One week after my son was born, my grandfather passed away. I wanted them to know each other, but time did not cooperate. I wrote this introduction of Holden to my grandfather.(excuse the sap,...it was a sappy time)

An Introduction

I would like to tell you of
a new friend I've grown to love,
a special kind of friend in many ways.

He favors you, no doubt,
has that long, flat, Tucker mouth,
he's someone with whom you'd like to spend the day.
(I think you'd like him)

When I'm down, he'll come around,
with a smile or sometimes a frown,
but either way he brings me joy with every word.

He's just like you, that way
and he likes to be out all day.
And if he can't he throws the worst fit ever heard.
(I think you'd like him)

So innocent and small,
but he looks like he's going to be tall,
his speech gets plainer every passing minute.

He loves music and he sings
loud enough to make the rafters ring.
You know, I can't recall my life when he wasn't in it.
(I think you'd like him)

He's courteous at times and sweet.
Never a stranger does he meet,
a real talker, yet another characteristic of you.

He likes to pet all the dogs
is afraid of snakes and frogs,
but his mother is also, and he's bound to be like her too.
(I think you'd like him)

If you were here with us now,
to "go over the fence" or to plow,
you'd have one more buddy walking by your side.

He'd hold a finger of your hand
as you gave him "the lay of the land"
and I'd tag along with a smile and a feeling of pride.
(I think you'd like him)

He knows you by your face,
but a picture just can't replace
rocking beside you, listening to your stories.

But, photographs will have to do,...
that, and hearing my memories of you,
Until we see you walking in those fields of glory.
(I think he'll like you.)

Mine's just plain blue.
I'm Whistling that Tune!

The King is Dead from GAS PAINS!

One of my Addictions

Created in 1963, Cap’n Horatio Crunch is a fun-loving sea captain. He was born and raised on Crunch Island, which is located in the Milk Sea. He wears a blue captain’s uniform, and a large blue captain’s hat. His ships is the SS Guppy, which he sails with his first mate, Seadog(1963), and his crew of four kids. Their mission is to keep the cargo hold of cereal from falling into the hand of Jean La Foote the Barefoot Pirate(1968).
Daws Butler, the voice of Yogi Bear and Huckleberry Hound for Hanna Barbera, and literally dozens of characters in the Fractured Fairy Tales segments for Ward, was the original vice of the Cap’n. June Foray(Rocky the Flying Squirrel, Little Nell, Witch Hazel)played all the female characters as well as two of the kids on the Guppy’s crew. Paul Frees(Boris Badenov, Inspector Fenwick, and most of the pirate voices in "Pirates of the Caribbean" at the Disney theme parks)was the narrator.
Other characters(and cereals)associated with them: Harry S. Hippo(Punch Crunch), Jean Lafoote the Barefoot Pirate(Cinnamon Crunch), Wilma the Winsome White Whale and Seadog(Vanilla Crunch), Chockle the Blob, a shape-shifting blob of chocolate chip cooke dough(Choco Crunch), Crunchberry Beast(Crunch Berries), Smedley the Elephant(Peanut Butter Crunch), Cap’n Crunch as Santa Claus(Christmas Crunch), Tugboat Granny(Cap’n Crunch’s Instant Hot Cereal), Shark and Turtle(Deep Sea Crunch), Magnolia Bulkhead and Otis, The Soggies and Jean Lafoote’s son.
Cap’n Crunch Ship Shake(1969/1970) came in three flavors: Chocolate Malt, Chocolate, and Strawberry. It was "as good for your as a bowl of oatmeal".
Cap’n Crunch’s Airhead Berries(2003)was basically a box of Crunch Berries shaped like balloons in 4 berry flavors. They also included a package of Airheads inside the box.

My 2001 Terror Attack

Until Katrina, there has been no terror struck in the hearts of Americans like 9/11/01. Obviously, one was an act of nature the other was an act of idiots, a glaring difference. So, though Americans experienced terror with both of these tragic events, we processed them differently. I believe with Katrina America probably felt violated or attacked or vulnerable, just like we did with the events of 9/11, but different because because 9/11 was man-made.

