Lessons From A School Bus Driver

More fun from Tracy Farr.....

Learning your lessons the bus driver way

It takes a special kind of person to drive a school bus. Not just any Joe or Jane can do it, and most of us wouldn’t even try.

But those who feel the calling – those who dare to get behind the big wheel and travel the back roads with a busload of young people who believe a school bus is just recess on wheels – well, those people end up learning a lot of life lessons, and are reminded of them each and every day.

1. The first thing a school bus driver learns is that to be early is to be on time, and to be on time is to be late – but that only applies for cranking up the school bus. On the route, everything changes: to be early is to be yelled at because the kids aren’t ready, and to be late is okay, but not too late, because then the riders start to freak out and wonder if they’ve missed the bus.

Time is both a friend and an enemy. You can’t get more, but you’ll never have less than what’s given to you. It’s best to use it wisely.

2. The next thing a school bus driver learns is not to judge a person by the house they come out of. Some kids live in big houses with landscaped yards and nicely-trimmed hedges. Some kids live in small houses with yards that haven’t been mowed in months, with washing machines and toilets peeking out from behind the weeds.

Nice “things” don’t guarantee nice people. Sometimes the most polite and helpful riders come from the “wrong side of the tracks.”

3. A school bus driver learns that sometimes passing the buck is not an option. Yes, a driver’s job includes keeping an eye on the road, insuring the riders get to where they’re going safely. But it is also the driver’s job to keep an eye on Little Johnny who looks like he wants to take out his Elmer’s Glue and squeeze a glob of it into Little Susie’s hair before he gets home.

“It’s not my job” is a phrase spoken by people who don’t care. “Sit down, turn around, and put that stuff back in your backpack before I turn this bus around and take you back to your momma” is a phrase that has “love” glued all over it.

4. A school bus driver can learn a lot from squirrels. Most squirrels have one goal – to dart across the road in front of a school bus without getting flattened like a pancake. But some of those little buggers stop in the middle of the road and get all wishy-washy about which way to run. It’s funny to watch from the driver’s seat, but I’m sure those little squirrels are scared out of their ever-loving minds.

Having a goal, or direction, is the key to success. Being all “willy-nilly” is the surest way of getting squashed.

5. A school bus driver learns that it’s best not to drink a lot of coffee before heading off on a route. Some of those roads are long and bumpy, and when the bladder calls, it does not want to be denied. But a driver can’t just stop the bus and “take care of business” with kids on board, and not very many families will open up their homes to let a crazy bus driver use “the facilities.”

It’s best to “take care of business” before the business takes care of you.

6. And finally, one of the most important things a bus driver learns is patience. Patience for kids who remember they left their backpack in the house and they’ll “be right back.” Patience for getting behind a tractor that can only go 10 mph. Patience for kids who fall asleep and miss their stop. Patience for Little Emily who is singing “Jingle Bells” over and over again, and she only knows the first verse.

If you search for the word “patience” in the dictionary, it will refer you to “school bus driver.”

I’ve been driving a school bus for almost 20 years. Some days are good; some days not so much. But every day is a learning experience. As a matter of fact, just the other day I learned that a cow can be vengeful, sarcastic and down-right rude when it has to get up from its dry, comfortable resting place on the road, just because a school bus comes along.

But that’s another story.

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Tracy Farr is a teacher living in East Texas and drives a school bus for the fun of it. In his spare time he plays the banjo, but never on Thursdays. You can read more of his stories at www.stinkycreektexas.com.

Halloween Memories

This is an excerpt from my new book , a humorous memoir titled A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. One of these days I might even finish it and find a publisher for it.


Halloween is not like it used to be. With concerns over Politically Correct costumes, candy that has been tampered with, and "who is that stranger driving slowly down the street", Halloween has lost some of the charm of my childhood. But it is still an event of magic and excitement and an opportunity for pure unadulterated fun.

It is also one of the times I miss my kids the most.

We always took the holiday very seriously when the kids were young, spending weeks on costume preparations and decorating. "Carving The Pumpkin" was a family affair that took an entire evening and even dinner was suspended for preparations for Trick or Treating.

The year the twins were two, we thought it would be the perfect time for them to be totally swept up in the Halloween experience. The older kids were even willing to pare back their expectations of the most awesome costume so we could concentrate on the twins. We could all share vicariously in their excitement when we took to the streets.

Paul, being a generally easy-going kid, allowed us to dress him up in the cat costume that had originally been made for Anjanette ten years prior. Since it was yellow, he didn't seem to care that it had belonged to a girl first. He even sat quietly while we painted whiskers on his cheeks.

