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Here is an entry from my friend’s blog that everyone should read. I have her permission to to post it here, but you can it and the rest of her blog at this url: http://famvi.hypermart.net/horseshoes/ . Thanks and enjoy.

Hey everybody, and a special ‘Hey” to all you fathers, step-fathers, grandpas, mama’s boyfriends, baby daddies, stand-in uncles, single mothers and whoever else is gettin the job done; Happy Father’s Day!
My father has been dead for 19 years this year, but I love him as much as ever, and still write to him on a regular basis. Since today is a day for remembering him, I’m gonna.
My daddy, Pops, was the kinda guy that only I thought was wonderful. Most people wanted to focus on all the scary, bad things he did, but for me, those things were silly and had nothing to do with who he was. I’ve written a lot about my father, privately and publicly, and there are things I’ve never said, but always wanted to. So here on this site, on Father’s Day, I’m gonna remember something that won’t go away. It’ll feel like I’m telling somebody, but at the same time, I feel relatively safe knowing that nobody will read it. I haven’t been able to share this memory that would so embarrass my father, because it breaks my heart completely. But I wanna get it out. Maybe sharing it will change how I think about the whole poverty thing. I see it in my mind’s eye as though it just happened, and I feel it for him:

Standing at the Steak n Shake, fighting tears and begging the kid behind the counter to just give you the damned milk-shake. The milk-shake that your wife asked for with what might be her dying breath. It’s not even about the time you don’t have, you just plain don’t want to explain to this kid that your wife is lying in hospice and has starved almost to death in the last stages of cancer before your helpless eyes. You don’t want to explain how if you’d have known that she was gonna die before you, you would’ve treated her better. You don’t want to tell him that you haven’t been home or to work or anywhere but the hospice in over two weeks. You couldn’t possibly describe the helplessness. Now, so close to the end she has whispered what you think was “ice cream” and you jumped at the chance to finally do something for her. You don’t want to explain that you don’t have three dollars or any way to get three dollars, that after this trip, you won’t even have gas to get home after she… when it’s over. You haven’t thought that far ahead during the time you’ve been by her side. You’ve just waited, desperate to help her, to somehow make this easier and now all she wants is this milk-shake, this God-damned three dollar milk-shake!
My father, a grand-father many times over, a man who worked hard all his life, snatched a milk-shake from the Steak n Shake and ran out like a child. I saw him later that day and the only way I can describe him is “thoroughly beaten”. My step-mother did, in fact, die that day, with the melted, untouched milk-shake still on the night stand by her death-bed.

That’s the painful story that I have never told anyone about my father. I’m not ashamed that he stole a milk-shake. I’m happy he did what he could at the time. It’s not shame I feel. It’s fear. I’m not afraid that, when the time comes, I won’t have three dollars. I’m sure I won’t have. I’m afraid of that awful feeling he had about it. I believe, after all that he had been through in his life, this lack of three dollars did him in. I can’t be sure; he killed himself shortly afterward.
I don’t want that to happen to me or mine, so I try to prepare us to come up short, to not sweat it, things go how they go. I don’t know if it has any effect. We’re all still always whining about what we don’t have, without trying too hard to get it. But maybe, just maybe, coming up short at the crucial moment won’t be such a surprise to us. And maybe we can live through it.

Happy Father’s Day Pops.

I went for a haircut today with a new barber. He was in an incredible hurry and did the job in less than 10 minutes. It reminded me of this cartoon that I drew some years back:

Conan the Barber

When I was still a very little boy, I went to an event at a local park with my much older sister and her boyfriend. My sister and her boyfriend, young, in love, and completely caught up in each other, left me pretty much on my own. I was drawn to a huge collapsible table set up near a wooded area. Beside the table was a shiny red bike with a tag on the handle bars. On the table was an assortment of toys and games, all brand new, still in the packages. My eyes rolled over them to the end of the table; to the electric train set. It was beautiful, exactly what I’d always wanted. In awe, I reached toward it.

“Don’t touch the prizes.” someone shouted at me.

“Prizes?” I thought to myself hopefully, wondering just how I might get a shot at that train set.

Someone blew a whistle and more kids than I’d ever seen at one time began lining up, side by side, behind a white chalk line on the grass in front of the picnic tables. I ran for it, and squeezed into the line just as a man, standing off to one side, raised a pistol in the air. The starting shot rang out and I was off with the bang.

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Bill O'Reilly

Bill O’Reilly made a huge misstatement recently while commenting about his opinion regarding a music video by Eminem which contained a spoof of Sarah Palin. He made the statement that Rap music was the lowest form of entertainment. In fact, the lowest form of entertainment by far is the Ultra Conservative hate mongering neo-fascist political talk show such as his (and his is not the worst).

I’m sorry but I just had to say something about Rush Limgaugh. I mean, what a joke this guy has become.

Anyone that would hope that the leader of their country fails to lead the country out of disaster is a traitor in my book.

