The End Of My Tradition

Tom Lester died yesterday.

I found out with a message from Leanne Petty. With the guy being up there in age, I knew that it was just a matter of time before he died. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about him a few weeks ago because I’m watching episodes of ‘Green Acres’ from seasons 4 through 6 on Amazon Prime. I don’t own those on DVD. Yet.

Tom Lester portrayed Eb Dawson, Mr. Douglas’ hired hand and mild irritant. Lester was the last surviving cast member from the ‘Green Acres’ series. The series aired from the fall of 1965 to the spring of 1971. I have vague memories of watching the show live. I was always drawn to it. And when it went into reruns, I would adjust my schedule to watch them no matter when they aired.

When the VCR came into our family’s affordable existence, I started recording them. I still have them today… for some reason.

Those tapes came in handy in January of 1994 when Pat Buttram “Mr. Haney” died. And a tradition was born.

Since then, I’ve celebrated the work of the ‘Green Acres’ cast members after their passing with beer, bourbon, and laughter.

So, last night the Chigs and I watched some episodes featuring the character Eb Dawson with beer and bourbon in the game room. The MIL decided to opt out even though she knew that I was in mourning. Don’t worry… She’ll get her payback when, not if, she takes a fall. I’ll be there to remind her as I contemplate how long to leave her lying on the floor.

I KID! But this Scorpio will find a way to pay her back for what I have deemed being insensitive to my emotional needs.

I would have continued watching deep into the night like I did when Eva Gabor died in 1995. But I’m counted on to wake the Chigs so that she’s on time for her work-at-home day. Gabor died on July 4th and so, I didn’t really have anywhere to be the next day since I have always made long weekends with vacation time when possible.

There’s still one cast member living from the big brother of ‘Green Acres’… Max “Jethro” Baer Jr. is the last surviving member of ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’. I’m a big fan of that series, but I’ve never kept home recorded video cassettes of the series nor have I purchased any DVDs. I have received a few DVDs as gifts, but just haven’t pulled the trigger on buying them. In my mind, I have a feeling that they’re still being aired on MeTV or some other network easily available as a digital sub-channel of a local television station. Plus, the real cutesy Ellie Mae scenes with animals always turned me off.

I missed meeting Tom Lester back in the 80s. He did evangelical work and traveled around the country. He was bringing his message to Hillcrest Baptist Church on Pisgah Church Road in Greensboro. I found out too late to get time off from work to attend. But thankfully, my parents went and got me an autograph. I have it packed away safely, but I have no idea where it is exactly. It’s just one of those things that I’d love to get framed.

My cousin Dan summed it up well on my post about Tom Lester’s passing… “It’s like losing a family member.”

Turning Of The IPAge

When Jamie and I first met, I knew that she was a beer drinker. And she drank beer for flavor and not quantity. We would visit “the mothership”, the original Natty Greene’s, in downtown Greensboro before a date. I was just developing a taste for IPAs thanks to Weather Dave Aiken and his guidance wherever he held court. But Jamie just couldn’t handle them. And that was fine with me. IPAs can take some time to win over your taste buds. Since I like to chew up aspirin tablets for the flavor, it didn’t take the bitterness of IPAs long to cross the river to my happy side.

Over the years, we have discovered a few IPAs that Jamie has dug. It has always been a hit or miss proposition. I found that the higher gravity IPAs won her over quickly because the booziness can sometimes drown out the bitterness. But those IPAs under 8% just produced the Mr. Yuk face on Jamie.

And sour beers? I wouldn’t even THINK about having her try one or purchase a four pack.

When we took an anniversary trip to Asheville to immerse ourselves in the beer produced there, I purposely skipped visiting the Wicked Weed Funkatorium. I knew that she would find nothing there enjoyable. So yeah, I took the personal hit because I wanted to try any and all of their sour beers. But the trip was for us and not just me. We walked by it more than a few times on our brewery hops. I told her that she probably wouldn’t find a thing inside the Funkatorium enjoyable. She didn’t fight me. I figured that eventually some of their sours would come my way and they have. I’ve had quite a few of them at the Beer Den at Lowes Foods and at City Beverage.

