"Bad art by Good People"...

The arts in Shelby County are supported by a group known as the Gateway Arts Council.  And as with all arts related groups, funding is tight.  So, to try to refill their coffers, they have a project once or twice a year known as "Bad Art by Good People."  They identify a theme and get local residents, politicians, teachers, lawyers, preachers, doctors, etc., etc. to do some form of art related to the theme and then they solicit votes ($1.00 per vote) from community members, followed by an auction to cap off the drive.

Well, this year's drive is related to the "Field of Valor" being held in Sidney during the first week of September.  During this week, the Historical Society is bringing The Traveling Vietnam Wall to Sidney, erecting a field of flags (approx. 1,000 U.S. Flags flying in an adjacent field), the civic band is putting on a concert, a local car club is hosting a car show "cruise-in" and a local runners club is holding a 5K run/walk "To the Wall."  All in all , it will be a fun week.

In conjunction with this event, the Gateway Arts Council will display the entries at the field so the public can see all "this great art work."  This year's artists are all Veterans of the Sidney/Shelby County area, and their work is to be related to something patriotic or from their military past.

Yes, I am one of the artists, and I would like to present my piece titled "Duty, Honor, Country."

This piece is mounted on a 16"x22" canvas.  I made the background by cutting up an old pair of my BDU (Battle Dress Uniform) pants and gluing it over the canvas.  The picture is one I set up against a wall of ivy on a brick wall.  The Gateway people told us that each of our pieces should have a personal story behind it, so my story is that I wore, carried, ate, shot, cut or followed every item of equipment used in this piece.  I shot the picture and then got it enlarged as a black and white.  I also had a color one done just so I could cut out the U.S. Flag and paste it in.  I thought it would draw one's eye into the shot.

I have no delusions of grandeur here, but did have fun making it and going thru the process.  I would also like to make a couple of bucks for the Council, but that's about it.  Not about to give up my day job (oh, yeah, I already did that!!).  There was one other possible name for it "Tools of the Trade" but thought the one I chose would work out better in the long run.  I hope you like it.

One other thing I almost forgot -- once the Gateway reaches a certain point in funds received from this project, they plan to donate 50% of their funds over that point to the Dayton VA Hospice.  What a noteworthy project.  In fact, one of the pieces in this "contest" is being done by the director of that Hospice unit, a retired Army Colonel who also serves as the chief nurse on our Vets to DC trips.  If you have time after September 5th or so, go to the Gateway Arts Council's website to check out all the works. <gatewayartscouncil.org>.  Click on the Bad Art by Good People link.

A patriot is one who, against all odds and circumstances, is prepared to defend his country...and sometimes against its own government.


Hooah

OK...I'm back...

Been gone for a while.  But if you are a follower of this blog, you've probably gotten tired of checking in just to see the same last entry.  Well, I've got some new stuff for you, so let's go.

One of the things I really enjoy, as if you haven't already noticed, is playing golf.  Currently I play in two leagues; one is called "The Senior Swingers" and the other is the McCartyville/Rumley league. 

The Senior Swingers is a group of about 80 retired guys in the Sidney area who play on Monday mornings.  We all get a laugh out of the name, because in "our day", a Swinger was someone who had quite possibly had a dubious reputation as someone who chased women, drank and gambled a lot.  Now, there might be some guys in this league who still entertain fleeting fantasies of those days, but now most of their swinging is done on a porch, or on a golf course and only after a couple of doses of Advil.  Some of these old boys can still play pretty well though.  For instance, just the other day, I played with 3 guys, shot a 41 and got my behind shaved again.  The other 3 guys had a 36, 37, and 38.  Oh well, it was a beautiful morning.

