just looked at me with astonished face with her mouth wide open, "All that in a 5 minute nap?"

Out of that dream came some answers. Also, the entire story of our long relationship. A melody and words rushed around in my mind. I had this entire song, except for a few minor details, as soon as I woke. I wrote the words down and worked out the music that night with Melinda.

Here it is:


Melinda

I had a dream; I was about ten years old.
When it all happened, I really don’t know.
I met a girl, such a girl and we became friends.

She skipped off, with her daddy in tow.
Glanced over her shoulder and then dropped her bow.
I’m in heaven, in heaven, that she’d even look at me.

Chorus:
She smiles at me and I can’t see –
anyone else. It’s love to me.
Her voice is so sweet: I don’t hear the words.
Her voice is so sweet: I can't hear the words.

I grew old, had fights with the kin.
Died in battle and paid for my sins.
I was lost. I was lost and wasted much of my soul.

A hundred years later I had a blood on my face.
She was a nurse, took me in - kept me safe.
I was evil, almost evil. ‘though married, she made me well.

Chorus

Then I was a horse, seventeen high.
She was my mistress and together we’d ride.
Everyday. Everyday. All of that redemptive life.

Chorus

As a tree she grew, for a very long time.
A musician cut her down, to make a very fine –
dulcimer for someone. For someone like me.

Chorus

She in my lap on the back of a train.
“My name’s Melinda. Why have you never asked my name?”
Melinda, oh Melinda, it’s your voice, your sweet voice,
not your words, that have kept me sane (and)

Chorus

She smiles at me and I can’t see –
anyone else. It’s love to me.
Her voice is so sweet: I don’t hear the words.
Her voice is so sweet.

Eye of Hurricane Ike Winks Over FHH

Early this morning at about 4:10 am the eye of the mighty Hurricane Ike passed over FHH. The sudden calm after the storm of high winds and advancing rain bands that knocked out electricity in most of Rugburn and Van Halen Counties, was like the surrender of Germany after Eisenhower's assault on Europe in WWII. Hopefully, as with Germany, economic aid will be coming shortly that will revitalize the area into a one known for its exceptionally well crafted automobiles.

Damage was widespread and seemed to effect everyone in the community. "I was horrified," said longtime resident Martha Delante'. "I didn't know what was going to happen to me. The lights went out. I couldn't get out of my bed and the blinds blew off the window, the rain pouring in on me. It was horrible."

Her neighbor Jamie Pulnap ran next door as soon as the storm subsided, "I knew Mrs.Delante' was trapped. She has gained a little weight in the past decade and hasn't been able to move from her bed in over 6 years."

The FHH Fire Department responded quickly, pulling some of it's volunteers from a three car pile-up on Dan Creek Parkway. "They was stupid enough to be joy-riding roller-coaster hill with a 65 mph cross-wind: we can take our time cutting them out," said FHH Fire Chief Skip "Short Order" Chef. "Anyway, we just picked up the blinds off the floor and closed the window. It took six of us to help Mrs. Pulnap change the sheets. Whew, that weren't no pretty sight but, we got 'er done."

Rain poured in sideways and the wind whipped the trees like an illegitimate stepson. Everyone had damage. "They was limbs and leaves everywhere. It took me over an hour to clean off my deck. It's really hard to get them acorns out of the cracks in the deck," said Jimmie Joe Johnson. "I'd had it done sooner but, all I had was a little pink kitchen broom from the Dollar General store."

Power is still out in some areas of FHH. Mike "Big" Johnson (no relation to Jimmie Joe) with Jean Petty Power and Light said it may be this afternoon before all power is back online. "One of our boys, a new guy who started two days ago, got a little over eager and was trying to do a little preventive trimming of large branches near the main transformer. He successfully cut out a large limb that was right over our main power line into FHH. However, the limb took out the line and the power grid spiked. It cut off electricity all the way to the other side of Hillery."

No deaths were reported in the area. The three teenagers in the pile-up at the bottom of roller-coaster hill were examined by 17 local EMTs. They were released to go home and explain the lack of family vehicles to their parents.

The mayor's office is writing a contractor bid sheet to have the branches and leafs removed from the city hall parking lot. "We expect the city to be up and running by the end of next week," said Mayor Adolf Sharing, "FHH is a resilient town. It takes more than a hurricane to knock off our feet."

Hurricane Ike as seen from the top of Sugarbread Mountain.

From the Fairhaven Harbor Harbinger and Highlights (FHHHH), Sept. 14, 2008, page 1, reporter Joe Mamasophat.

Arkansas Constitutional Amendment on November ballot

Family Traits?