But a few months ago, something miraculous happened at the Harper’s. She tried an IPA less than 8% and LIKED IT! And here within the last month, she’s wanting to try just about any IPA that she can get her hands on.

I kind of got IPA’ed out during the last few years. I’ve been on a discovery of more browns, stouts, porters, pilsners, and lagers. Oh sure, there would be the occasional IPA at a brewery to try. Or if I hadn’t had a particular offering, I tried it to add one more on the heap so that I can score that elusive 2,500 mark on Untappd for a badge. Yeah, I’m a badge whore. But unlike my Foursquare days, I want to earn the Untappd badges as purely as possible.

I just wouldn’t purchase any of my “tried and true” IPAs unless it was a high gravity brew to share with my wife. We have a rule in our home and I have always lived by it since we started cohabitating years before we got married. And that rule is… “The last beer of it’s kind is reserved for Jamie. It shall not be touched unless she expresses otherwise.”

And the rule is for me, really. Because I will drink the hell out of some beer. Jamie doesn’t want me to drink it all up before she gets a taste. So yeah, it’s a sensible rule.

Now I’m getting growlers of IPAs and revisiting some of my favorites for her to try. She has REALLY taking a liken to every single one of them without the Mr. Yuk face. Right now, we have Sierra Nevada’s Hop Bullet, Victory DirtWolf Imperial, and Terrapin Hopsecutioner in our beer fridge. She has been enjoying all but the Hopsecutioner. She hasn’t tried that joker yet.

She has been warming my dark little heart. And when summer hits, I have a feeling that she’ll be floating around in the pool with various IPAs whenever she gets a chance.

Winter Storm Diego Highlights

I’m hoping that the term that I have coined makes it to some kind of popularity with folks like myself that do not dread snow, sleet, or freezing rain in any amount. The term is “snowdeo” and it rhymes with “rodeo”. I feel that calling these types of things “snowpocalpyse” stirs fear in to the hearts and minds of friends and neighbors. Hell, the MIL is anxious and she has been “wringing” her hands since Jim Cantore stepped onto North Carolina soil.

“Snowdeo” makes it sound more fun. It gives you something to look forward to. So yeah, if you’re like me, feel free to start using it. I’m really not sure why people fear it unless they’re just fretting about more time with their families. I don’t know. Even with the threat of losing power, I’m not that concerned. We have Monopoly to play that’ll give me the joy of slaying family and friends in a friendly game… Unless, they gang up on me. They certainly don’t do any wheeling and dealing with me out of their fears of going bankrupt. Perhaps I play the game with too much of a cutthroat style.

And for the record, I play by the rules. The game moves much faster that way. But folks have their own house rules that prolong the game and that’s why most respond to playing with a sigh so heavy that it can crush ice.

As I write this update, I’m waiting for the neighbors to throw the green flag for us to go over there or come over here. We have a growler full of beer, canned beer, bottle and boxed wine along with some heat and serve ribs from Lowes Foods.

The dogs went out first thing this morning with trepidation. CJ reluctantly ventured out into the yard and then took off like a gazelle. She was running and jumping. She stopped for a squirt and decided to come inside. She has ventured out a few times since.

Lucy made it about 8 feet onto the deck. She decided to let her water flow as she stood in snow that was up to her shoulder. Lucy has been secluded in our bedroom under the bed… Just like any other good little neurotic dog.

I just got word that our guests are about to venture out into the snow for some Monopoly action. I have to clean off the game room table. I have my money bag token ready slaying the competition.

……………………………………………..

Now it’s 4 days later and the Monopoly didn’t happen. Everyone gathered at “The Big House”, but the conversation and music got so good that we ditched the game. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to slay everyone, but there will be other times.