Toward late August/early September in 2001, I got this strange feeling in my gut. Not an emotional feeling, but a physical one. It seemed familiar, yet not. One evening, I awoke to what felt like the worst gas pains one could ever have. I got up I rolled on the floor because it was all I could think to do to try to stop the pain. Finally relief came and I was able to go to sleep. But before I went to sleep I remember thinking about Conway Tweety. For some reason, I remembered how he died and I wondered if I was experiencing what he had experienced in the early 90's that had claimed his life in a hospital Springfield, MO; a ruptured appendix. I knew that my body still didn't feel right. In the following week I noticed I was sweating a lot(even started carrying a towel), had the chills, didn't feel like doing anything, walked bent over and had no appetite, looked bad in . I went to the doctor, he saw blood in my urine and said it was probably a kidney stone. I asked if it could be my appendix. He didn't answer. The next week I made another appointment because I was no better. Again, he had me pee in a cup. And told me to hang in there, ordered a CT scan. Two weeks from that date was as soon as I could get on the schedule. I spoke candidly with a physician I was recruiting for the health system for which I work and he told me to demand an anti-biotic from my physician because it sounded like I had some kind of infection going on. I got my perscription that day and took it that evening and then next day went for a morning CT scan of my gut. The technician made me drink three big cups of this nasty white stuff and I only gagged once. She asked me if I was allergic to shellfish and I asked if that was what we were having for lunch(I didn't see, but I'm sure she rolled her eyes and thought hardee har har, the world's full of unoriginal comedians). I usually am quesy with needles, but was not this day. After that, I headed to Love Field to pick up a doc and his spouse who were interviewing with one of my hospital administrators(he was the same guy who got me to demand an antibiotic) I drove he and his wife to their appointment outside of Fort Worth, and waited on them. I really felt good that day. I remember thinking that maybe I had turned a corner, namely because I had an appetite again. I ate lunch at a local eatery in this small town and as I was paying, got a call on my cell phone from my doctor telling me to go to the emergency room that someone would be there to meet me. That my appendix was rupturing. In fact, it had ruptured,...three weeks prior to that call. God saved my life. I can't think or write about this without crying. At first I thought why did this happen to me,...then I thought why didn't I die like people who normally experience this,...why did God cause a membrane to wall off the infection so it would not spread to the rest of my body. That same evening, on September 18, Doctor Lance Smith removed my appendix and a few feet of my intestine that was gangrenous. He also took off three moles I had the presence of mind to ask about before I went under. He clicked his bic and circled them. Post surgery was no cake walk(it hurt to walk but when I walked I looked like a 90 year old man). I then thought of all the things I had done while carrying this time bomb within me,....cut the yard a few times, drove to Austin and back to attend a conference, worked every day, wore a Clifford the Dog costume for a book fair at our son's school. In the Clifford suite, I sweated profusely. Later I found out it was because of the infection, but then, I just thought it was the costume. I often thought what I would have looked like being wheeled into the ER dressed like a big red dog. "Get that dog outa here! The vet's two blocks east!" Thank you God for getting me through this time of terror. I felt Your peace and I don't know why. And thank you that I didn't have to endure wearing the Clifford suit into the ER.

Holden using that big head.
The only one in 7th grade with a black varsity helmet, due to the extreme size of his noggin.
Good luck, son! You're my all time favorite football player!

SUPERMAN

I just watched this movie again. Though some may label it corney, I have seen it several times and it still makes me a little damp around the eyes. The whole 50's styling of this non computer animated movie is right up my alley. I think I was born late; out of time. There are many good messages here and yet they didn't forget to entertain. The overwhelming message that Hogarth teaches the iron giant(adapted for screen from the book, The Iron Man by Ted Hughes) is that "You don't have to be bad(like Atomo the evil comic book character). You can choose who you want to be". The iron giant wants and chooses to be like the comic book hero who only uses his powers for good, Superman. There's also Hogarth's touching description of what happens when something dies. It's religion(gasp!). But don't take my feeble word for it. I realize I am failing miserably at providing appropriate inspiration, to the level of this quality film. So, just see the movie. And if you have seen it before, watch it again. With your parents if possible. No matter their age or yours, but especially if the 50's was their era.