I just found side-by-side photo comparisons interesting.

Mile High Ta' Molly!

We just got back from Colorado today. Ta'Molly and ReeRee went with me on a week long business trip to Denver. I had to make a couple of visits to people in Boulder which is right up against the Rockies and home of the University of Colorado.

I asked Ta'Molly if she'd like to go there. "Do they have a good girl's basketball team? What have they won?"

It is a beautiful campus. Most of the university buildings and dorms have red terracotta roofs.

I arranged for Ta'Molly to take a glider ride up into the Rockies from Boulder. Her mom about freaked out. She tried to talk Ta'Molly out of it and almost succeeded.

I decided it wasn't time to tell her about my sister's skydiving experience. On her supposed first jump the skydiver that left the plane just before her, the chute did not open and she fell to her death. Beth decided not to jump.










When Ta'Molly saw the young woman in the tiny pull-plane position on the runway and the 18 year old kid who looked 12 that was her pilot, she had a few reservations.










Once the plane started pulling the glider, Ta'Molly was already taking pictures.

The plane circled above the airport several times to gain altitude and then headed out over the Rockies to release the lightweight huge wingspread white glider to the winds.










After about 30 minutes of flight on its own, the graceful gull swept down to a smooth landing right in front of ReeRee and I. Ta'Molly had a huge grin on her face. I ran out to meet her as she jumped out of the cockpit. Before I could ask her how she liked the flight she almost shouted out, "Are you going to let me take lessons?"









I guess I am.

FHH Summer on the Lake 2008

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then here are 6000 words.

Smilin' Lambee

She was only 50 cents, on sale 75% off at the Dollar General store up on the highway. Ta'Molly loved her form the moment she spotted her in my hand. I guess a girl never out-grows a cute little stuffed animal. I wish we had better light when we did this. We were at our house in FHH just chillin', Ta'Molly on the couch playing with the camera and me sitting across from her making Lambee dance when the Smilin' Bob commercial came on. Poor quality but, it makes her laugh every time she sees it.

Mellow Side of FHH (Part 4)

I couldn't wait to get back to ask my sister some questions. I got all the way to the Hillary Regional Airport before I turned around and went to the Walmart. No sense wasting $4 a gallon gas on a second trip because I forgot to pick up the groceries. Plus, it was going to be hard enough explaining to ReeRee why the trip took so long.

I dropped off the groceries and headed over to my sister's house. When I got there, Tapp said she was over at mom's house. She was getting the place ready for company. It was mom's night to host a game of Upwards. Wine, snacks, card tables out and gameboards set up. Beth wasn't playing, that was for mom's age group of friends. Mom was still a little anemic from her last chemo treatment but, her hair was coming back in and her eyebrows.

By the time we'd finished setting up, the ladies were arriving, a couple with fancy red hats. I headed out the door with my sister.

"You must have found out something. What is it?"

"I'm not sure yet. You know how you said that FHH was quieter than usual and everybody seemed sleepy lately? I think I know why."

"Aging population?"

"Yeah, but why me?"

"Aging population and a gently rocking boat?"

"Okay, okay. I have a funny sister.

Her suspicions were interesting and incredible if they turned into fact. I'd have to do some digging.

The next morning I actually got up before noon, anxious to do a little snooping around. The first source of information from "who didn't pick up their dog's poop" to "who was sneaking around with who's wife," (Usually a failure to learn from his mistakes local realtor) in FHH is the Badman and Sons convenience store, breakfast stop and rumor control central.

There were three camera/satellite trucks in the parking lot from TV stations Little Rock. Network logos covered video cameras that were rolling aimed at talking heads highlighted by men holding large collapsible silver nylon light reflectors to remove shadows from the news anchors. We wouldn't want it to look like they had double chins. Wires were all over the parking lot and locals were caught slowly maneuvering among the mess trying to find a parking place.

Nancy Grace was running across the Dan Creek Road with an out-stretched microphone in her hands and almost got hit by a minivan coming up roller coaster hill just a little too fast. Behind her very close to the road was a large white helicopter marked up in CNN livery. As the enormous blades overhead slowed it looked as if they might hit the top of the sign with the Lions, Rotary, FFA and Chamber of Commerce plates on it welcoming one and all to Fairhaven Harbor.

Arkansas State Police and Van Halen County squad cars were at the gas pumps and troopers were walking out of the store with hot cups of coffee and Saran wrapped pastry. I saw Tool outside his FHH squad car, parked all the way back next to the propane refills talking to Mammie Talbert , the young FHH Harbinger and Highlights reporter/editor/chief bottle-washer. I don't know what Tool had just said but, Mammie noticeably frowned, her eyes widened and she threw the pencil right at his chest, point-blank range then stomped off.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Mammie has eye problems," Tool said with a mischievous grin on one side of his mouth, "She couldn't see doing what I suggested. Good aim though. I'm glad I had my vest on."

