What's a Southern Boy to Do?

I have an infection; I have an earworm. You know, one of those phrases or songs that get stuck in your head. It all started a few days ago.

A memory was triggered by a silly question, "Where are my plastic shoes?"

I answered, "Did you say orange plastic teeth?"

A character with orange plastic teeth had just sprung from a deep memory. It was a character from a junior high school English class that the teacher used to get us interested in diagramming sentences. That same teacher, being from the northeast, was also fond of reciting a poem that we all learned. So, for your reading pleasure, and for my relief from the earworm; here it is, as I learned it, so many years ago:

The Brooklyn National Anthem

Spring is Sprung.
Da grass is riz.
I wonder where da boidie is?
Da boid is on da wing.
Absoid, I always hoid,
da wing is on da boid.


--thanks Pat Werner, for learning me English, so good!

There you have it. Maybe now the thing will get out of my head!

Apple of my Eye ...

I had the nicest compliment, today. A co-worker was admiring a snapshot of my grandson and said that Aidan had the same spark in his eyes that I did. Well, truth be known, Aidan is the apple of my eye! Here’s the proof:


There is more on Aidan on his daddy’s blog at http://rackley-sean.blogspot.com.

Culture Shock ...

Hey, I'm working, here!

I have been around the block a few times, and I have witnessed many cultures. I have lived in Europe; I have traveled to the Middle East; and I have forgotten more quirkiness than I can remember. In some cases, I even have the T-shirt to prove the experience. However, today was a shocker.

I entered the men's room at my office building-- a last bastion of male privacy. As I approached the porcelain fixture, there was a guy, a stranger to me, having a conversation on his high-end cell phone, and the phone was in loudspeaker mode. There in one hand was his phone and in the other, something else. He was carrying on a conversation with a female voice on the far end of the call. I knew the phone was in speaker mode, because I could clearly hear both sides of the conversation. There the guy was carrying on business, as the both of us were carrying on our business. I felt as though my privacy was truly being invaded. I only hoped that the camera in the shiny phone was not voice activated.

So, I did the only thing that I could do. I flushed the urinal. It made a pleasantly loud gurgling whoosh. The guy on the cell phone seemed unperturbed. So, I flushed, again. I should have said something, like "excuse me" or "sorry," or … but no, I relished in the gurgle and flushed a third time.

Because of this new bathroom etiquette, I promise to do a better job next time. I now have a personal windmill to joust. All you bathroom cell phone users be warned. I may break wind loudly, or join your conversation. One way or another, I will stop this invasion.

PFFFFFFFFT, guilty dogs bark first!

View from the Top ...

Once upon a time in Hawaii, the Mule Skinner and the missus took a mule train from the top of a cliff down to the seaside, below. The skinners at the trail-head assigned riders to their mules, based on personality matches between mule and rider. Of course they knew nothing about me but knew their mules well. The skinner asked me, if I could handle a spirited beast. Being from Texas, I said sure'nuff, even though I was a shakin' in my boots. The skinner grinned and said, "Good, this one likes to run off into the jungle. You gotta take charge!" The mule's name was Lokelani.

Well, we mounted our steeds and headed for the cliff edge. Twenty-seven switch-backs and 1800 feet of jungle covered cliff was between us and the seashore at the bottom. What a view! We settled into a plodding pace and began our descent. Now, the mules know the trail very well. They make this trip every day. They know every turn, every slippery rock, and every place a tourist might want to take a picture. They know when a tourist lets go of the reins that a picture is about to be taken. As we approached a truly great view, I dropped the reins onto the saddle horn, pulled out a camera, and attempted to focus on the village below us. Lokelani knew what to do. He made a 180 degree turn in the direction of the switchback, leaned to the outside of the turn, and sighed a deep giggle. I scrambled to stay in the saddle. Because of the girth of my mule, I could only see tree tops below me -- no earth at all. I regained my composure but continued to feel the laughter between my legs for the rest of the ride to the beach.

We spent a couple of hours in the village at the bottom of the cliff. I was eagerly anticipating the return trip up the cliff face. My legs and seat were still burning from the wide displacement of my beast of burden. The ascent was completely different than the trip down. Saddles were changed. Extra harness was added so that the saddles would not slide off the back of the mules. The trail was steep. So steep, that many of the mules strained with effort to make the climb. The mule in front of me strained so hard that the animal seemed to be jet-propelled. The engine noises were clear and loud.

Remembering what the skinner had told me about my mule, I chuckled to myself, knowing that I had conquered Lokelani -- he knew who was in charge. The thought didn't get past my frontal lobe, when a clearing in the jungle appeared. I marveled at the coconut palms and fern covered hillside. Lokelani marveled, too. With ears laid back we galloped off the trail and headed straight for the ever darkening foliage. We left the line of trail riders behind us. We jumped a fallen tree and dived under low hanging branches. Off in the distance I heard a mule skinner yell, "Bring him back, bring him back." To this day I do not know whether the wrangler was talking to me or to the mule.

As mules go, this one is fairly young ...

This one eats no oats but is a hoot to ride!

My "mule" is a 52-inch Superior, a replica of an 1891 G&J standard. This bike was built for me by Rideable Bicycle Replicas.