Danielle, however, had a hard time getting into the swing of things. She didn't want to put on her clown costume and balked at my attempts to put make-up on her face. She didn't want to go Trick or Treating and she didn't want to carry that brown paper bag. But after I forced her into the costume, smeared her face, and shoved her out the door with her bag she finally resigned herself to the indignity of it all.

After about a half- hour, Danielle had a complete change of heart. This was pretty cool, going up to a house and having someone toss a candy bar into her bag. And she didn't have to do anything except say "thank you."

Another hour later, Paul's energy level was so low it dragged on the sidewalk along with the tail from his costume. Since both kids had bags that weighed more than they did, I thought it was the perfect time to go home. The older kids agreed; they were eager to go off with their friends. Paul agreed because he agreed to most anything those days. The only dissenter was Danielle. How could she pass up this mother-lode of candy?

I finally got her home, after enduring stares from neighbors whose expressions asked what terrible thing was I doing to this poor hapless child, who was screaming louder than the ghost sound effects on the corner.

After a bath and a solemn ritual of exacting promises from the other kids that they wouldn't touch her bag of candy, Danielle was in bed. I collapsed on the couch for a five-minute break before tackling the clean-up in the bathroom.

Then I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps coming down the hall. I opened my eyes to see Danielle with an eager smile. "Can we do this again tomorrow?

What I wouldn't give to hear her say that again this year.

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What special memories does Halloween bring for you?

Spiders? I'm not Afraid of Spiders

Today being Halloween Eve, if Halloween is important enough to have an Eve, I thought I would have some fun with spiders... er, I mean about spiders. I'm not nearly as terrified of them as I used to be, but still, there are limits.

I thought about doing this blog the other day when I took this picture. This spider has lived outside one of my kitchen windows -- outside being the operative word here -- since early spring. I have watched it since it was a tiny thing as it grew, caught bugs, repaired its web, and laid a jillion eggs.

I had no idea one spider could make so many little spider egg bags. I counted at least twenty on the eave above the web.

Since moving out to the country, I have had to become much more tolerant of insects and other creatures than I used to be, but it took a while before I could become comfortable letting a spider keep its home in my garden or around my house. I grew up with a father who was terrified of spiders and I learned his lesson well.

Once, when I first moved to Texas and knew I was going to die from having a huge tarantula bite me one day, I had to call my neighbor - a native Texan - to help me with this spider I saw on the room divider by my front entry. Mind you, I was a good 25 feet away in the entry to my kitchen, frozen in fear.

I kept trying to be brave enough to cross that line between my kitchen and my living room so I could face this monster alone, but my feet wouldn't move from tile to carpeting. So I had no recourse but to call my neighbor to save me. A few minutes later, she came in the back door and asked me where the spider was.

"Up there," I said pointing to the divider. "At the top of that post."

She walked over, looked around, then reached up. "You mean this?" she asked, pulling down a piece of tinsel left from Christmas decorations the month before.

Gulp.

I am proud to say that I am not nearly as phobic now, but I do draw the line on the spiders invading my house. As I write this, my husband is vacuuming two spiders out of the bathtub for me.


What about you? Are you afraid of spiders? Have any funny stories to share?

Gift Book Suggestion

Here is another review of a book that would make a wonderful gift. I had the pleasure of reading and reviewing this book when it first came out as a self-pubbed book through IUniverse. After it got rave reviews it was picked up by a major publisher and re-released this year. A wonderful read....


STILL ALICE by Lisa Genova

Alice Howland, a Harvard professor of linguistics has trouble remembering a few things. But she doesn’t worry that there is something seriously wrong with her. After all, her husband, John, keeps forgetting where he put his keys, but that assurance is shattered the day Alice forgets how to get home after her morning jog. She stands in the middle of Harvard Square and has no idea which street she needs to take to find her house.

That experience scares her enough that she goes to see a neurologist, who, after a series of tests, diagnoses Alice with Early Onset Alzheimer's Disease

Because the story is fiction, and fiction often comes with a happy ending, I kept waiting for the miracle. The diagnosis would be a mistake, or the clinical trial would work and Alice would somehow recover. But the book is so laced with reality, the “happy ever after” ending just wouldn’t work. Alzheimer’s is a slow, emotionally wrenching, death of cognition that affects family and friends almost as severely as it affects the patient. Still Alice chronicles that demise accurately as it happens to the Howland family, and they all struggle toward acceptance. But this is not a sad or depressing read. It is positive and uplifting.

As the central character finds unique ways to maintain her dignity and her tenuous hold on reality, she makes a plea for all people with dementia to be treated with respect. “We, in the early stages of Alzheimer’s are not yet utterly incompetent. We are not without language or opinions that matter or extended periods of lucidity. Yet, we are not competent enough to be trusted with many of the demands and responsibilities of our former lives.”