Tool never fails to surprise me. One day its going to catch up with him. What also surprises me is that it hasn't already. His nickname is only coincidental to his last name: O'Toole.

"What's all this?" I waved one hand in the general direction of all the activity behind me.

"You haven't heard? Frankly, I figured I'd find you all mixed up in this after I got the first radio call on it this morning. Especially after I remembered that Kenda ran you out of her lab the other morning."

"You can't take a dump in this town..."

"You can but, there will discussion about your regularity, within the hour. You know, by the way, Herman Dollar is having some constipation problems lately."

"Do. You. See. The. Helicopter? This isn't Little Rock. This is da' Harbor."

"Yeah. Right. Kenda, her husband and the winnie-dog were all found dead this morning at their house. She didn't come in to work this morning and John couldn't get her on the phone. So, they sent me over on a welfare check. Bloody, bloody mess. All of them beaten to death with a Tom Watson Signature number 2 wood.

"Why didn't my sister say anything?"

"She took a vacation day. I asked the same thing: where the heck was she."

"She's probably still asleep. I better go over there and tell her."

"Well, keep what you know to yourself. The chief has already jumped my ass once about talking too much about the cases."

"Cases?"

"Oh, yeah. Her sister Kate was killed in her sleep last night too. Hit over the head with a Singer multi-stitch professional model sewing machine. Those babies are are almost 40 pounds. She never woke up. Still had a TV Guide in her hand. Strangest thing I ever saw. Except for the smashed in head, you'd have thought she fell asleep watching TV."

"Was the TV still on?"

"Ahh, I don't know. Yes I do. I would've noticed if it were on. It was off. I was in such a hurry. I didn't have time to think about it and then the state boys came in and starting putting up yellow tape."

"What's more important than a body with a smashed head?"

"Her brother. He's an accountant over at Community Services? Dead too. Smashed in the head with an external hard drive. His wife smothered with a pillow and the murderer shot their beautiful blue Brazilian parrot with a large caliber handgun. It was still in its cage. Nothing but a basket of feathers now."

I watched a brand new FHH marked police Dodge Charger come squelling into the parking lot. The chief jumped out of the car, looked around and saw Tool.

"Well, good luck. I'm out of here."

I knew where their conversation was going to go. I didn't see the need to hang around for that one. I heard Tool as I was leaving, obviously responding to something the chief said to him. His voice went up an octave,"I didn't tell him about the cat!"

I started over to my sister's house to break he bad news about her co-worker just as another news helicopter began circling over the may lay.

#@!%*^%# Deer and Ungrateful Turtles

To begin with, I'd like to make it clear that I'm an animal lover......always have been. I can't stand to see any animal hurt. When I pass roadkill, I always say "god bless it's little heart". I can't stand to watch the movie King Kong cause he gets killed and I have no way of punishing the people responsible.

I'm ashamed to say that I'm one of those stupid people that swerve to avoid hitting an animal in the road. And I've always said that when people encroach on wildlife habitat; then we just have to learn to deal with the consequences.....cause the animals were here first. With this attitude, it should be obvious whose side I was on in the ongoing discussion of a controlled Deer hunt in FHH. Also, the idea of wild, redneck hunters roaming our community was pretty scary.

By now, you may be wondering "Where is she going with this?" Well, don't split your britches, I'm getting there.

The abundance of rain this year truly has had spring bursting out all over the city of FHH. I missed springtime last year having arrived in FHH in July. So, I have been thoroughly enjoying, delighting in all the rampant growth and flowering going on in my yard. Every morning, on my way to get my paper, I have paused on my front porch and admired the size of my hostas, the crowded blooming of the azaleas and noted the huge number of buds developing on the day lilies. Even though I had nothing to do with the planting of these amazing specimens of Mother Nature; I was taking a great deal of pride in being the owner of them now.

I stepped out on my porch last week and my attention was immediately drawn to the fact that two of the day lily buds had bloomed. They were gorgeous. But, as I was admiring them, my brain started screaming "ALERT ALERT .......Something is wrong here!" And it registered! My big, beautiful hostas were NUBS! What was left looked like a bouquet of celery stalks. The shock took my legs out from under me and I landed with a plop on the top step with enough force to jar my spine. I was in disbelief. After some of the shock passed and my brain reengaged....I examined the ground of the flower bed looking for evidence.......... and there it was..... DEER track!