My apologies for getting back so late. Jamie had to work from home on Monday and Tuesday. That makes it kind of difficult to use this very computer to write and update. Plus, when she’s home we tend to spend as much time together as possible.

We got about 14 inches of snow, sleet, and freezing rain. And luckily, the power never went out. Oh sure, it flickered here and there. Jamie and I would look at each other with big “Oh $#!t” eyes, but thankfully the TV remained on to keep the MIL occupied.

And speaking of the MIL, I’ve never known anyone with absolutely nowhere to go get so bent out of shape about the precipitation. Oh yeah, her anxiety levels were right up there with what Kennedy was probably dealing with during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The woman had no plans to get out of her nightgowns and housecoats, but the threat of a large amount of accumulation nearly sent her over the edge. She was snippy and ready to lash out. If we didn’t have to live with her it would have been sheer comedy. The woman was at DEFCON 3 from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning.

As it turned out, she was afraid that she’d miss her appointment to get a “shot” from the doctor on Tuesday. I ended up taking her because she gets panicked incredibly easy. And the last time she got panicked, she hit two cars in a CVS parking lot. It would be easier to take her than let car insurance companies get involved and then drive down to court to have the ticket dismissed. As it turned out, they made a mistake and the approval for her “shot” hadn’t been received even though her medical insurance sent her a note that it was a go. But what are you going to do?

So, we left the doctor’s office and dropped by the grocery for 2 things that I needed in order to prepare dinner. Wouldn’t you know it? She had some shopping to do as well. She had no list or knowledge of the store’s layout. That had us bouncing around the Food Lion like an aimless kick ball. We’d go down one aisle and she would remember something else that she needed at the other end of the store where we had been before. Believe me. I was totally ready to break some law and get banned for popping open a tall boy straight from the beer case. I found that when shopping with the woman, there are no sweeter words than “That’s it. I’m done.”

So yeah, that was my highlights of Winter Storm Diego and luckily none of us are in county lockup.

The Hampton Hellcats

I hang out with mostly retired folks where I live now. Since I’m underemployed, I’ve embraced a lot of their lifestyle and activities… The Hampton Hellcats Sunday morning breakfast at 7 A.M. The Monday morning meeting at 10 A.M. And the Thirsty Thursday afternoon meet up at Lowes Foods in Clemmons. All but one of those activities involves some kind of alcohol consumption. The core of the group has always been my father-in-law Jim and his best friend Bait. I’ve been lucky enough to tag along and now I’m a presence that can usually be counted upon. Ya know, like a rash on a baby’s bottom.

My stepsons and I were made members of the Hampton Hellcats in order to keep the tradition alive and well. The Hellcats were created in the 1950s and used to hangout near the home of Richard Childress. It seems that they terrorized the mean street of Hampton Road in Clemmons and where it winds its way through Davidson County.

But these days it’s usually Bait and Jim terrorizing each other. At times, you’d think that they absolutely hate each other. But they just like to contradict and argue with each other. Once, they got into an argument about which end of a mattress cover belonged at the top of the bed. My stepson Sam got to witness the whole incident and felt bad that he didn’t document it with video. It got heated with all kinds of expletives being thrown around before they called the customer service number to find out directly from the manufacturers. I don’t even remember who came out on the right end of that deal unless you count Sam being in the right place at the right time to observe it all. You will never know boredom around those two men, I assure you. And seriously, you could make a reality series with those two.

The Sunday breakfast is usually a chill and hang with a core of characters… Jim, Bait, Andy, Randy, Brent (not so much anymore), and myself. Chad has made appearances on the last 2 Sundays. We usually gather around 7, talk about what we’ve done during the week, gripe about the Winston-Salem Journal being late, and eat. Bait fries the bacon and sausage. Randy brews the decaf and he used to make the sausage gravy, but one little criticism didn’t sit quite right.

I have no opinion since I don’t eat that stuff. I just don’t care for its ultra-blandness. It’s like eating paper Mache paste to me.