I used to be a Republican but selfish, egomaniacal biggots like him and the rest of the goose-stepping ultra right have turned the party into a party of haters and now I want no part of it.

I actually drew this cartoon a while back but thought now was a good time to post it.

Rush Limbaugh Cartoon

I had a dream last night. I dreamed that I heard voices calling for me. They kept repeating over and over, “Come with us, we’ll lead you to a better place.” I followed the sound of the voices through the darkness until I began to see some light.
The voices continued to beckon but I couldn’t see faces, only forms and shadows. I was never afraid because the voices sounded familiar to me, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t place them.
As I drew closer to the light I could see a ladder ascending into a misty fog that floated just a few meters above the ground. There was a long line of people waiting to climb the ladder.
One by one the people, each with a broad smirky grin, would firmly grasp the rungs and hastily start their assent.
The voices, now from above the fog, kept encouraging “Climb up, you’ve earned it.” Something about the voices made me feel secure. They sounded strong yet benevolent. I wanted to trust them.
I tried to speak to the others in line but no one was interested in talking to me. They all seemed totally self absorbed and noticed nothing going on around them. They just kept moving forward in line with those vacant grins on their faces.
Then it was my turn. I grabbed the rungs and started to climb into the fog. The fog was cold and there were weird sounds that I had never heard before. I couldn’t see anything as I climbed and everything felt strange and clammy.
As I approached the top of the fog I could hear the voices that had beckoned me clearly now. I knew who they were. I looked up and I saw our Nation’s leaders. They were yelling out “Hurry, climb the ladder we’ve built for you. This is a better place.”
Now that I was out of the fog I could see why the ladder felt so strange. I had one hand one the back of an old man and the other on a young mother with a baby. My one foot was on a sick child and the other was on a shivering homeless man. The strange sounds that I had heard during my climb were the moans and cries of their misery and suffering.
I recoiled in horror and fell back through the mist, bolting awake just before impact.

As I was taking my walk today I saw a very young boy riding his tricycle in the driveway at his house. He was being closely supervised by his big sister. The boy was about 4 years old and his sister looked to be about 10. She was watching his every move and made sure that he didn’t venture too close to the street. You could tell that she loved her little brother very much and the little guy seemed to have much respect for her.
When I saw the two children I thought about my big sister. I call her my “big” sister when in fact by the time I was 10 years old I outweighed her by 5 pounds and when I was 19 I was twice her weight. Never the less I will always think of her as my big sister.
My sister was 7 years older than I was. She was always very protective and concerned about my welfare. She almost always included me in her activities and was never ashamed of me or resented my tagging along. She was really a great sister.
When we were children we usually spent our summer vacations in Tennessee. During our stays we would spend most of our time at my grandmother’s house in the country. We both loved the time we spent there and later in our adult lives we would reminisce about our many adventures in the woods, streams and cave around grandma’s farm.
One of our cousins lived about 1/4 mile down the road. His name was Edgar Ray, and he was about 3 years younger than my sister was. He would always hang around with us during our visits. We were inseparable, like the Three Amigos.
On rainy days we would often play in the barn. We would climb in the rafters and jump into the piles of hay or pretend that we were driving the old rusty tractor. Sometimes we would pester the cow or the old mule. Occasionally my sister would tell scary stories hoping to frighten me but she usually would end up scaring herself more. (more…)

If you like those old “Cry in Your Beer” country songs, here’s a great one.

It was written by Stephanie Rodriguez. She wtites lyrics from all genres (country to rap).

Entertainers or agents interested in working with Ms. Rodriguez can reach her through this site via email at: gtempleton2@hotmail.com

Here is “Mama in His Eyes” Enjoy….

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It was unusually warm for the beginning of November, a perfect day for any outside activity. It was one of those days that you were sure would be the last of the season. Of course all the old-timers were complaining that global warming was finally catching up to us and we were somehow going to end up paying for all this unseasonable mildness. But Milfred didn’t care, he was going to soak it all in while he could. What the hell, it’s November in Indiana. It could be snowing tomorrow.
Milfred has Mondays and Tuesdays off from his job. He’s the assistant manager at the “Electronic Shack” at the Green Ridge Mall. He’ll have eight years under his belt come January. When he’s not working at the store he spends most of his free time tinkering with gadgets that he’s made or surfing the web.
This day was different though. He was determined to spend some time outside at least until the postman came.
He piddled around in the yard for awhile. He raked a few leaves. He checked the oil in his Escort and made small talk with one of his neighbors. He was starting to get a little antsy and thought to himself, “when the hell is the stupid mailman going to get here?”. He had had enough of the nice weather crap already. There were some web sites he wanted to check out and a rented DVD that he needed to watch. Well as luck would have it his wait was nearly over. At that moment he looked up from his wristwatch and saw the Postal Service jeep coming down the street. (more…)

Here is the first episode of the classic radio show

“The Great Gildersleeves”.

First aired 10/19/1941.

Length: apx. 29 minutes.

If you would like to hear more let me know.

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