She ends that speech by asking doctors to step up research to find a cure for the disease, and asking the medical community and the general public not to run away from people with dementia and Alzheimer’s, but to work with them to maintain and celebrate who they are. “I am not what I say or what I do. I am fundamentally more than that.”

And that is the heart of Still Alice as she, and her family, try to hang on to the fundamental part of her that doesn’t change because she can no longer remember who they are.

Books published by iUniverse are often not very well written or edited, but this one could have easily come from a major publisher like Knopf. The depth of characterization and insight into human relationships reminded me of books by Anne Tyler, and the narrative was just as strong, with the facts about the disease seamlessly woven in.

Still Alice is endorsed by the Alzheimer's Association and a portion of the sale of each book is donated to research.


# Paperback: 320 pages
# Publisher: Pocket; 1st Thus. edition (January 6, 2009)
# Language: English
# ISBN-10: 1439102813
# ISBN-13: 978-1439102817

Why I Write

I love to read interviews with authors, especially when each interview covers something new and different -- not just the latest promo for a book.

Perhaps this comes from all the years I spent doing feature articles and profiles of people. I like to go beyond the surface and find out interesting details about a person. Those little details often speak more eloquently about a person than the more obvious points.

I was really pleased when J.W. Coffey from Examiner.com contacted me for an interview, and she sent me some questions that do go beyond the basics. One of the things she asked is why I write, and I had to stop and think about that one for a bit.

Here is a LINK to the interview if you are interested in reading it.

J.W. has interviewed some other authors that you might find of interest while you are on the site.

Kids Will Love This Book

Today, I am recommending a book for the children on your holiday shopping list. I met this author at a signing event and fell in love with her books. She has a whole series featuring a family of dogs, and this one is her latest.

The Mystery of the Spaniel Family’s Dog House

This delightful book by Sharon Ellsberry, has unique characters, great illustrations, and a story that maintains its interest to the end. Children love stories about animals, and lots of adults do, too, and these dogs are endearing characters.

In this latest story featuring The Spaniel Family, they have a new adventure when a ghost invades their home. They call in a ghost hunter, who soon discovers the ghost is really Moe, the mole. The “ghost” then tells a spooky story and leads the Spaniel family to a house where something mysterious is going on. In fact, something mysterious is going on all over town.

The Spaniel family, Maggie, Joe, and Daisy decide that they must solve this mystery, so they follow Moe to the abandoned house. Jaba the Mutt, the bulldog ghost-buster, goes along, but he prefers to ride in the wagon instead of walking all that way. Once there, he assumes the lead and uses his “ghost finding equipment” to determine what is in that dark cellar.

This is a well-written story with an engaging mystery and a surprising, yet pleasing resolution. A great deal of attention has been paid to making the prose lyrical and appealing to young readers – and older readers. Kids of all ages will absolutely love Jaba the Mutt, and the similarity with the Star Wars character is unmistakable. The pencil illustrations by Amy Fox are detailed and delightful, pulling the reader deeper into the story and bringing it to life.

The Spaniel Family books are noted for the engaging characters, delightful prose, as well as poems and songs that young readers can enjoy. They are geared toward readers age 5-10, but they are also the kind of books that parents and grandparents can enjoy reading to young people.


The Mystery of the Spaniel Family’s Dog House
By Sharon Ellsberry
Illustrated by Amy Fox
ISBN: ISBN:978-0-9790777-1-5

Website ---- Buy link

Books Make Wonderful Gifts

Off and on over the next month I will post reviews of books that I think would make good Holiday gifts. I wish I could take credit for the idea, but Dani Greer who founded The Blood Red Pencil blog came up with it first, and there will be recommendations there throughout the month of November, and maybe into December.

To start off, I am recommending Breathing Water by Timothy Hallinan I had never read his work, but asked for a copy of this one for my Birthday. I'm glad I did.

In this third book of a series featuring ex-pat writer Poke Rafferty, the reader is treated to a visit to Bangkok to witness the delicate intricacies of the social and political system of Thailand, not always a pretty sight.

The story begins when Rafferty wins a most unusual prize in a late-night poker game – the chance to write the biography of Khun Pan, one of the richest men in the country who has a criminal past and a deadly secret. Pan is vulgar and pretentious, spending millions on his “Garden of Eden” complete with a gold serpent, within his home compound.

Pan is loathed by many, especially those in power who are threatened y his political ambitions. But Pan is also loved by many others because he pulled himself out of poverty to become a very powerful man who has supported causes that help the poor. Rafferty’s wife, Rose, is a great admirer of Pan and believes that he could initiate great social change if he achieves a political position.