The Stylings of Elvis!by Holden

Twenty Years Ago

“Suzanne Vega” (1985)

“One of the 100 Greatest Albums of the 80’s” “…Vega's intimate first album proved to be a significant milestone in this decade” - Rolling Stone Magazine

"…Vega's self-titled debut album proved to be one of the decade's seminal releases.”- Alan Jackson, Vox

“…Vega's philosophical, quiet, but confident approach would open the door for a second generation of female singer-songwriters like Dar Williams and Shawn Colvin. Her debut remains an unassuming sleeper for one of the '80s best folk or pop albums.”-Roy Francis Kasten

Twenty years ago, I graduated from college, got a new car, moved from my hometown of Memphis and took a slightly higher than minimum wage job. On my day off, I was looking for new music that would not strain my budget and found a nostalgic record store on the south side of Birmingham, AL, called Charlemaine's. I had seen the signs for this shop, had walked by the place a couple of times. It was above a restaurant, so there was a door at street level behind which was a dark set of stairs leading to a one bare bulb lit door at the top. I had heard many stories about people travelling dark staircases that led mostly DOWN to bad consequences,...not as many leading UP to bad consequences(I was sheltered as a child and had seen too many mob movies with dark staircases). So after I ran my wildly imagined "dark stair gauntlet", the rest of the experience was pretty normal and non-threatening. When I walked in, the clerk was playing a new recording of a new artist, Suzanne Vega. He spoke highly of her as a new folk artist. I knew folk music a little. My father had some albums of The Weavers, with Pete Seegar, The New Christy Minstrels, The Hootenannies, so I knew I liked that folk jangle and the stories their ballads told. I looked at the the jacket of the album, no great shakes there, just some black and white photos. Interesting, but not a big purchase hook for me. I happened to be cash poor that day, so I walked out of the store without it. This was the pre-compact disc era,...and I didn't have a turntable, but had an AM/FM cassette player in my new '84 Honda Civic. I liked what I heard while in Charlemaine's and as I was about to leave the clerk told me that she was coming to the University of Alabama at Birmingham(UAB) in a couple of weeks. He gave me a postcard/handbill with all the pertinent information included. I was always looking for something different to do, so I asked my, then, girlfriend(now wife of 18 years)if she would like to go with me. She didn't know Suzanne Vega either, but we went. We were even able to purchase the tickets at the door the evening of the concert, so this wasn't considered a "hot ticket" in Birmingham. She played a small, out of the way theatre on campus, more like a room. There was a local warm-up folk singer. He was pretty good, but not memorable. Attending this concert was sort of like betting a maiden horse race,(first race for new horses; no track record/history to help anyone beat the odds; it's any horse's race; unpredictable) so not many people were betting on Suzanne's talent that night. Suzanne came from behind the curtain, sat on a tall stool,...just her and her guitar. I soon found that she really didn't need music behind her words,...they were musical by themselves; without accompaniment. The words she chose and the way she arranged them were worthy art. But her music was like a shot of Bailey's in your coffee,...just adding an extra zip, skilled guitar accompaniment and complex melodies were a complementary flavor for her lyrics. They were haunting, intoxicating and addictive. This concert proved to be one of those rare moments when you instantly love something and know it is destined to be a favorite of yours. The very next day, cash poor or not, I went back to Charlemaine's and picked up the cassette(none of the chain record shops had it) and played it for years. Two years ago, I finally decided that I needed to replace my cassette with a CD. I think I have worn grooves in that disc, so much so that we could probably play it on my turntable. In early August, a month ago,...I went to see Suzanne Vega perform in Dallas. It was my second time to see her. A twenty year cycle had brought me back to see Suzanne Vega and had brought her back to touring with just her guitar. I drove there in my new car. The second new car I have ever owned. Another 20 year cycle event.

