Cruise Night

Yesterday, they had a car show and a cruise night here in town. I was a bit skeptical and was not expecting much.

We did not make the car show, but attended the cruise night.

We found a nice place to pull over and park and just sat there for a couple of hours watching the cars and trucks drive by over and over.

The weather was perfect and in fact, was almost chilly out. I had a really fun time, actually.

There were a lot more cars than I expected and some were even really nice. Nothing like the car in the picture above which is a 1969 Yenko Camaro and is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

But, there were some nice cars. There were also a lot of ugly cars and stupid looking cars which were kind of amusing to watch.

This was a nice reminder of yesteryear. There were old guys and young guys and all kinds of cars, pick up trucks, low riders, and a wide assortment of vehicles.

Maybe the strangest one of the night was a pick up truck that somebody had removed the bed and replaced it with another front so it looked like two trucks backed up to one another and one pulling the other. Wish we had taken a picture because it was too strange to believe and quite the riot.

There were muscle cars. There were classic cars. There were piece of junk cars. Everybody that liked cars of all kinds were either driving one or sitting on the side watching.

It was a fun night for me.

I am an old guy, but I am just a little bit too young to have experienced much of the 'good old days' where every small town had a spot where all the teenagers cruised looking for racing action or whatever else might happen in the growing up years.

In my town, people circled a Dairy Queen. When I started driving, they blocked off the route around the Dairy Queen and the 'good old days' were effectively over.

People were sort of poor in my day and in my town. There weren't a lot of new cars in the high school parking lot, but there were a few muscle cars about.

Even though the hang out had been closed down, it was still possible to meet up and find somebody to race, occasionally.

But, for all purposes, I missed the really good ole days.

Just barely.

So, You Want to be a Landlord

I have decided to write a book about my experiences as a landlord. It makes perfect sense to share some of the experiences that I have known in 20 plus years in this business.

I am going to write about the good and the bad and there has been a whole lot of each over the years.

I'm not sure what this will do to my blogging time, but I will soon find out.

Poopoo Padooskoo and other stories

When my son was born I had to learn how to be around little ones in a big hurry as most young fathers do. I really had never been around kids much up until I was about 27 and I had no clue how to act.

One of the bigger details of life with young kids is getting them to bed.

Our girls were good sleepers, but our son was not. He still isn't to this day and he's 20 years old.

It was a chore getting Tyler to go to sleep every night.

When he got a little older, I had to try to get him to sleep by reading him a book, or telling him a story.

I will say that I didn't really know any stories, so I had to learn to make up a yarn or two. It didn't take long before I was quite the story teller, at least in my son's eyes.

I often created larger than life characters that were almost super human in strength and character.

One of Tyler's favorites that he enjoyed hearing a lot was Truck driver Nick.

Nick was a guy that drove his big rig around and helped others in need, saving life after life along the highways.

He was larger than life much the same was as Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyun. A real hero for the people and humble as could be.

There were several reasons for these stories. Obviously, one big one was to get Tyler sleepy. Another reason was to spend quality time with my son. But, I also told him stories of characters that I wanted to be like and I wanted as most dads probably do, for my son to think of me as a hero figure.

Another favorite story was Poopoo Padooskoo.

One night I wanted to get Tyler more involved with the story telling and asked him to name the main character. Poopoo was the first thing that popped out of the three year old's mouth. I told him that ole Poopoo needed a last name and Padooskoo came out rather quickly.

As you can imagine, I had to come up with something rather quickly that would match a name like Poopoo Padooskoo.

Poopoo became a major league baseball player that earned his nickname as a young boy by pooping in his pants as a base runner when he tried very intensely to beat a throw to first base.

Yep, ole Poopoo became a fairly regular story that I liked to tell young Tyler.

There were many more.

But, I am reminded of the relationship between a young boy and his father. As a really young boy, nobody is much greater than your father. Nobody is bigger, nobody is better and your father is indeed larger than life.

The dad is a real hero to a really young boy.

Some day when a boy grows that same hero becomes an embarrassment and a fool. Dad is not cool anymore.

I am reminded of the movie Big Fish where the son becomes ashamed of his father and his tales.

Really, the son's perception of his father is actually a bit more realistic as he learns that his father is no super hero but just a human being that makes mistakes and lots of them.

I am no super hero and I am a human being and I do make lots of mistakes and then some.

But, Poopoo Padooskoo lives on and I hope my son has a son some day and he remembers Truck driver Nick and Mr Padooskoo and the many other stories we shared.

For Your Eyes Only

For Your Eyes Only is the name of one of many Bond flicks and I have to admit that I am a Bond fan. I don't watch them a lot any more, but I still enjoy them.

One of the many reasons that I like James Bond movies is the many world wide locations that they film. They really go all over the world and have some fantastic scenery.