Brent would take care of the biscuits, but that has fallen into Randy’s hands now. Jim fries up the eggs or scrambles them for a large turnout and I usually try to wash the dishes. Bait can be hard-headed about letting me do something or maybe he feels that I don’t do a good job. We usually break up between 8:30 or 9.

Monday morning meetings are different. I’ve made it to core group status. Sometimes Richard (Bait’s neighbor) will meet with us. Randy has shown up on several occasions. We’ve also had D-Wayne and Mike. And if it’s raining, Brannon will show up.

Brannon shared his lunch of sardines once. I haven’t eaten sardines in over 30 or 40 years. Just never felt the desire, but we devoured those two cans and they’ve become an almost regular food at the Monday meetings. Sardines or kippered snacks. I’ve even started eating them at home. I’m quite fond of the sardines packaged with Louisiana Hot Sauce (AJ Allmendinger sponsor).

Every meeting starts with the ceremonial opening of a growler. The beer starts flowing and then we talk about current events and what projects that we have coming up for the week. We also set out to solve world problems, but we haven’t taken notes to make our reports to the United Nations.

But here lately, we’ve gotten into watching Bob Ross videos on YouTube. It can be quite relaxing.

I found his show on Netflix and put it on once as we sat around the table drinking beer and eating pork rinds with Bait’s wife Bobbie. But for some reason, they like watching on YouTube. And I say that only because I have an OCD about watching things in order even though every show completes a painting. It’s not like ‘The Joy of Painting’ had two parters or season ending cliffhangers. I’m just wired weirdly.

But I am making THIS blog post a two parter. I hope to have the second part up tomorrow or Wednesday. And here’s a hint… I’ll be talking about Bob Ross.

Husker Du 'Warehouse: Songs And Stories'

Here’s a subject that just doesn’t get enough attention… Passing gas in social situations. There’s just no “how to” book for that sort of thing. Did Ann Landers ever devote a chapter to the subject somewhere?

We were invited to a New Year’s Eve party at a friend’s house at Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia. For those that do not know, it’s kinda like a resort area where the rich folks frolic on the lake. And Smith Mountain Lake was a shooting location for the Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss film ‘What About Bob?’. It’s a beautiful area and I can easily find relaxation there when our friends invite us for a short stay.

But let’s get back to the subject of passing gas in social situations…

I had been hanging around their house during the day on December 31st. I was just chilling and convalescing from Christmas with a beer here and there. I wasn’t drinking to get drunk. I was just drinking beer because I enjoy it. I was getting a taste of different brews from Starr Hill, Legend Brewing, and a new brewery that opened near Smith Mountain Lake called Sunken City Brewing.

I like to try the local beers when I’m traveling.

For those that do not know, beer is carbonated. That air enters the body by mouth and exits from whence it came or it takes the low road. If… You know what I mean.

And since I’m not out for the Olympic Burp Team like one of the other party attendees, my carbonation tends to take the low road out of my system. But that can lead to problems.

If you don’t get it out you start to feel all bloated and then there’s some pain involved when you’re not able to release those gases. So you have to step outside on the sly to release the them into the atmosphere. You know, since I’m not 12 anymore I don’t make proclamations or just cut loose with a butt trumpet. I don’t typically let any gases fly all willy-nilly. I save those moments of intimacy for those I love.

The party started in first gear around seven and the first carbonated guest I was hosting decided that it was a good time to knock on the back door. So I stepped outside to let the beer bubbles out only to be greeted by complete strangers as they were getting out of their car. My body and mind were ready for the releasing of the bad-breath hound, but I had to tie that joker up. And the ironic part is that they were bringing in a cheese platter when I was stepping out to cut some.

I grabbed another beer from the ice bucket outside and went back in for some of that cheese along with meatballs and Little Smokies. The release was going to have to wait.

About 20 minutes later, pressure was building to the point where I was afraid to bend over. If a woman were to drop something I would have to be a gentleman and retrieve it for her. But she’d get the added excitement of me creating more living space by knocking down a wall with a single blast of bowel bloat.