The McCartyville/Rumley group is a really good bunch of neighbors and friends.  After playing our weekly round, we usually congregate in the "19th hole" and do what some of the guys say we do best.  So this week, as we were sitting around, guys were calling each other by their nicknames.  I got curious about how each of them got these names, so the stories started flowing.  Here are some of them:

"Beaty" got his nickname a long time ago when he was playing CYO basketball here. They were state champs. It seems a number of the guys were playing and picking their favorite players and Tom picked Zelmo Beaty, Jr.  It seems Zelmo was a center who played in college for Prarie View A&M, and was a 1st round (3rd overall pick) in the 1962 NBA draft by the St. Louis Hawks.  Zelmo was 6"9" tall and played center.  Our "Beaty" would have to hold up a broom over his head to reach 6"9", so there was obviously no connection between the two in terms of playing position.

"Squeak" was a younger brother in his early life, and his handle was laid on him by his brothers.

Nobody seems to know how "Whitey" got his nickname.  His real name isn't even close to it.  And I never got a real good story on how "Peatie" (Dave) got his name.

One of the guys was called "Mary" which was a reference to an old girl friend.  Nobody calls him that much, so the flame must have died in his early teenage years.

And there were many more, but I didn't have a pencil or paper with me.  I might revisit this some time.

I just think it is important to know things about the guys you spend this much time with.  I like to get to know them, pay attention to their "story" and, when possible, get some history of the area...even if it is sometimes told with a wink of the eye and a belly laugh.  Being in a group with nicknamed guys, I feel the closeness of this group, the trust each has in the other, the acceptance.  A new guy like myself (even though I have known some of these guys for going on 19 years now) doesn't dare just blurt out a nickname when talking to one of these guys.  That right is something that has to be given by them.

I love nicknames -- the stories, the history, the camaraderie.

Hooah

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

About a month ago, shortly after trying to cut off my thumb with the hedge trimmers, I looked around for another, a safer project and decided that it was now time to get the aerator I had talked about for a long time and get it installed in the pond.  Following the winter freezing, I was concerned that I would have another huge fish kill.  However, my assault on the ice with my trusty chain saw proved successful and I didn't lose one single fish -- to ice.  However, shortly after the thaw, and I may have mentioned this already, there was pond scum all over the place and quite frankly, it looked and smelled like the dickens.

So I went to the feed mill and got a bag of copper sulfate and spread it on the pond.  I have done this many times in the past when the pond was just built.  However, I must have put too much on as I lost about 20-25 fish, including the grass carps.  So, now, I had to get the oxygen back in the water if I wanted to have any fish left.

I went to the hatchery and purchased a real nice bubbler with a 1/4 hp motor and weighted air hose.  The price seemed reasonable, so I put it in the back of the Jeep and came home, eager to get it in the water.  Happy fish was the goal.  My installation plan was to get the thing in the water and put the motor in the barn.  For the time being I would have to run a couple of heavy-duty extension cords out there, but that didn't seem like too bad of a price to pay.  I also planned to run an electric line out to the barn and that would also give me some electric out there.  Sounds like a plan. 

Now for the execution part.  My wife went to the nursing home where she volunteers twice a week, so I thought this would be the perfect time to get the bubbler in the water.  I filled the "box" with rocks and attached the air hose to it.  Then I looked around and realized I had no way to get the "box" out to the center of the pond without some sort of boat.  It seems that the only boat I have is my canoe.  Oh well, it's a boat isn't it? Hmmmmmmmmm.

So I loaded the stuff in the canoe, made a small concession to that tiny inner voice in my head that said "this might not be the best plan you've ever had..." and put on one of my life jackets.  I wasn't really sure how cold the water might be in the middle of the pond and there was a slight chance I might get wet, so I thought I should at least not make my wife a widow today.  And with all that courage and bravado, I shoved off.  All went well at first.  I got the canoe in position and dropped the anchor over the side to secure me in the center.  Oh, did I mention that it was really windy that day?  Minor technicality.  Next, I pulled the box of rocks (which now seemed much heavier than it did on the shore) to me and secured the ropes in the holes on the top.  These would allow you to lower it to the bottom and keep it from getting turned upside down in the process.  OK.  Ropes in hand -- here we go.  As I was beginning to lean over toward the side of the canoe, I noticed how really unstable it was getting.  Now I don't know if anyone has ever measured the amount of time there is between the moment you realize something is a bad idea and the time you experience the consequences, but I bet you can count the seconds on one hand.  The next thing I knew, I was out in the water.  It wasn't too cold though.  And fortunately, all of the "stuff" was still in the canoe.  Only the dummy was in the water.  One good thing, however, was that when I looked around to see if any one was watching (the first thing all real men do when they find themselves in a situation like this -- sure didn't want any witnesses), I didn't see anyone or hear anyone laughing or screaming.  So, I decided that I probably should pull the canoe back to shore and think up another plan. 