I got pissed. I literally saw red! In the blink of an eye I went from "Save the deer. They were here first. To, kill them, kill them all!" "They ate my hostas and deserve to die." I sat down on the steps and spent the next few minutes trying to determine just what kind of trap I could use to catch them suckers and punish their butts for eating my plants. Plotting revenge always calm me down. Finally, I found I was laughing at myself for being such a hypocrite. As long as it was someone else's garden......but the minute it became mine; all my bloodthirsty tendencies jumped front and center. The last bit of steam evaporated with the memory of a well known adage "Pride always goeth before a fall".

It took a couple of days for me to get some deer repellent and in that time the #@!%*^%# deer ate every single bud on all of my lily plants. In the back of my mind, faintly, I heard "kill them, kill them all!" Now, when I walk out to get my paper my nose is bombarded by the rankest smell I've ever smelled next to that brown catfish bait my Daddy kept in his tackle box. I guess I just have to learn to deal with it!

Let's briefly discuss my encounter with a truly ungratefully rude box turtle. In the last few weeks I have found myself rescuing turtles. I'm not sure what the turtles are up to, migrating? Looking for love in all the wrong places? I keep finding them right smack dab in the middle of the road. What? They get to the center and suddenly are overcome by terror......or are they really attracted to the color yellow. They're all on the center line and all but one closed up in their shell. Plus, all have been in a curve with nowhere to pull over close by.

My aforementioned love of animals precludes me leaving their butt there and driving on. I'm compelled to rescue them. I know if I leave them, the very next car will smush them flat. I will feel tremendous amounts of guilt when I come back from my errand and see them with their little guts all over the center line.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows I can't walk more than 15 - 20 feet without becoming so short of breath that I have stop and rest. So, pulling up somewhere beyond the curve and walking back for these guys isn't an option in my mind. So I've developed a rescue technique I call the slow roll and snatch. My first try didn't go so well. I missed my snatch and ended up just stopping and hopping out to get him. The whole time hoping no one came barreling into that curve; smacking me in the rear end. I'm sure my explanation that I'm saving a turtle wouldn't go very far as an excuse.

But, I've improved with each subsequent try. I no longer look up to find myself headed straight for the ditch and I can go a little faster than 10 mph. My last rescue occurred yesterday. I passed him up at first cause I was on 16, doing about 50 with a car right behind me. Not enough time to slow down. A little ways down the road I found a place to pull over and turn around.

As I got closer, I could see this guy wasn't all tucked up in his shell. He had his head out with his neck stretched as far as it would go. I figured he was trying to get up the nerve to make a run for it. I took a glance behind me......no cars and a glance in front of me.....no cars. I slowed down, popped the door and snatched him up as I rolled by. I tossed him into the passenger seat and decided I would take him back to where I turned around. I could get him a long way from the road there.

I kinda thought all the activity would push him into his shell, but when I glanced over, he was headed for the edge of the seat. I gave him a little thump on his shell and picked him up to move him back on the seat. I thought that would cause him to draw up in his shell. No, it didn't! He hissed at me. The only turtle that has ever hissed at me was a snapping turtle and this wasn't a snapping turtle. So, Okay, this guy has an attitude. I put him over on my leg and held him there. Got myself turned around and headed for the drop off spot.

This guy was wriggling with all four legs flailing. On top of that he was staring me down and hissing. So, I'm thinking "How cute" and "you're a feisty little guy". And he then proceeds to pee all over my leg. It was a nice greenish yellow and there was quite a bit of it. While I'm scolding him and explaining how grateful he should feel, he lets go again. I'm amazed at the amount of pee he had in him. Luckily for him we got to the drop off spot. I was sorely tempted to drop him off on his little head. I controlled myself. He took off with all due turtle speed as soon as his feet hit the ground.

Ungrateful turtles really tick me off!

Mellow Side of FHH (Part 3)

I needed to make a run to Walmart anyway. The county offices are on the other side of Hillary in the old part of the town but, that's only about a mile. I decided to stop at the Van Hallen County offices first because I was going to get some milk and frozen food at the store.

Sally Zipple has been the Records Clerk for 14 years. She is a nice looking, full spectacled lady, who apparently doesn't get out much. "I'm been working here since I got out of high school. I took over when my mother retired and you're only the second person to ask to see county records."

"Who was the other?" I shoudn't have asked.

"Judge Bobby Pritcher. He died from a fishing accident he was in. The night after he got me to fetch him the sheriff's closed investigation on cock-fighting. The one in back of the Hillary Plumbing Supply and Beauty School two years ago."