Soon after the poker game, Rafferty is contacted by opposing forces. One pays him thousands of baht to write the book, the other warns him off, threatening his wife and their adopted daughter, Miaow. Soon they are all caught up in a web of intrigue that includes street kids, stolen babies, corruption, and murder.

One of the thrills of reading a book set in another country is the opportunity to get a feel for the place and the people, and Hallinan gives us Bangkok in all its splendor and its squalor. He also introduces characters so real they could step out of the book and join us for coffee.

This is a book that can be enjoyed on many levels. The mystery, danger, and intrigue satisfy the lover of mystery and thriller, while the relationships give the story depth. Especially nice is the relationship between Rafferty and Arthit, one of the few honest cops in Bangkok. It is portrayed not in sweet sentimentality, but with enough emotion to make you pause a moment to readjust your heart.


Breathing Water
• Hardcover: 352 pages
• Publisher: William Morrow; 1 edition (August 18, 2009)
• ISBN-10: 0061672238
• ISBN-13: 978-0061672231

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Of course, I think my books would also make nice Holiday gifts. Check my Web site for excerpts and details about each book.

Our Right to Protest

The furor over the Tea Parties held across the country to protest health care reform and other issues of significant importance has died down just a bit recently, but there are still commentators who question whether the parties do any good.

Colleen McCain Nelson who is on the editorial board at The Dallas Morning News had this to say:

"I can't argue that free speech is bad for America -- even when I disagree with what folks are saying. But I'm not certain what the tea parties are accomplishing - beyond assembling an angry mob."

Another pundit wondered if the movement is helpful or harmful.

Personally, I like the idea of the tea parties. In fact, I was suggesting we do something like the Boston Tea Party long before the current craze, but instead of dumping tea in the Boston Harbor, I suggested dumping all the politicians into the water and getting new ones.

But I digress.

I think the current move to take more control over government is a good one, and we have to keep in mind that people are sometimes going to be emotional and strident about issues that touch them personally.

What about the mob that threw the tea in Boston Harbor in 1773? Do you think they were polite and orderly? There had to be a lot of shouting and name-calling going on there.

Yes, it would be nice if people could always behave civilly in these Tea Parties. Civility is something we are sorely lacking in public today, but we have to keep in mind that emotions often override reason, and people react before they have had a chance to stop and think.

I don't know if the Tea Parties have influenced any decisions coming out of Washington, but one good thing is that people are stepping forward and doing more than complaining about what is going on with government. Also, I think the movement has increased voter participation and that is a good thing.

What do you think? Are the meetings creating more harm than good?

If A French Woman can do it, why not I?

Here is some more fun from my friend Tracy Farr. Enjoy.......


I have finally come to a decision – I’ve decided to suck it up, bite the bullet and lose a bit of weight before some fisherman spots me and tries to harpoon me for Sunday brunch.

I may only lose an ounce or two in my quest for thinness (I tend to set my goals low when it comes to extra-curricular physical exertion), but by golly, I’m going to do it this time; not like last time when I got it in my mind to be healthy and thin, and then got it right out of my mind when I found a gallon of Cookies & Cream ice cream in the freezer. And you know there’s no way I can let a gallon of ice cream stay unopened for something as silly as wanting to look more like Jack LaLanne instead of Moby Dick.

What is it that has inspired me to change my ways and tonnage? The answer is French Women.

According to what I read in an article about the book “French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure” by Mireille Guiliano, French women never set foot inside gyms or fitness centers and they are still skinny. No treadmills, no stationary bikes, no weights, and no puking up their guts after trying to run a mile like they could when they were younger but were horribly mistaken and will never do it again (not saying that happened to me, but just saying).

Did you hear me? French Women -- no gym, they eat what they want and they’re still skinny! And that’s coming from Mireille Guiliano, a French woman, and you’d think she’d know.

Of course French Women do other things to remain so slender, like walking a lot and eating in moderation, but I just skipped over that section of the article. The important detail is they DON’T work out at a gym.

Gyms are sad, smelly places where young people with a lot of energy go to sweat, because they look good while sweating; whereas old people just look like sad, sweaty old people trying to ward off the Grim Reaper for a couple more years without blowing a knee or a hip.

Of course, I have no idea if a gym is sad or smelly because I’ve never stepped inside of one; but if I did, the “behind my back” conversation would probably go something like this:

“Poor guy. Practically looks dead already. Hey, we better keep an eye on him while he’s walking that treadmill. I bet his heart is ready to go at any moment. And wouldn’t that ruin a good day of healthy sweating for the rest of us?”