If I know it's on, I will watch the end of For Your Eyes Only just to see the monastery at the top of the huge rock which is where Bond has his final conflict with the villains and saves the day as usual.

This particular monastery sits on top of a huge rock and the only way in and out is by an ancient hand operated elevator. The ride up and down this elevator could be scary but this monastery is so incredibly beautiful that I long to see it in real life.

The life of of these monks in a monastery kind of appeals to me.

It's a simple life. No deadlines, no stress, no unhappy customers and seeking God.

I am obviously not going to join a monastery and will continue my life as is for now. Also, the life of a monk is probably not as easy as it seems.

But, the simple life is very appealing to me.

Some day I want to quit what I am doing and move off somewhere that gets a lot of rain. I want to have a huge garden with enough to feed myself and my entire family.

I want my biggest stresses to be when the crops are coming up or getting the crop picked at the right time.

Or, keeping the deer out of my garden. The simple life would be a nice way to live in my opinion.

In these times, we put way too much pressure on ourselves to have more. We often want to keep up with the Joneses and want all the material goods we can get.

In the meantime, we are killing ourselves off with the stress that we put on ourselves. I am as quality as anyone and put myself in my current situation because I wanted more.

I learned my lesson.

Now, I strive for a simple life

The Loud and the Proud

This morning, my lifelong roommate and I went to the balloon fest again and we were hoping to see all the balloons take off. We saw a grand total of one. The rest packed up and went home because it was a little too windy for them, the pansies. :)

So, we took off slowly for home not really wanting to go home just yet, at least I didn't and I probably should have asked the roomie her opinion on the matter.

We stumbled upon a really cool place in our meandering. It was a rather large piece of sculpture by the Bible Building at Abilene Christian University. Since it was Sunday morning and still pretty early there was nobody anywhere around. The sculpture probably deserves it's own time.

The roommate decided on taking pictures so I just kind of wandered around aimlessly. I saw a loose dog that looked to be lost and I sat down to call the little fella over to me. The stinking little fella wanted none of that and took off like shot out of a cannon. I decided to just sit and chill a bit.

Then, the Blue Jays arrived in all of their glory. Ah, I know a lot of people don't like these loud little rascals, but when I hear them I am often transformed into another time and another place.

They always make me think about my childhood and the many summers spent in Gainesville, Texas. I was born and raised in the lower Rio Grande River Valley otherwise known as just 'the Valley'. But, my Pappy had his college degree and my Mom was finishing up with hers at Pan American University in Edinburg and also North Texas State in Denton. Gainesville is just a few miles from Denton, so we spent a lot of my early summers in Gainesville staying with my grandparents.

We called my grandfather Papa, and I was my Papa's boy. Hate to brag, but I am pretty sure I was his favorite. My siblings or a cousin or two might argue that, but to my dying day I will claim to be his favorite. He will always be one of my favorite people that I have ever known in my entire life.

We didn't have the Blue Jays in the Valley to my memory, but they were plentiful in Gainesville and they made enough noise to stick in my mind and last through the school year until we got back up to Gainesville. The noise these birds made was so distinctive to me that it still stirs up thoughts of yesteryear even today some 40 years later. To me, that's kind of incredible in itself.

Now, Gainesville days were happy days. My Papa was special and he took good care of us.

He was a cowboy. He had been forced to sell his home place when his brothers and sisters wanted their fair shares, but he never gave up his love of horses and cattle so he had a small place and he leased a bunch of ranch land. We spent a lot of time helping him take care of things around the places.

I learned to ride at an early age and like to brag that I grew up on a back of a horse. That's not entirely true, but we did ride a lot and looked forward to those times. Later on, my Papa also bought us our own little horse that we had down on our tiny hacienda in the Valley.

Fun times. It's almost amusing that I look at it that way because sometimes he worked me pretty good. I helped him haul hay a couple of times and we worked cattle and all kinds of other chores. But, I guess I tend to look at it as good times mostly and overlook the work and the sweat.

As I was sitting by that sculpture this morning, I was taken back to that place and time when things were simple and easy and they just made sense.

My Papa has been gone a long time. So have his horses and all those cows. The land has all changed and I doubt I could even find it anymore. Those old Blue Jays are dead and gone and have been replaced by newer just as loud versions reminding me of the good ole days. Thinking those thoughts that I am now typing made me feel a little weird and a little sad, but I am so thankful for those good ole days and my Papa and the wonderful memories that I have of him and being his favorite.

I wouldn't take the world for them.

From my father I learned a work ethic, from my Papa I learned that there's always tomorrow.

Thanks, Papa, for the wonderful memories and the knowledge that tomorrow is sometimes soon enough.

And, thank you Blue Jays for being so dang loud and proud and for taking me back.

Tyson the Flying Dog

I've told this story one million times verbally, so I thought I would take a shot at writing it down because I was one of the few people that has ever seen a flying dog.