"Plumbing and Beauty....? Never mind."

"Oh, it was a mess, blood everywhere. I don't mean Judge Pritcher, that was just a Number 2 hook in his right thumb: the cock-fighting."

"The judge died from a fish-hook?"

"Oh, yeah. The Medical Examiner ruled it a suicide but, don't nobody think so."

"They don't?"

"No, no. It was a homocide."

"A homicide?"

"Oh no, everyone knew Judge Pritcher was gay. My Gawd, he wore a pink shirt under his robes."

"A fish-ho...."

"Got infected, went into the hospital and then got himself a staph infection."

"How is that suicide?" I knew I was going to regret asking. Now I know what a deer caught in headlights feels like. I couldn't make myself move.

"Oh, it was while the sheriff was in his hospital room talking to him. He even brought flowers. Judge Pritcher grabbed the sheriff's pistol and shot himself three times. Twice in the head."

"Why did the sheriff close the case on the cock-fighting in the first place?"

"Caus' he was running it is why. Makes no sense to arrest yourself, silly."

"Does the sheriff have anything to do with the wastewater plant in Fairhaven Harbor?"

"Oh, no! Daddy retired after that. Besides, no one over here has anything to do with them over there. They's all yankees or rich."

"I'm not a yankee or rich and I live over there."

Sally took off her glasses, shook out her hair and casually untied the top of her blouse. "You got a boat? I love boats. I'd do anything to get a ride on a boat."

I couldn't help but say it out loud, "You don't get out much, do you?"

"Not at all, honey. Between working all day and taking care of daddy at night, he's got that alls-highmers.... What's a lonely girl to do?"

"Do you have any records on the FHH Utilities District."

"Sure, baby. I got annual audits, state compliance records, applications for federal grants and a hugh new file on corporate sponsorship on a double-blind study on community safety and utilization of public utilities."

"That last one. Can I see it?"

"What's worth to you, sweety?"

"Ah, what do you want?"

"I want a lot but I'll settle for a boat ride. At night. Just me and you big boy."

"Let me see the records first." I spent the next two hours combing through them. It was very interesting. Confusing at first but, soon the legalese and double-speak began to make sense. This was big. Really big."

"Well," asked Sally,"was it worth it?"

"You got your boat ride, Sally.... Say, you don't own a Mustang do you?"

"Yes, I do. A two-tone cherry red and white 1967 convertible, with white leather pony interior" her smile was as wide as Texas and she had all of her teeth.

This was worth a ride.

Mellow Side of FHH (Part 2)

That was some nap. I slept until it was time to go to bed but, of course, now I'm awake.

I headed out for the lake. The moon was full and sky bright with stars. The lake was dead calm: just like I like it at night. I saw only one boat on the lake, a fishing boat off in t he distance, its green light to me. It looked like it was headed home for the night, in a hurry.

I shut my old pontoon boat down in the middle of the lake, just shy of Sugarbread Mountain, and let it drift. I could see the rock cliffs on the lea side near the top of the island. I had climbed Sugarbread on the Corp of Engineer path dozens of times since my teens. I had even seen the tops of C-130 cargo planes from nearby Little Rock AFB as they flew in threes on low-level manuvuers just above the lake while I watched from above on those same cliffs.

My dad used to scare my kids half-to-death with scary stories about the Eye in the Lake, which was supposedly seen by skinny dipping teenagers one night, like this one, many years before. Authorities had found their boat adrift near this very spot early the next morning but, the bodies of the four Laverne High School students were never found. However, one of the boy's Letter-jackets was picked up weeks later washed up on Sugarbread. It had two slashes in the back and not a small amount of dried blood on it.

I was laying on my back on the deck looking straight up at the stars and suddenly thought, why did you need to analyze DNA to monitor wastewater. The answer was: you don't.

It sure seemed everyone was sleepy in town, including me. I know FHH is a sleepy town but, hell. I've been to really sleepy towns. FHH was Gotham City city compared with some. I was in Yazoo City, Mississippi on a really muggy summer day when I had to brake had to avoid hitting a dog chasing a cat across the street. They were both walking.

Then there is the anxiousness of some the utility and city workers that is pretty unusual for FHH. It seemed like they were trying to keep a secret and paranoid about it. You can't keep a secret in FHH. Everyone knows everyone else's business. I could fart under my blankets in bed late at night and get remarks about it from various customers during breakfast the next morning at Badman and Sons.

I don't believe in coincident. Something was happening in FHH. I guess I had put my cop-hat back on without realizing it.

With those thoughts in my head and the water lapping against the gently rocking pontoons, I drifted off.