Oh, I mentioned that the canoe was anchored didn't I?  So when I started to swim back to the shore trying to pull the canoe on a much more windy day now, it didn't want to move.  I really had to struggle swimming back to shore pulling an anchored canoe that was leaving a trail of mucky water behind it.  I got everything unloaded, went to the house and put the clothes in the dryer and went back to the drawing board.

The next day, my next door neighbor's father happened to come over with the kids to fish.  I confided in him and told him of my titanic struggle.  He laughed politely and then told me he had a friend who had a small john boat.  The next day, he brought it down in the back of his pick-up truck.  With the proper equipment, it only took me about 30 minutes to get the thing done and plug it in.  Worked like a champ.  I think I've had at least a couple of dozen people tell me now how they would have done it, or boy was I dumb doing it that way.  Oh well, it was kinda like that old saying -- "it seemed like a good idea at the time."

One thing I did that was kinda fun was I took a long segment of parachute cord and tied a duck decoy onto the box of rocks.  This serves two purposes: one -- if I ever need to get the box out of the pond for any reason, I just have to get the john boat (not a canoe) and pull up the cord that is attached to the duck; and two -- passers-by think that is the tamest duck they have ever seen.  We even had a real duck land on the pond and swim up to the decoy and swim around it a couple of times before finally taking off.  Bet he felt almost as foolish as I did.

So, that was quite an adventure.  Just another day on McCartyville Road.  I just hope the fish enjoy it.  The pond really looks good now.  I can't wait until the late summer and fall dog days to see if it helps keep the water nice.

Success in life is kinda like fishing.  Some fish get caught for biting, and others get caught because they were in the wrong part of the pond at the wrong time.  Me, I would rather go out as a biter. 

Hooah

What a surprise at the pond...

This past week threw a couple of breaks in the weather my way, so I was able to get in some work around the yard.  I particularly wanted to get the first pass with the riding mower done as the grass was already up to my ankles.  I normally mow it at 3.5" - 4" because if I don't, I have an acre and a half of clumps of grass.  Sometimes in the early spring, I even have to cut it twice -- one direction the first time and another direction when I get finished with the first pass.  Takes some time, but at least I get a handle on it early.

I also spent some time with some of the basics -- picking up sticks in the yard, burning them, walking around the pond, working a bit on some of the cattails and pond scum.  Following that, with the sticks in the fire pit burning away, I thought it would be a good idea to "field test" some of the essentials of summer relaxation here by the "waterfront cottage."

So I hauled out the hammock that hangs out by the pond.  I mean, you have to test everything to make sure it is operational and ready for action (so to speak).  Guess what -- it was working fine, so I decided to extend the test drive, maybe even with my eyes closed (just in case I missed something the first time around). 

I was right in the middle of this last test when all of a sudden I heard a huge splash.  It was the kind of splash you would hear if someone were jumping off the dock in the middle of July.  I opened my eyes to see what was the matter and saw a huge hawk just taking off from the surface of the water with a small bass in its talons.  The hawk had just snagged dinner and was taking off .  It looked like a scene from some advertisement for a Rocky Mountain fishing trip or vacation.  Kinda reminded me of the old Hamm's Beer Commercials (am I dating myself?). Anyhow, as the bird flew away, it looked back almost like it was saying "thanks" or "I'll be back sometime."

It was just one of those moments you had to be there to really know what was going on and it was over in just a couple of minutes.  But it was really cool and I was glad to have been able to see it.  I'll try to remember this point when I get out the pole later this spring --

There are two types of fisherman - those who fish for sport and those who fish for fish.  (Author Unknown)

Hooah

A blast from the past...