The first person who thought of opening up a commercial fitness center was a genius; right up there with Einstein, Bill Gates, and Richard James, the inventor of the Slinky. All the exercise genius had to do was find a building, buy some equipment, invite people to come and pay money to sweat, and convince his wife he wasn’t crazy (the hardest part). And if that isn’t genius, I don’t know what is.

But back to French Women – French Women don’t sweat. Well, what I mean is they don’t sweat off the pounds by going to the gym, and since they don’t shave their legs and underarms either (just like me), I might as well give this “not going to the gym to lose weight” thing a try.

So here’s my plan: Starting Monday, I’m going to walk briskly to the couch, sit down, put my feet up and hold them there until I’ve finished the newspaper. Then I’ll stand up, walk briskly to the icebox, do five reps of scooping Cookies & Cream into a bowl (maybe seven reps if I feel energetic), walk briskly back to the couch, sit down, put my feet up again, and hold them there for as long as I can get away with it, then relax.

And then I’m going to write my own book. I think I will call it, “Fat Men Who Sit on the Couch and Idolize Skinny French Women for their Workout Regime; A Guide to Better Health and Eating Without Worrying That Your Arteries Are About to Explode.”

Me and French Women – we know how to feel the burn!


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Tracy Farr is a teacher living in East Texas and drives a school bus for the fun of it. In his spare time he plays the banjo, but never on Thursdays. You can read more of his stories at www.stinkycreektexas.com.

A Wonderful Book

When I lived in Omaha, Nebraska for almost ten years, one of the highlights of my day was reading the Omaha World Herald. I missed the Dallas Morning News and the Herald did not measure up in lots of ways, but it did contain the work of Jeffrey Koterba, a terrific political cartoonist. He has a sharp wit, and sometimes a profound insight into a current event, and his cartoons always made me smile.

After I came back to Texas and was again reading the Dallas Morning News, I was delighted to sometimes see a Koterba cartoon on the editorial pages. When I saw this ONE after Mary Travers died Sept 17th, I wrote to Jeff to thank him for such a fitting cartoon. I wanted his permission to use it on the blog I wrote about Mary, but he was a little slow to respond. When he did, he apologized for not seeing the message sooner, and told me that one reason was he was busy with a book that is being released early in November.

We e-mailed back and forth a couple of times, and I offered to read the book and possibly review it.

Inklings, which is a memoir, arrived in my mailbox this past Friday, and I made the mistake of picking it up "just to check it out." I say, "mistake" because I had a terrible time putting it down and I had a really busy weekend that did not include time to read for more than a few minutes at a time.

This is a beautiful book, starting with the writing and continuing with production and cover art. Jeff is as adept with prose as he is with cartooning, and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt always puts out beautiful books.

I will do a full review on Bloggernews.net when I finish the book, but I just had to write about it here, too.

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For the benefit of the FTC, I was not compensated for this endorsement of the book. I will donate my review copy of the book to my local library when I am finished with it.

Author Spotlight

A fellow author, Chris Redding, has graciously hosted me on her blog as the guest author. She did a wonderful interview and I am so grateful to her. One of the things she asked was about the first book I ever wrote and it was fun to go back and remember. Here is a LINK if you are interested in reading the interview.

This kind of opportunity is one of the neat things about the Internet and using it for promoting. And we can meet some of the nicest people along the way. I have known Chris from several author loops, and she is a generous supporter of her fellow authors.

Thanks, Chris.

More Nonsense From My Latest Book

Back in June I started posting excerpts from my new book , which is a humorous memoir titled A Dead Tomato Plant and A Paycheck. This latest installment is from the chapter tentatively titled, The Silly Things We Do. A couple of weeks ago, I "told" on a friend, so this time I decided to "tell" on myself....

While I may not be the brightest intellectual around, I’ve always considered myself intelligent, educated, and capable. As a parent, I’ve handled situations that call for ingenuity, like explaining to a five-year-old what keeps the moon up in the sky -- l told her God glued it up there and figured her teacher could explain all that scientific stuff after she got to school -- and talking my way out of hosting a slumber party for15 young teenage girls.

The fact that I even survived raising the twins speaks for itself.

So, I wonder. Why is it that I can't open a simple "easy to open" package? I faced the most demanding jobs of motherhood from potty training to summer vacation, but I m reduced to being a 97-pound weakling at the sight of "press here and pull back along dotted line."

The last time I opened a box of detergent, I had to get a hammer and chisel, and I ended up with soap powder all over the floor and a smashed thumb. It was not a pretty sight, nor did pretty sounds come out of my mouth.