So once again I stepped outside, took a quick look around for arrivals, and just when the bubble was about to crown someone came outside for a smoke.

Good God! It was getting ridiculous!

My dark passenger, as Dexter Morgan would say, was just going to have to wait it out while I poured some more passengers down my gullet. More people started to step outside so I thought to myself… Maybe I could go upstairs to the bathroom to rid myself of the beer burden.

Well, that didn’t work because a couple was upstairs assembling a dog cage for the pet they brought along. They were doing this in the room neighboring the bathroom. I simply couldn’t allow myself to break hurricane force winds when folks are within hearing range.

So again, I was going to have to wait a little bit longer.

When I came down the stairs, I decided to step out the front door to see if that coast was clear. I opened the door and whaddya know… There were people standing around on the front porch puffing away on cigarettes.

I sat on the couch with Matthew and watched him play some Xbox game. The pain was getting a little unbearable so I went back downstairs into the basement to “grab a beer”. I stepped outside and there was no one. No one! I walked out of the light to make sure no one was lurking around or getting out of their car. No One!

I let it loose like a wild rhino that had been tranquilized and tagged. BrrrrrrrrROOOOOmmmmmmm!

Yeah, it was like an elongated sonic boom! And there was immediate relief!

I turned around to find two people that entered the backyard by way of the hot tub area.

What the HELL?!

If they heard anything they weren’t letting on, but I was SO embarrassed.

My new year got off to a GREAT start!

John Mellencamp 'John Mellencamp'

Since Keith in France asked... The title of each blog entry is the musical choice for my day. It's the CD that I drag around with me to enjoy while driving. And I rip it and keep it on my MP3 player until the stock in the 30GB rotates it out. I chose a disc for each day. It's my OCD thing and yes, I know it's funny.

Why do I use my CD of the Day as the title?

Well quite frankly, I'm too lazy to find a catchy title and I'd like to give you a peek into my music collection. You know... For what it's worth.

Now on to my update...

I found myself walking through nearly a foot of dead leaves in the backyard the other day. I slipped and nearly fell as made my way down a small hill. Leaves can be slick even when they’re dry.

Sam has been too busy with extracurricular activities to dedicate time for leaf sweeping the yard, so I decided I would give it a shot. How hard can it be to drive a riding mower?

Well…

I got that joker started, but I couldn’t find reverse. There was no gear shift! The only thing that looked like a gear shift was the lever that controlled the height of the actual mower bladey thing. (I think they call it a deck) There was a bright yellow lever near the steering wheel, but I didn’t understand its purpose. So I sat on a running mower reading over the printed instructions that weren’t very clear to me. I saw no mention of using reverse so I uttered “Screw it” and turned it off.

The leaves were going to wait until a more capable person came along.

I felt a little defeated. I had a beer ready to roll with me. I had my Zune MP3 player and ear buds ready with random musical goodness. I was prepared for leaf duty.

And dammit, I can drive a straight-drive car or truck.

That’s all I ever heard during my life. All those years my father drove it into my head… “If you can drive a car with a manual transmission, you can drive anything.”

Well, it looks like my father never warned me about the John Deere riding mower and it’s elusive reverse.

Here’s the real kicker…

The next day Sam and Chigger hit the lawn with an all out assault on the leaves. Sam was riding around the yard sweeping up leaves on the riding mower. Chigger was armed with a rake and leaf blower. They fought Mother Nature’s confetti cannon for an hour until grass was visible.

Me? Where was I?

I supported them with KP duty. I prepared sandwiches and beverages for the hard yard workers. I even took them the food so they wouldn’t have to stop. I cleaned the kitchen. I did laundry. I even did a little sweeping and vacuuming. I was mother-fo’ing Hazel!

I was told by a jury of two that it was probably a good idea that I not learn how to drive and operate the riding mower. At first, I took offense to this ruling. But it only took a few minutes to get over it and pop open another beer.