I woke with the sun in my eyes, the boat up bumping up on tree stumps off of Sugarbread and stiff wind which was making whitecaps on the lake. Maybe it was time to head home before my wife had the Van Hallen Sheriff's Office out dragging the lake for my body while she rummaged through the file cabinet looking for my will.

When I got back to my slip at the FHH Marina my sister laying out on my deck box smoking a cigarette, "I thought you quit smoking."

"You fall asleep out in the middle of the lake again?"

"Yeah. I'm on vacation."

"Where'd you end up this time?" as she blew a column of smoke straight up, emptying her lungs.

"Sugarbread"

"Well, at least the lake patrol didn't have to get you to move out of the middle of the Narrows because you were a hazard to navigation this time."

"ReeRee call you?"

"Yeah, I told her you were alright. She was in no shape to drive. I told her I'd come down and look for you."

"You didn't look very hard."

"I found you, didn't I?"

"Is she okay?"

"I think so. Is March 2007 your most recent will?"

I figured I owed her breakfast anyway. We went to Badman and Sons, ordered some eggs and sat down in our usual booth.

Trixie, the owner came by and cleaned the table, "You fall asleep on the boat again?"

I didn't feel like responding but she wasn't going to let it drop, "Why don't you just go on down to Share and Wear, get you a bed, mattress, linen and a pillow and just put them on the damn boat for sweet-potatoe's sake."

"And why don't you drop that rag, let down your hair and give me that table-dance you've been promising me for 5 years now. I got a wallet full on singles on me."

"You wish," she kept on cleaning.

"Yeah, I wish you'd put up or shut up."

"I'm going to tell your mother."

"Her number is 448-3597. Here, use my phone. I'll speed dial it for you."

"I thought you quit smoking, baby," looking at Beth and evidently finished with our conversation.

"I have. Tapp's brother is still a pack or two a day. It's tough holding your resolve. Lately I just feel like sitting around, watching anything on TV and puffing on a Winston.

"I thought it was just age, but its tough getting up in morning to open up the place lately."

"I know. Same here. But, you know, nothings going on at all around here."

"Well, thats sure to change now that your weisenheimer brother is in town. A house or something will burn down."

I silently decided it was time to mossy over to the county seat, Hillary, and check out a few public records. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I guess I need to have it explained to me why I should have taken my cellphone with me when I went off on the boat. Even if I am on vacation.

Mellow Side of FHH (Part 1)

I called my sister Beth one evening while I was on vacation in FHH. Tapp said she was still at work. I dropped by the FHH Utilities office and found her at her desk. All the guys were long gone home. However, Kenda was there, working late too, in the lab.

"Hey, what you were doing here?" Beth said as I strolled in from the hallway.

“Oh, just messing around. Why here so late?”

"We have a lab audit on our wastewater treatment plant. Kenda's working on it now with the latest samples. I'm having to finish up the paperwork."

I wandered into the lab and couldn't help looking over Kenda’s shoulder. Kenda looked a little annoyed. I'd be cranky too working with cleaned-up stool samples.

Beth was busy, head in her paperwork and Kenda looked like she'd rather be at home watching Boston Legal. I couldn't help playing with the equipment in the lab. Some of it looked very much like Crime Lab forensic equipment. One was obviously a Spectral Analyzer. Another was centreffical sample seperator. The computer was set up for sub-microscopic comparative analysis. I could do a homicide investigation from there!

Long story short, (yeah, right) somebody was looking at DNA for some reason. Who'd thunk? Right here in da' Harbor.

"Why are ya'll looking at DNA samples?" I asked Kenda just out of curiosity.

"What makes you think that!" she jumped down my throat.

"Hey. Hey! I'm just asking."

"That's not what we're doing!"

"Who is we?"

"Look, I'm busy and you're not supposed to be here. I didn't say anything because of your sister. You need to leave."

"Tough night, eh?" I said as I backed out the door with my pointer fingers forming the sign of the cross.

"What was that about, brother?" my sister asked.

"Got me. I just asked about why she was looking at DNA samples."

"We have some kind of government grant to analyze wastewater that is going into the Corp of Engineers lake. I guess to make sure Freers Gerry is kept clean."

"But, DNA? Seems overkill."

"I don't know but, everyone does seem kind of sensitive about it. I'm not supposed to talk about it outside the office. All I know is it's a lot of paperwork, charts, graphs, spreadsheets - a big headache. I could be at home watching Boston Legal."

I went home and watched the last half hour of Boston Legal. Denny Crane!

The next day I met mom, Beth and Tapp at Badman and Sons for lunch.

"How'd you like Boston Legal last night? Denny Crane cracks me up!"