Last night we had the opportunity to go see the production of The Jersey Boys in Fort Wayne, IN.  This was a Christmas gift from Doug and Danika.  The show was staged at the Embassy Theater, in the downtown area, a place we had never been before and which was quite a nice place.  I really like these old, restored theaters, because they remind me of the Aw Faw Palace once owned by Saddam Hussein.  It was very ornate, very colorful with huge columns along the walls and beautiful ceilings and chandeliers.  The city of Fort Wayne has quite a gem in this, and it is as nice as any I have seen anywhere around the country.

The story of Frankie Valli  and the Four Seasons was good, and knocked around some cobwebs for memories that I had of the things that took place in the 60s and 70s.  I recalled some of the things depicted in the show, and learned some new things -- especially the money issues and the road romances.  Didn't know much about that.  the guys playing the Four Seasons were good in their roles and put forth a very convincing show.

What a great Christmas present. We certainly appreciated it and thank Doug and Danika very much for it.

How's this for a "Selfie" in front of the Embassy Theater?

Oh, yeah, one more thing.  There sure were a lot of people there our age.  As as the guys sang and danced, I looked around and saw lots of people lip syncing and tapping their feet to the music.  I would bet that probably 90% of those in attendance grew up listening to Frankie Valli's music (that's "Valli with an I" as he said in the show), both with and after the Four Seasons, knew all the words to the songs, and probably drove the kinds of cars depicted in the performance.  Even the ones that got "all the way to 8 miles to the gallon."

This was billed as a nostalgic trip down memory lane, and it was. It brought back memories of high school dances, football, and Northside Beach.  It revived memories of cruising up and down Maple Avenue and doing crazy things that might get us arrested today.  Yes, it was nostalgic, I don't deny it and am not ashamed to admit that I missed some of those days and am glad to have lived through them.

Nostalgia -- the lump in your throat, the tear in your eye and the tug at your heart -- doesn't happen when all your memories are bad or dark.  They reflect the happy, carefree, perhaps a bit dangerous times of youth.  And as I have said before, without those nostalgic memories to keep you warm, your winter years can be pretty cold.

Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days. (Doug Larson)

Hooah

Don't ever give 'em the real reason...

Because you just might show them that you can be a klutz!! 

Yep, That's right -- I had a chance to earn the "Klutz Hall of Fame Award" this past Friday.  I was out trimming some boxwood bushes that had kinda grown out of control around the bedroom windows, and was holding back a branch, attempting to trim one lower down, next to the side of the house.  Well, that was a good idea, but it didn't quite work out.  As I reached down to sever that limb, it was another limb piece that almost got severed.  The blade from the battery operated hedge trimmer hit a branch and I got a "kick back."  I sliced a little segment of my thumb back -- nothing that couldn't be fixed, but just dumb.

I called for my wife to get me some paper towels and I then applied some basic U.S. Army first aid elements -- pressure and elevation. Our next adventure for the night was the emergency room at our local hospital.  For some reason, I happened to pick the same night as a large number of locals who needed some sort of attention.  I was always under the assumption that blood, flowing blood, took precedence in an emergency room.  However, I found out that those rules have changed in the past few years -- hmmmmmmmmmm.  They were all very nice people, but the line-up of things from bug bites received while fishing at the local river to a sprained ankle to a fellow who had the flu have now trumped a bleeder.  After the "triage" was done, we sat in the waiting area (well, actually we walked up and down the hall so as to stay as far away as possible  from the flu guy with the bucket perched under his chin).  This was a full hour.  In the meantime, the rather large collection of paper towels wrapped around my thumb area was getting rather red and soggy.  I remembered from Army training that hand, face and foot wounds are usually heavy bleeders and generally look worse than they really are, so I wasn't getting too worried.