Suzanne Vega

Small Blue Thing

Today I am
A small blue thing
Like a marble
Or an eye
With my knees against my mouth
I am perfectly round
I am watching you
I am cold against your skin
You are perfectly reflected
I am lost inside your pocket
I am lost against

Your fingers
I am falling down the stairs
I am skipping on the sidewalk
I am thrown against the sky
I am raining down in pieces
I am scattering like light
Scattering like light
Scattering like light
Today I am
A small blue thing
Made of china
Made of glass
I am cool and smooth and curious
I never blink
I am turning in your hand
Turning in your hand
Small blue thing

CAT-DOG

Simon is a dog trapped in a cat's body. He lounges on the cool hard tile floor under the fans like a big dog. He runs to greet me when he hears me come through the front door(but no newspaper or house slippers in tow, if he was that "dog-like" I would be seeking a vet to do a "species change" operation). He follows me around the house looking for attention, even into the bathroom while I shave and shower. I think he may be part lab because he is facinated with water to the point of getting in the running shower at times. Simon is always seeking attention, like a "Rover". He wants to be noticed, to be the center of attention, the house, the universe(well that last one is a cat attribute). He likes to rough house like a dog. He even eats and drinks like a dog. When his food hits the bowl, he's there waiting to chow down like hound. Oh, he has his charCATeristics, too. But he drapes across our furniture like a panther and stalks our other cat like feline. He doesn't bark, but has a whimpy cat meow, which seems unfitting for his manly testosterone filled demeanor(tho he's actually neutered). He purrs like a diesel truck. We are working on fetching,...but that will be when his cat personality will kick in and he will simply shoot me a, "Get it yourself" look/attitude. And I will get it myself.

Little Buddy

Whether as Maynard G. Krebs or as Gilligan, Bob Denver was a huge icon. Just in those two shows alone, his image is so huge that I can't really think of any other television shows or movies in which he starred. Maybe there were none? I watched Gilligan's Island every afternoon when I got home from school. You would think the magic would have worn off, but until a couple of years ago, when TVLAND decided to go West at noontime, I spent my lunches in the tropics with the crew and passengers of the SS Minnow. Now at lunch, it's peanut butter & jelly(coincidentally the same after school snack I had when I sat down to watch Gilligan re-runs in the afternoons years ago,....when we only had three channels!) and back to back Gunsmoke and Bonanza. No comparison. I guess all that remains of the cast now is the professor(who never had a real name?), Mary Ann and Ginger. The Skipper, Mr. and Mrs. Howell and now Gilligan have taken that final three hour tour to that big tropical island in the sky. Bob Denver was his real name, but he will always be Gilligan to us(more so than the "black and white" era Maynard). And he was only 70. I wonder if eating those radioactive vegetables in that one episode might have had an adverse effect on his health?

Two Separate Parts of a Country Song

They say talks cheap
And neither of us is poor
Yet we don’t often speak

If non-verbal communication
Makes up 80% of the message,…
What are you not saying to me?

jgf1998

The Eye of Tiger is upon you,.....Eerie! Move around the room and notice how her eye follows you,...........Psych!

Wake up and smell the coffee

"I have given up decaffeinated",...usually it's the other way around,..."I've given up caffeine", was my previous motto,...now I'm officially off that wagon. But, in my defense, coffee and diet coke with lime are the only two beverages I consume that contain caffeine. Moderation. Through personal experimentation,...I have found that caffeine is like ginko biloba for my system. It not only enhances my energy, slightly,...but aids my memory as well. But no more than two cups. Caffeinated coffee has the same rule for my body as martini's,...and my pal, Jay gave me the crutch martini rule,....he said he heard martini's are like breasts,...."one is too few and three is too many". As I said that rule also applies to me for caffeinated coffee. One is okay,...two is just right but three cups makes me jittery and by noon I crash hard and am face down in a puddle of drool under my desk. I am not ashamed to say Krispy Kreme is my preferred coffee beverage. Yes, the image is all wrong. As a matter of fact, there is no image,....well, there's the overweight image that comes with their main product line,...but I am about to be 44, and I don't care. The coffee is as good as Starbuck's and they have several choices to select from, including decaffeinated. I prefer the smooth blend, with two cremes and one equal,....though I am man enough to drink it black. I usually go to the "drive-up-to" window, and the staff at my Krispy Kreme even administer the creme and the equal for me! Now, that makes you feel important! That's customer service!(I once was served by an apparent dislexic who put in one creme and two equals, but then who has zero defects?). And another positive about KK coffee is that's not only is the brew as good/or better than the big name coffeeterier(?), but the price point is 10 cents cheaper. Now, that may not sound like much, but how many of us in this $3 per gallon day, would drive 25 miles to fill up our cars with gasoline at an out of the way little fast food mart selling fuel 10 cents cheaper than everyone else?