"I didn't see it. I was in the office until eleven," said Beth.

"I never though William Shatner would shake the Captain Kirk image," said Tapp.

Mom said, "I never watch Baltimore Legal, it comes on during Law and Order."

"Law and Order is on all-the-time on different channels, and it's Boston Legal mom. It's like Fresh Prince, its on somewhere 24 hours a day. Captain Kirk is now Denny Crane."

"Who's Captain Kirk? Is he on Special Victims Unit or Criminal Intent?" remarked mom. I'm not sure if she was kidding or not.

"It's awful slow around here lately. No shootings, no house fires, no Meth labs - what's up?" I asked, only half kidding. Even Officer Tool wasn't at our table, mooching fries. He was in the back booth sound asleep, back to the wall, sitting there with two fingers through the handle of his FHH Marina coffee mug.

"It has been pretty quiet around here for a while but, you haven't been around since last summer," said my mom, like it was some established, generally known fact that things only went haywire when I was around. I like to think that its just that I happen to notice.

"You know, it has been more sedate than usual lately," Beth threw in.

"All I feel like doing is sleeping," said Tapp, "but it could be that I'm recovering from my shoulder surgery."

"Now that you mention it - police calls are down. So are ambulance calls. Must just be one of those years. It's sure helped the city budget though. We thought we were going to have a huge shortfall and now it looks like we'll have a little surplus at the end of the year. Go figure."

"Good Karma." Said Tapp.

"Not likely, the way the mayor and council are acting. They're grouchy all the time and practically jump anyone who comes in and asks a routine question. Very defensive," said Beth.

I was about to nod off myself, "Maybe its just a coincidence. Wait a minute! I don't believe in coincidences."

"What do you think's going on?"

"I don't know. I think I'll go home and take a nap."

Rodeo Time

Occasionally, Kitty Kat's antics had me wondering if she was the bravest cat I knew or if she was just plain loco. One of the things she liked to do was sit in the kitchen window above the sink while I was washing the dishes. She'd split her time between looking out the window and talking to me. She could be quite long winded and we had many an interesting conversation.

This particular day, while we were visiting, she suddenly got all hyper and started that "chattering" that cats will do when they spot some particularly interesting prey. When I checked to see what had caught her eye; there was big german shepherd roaming around the back yard. (It wasn't fenced) He was taking his time exploring and marking her yard as his territory. This was indeed upsetting to Kitty Kat and she started growling to show her displeasure.

Well, she carried on until she had worked up a right old snit and then jumped down and ran for the back door. There she proceeded to turn in circles, jump up on the door, and pat at the glass until she'd advanced the snit into a full blown temper tantrum complete with loud rowling. (You ever heard a cat rowl? It's eerie sounding.) That cat wanted to go outside. I said "Kitty Kat, you're nuts. That dog will make mincemeat out of you." She wasn't interested in anything I had to say. If anything her energy level increased.

Since it was obvious she wasn't going to be happy until I did, I decided to open the door for her. We lived in a split-level house, so the back porch was about 10 feet off the ground. I figured I'd keep the door open so I could rescue her if she really started down the stairs. Or if the dog started up. As soon as the door cracked open, she went quiet and slithered out and ran over to the edge of the porch. She got all hunkered down and fixed her eyes on that dog. I swear there were lightening bolts flashing in those eyes.

Now this dog was either an arrogant SOB or dumb as snot, cause he never once seemed to notice her on the porch. He just kept exploring the yard, garden and doing his business. He was taking a circular path around and around the yard and each rotation was bringing him a little bit closer to the porch. Kitty Kat's fur was standing up on her neck and down her back. Her tail looked like she had stuck it in a electrical socket. Every time that dog's path brought him close to the porch she would start flicking that tail like a switch. She wasn't making a sound.

Just about the time I figured nothing much was going to happen; she suddenly leaped off the edge of the porch with a bloodcurdling scream! And I leaped out the door to the railing to see what was happening. There was Kitty Kat sitting square on this dog's back with all four paws dug in. What we had was a RODEO going on. Kitty Kat was hissing and spitting and growling. And for good measure, she'd take a paw and whap, whap,whap that poor dog up side his face or right between the eyes. That dog was a jumpin, and twirlin and yelpin like all the cats of hell was riding his back. He couldn't shake her loose and she wasn't losing any of her enthusiasm for the ride.

