Yes, I believe you can live at a truck stop in America.
In Bakersfield, California I stopped by a Flying J truck stop to fuel up and spend the night before making my delivery in Tulare, California the next morning.
After dinning in the resturant I took a shower and stopped by the TV room to see what was on. I knew what was on, a rerun of Law and Order. Perhaps I would luck out. Yeah, Law and Order.
In the seats in front of me was a young couple in their mid twentys sacked out and perhaps making out under a very large blanket. The male of the pair left for a few minutes to return with two large cokes and a large pizza.
I finished the Law and Order and went to my sleeper to get a good nights rest.
Early the next morning I passed the TV room on my way to breakfast and the young couple were still watching the TV and eating cold pizza.
My delivery was made in Tulare, then I made my way toward Los Angeles for another load to go to Sacramento. I stopped by the same truck stop the next day for fuel and lunch.
Guess who was still there, drinking cokes and eating a fresh pizza, taking up five seats and hugging under the big blanket.
Perhaps they moved in.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Moms' Memory
When mothers begin to age they begin to forget. I remember when I was fourteen, my mother forgot my birthday and my carrot cake.
She forgot for four months, but made up for it with an extra big carrot cake.
Well, she did it again. I turned seventy last week and Mom forgot. She called four days after to let me know she was improving because it was only four days and not four months.
I'm really beginning to be concerned about her memory. This is the second time she has forgotten my birthday. the first was in 1952 and now in 2008. If this keeps up I probably will not even get a call in 2038 when I turn one hundred.
She forgot for four months, but made up for it with an extra big carrot cake.
Well, she did it again. I turned seventy last week and Mom forgot. She called four days after to let me know she was improving because it was only four days and not four months.
I'm really beginning to be concerned about her memory. This is the second time she has forgotten my birthday. the first was in 1952 and now in 2008. If this keeps up I probably will not even get a call in 2038 when I turn one hundred.
Reality
During Desert Storm an Army National Guard Col. from Myrtle Beach SC was to be promoted to Brigadier General while en route to Saudi. He, his staff and part of his unit were being transported on a C-5 Galaxy Aircraft.
The front upstairs, seats fourteen people and the rear upstairs seats seventy three people. The cargo compartment, the lower level holds up to six greyhound buses or about 400,000 pounds of cargo.
There are about 32 steps up a ladder to get to the balcony of the upper front passenger area, almost straight up. The symbol of rank of a Col. is an eagle with spread wings. The symbol of rank of a Brigadier General is one star.
Today I saw
An Eagle face reality
His task ahead
Is uncertain agony
His legs were shaking
As he took
That first long step
Into the Galaxy
His voice was quaking
As he ascended
The steps toward
The balcony
He took his seat
Shed his wings
And assumed
His star of authority
The baby Brigadier
Has passed
His first test
Of Deployment Reality
The front upstairs, seats fourteen people and the rear upstairs seats seventy three people. The cargo compartment, the lower level holds up to six greyhound buses or about 400,000 pounds of cargo.
There are about 32 steps up a ladder to get to the balcony of the upper front passenger area, almost straight up. The symbol of rank of a Col. is an eagle with spread wings. The symbol of rank of a Brigadier General is one star.
Today I saw
An Eagle face reality
His task ahead
Is uncertain agony
His legs were shaking
As he took
That first long step
Into the Galaxy
His voice was quaking
As he ascended
The steps toward
The balcony
He took his seat
Shed his wings
And assumed
His star of authority
The baby Brigadier
Has passed
His first test
Of Deployment Reality
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Month of May
It was dark and cold in the pinewoods where I grew to maturity. When the loggers came to cut the forest they took us all. They didn't even leave any remnant of a woods.
Even before I was hauled away, bulldozers began clearing and I overheard there was going to be apartments built where I once stood. The woods, my home, had been near the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the home of the famous 500-mile races. I always wondered what that noise had been during the month of May.
I was offloaded at a lumber mill where I was trimmed, sliced, and diced into hundreds of little blocks. I was then packaged in a little plastic bag along with four little wheels and four nails.