Just a couple other features about Krispy coffee,...they sell a "to go" brew box for $9.99, which is great for class at church or business meetings, and they now sell the "fru fru" iced/blended dessert cappaccino drinks.

My idea for KK is that they spin-off some small specialty coffee shoppes that may appeal to those not comfortable with the doughnut image(Krispy Koffee?nnnaaaa,...I think it'll have to be some "breakaway" name). I must admit,...just the smell is a source of strong temptation to tack on a dozen glazed to go with my single cup of joe,...but I have resisted thus far,....by staying in the car. If you go in, they always offer a free hot doughnut,...and I am just not that strong. With just one free sample, they can convince me(or I convince myself) that I need to walk out of there with no less than two dozen. My conspiracy theory is that the glaze is laced with crack. I mean, when I go in,...it's all I can do to keep from leaping over the counter and laying on a coushin of fluffy warm doughnuts as the conveyor transports me through the glaze cascade. Well,....last week I touted the wares of Whataburger, so this is my free plug for this week. Krispy Kreme Koffee(but please don't abbreviate).

The Skinny on FATS

It seems Fats Domino, 77, refused to leave his three story home in New Orleans and was unaccounted for for a while in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. His daughter, who lives in NewJersey, was able to identify him in the photo below which was taken Monday night as he was being helped out of a rescue boat. He lived in the 9th Ward, which is said to be littered with dead bodies now. No one knows where he has been taken, nor do they know what became of the other family members who were supposedly with him. This man is a national treasure! And he needs to be cared for in that fashion! I remember listening to my mothers old 45's of Fats singing "Boll Weevil",...man his music is infectious! The image on the cover of my parents' old Fats Domino LP is etched on my brain too,...a color rendering of a more svelt Fats(really flattering image) in a nice suit strolling off the LP jacket. The colors muted purple and gold. Definitely colors for royalty(Wow! I was right! I found a photo of the jacket after I had written the discription of it! Thank goodness my memory is not just a mess of cobwebs and I still remember the important things in life!). All I can say is that he is more than welcome to stay at my house. I have an extra bedroom/bathroom and an old piano and a piano playing son who could richly benefit from a month or two with a rock n' roll hall of famelegend. The good news is, we know Fats is safe, but the bad news is we still don't know where he is. "Ain't That a Shame!"

EAT A PICKLE!

This is the reply I got from a friend when I commented that I needed some gas,...."Eat a pickle"(some say radish or can of pork'n beans). Well, don't we all wish it was as easy as that! Another friend sent me several political cartoons with commentary on the rising prices of fuel. One pictured a service station attendant standing between a cash register with the empty cash drawer open and a gas pump, the attendant was shouting to the customer(not asking), "Fill er up!". Now with the recent catastrophe on the Gulf Coast, gas prices are spiking again. Bush just passed that huge engergy bill and the fat cat oil bidnizmen got fatter,...now with the high demand, they seem to be getting fatter,...it seems they are profiting off Americans who are down and out. That's waaaay more un-American than speaking out against the war in Iraq. We have all seen the humorous gas station signs with "arm" and "leg" and "first born", but today Reuters featured in the "most emailed" photos, a shot of a BP sign in Stockbridge, GA that was selling gas from $5.87 to $6.07! If that's not price gouging,...I don't know what is. And un-American! The energy bill recently passed by Bush will NOT give us relief at the pump, but will relieve the big oil companies' debts and increase their profits. And guess what industry "Dubby's" experience was in? The industry in which he still has many cronies?(and it's not major league baseball). What impetous do the guys in Washington have to stint rising gas prices? They don't pay for their own gas to get to work! We pay for their gas. And they don't drive or ride a bus or train or even share a cab, they have a driver in a limo or government car service pick them up at their homes every day and drive them to work. Well, it's time for them to come down from their ivory towers and stop letting us just eat cake. Alternative fuels are where the investments of our tax dollars need to go, not shoring up oil bidniz buddies. Our country's jonesing for oil all the time. And we need to stop going into bad neighborhoods to pay our criminal dealers who put on a smiling face as they take our money but would rather stabb us in the back with their squiggley knives. It's time we went into alternative fuel rehab to get the oil monkey off our backs. We falsely believe we are independent in the USA,...but really we are co-dependents and need any cheap oil pumping country that can provide us our fix. We need to just say NO to OPEC and the Saudi's, have an intervention or find a habit easier for us to support, maybe something we can "grow" on our own.