Finally, with his tail tucked between his legs he made a beeline for the edge of the yard going like a bat out of hell. Before he actually crossed over, Kitty Kat jumped off and watched him hightail it through the neighbor's yard. She sent one last long growl after him and then started making her way very daintily back across the yard. She looked incredibly pleased with herself. Me, I'm standing on the porch, mouth open, totally disbelieving what I had just seen. And I'm thinking that is one crazy cat or she's the bravest cat I've ever seen. She came up the steps, plopped down and started giving herself a bath. She was just purring away. We had us a Bronco ridin' kitty!

New Menu Item at 333 Cafe

The Highway 333 Cafe (Half the Devil as Good!) in FHH is now offering the local version of a family seafood favorite: Calamari!

The entree comes with canned green beans and Cheezy-Mac, near-fresh salad bar, cornbread and a large sweet tea for only $4.98. Remember Seniors don't get a discount and we don't honor AARP cards but, we will speak up, offer a friendly smile and always bring extra napkins!

Right on Highway 333 just North of Share and Wear. Open Tuesday through Saturday, 10:30 am to 7:30 pm unless our cook, Gil, is sick and we'll put a sign on the door. Tourists and Yankees, if you wear a tropical shirt in during lunch, we'll give you a coupon good for 50 live silver minows at the FHH Marina (bring your own quart sized baggie)


Arkansas SH 333, the Highway to Helena. 333 Cafe, Half the Devil as Good! See you there soon!

Cat Tales

I have owned cats or rather been owned by cats for most of my adult life. As a little kid, I can remember only one cat that my family owned. A big ole beat up tom named Soot. Obviously, he was black. He wasn't so much considered a pet, but rather he had a job. And as a mouser, he excelled. Sometimes he got confused about what was actually considered a mouse, though. Finding frogs, moles, birds, huge grasshoppers on the front step was not unusual. He took his obligation to keep us fed very seriously.

Dogs were more my family's forte. We always had a pack of them. One or two were considered "pets"........ all the rest were huntin' dogs - beagles. My daddy and older brothers were definitely the hunter/gatherer types. More hunter than gatherer. So it follows....hunters = huntin' dogs. I grew up eating a lot of rabbit and squirrel.

When it came to dogs, my personal preference was for big ones. My husband too. But both of us had a problem with penning up a big dog on a typical sized suburban lot. Big dogs need big space. So when I decided that fish just weren't going to cut it any longer as pets, my husband reluctantly agreed to a cat. I think what he actually said was "I hate cats but I'll put up with it for you." He was a good guy!

It took me three weeks to get my first cat. That's how long it took me to entice a stray, that showed up in my yard, inside. She was a beautiful calico that I named Kitty Kat. Not very original, but I had just spent three weeks calling kitty, kitty, kitty........so I didn't want to confuse her. She was definitely my cat. Johnny grew to tolerate her and she grew to tolerate him. Because she didn't hold him in high regard, she didn't mind taking advantage of him whenever she could. She loved to steal his food right from under his nose.

This first time this happened we were eating a baked chicken dinner at the coffee table. Johnny was all caught up in relating his day's activities to me......to the point that he wasn't even aware of what he was eating. As I was giving him my undivided attention, I suddenly noticed that there was a little black and gold paw sneaking up between Johnny's knees and patting around the edge of the tabletop and then disappearing. I quickly checked to see if Johnny had noticed this and saw that he was oblivious. So, I decided to watch and see how it played out.

A few seconds later, up pops the paw again and after some more patting around she locates the plate. Down goes the paw. Johnny again doesn't notice. I'm trying not to smile. Johnny takes a break from talking to eat and I see that Kitty Kat is sitting at the end of the table and watching every bite that Johnny's putting in his mouth. It's not long before Johnny draws my attention again by continuing his dissertation.

Again I'm listening and about the time I realize that Kitty Kat has moved again, I see that little paw sneak back up and before I can blink she's snagged Johnny's chicken on the first grab and has it under the table. I'm about to bust not letting anything show on my face. Johnny has absolutely no idea. But, something in my face must have showed, cause he asked what was wrong. I snorted something about swallowing my tea the wrong way and he seemed to buy it. Then he turned his attention back to his plate.

This quizzical look came over his face. He stared at his plate for a while and then turned and asked me " Did I already eat all of my chicken?"

I looked and said "Looks like you did; you want some more?"

He said "Yeah, but I'll get it". As he stood up, he glanced down and went totally still. Then burst out with "No, I didn't and you knew all along!"

And with that I was on the floor laughing my butt off til I had tears rolling down my face.

Kitty Kat spared a glance at us like she was thinking "Humans, they is crazy" and went back to chomping on that piece of chicken. The funniest thing is, she was able to do that him several more times over the years we had her. She was the epitome of what people mean when they say cats are sneaky.

More Cat Tales in future entries.................

Recluse