Considering the highly technological society we live in, along with truth in advertising, shouldn't an easy-open package be just that? We shouldn't have to wrestle our way through boxes of cereal and individually-wrapped cheese slices. We shouldn't have to gnaw our way through potato chip bags or get tennis elbow from opening jars of peanut butter. We shouldn't have to ask the same kid who gave us the blinding headache to open the bottle of aspirin so we can ease said headache. And we shouldn't have to visit the local blacksmith with our canned ham.

Once when I was particularly frustrated – and my husband has the nerve to ask when WASN’T I particularly frustrated – I wrote a polite letter to one manufacturing company explaining that I didn't find their "easy to open" package all that easy. Their response dearly indicated that they didn't care about consumer relations and the letter started out as a typical PR piece about their product. Then it went on to explain that the packaging had undergone extensive testing before being released on the market, and even a monkey could open it.

Now, I ask you. Was that an insult, or do they really expect me to make a trip to the zoo every time I want to open a bag of chips?

I'm Officially Old

The other day I mentioned to my husband that I hardly know any of the celebrities mentioned on entertainment shows or written about in the entertainment section of the newspaper. "I wonder if that is part of the official rite of passage for the Social Security set," I said.

He laughed and said he noticed the same thing. "I read the celebrity birthday announcements," he continued. "And I only recognize the names of people over 60."

I thought about sending a cartoon caption to "Plugger" -- the cartoon that is most recognized by "You know you're a Plugger if...." Sort of an old folks version of Jeff Foxworthy's "You know you're a Redneck if...."

Then I decided I would just use the topic for a blog post. Come up with some really funny lines about being old and wow everyone with my wit. But before I could do it, Steve Blow, a columnist for the Dallas Morning News, beat me to it. I've been a faithful reader of his columns for years - even the ten years I lived in Nebraska - and he has done some good ones. But this was one of his best. Maybe because the subject resonated so strongly with me. Or maybe because he's a damn fine writer. Or maybe both.

Regardless, you might want to Click over and read his column in which he asks, "How are they celebrities if I haven't heard of them?" It is well worth the read.

More on Tucker Max

Last week I wrote about the column about Tucker Max in the Dallas Morning News by Jaclyn Friedman, a writer and activist. She criticized him for promoting a sexual philosophy where women are "insulted, tricked, coerced, traded, and then discarded."

There was a flurry of responses to her column, some supporting her stance and others taking her to task. And I guess that is one of the benefits of living in the United States. We are free to voice an opinion, even a dissenting one.

Of all the letters that have filtered in to the Op/Ed section of the paper this week, one really stood out. It was written by a 17-year-old boy.

He wrote that he knows that as a teenage boy he is supposed to see Max as "the coolest guy in the world. But get real. Max is a user."

He went on to write, "The only thing sadder than his view on life is the women he exploits."

It did my heart good to read this young man's letter and know that there are teens out there who are not buying into the philosophy that Max is promoting. I'm glad that there are teens who realize that casual sex just for the thrill of it doesn't measure up to real love.

I just wish there were more of them and less of the ones who are following Max from venue to venue degrading themselves.

Opening Night

I got bitten by the acting bug rather late in life. Or maybe I should clarify and say I acted on the bug bite rather late in life.

I've written a couple of plays and several screenplays and directed lots of stage plays. Also worked in production on some film projects, but I never had the nerve to step on stage as an actress. And I hesitated to tell anybody that I always had a secret desire to be on stage until a friend, Mia, weaseled it out of me.

Mia is a wonderful actress and I had the pleasure of directing her in several productions in a community theatre here in East Texas, and when she was putting together a revue to direct she talked me into taking a small part. What she said was, "I really need an old lady. And there are only a few lines. You can do it."

I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted, but she quickly covered, "I don't mean you are "old" old. I just mean you are older than the teenagers who will be in the show."

That was the beginning.

A year or so later, Mia talked me into auditioning at another community theatre for "Squabbles", a comedy by Marshall Karp. I was floored when I got the major part of Mildred, but that unleashed the monster in me. I love performing, even though the rehearsal schedule is enough to wear a person out. But making the character and the story come alive is a great thrill. And working with a talented group of players is magic.

So, now I am in another show. We are doing "Daddy's Dyin' Whose got the Will" at the Main Street Theatre in Sulphur Springs, Texas. We open tonight and run this Thurs, Fri, Sat and next Thurs, Fri, Sat. If you care to see some pictures of the cast visit The Front Porch News (My friend, Mia, is the one on the right in the first picture.)

One thing I have noticed since I have been acting is how much that has helped in terms of writing scenes in my books. I have a better sense of the choreography of how characters would move in a scene instead of being stagnant. When I am stuck on how a scene should go, I actually get up and walk myself through it.

My cat, who thinks I got up to feed him, watches for a minute, then I swear he shakes his head as if to say, "What on earth is she doing now?"