Those were the days!

One of these things is not like the other

(the photo goes with the title, not nessessarily the journal)

I was thinking about the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector this morning, in Luke 18:9-14. Which character do you think would be better to play the part of the Pharisee, Bert or Ernie? Bert, I think, cause he's a stickler for keeping the rules,...though I could also see him as a miser-type taxcollector.You may know the story. The Pharisee would be someone who was a member of "the religious right" of the day. As he prayed to God he said that he was glad he was above the evil actions of other men and then he went on to list for God all the good deeds that he had done. Then the lowly tax collector, who is perceived by the public as the scum of the earth for stealing to make a profit, didn't even look into heaven(as was the customary posture for prayer during that day, at least for those in the "religious right") and his prayer was short, and to the point,...."God have mercy on me, a sinner." This guy would be the permanent closing prayer leader at my church! God acknowledges one of the two prayers,...but it isn't the prayer of the one that most people living then would typically think God would hear. It's an earnest, heartfelt prayer of a contrite heart, though sinful. God hears the prayer of the taxcollector! Now, no one during that time would ever have looked at the two men and said that the Taxcollector seemed to be closer to God. The way the two men live their lives is blatantly different. It was a "no brainer". The Pharisee was "at church" every time the doors were open, but the Taxcollector was most likely NOT there. The Pharisee probably knew the scriptures backwards and forwards, the Taxcollector most likely did not. One had an honorable profession, the other didn't. One did many good deeds, the other fleeced citizens for all he could when gathering taxes just to line his own pockets. Everyone, including us, would have selected the one whom outwardly seems very holy and spiritual. I think one important lesson for us here is that we don't think like God(Isaiah 55:8-9),...and we never will. So, those who seem to us to be the furthest from God, may, in all actuallity, be the closest to God,....and those who seem closest to Him, may actually be the farthest away. What a shocking lesson. What an eye-opening and different perspective this simple story gives us. Jesus is good at that, giving us radical teachings in a simple lesson. Think about how this parable would translate in our American culture today. The people whom we regard as very holy, very Bible knowledgeable, full of good deeds, might not be close to God at all and those who seem far away from God may be closer than we know or suspect. God knows our hearts. So, "judge not, that ye be not judged". For what seems like goodness to us, God may see as a case of doing the right thing for the wrong reason. Altruism is a 50 dollar word that I don't hear too often, maybe because it's scarce. Doing the right thing for the right reason. Be real with your neighbor, and especially God, cause he and Paul Harvey know "the rest of the story". As we stand and as we sing 25 verses of "Just as I Am".

The 'W' above all other 'W's

If I can't have a Krystal hamburger, this is the next best thing(though some might say it's apples to oranges). In Dallas/Fort Worth we only have one Krystal(way up in Carrollton) which only recently opened. I heard people would wait hours for the one-of-a-kind taste of a "GREASEtal", as we have come to acknowledge them. Guess that's better than a six hour drive on I-20 to Vicksburg, MS, the next closest Krystal. I remember growing up in Memphis in the late 60's/early 70's, going midnight bowling with kids from church and afterwards, about 6 AM, hitting the Krystal for breakfast near the intersection of Getwell Road and Park. The waffles were great! I don't think they serve breakfast anymore. Remember that before you "set your mouth" for a Krystal breakfast after midnight bowling in Memphis. Now, Whataburger serves breakfast, but no waffles, and not in Memphis(go west my son, go west!). Krystals or no, waffles or no, in Texas, the Whataburger 'W' is the ONLY 'W' fit for the bumper of my SUV.