OK.  Now it's down to the emergency room treatment area, where I sat for about another half an hour until they decided I needed to have it x-rayed to make sure I didn't nip a bone or have any foreign matter in there. This went OK until they wanted me to take the paper towels off my hand to get their pictures.  I bled all over the x-ray plates, the table I had to put my hand on, and the floor.  They said everything was OK, and cleaned up the mess.  At this point, the paper towels were completely useless, and they gave me a couple of wet wash clothes.  These worked fine.

Shortly after this, a nurse practitioner came in, took a couple of looks the thumb, and laid out a plan to get it all sewn up and on its way to recovery.  She did a nice job, even with the numbing needle and the stitching.  Only needed five of them.  She said it is better to use fewer than more because it somehow makes it heal faster or better.

Once I got everything cleaned up, I saw that the cut ran down my thumb behind my thumbnail.  Kinda like filleting it.  Not very bad at all, just a bleeder.  Check this out.

All in all, I received very good treatment in the hospital.  It was just a busy night.  My little adventure took just over three hours.  I kinda think this might be the way things are going to be from now on with the present state of insurance.  One thing I did like about that nurse practitioner was she said I should be able to play golf Tuesday in my league.  She wouldn't guarantee any quality of my swing, couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't "feel it" later, and wouldn't write me a note for (sympathy) strokes from my opponents.  But from the looks of her sewing, I think it will be fine. I'm gonna play anyway, so we'll see.

Earlier that day, I spent a couple of hours working with the chain saw, cutting up tree limbs and such.  Given the choice between the two, if I was going to get whacked by something, I would pick the hedge trimmer over the chain saw every time.  I also learned some valuable lessons -- wear my gloves when doing this work, and don't try to cut areas that you cannot see.  Safety rules!

Better a thousand times careful than once sliced. 

Hooah

A REALLY good time in NY...

As you may have seen in an earlier entry, we have a new grand daughter.  Miss Vivian Macy Bennett.

So, here it is, April and we are still kinda wrapped up in a Christmas eve kind of feeling.  Expectations are high as we made our way to Brooklyn to meet her and spend time with the family.  The boys were on spring break so we headed there to give the parents a hand during this week.  It sure was fun getting to meet Miss Vivian.  And even though I know better, I think she took a shine to me.

Of course, I had to share her with "Booma" (what Heath calls Pam). Vivian was a very contented baby and very easy to hold. 

We were there pretty much the whole week, so we got to do quite a bit with the boys.  After spending one of the mornings at the park, we went out to lunch at the local Subway.  Quinn likes their Flatizzas while Heath is pretty much sold on a ham sub on white bread.  It rained a good bit of the day so we didn't get to do much outdoors.

On one of the days, we took the boys to the bowling alley at Ft. Hamilton.  This is not a very big place, but has quite a bit of historical significance in its past. We'll save that for another day.  Today's challenge was to find out if the boys could throw/roll a bowling ball down the alley with sufficient force and speed to knock over any pins.  They accepted the challenge and proved their worth.  Quinn had one strike and two spares in his game.  He was using a ball that was rather light so he was able to bowl in the traditional manner.  Heath, on the other hand, needed considerable help.  I would carry the ball over to this green thing that resembled a dragon's tail.  One would place the ball on the top of it and the "bowler" would proceed to push it from its perch onto the alley and toward the pins.  Heath did quite well for a two-year old.

 We also got to go to the library one afternoon.  Each of the boys picked out a book -- I read one to Heath and Qujinn read his own.  He also picked out a soccer book for his daddy, who is quite into soccer.  And even though Quinn is quite capable of reading his own books, Booma and I (a.k.a. Grandpa) were still given the opportunity to read them a story before bed each night.  I know they will grow out of this, but I hope it isn't any time right away.

Before we got away from there, we were able to get a "family picture."  Each of the boys has his own "picture tolerance" and we just about maxed it on both of them.  Vivian didn't seem to care that much -- at least for now.  She was just satisfied with lying there being her adorable self.

“I’m glad we had the times together just to laugh and sing a song, seems like we just got started and then before you know it, the times we had together were gone.” (Dr. Seus)

Hooah