I Was Given the Book And I'm Keeping It

On one of the writers' lists I belong to there was a discussion today about the Federal Trade Commission's announcement that its Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials would be revised in relation to bloggers. Specifically it states that bloggers will have to specify whether they receive compensation for their reviews.

When I first read these guidelines I thought the disclosure would only apply to bloggers who review high priced items such as electronics or software and are allowed to keep the items. But it appears they apply to book reviewers as well.

These guidelines will be effective December first of this year, and as best as I can decipher the legalese, it means that when I, or any other blogger who does book reviews, receive a book to read and review, I have to state that I was given the book. That way people can decide if my review is objective or I was "paid" to endorse the book.

Interestingly enough, these guidelines do not apply to reviewers who get paid by the publication in which the review appears. So I am okay when it comes to the reviews I do for ForeWord Magazine, but not the ones I do here on my blog or on other online sites.

Edward Champion did an interview with Richard Cleland of the Federal Trade Commission that is well worth a read. It covered the topic pretty well, although the point was not made that most of the review copies sent out are ARCs - at least most of what I receive are - so they could hardly be considered compensation since reviewers can't sell them.

Also, Cleland does not specify how the disclosure is to be made. Does it have to be in the body of the review? Does it have to be on every review? Will the FTC come after me with a warrant if I forget to include the disclosure?

Just to be safe, I may add a line at the bottom of all my review: Nobody bought my opinion.

Root Beer - The All American Drink

Here is another offering from my funny friend, Tracy Farr. He's not funny weird, although some may debate that, he just has a way with humor....


I’m flabbergasted! Totally, unequivocally flabbergasted. And if there be a word in the English language with a stronger meaning, then I’m that, too.

I went to an eating establishment recently, right here in East Texas, that did not have Root Beer on their menu. Let me repeat – They Had No Root Beer. Well, in my mind that’s absolutely unpatriotic; it’s downright subversive; it’s pert near communistic; and it’s on the verge of being positively draconian – but since I have no idea what that means, we’ll skip it for now.

Root Beer is one of those drinks that make this country a great place in which to live. Does Canada have Root Beer? Absolutely not. Does Great Britain? Heaven forbid. How about Iran? Are you kidding? They probably kill their people over there for drinking Root Beer, or at least pull out their tongues.

No, Root Beer is a God Bless American phenomenon that every man, woman and child in this great country should be thankful for having. It’s a western blessing, a true-blue American symbol of all things Yankee Doodle, and it should be revered just as much as baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and that car company that used to build pretty good cars, but then the economy tanked and who knows what they’re building now.

Root Beer, in some form or fashion, has been around for ages, but it was Charles Elmer Hires, a pharmacist from Philadelphia, who invented the very first commercial Root Beer in 1866 – Hires Root Beer.

“Hey, honey, come taste what I just came up with. Made it from roots, out in the garage. I was just fiddling around with some stuff, hoping to come up with a better paint cleaner, and out of the blue, I had Root Beer. You want to be my guinea pig and give it a taste? Oh, c’mon honey, I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

There are hundreds of varieties of Root Beer, but there are no standardized recipes. Artificial sassafras flavoring is the main ingredient, but after that, anything goes. Vanilla. Wintergreen. Licorice root. Nutmeg. Molasses. Even cherry tree bark. If it can be peeled off, dug up, squeezed, or melted down, it’s probably in your favorite brand of Root Beer. And in 1893, Frank J. Wisner found something even better to put in it.

Wisner, the owner of a soda company, was drinking a bottle of Myers Avenue Red Root Beer at his home in Cripple Creek, Colorado, when he looked up at Cow Mountain and saw the snow being lit by a full moon. In that instant, he had a great idea – let’s try floating a scoop of ice cream on top of a glass full of Root Beer.

And thus was born “The Black Cow.” Of course, you and I know it as a Root Beer Float.

I DARE YOU: The next time you’re at Sonic, I dare you, I triple-dog dare you, to push the little button and order a Black Cow. When the person responds that they don’t have a Black Cow, you be insistent and tell them you’re not going to leave without one. Of course, the person will once again deny even hearing of a Black Cow, and you respond, “Okay, just give me a Root Beer Float instead.” Yes, it’s a bit sophomoric, but do it anyway – in honor of that great inventor, Frank J. Wisner.

The thing I like most about Root Beer is that you can make it at home. Do you think you could make Coke or Pepsi in your own kitchen? Of course not. They’re too interested in keeping their formulas secret. That’s why the “Cola Wars” will never be won. There’s no such thing as a Root Beer war. Root Beer is Root Beer, and that’s what makes it great!