I sat around with nothing to do for over a year, then one day I was moved into a very bright store and placed on a shelf. Along came a little boy about ten years old wearing a blue uniform and a yellow scarf that picked me up. I heard him tell his father, "This is going to be the winner Dad, I can just feel it." The year was 1967 and I could not understand, I was just a block of wood, how could I be a winner?
Quickly I found out how winners are made. They are drilled, sawed, shaved, and sanded into little miniature racing cars. They are painted and sanded and painted again. They are weighed then drilled and filled with lead and weighed again. I had been fitted with the four little wheels and lubricated with fine graphite. I really looked like a beautiful black shinny winner.
The day of the big race came. I was placed on a long sloping track with a car on both sides of me. Suddenly the barrier dropped and down the ramp I went, 8.2 seconds flat. I had won, but that was only the first race. I had to win two more before I would really be the winner. I sure hope my graphite stays in place until this is over.
The second race was no competition. One car was just a block of wood with wheels and the other one looked like a little green bug.
The third and final race looked like it was going to be tough. I only had one to beat, a shinny silver dude that looked real fast.
We were placed on the track. The barrier dropped, down and away I went. Another 8.2 seconds and slick silver dude was nowhere in sight. It seems the glue wasn't quite dry on one of his wheels and it fell off going down the ramp. I was the grand champion of the 1967 Tulip Tree Trace pinewood derby.
For the next ten years or so I was packed away in a box with little flags only to be put on display for a table decoration during the month of May. Then I was packed away in a very dark place for a long time.
Suddenly in 2007 I was taken out of storage, had my wheels fitted with fresh graphite and I was off to a race, only I found I was the backup car to the main one. A little slick looking needle nosed red thing. Me and little needle nose were slipped on to the track for a little test run before the real races. I showed him, I left him smelling my hot graphite.
Little red needle nose was hidden away in a plastic Wal-Mart bag while I won the first two heats. Then I guess I was just getting tired or my age was catching up to me. A big blue bully beat me by just a tenth of a second. I took second in the tournament, but me and little red needle nose, were the centerpiece for the table display during the month of May.
The table decoration this year was exquisite. Just me and little red needle nose sitting among a display of flags, flowers, my trophies and surrounded by dishes and bowls of wonderful smelling food.
While the family gathered around for the blessing, a familiar hand reached into the display, picked me up and spun my wheel a couple of times. Before the prayer was finished I was carefully put back in my spot, but with a wet tear on my hood. That familiar hand belonged to the ten year old boy that molded and shaped me from a block of wood in 1967.
Even before I was hauled away, bulldozers began clearing and I overheard there was going to be apartments built where I once stood. The woods, my home, had been near the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the home of the famous 500-mile races. I always wondered what that noise had been during the month of May.
I was offloaded at a lumber mill where I was trimmed, sliced, and diced into hundreds of little blocks. I was then packaged in a little plastic bag along with four little wheels and four nails.
I sat around with nothing to do for over a year, then one day I was moved into a very bright store and placed on a shelf. Along came a little boy about ten years old wearing a blue uniform and a yellow scarf that picked me up. I heard him tell his father, "This is going to be the winner Dad, I can just feel it." The year was 1967 and I could not understand, I was just a block of wood, how could I be a winner?
Quickly I found out how winners are made. They are drilled, sawed, shaved, and sanded into little miniature racing cars. They are painted and sanded and painted again. They are weighed then drilled and filled with lead and weighed again. I had been fitted with the four little wheels and lubricated with fine graphite. I really looked like a beautiful black shinny winner.
The day of the big race came. I was placed on a long sloping track with a car on both sides of me. Suddenly the barrier dropped and down the ramp I went, 8.2 seconds flat. I had won, but that was only the first race. I had to win two more before I would really be the winner. I sure hope my graphite stays in place until this is over.
The second race was no competition. One car was just a block of wood with wheels and the other one looked like a little green bug.
The third and final race looked like it was going to be tough. I only had one to beat, a shinny silver dude that looked real fast.