Well, the dog didn't really fly. At least, not on his own. He flew, but he had a little bit of help.

Once upon a time we lived in a house on Cedar Creek in Abilene. Our children were raised in this house as was my roommate for the most part.
It was a happy time for us for the most part.

Across the street lived a family with a couple of really rotten boys. One of them was worse than the other and the other actually turned out to be a really good person.
But, these boys were everywhere and out of control. They were always at our house and getting into everything and getting into trouble.

They had a boxer named Tyson.

Tyson was a good dog as most boxers are and really gentle and easy going.

One day the boys were playing in the street as they often did. Cedar Crest street was our address and not such a bad street. But the side street by our house and the neighbor's house was College Drive which is sort of busy. It's one of the main thoroughfares linking Abilene Christian University with the rest of Abilene.
So, consequently, college kids drive down this street pretty often and they also often speed.

The boys were playing in the street and Tyson was right there amongst them playing as he often did.
I was working in the yard and noticed their usual antics and yelled at them to get out of the street and watch out for the dog because he could get hit by a speeding car.

As soon as I yell, sure enough here comes a car being driven by ACU coeds. The story might have been different if they had been driving something else, but lucky for us the young lady was driving a Pontiac Fiero which is tiny.

I like to say in my story that they were going 50 MPH, but honestly I really don't know how fast they were going.
But, they were going pretty fast.

They hit Tyson pretty hard right before my eyes.

As the title of my story says, Tyson took off in flight. In my mind, he is spinning around and around in slow motion and I can still see it vividly as I type this.
He sailed an incredible distance and at least 10 to 15 feet in the air.

After viewing this with my mouth open, I take off on a run towards the street but have to hop down two terraces about four to five feet high each.
By then, the boys are crying at the top of their lungs. I am running and finally get down the terraces and onto street level.

As soon as I hit the street, Tyson comes running by me at top speed heading towards his house. Again, as before, my mouth has dropped open in unbelief as I realize this dang dog is not even injured.
Everybody runs to the neighbors house following Tyson.
By the time we get there, the college girls are pulling up in their sports car and they get out shaking with mixed fear and grief at what had just happened.

We examine the dog all together and are amazed that this amazing little beast just got hit by a car at that speed and flew through the air so high and so far and was not even scratched. I have been impressed with the toughness of boxers ever since this day.

This is my story and I have told it a lot. A million times s a bit of a stretch but I have told it as many times as I can find somebody to listen.
Thanks for listening as I amuse myself one more time with what I think is an amazing story.

Tyson is long gone. The neighborhood boys are grown and moved off and I have moved on as well.
But, Tyson the flying dog is still among one of my favorite stories and I love to share it with others.

My Ole Pappy and the South Rim

Growing up in the Taylor household was not always a picnic. I did my best to protect myself and stayed outside and out of trouble as much as I could, but there were often outbursts that couldn't be helped it seemed.

I do have some good childhood memories and even some of them involve my immediate family.

But, I will admit things could have been a lot better.

A case could be made that folks did the best with what they had to work with and I am not opposed to that at all.

But, the truth is what it is as they like to say these days.

My favorite memories of my Ole Pappy were actually adult memories.

Twice in my adult years I met my Mom and Dad on Interstate Highway 10 west of San Antonio and we drove to Big Bend National Park.

We stayed at the Lodge in the Basin up in the Chisos Mountains. The entrance to the Chisos Mountains is pictured above and is a very scenic area and especially when you get into the Basin.

On the first trip, the two of them and myself climbed Emory Peak which is the highest peak in Big Bend at 7,825 feet. That doesn't sound like much of a mountain but it is 3,000 feet above the Basin floor from where your hike starts.

My Mom struggled.

She gave it a good shot, but it was too much for her and she quit about a hundred feet from the top. That was still a nice accomplishment for her.

My Ole Pappy went to the top like it was nothing.

The following trip my Pappy and I hiked the South Rim Loop which is over 13 miles. Pretty long day hike but he handled it well and he was in his 60s.

The Chisos Mountains are an oasis in hundreds of miles of desert. The Basin and surrounding mountains are covered with Pinon Pine, Junipers, Arizona Cypress and some Ponderosa Pines and even a few Aspens. Compared with some of the other magnificent national parks of this country, Big Bend and the Chisos Mountains may not seem like much but after driving so many miles across extremely arid and treeless land it seems pretty incredible.

My Pappy knew all the plants and was like hiking with a tour guide.

Away from the stresses of every day life, he was a lot of fun to be around. He could cut up and joke and was genuinely pleasant.

My brother Roger never really got to experience this side of him and I feel badly about that.

But, I can't change any of that.

Hiking in the Chisos Mountains with my Pappy was a fun time and one of my favorite memories of my father.