We were placed on the track. The barrier dropped, down and away I went. Another 8.2 seconds and slick silver dude was nowhere in sight. It seems the glue wasn't quite dry on one of his wheels and it fell off going down the ramp. I was the grand champion of the 1967 Tulip Tree Trace pinewood derby.
For the next ten years or so I was packed away in a box with little flags only to be put on display for a table decoration during the month of May. Then I was packed away in a very dark place for a long time.
Suddenly in 2007 I was taken out of storage, had my wheels fitted with fresh graphite and I was off to a race, only I found I was the backup car to the main one. A little slick looking needle nosed red thing. Me and little needle nose were slipped on to the track for a little test run before the real races. I showed him, I left him smelling my hot graphite.
Little red needle nose was hidden away in a plastic Wal-Mart bag while I won the first two heats. Then I guess I was just getting tired or my age was catching up to me. A big blue bully beat me by just a tenth of a second. I took second in the tournament, but me and little red needle nose, were the centerpiece for the table display during the month of May.
The table decoration this year was exquisite. Just me and little red needle nose sitting among a display of flags, flowers, my trophies and surrounded by dishes and bowls of wonderful smelling food.
While the family gathered around for the blessing, a familiar hand reached into the display, picked me up and spun my wheel a couple of times. Before the prayer was finished I was carefully put back in my spot, but with a wet tear on my hood. That familiar hand belonged to the ten year old boy that molded and shaped me from a block of wood in 1967.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Glenns' Birthday
Some years ago I was invited to a birthday party. In fact it was about sixty years ago give or take a year. Ice cream, cake, pin the tail on the donkey and bring a gift for Glenn.
Everything Mom suggested, I didn't want to take or it was too expensive. I decided to wrap up a dollar bill. Don't laugh, that was when a dollar was worth a dollar. Today a dollar is probably worth fifteen cents.
I know gas was fifteen to eighteen cents a gallon. A dollar would get you at least five gallon. But, of course our great American cars only got eight miles to the gallon. That would be about forty miles on that dollar. Today's car at twenty five miles per gallon at three eighty a gallon wouldn't get us quite as far. Remember if it wasn't for the Japanese we would still be getting eight miles per gallon and sixty five thousand miles to the first engine overhaul.
Anyway back to the birthday party and that dollar. I put the dollar in an envelope, in a small box, in a slightly bigger box, in another slightly bigger box, then again in a little bigger box and then in a really big box. I wrapped it in birthday paper with a ribbon and bow.
This was the biggest box at the party. All during the games and pinning the tail on the donkey, Glenn kept looking at that box. We ate cake and ice cream and sang songs. Glenn kept his eye on that box.
Finally, Glenn got to open presents. A pair of socks, pencils for school, a yo-yo, a toy soldier; stuff like that and all American made. The big box was last. Glenn opened, and opened and opened and laughed and opened some more and everybody laughed.
He then found the envelope that said Happy Birthday on it. He opened it and found the dollar. We all laughed. Then Glenn got serious when he said "Mom, now I have enough to get that new bible I've been saving for".
Silly little story, but Glenn Kapperman became a Presbyterian Minister.
You never know what your little gifts will help accomplish.
Everything Mom suggested, I didn't want to take or it was too expensive. I decided to wrap up a dollar bill. Don't laugh, that was when a dollar was worth a dollar. Today a dollar is probably worth fifteen cents.
I know gas was fifteen to eighteen cents a gallon. A dollar would get you at least five gallon. But, of course our great American cars only got eight miles to the gallon. That would be about forty miles on that dollar. Today's car at twenty five miles per gallon at three eighty a gallon wouldn't get us quite as far. Remember if it wasn't for the Japanese we would still be getting eight miles per gallon and sixty five thousand miles to the first engine overhaul.
Anyway back to the birthday party and that dollar. I put the dollar in an envelope, in a small box, in a slightly bigger box, in another slightly bigger box, then again in a little bigger box and then in a really big box. I wrapped it in birthday paper with a ribbon and bow.
This was the biggest box at the party. All during the games and pinning the tail on the donkey, Glenn kept looking at that box. We ate cake and ice cream and sang songs. Glenn kept his eye on that box.
Finally, Glenn got to open presents. A pair of socks, pencils for school, a yo-yo, a toy soldier; stuff like that and all American made. The big box was last. Glenn opened, and opened and opened and laughed and opened some more and everybody laughed.
He then found the envelope that said Happy Birthday on it. He opened it and found the dollar. We all laughed. Then Glenn got serious when he said "Mom, now I have enough to get that new bible I've been saving for".
Silly little story, but Glenn Kapperman became a Presbyterian Minister.
You never know what your little gifts will help accomplish.
Nails
Nails are used to hold our houses together and keep the rails in place under our trains.
They are used as art. One time I saw a sculpture of an old shoe and a work glove with hundreds of nails driven into them, all twisted, bent and painted flat black. I felt I was looking at someones whole life, working hard, just trying to get ahead; only to be constantly nailed and held down.
Nails are used as twisted little puzzles to keep idle mines occupied.
They have been used for torture and to cause death. Jesus was hung on the cross with nails.
As a youngster I could not pronounce my N's. I used to say lail instead of nail. I remember the day I ran to my mother, shouting, "I can say it, I can say it. "Let me hear you " she said. For a four year old I had to think hard, but I could really say "nail".
I have used nails as a learning experience. I used to sit in the doorway between the dinning room and kitchen and pound nails into the floor. I used a large claw hammer. When I finished, the nails were bent and twisted. I pulled them out and started all over again.
This was the busy time of my day, taught me how to hammer, taught me what patience was and the lack of it. I was only three.
After the house was remodeled with new oak floors, Mom had no patience, with a three year old, with a hammer.
They are used as art. One time I saw a sculpture of an old shoe and a work glove with hundreds of nails driven into them, all twisted, bent and painted flat black. I felt I was looking at someones whole life, working hard, just trying to get ahead; only to be constantly nailed and held down.
Nails are used as twisted little puzzles to keep idle mines occupied.
They have been used for torture and to cause death. Jesus was hung on the cross with nails.
As a youngster I could not pronounce my N's. I used to say lail instead of nail. I remember the day I ran to my mother, shouting, "I can say it, I can say it. "Let me hear you " she said. For a four year old I had to think hard, but I could really say "nail".
I have used nails as a learning experience. I used to sit in the doorway between the dinning room and kitchen and pound nails into the floor. I used a large claw hammer. When I finished, the nails were bent and twisted. I pulled them out and started all over again.
This was the busy time of my day, taught me how to hammer, taught me what patience was and the lack of it. I was only three.
After the house was remodeled with new oak floors, Mom had no patience, with a three year old, with a hammer.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Just Dust in the Wind.
It was a big one, I could see it more than half a mile away. I became concerned as it slowly moved across the field toward the Interstate.
Quickly glancing to my left I could see that three had made it across all four lanes and were now resting next to a fence on the south side of the highway.
Another glance to the right and there were six or seven more moving across the field toward me.
Now, I was three hundred feet away and it was still moving closer to the edge of the Interstate. An eighteen wheeler started to pass on my left just as it began to cross just ahead of us. The wind from the big truck spun it around and it stayed in my lane.
No place to go . I hit it at sixty miles an hour.
A puff of dust and I felt the impact and crunch under my tires as I passed over it.
It's been a good year for Texas Tumbleweeds.
Quickly glancing to my left I could see that three had made it across all four lanes and were now resting next to a fence on the south side of the highway.
Another glance to the right and there were six or seven more moving across the field toward me.
Now, I was three hundred feet away and it was still moving closer to the edge of the Interstate. An eighteen wheeler started to pass on my left just as it began to cross just ahead of us. The wind from the big truck spun it around and it stayed in my lane.
No place to go . I hit it at sixty miles an hour.
A puff of dust and I felt the impact and crunch under my tires as I passed over it.
It's been a good year for Texas Tumbleweeds.
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