I would like to conclude with three of my favorite Root Beer quotes from three of my favorite historical figures:

It was Patrick Henry who said, “Give me Root Beer, or give me death” – or something like that.

It was Benjamin Franklin who said, “Root Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy” – if he didn’t say it, he meant to.

And it was Neil Armstrong who said, “That’s one small step for man; one giant Root Beer for me because I just love the stuff” – okay, I’m not so sure about that one.

Root Beer. It’s an American drink. So stand tall, stand proud, slurp it down with gusto, and don’t forget the frosted mug!

-------------

Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

Thank You, Mr. Safire

It's never too late to honor someone of the stature of William Safire, the columnist who died last Sunday. If I hadn't been absolutely buried in work, I would have done this sooner, but later is better than never, as the old cliche goes.

I have always enjoyed Safire's columns for their ability to make us laugh, while he prodded us to consider other points of view, and one that I particularly enjoyed was published in 2005. Perhaps that one resonated with me because I, too, worked for print publications as a columnist, and he came up with rules for reading a political column.

Here are just a couple of those rules:

9. Cherchez la source. Ingest no column (or opinionated reporting labeled "analysis") without asking: Cui bono? And whenever you see the word "respected" in front of a name, narrow your eyes. You have never read "According to the disrespected (whomever)."

10. Resist swaydo-intellectual writing. Only the hifalutin trap themselves into "whomever" and only the tort bar uses the Latin for "who benefits?" Columnists who show off should surely shove off. (And avoid all asinine alliteration.)

11. Do not be suckered by the unexpected. Pundits sometimes slip a knuckleball into their series of curveballs: for variety's sake, they turn on comrades in ideological arms, inducing apostasy-admirers to gush "Ooh, that's so unpredictable." Such pushmi-pullyu advocacy is permissible for Clintonian liberals or libertarian conservatives but is too often the mark of the too-cute contrarian.

12. Scorn personal exchanges between columnists. Observers presuming to be participants in debate remove the reader from the reality of controversy; theirs is merely a photo of a painting of a statue, or a towel-throwing contest between fight managers. Insist on columns taking on only the truly powerful, and then only kicking 'em when they're up.

If you are sufficiently intrigued, you can read all the rules HERE

Paint Me Green

Sometimes I'm jealous of other writers' success. There, I said it.

When I hear about another sale, especially for big numbers, there's a little piece of me inside that just wants to whine like a child who didn't get a piece of the pie. And I'm sure I'm not the only one to have such feelings, but we work hard to keep those childish impulses at bay and even sincerely help someone celebrate good news, whether it be a big sale or winning a prestigious prize or maybe even getting a movie deal.

However, I refuse to celebrate the huge sales and movie deal that Tucker Max received for I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, which has been on the New York Times best seller list for over 100 weeks.

If you are like me, you may never have heard of Tucker Max. He is a young man who started writing a blog that centered around bodily functions, drinking, and womanizing and it quickly had a large following. That led to his book and now a movie.

I hadn't heard of him until I read a recent column in the Dallas Morning News by Jaclyn Friedman, a writer and activist. She took him to task for promoting a sexual philosophy where women are "insulted, tricked, coerced, traded, and then discarded."

What Jaclyn found even more alarming and disgusting was the fact that as Max tours the country visiting colleges and other venues, over half of the people who show up to hear him speak are women. And these women apparently adore him. They will also do some of the most disgusting things to gain his attention, and many of them are apparently willing to sleep with him. One woman did, and then "tattooed an explicit sentence commemorating the event just below her hip bone, thus earning the Holy Grail of any Maxite; an original Tucker Max blog entry featuring her."

I'm sorry Max. While I can wipe off the green and celebrate the success of the Harry Potter series, and even give James Patterson his due, I refuse to support your success. I'm not sure I even want to call you a fellow writer.

Ah, Young Love

Another contributor to WinnsboroToday.com, the online community magazine where I am Managing Editor, is Slim Randles. He is a talented writer and author of several books including Sun Dog Days. He writes a weekly column, Home Country, that is syndicated in over a hundred print and online news sources, and his work is a joy to read so I thought I would share some with you.....


The word got around, as it does in these small communities of ours. It was to be Tuesday. Tuesday evening. He said he’d pick her up at seven.

Those of us closely following the Randy Jones/Katie Burchell celebration of life and love were excited about this. The holding hands and walking around town in a state of bliss and benediction had escalated. Somehow or other, Randy had asked Katie on a real date.

And she’d told her mother and her mother told Mrs. Greer, and Mrs. Greer lived next door to Olivia, who cooks at the Mule Barn, and Olivia told Loretta the waitress, and by that time, it might as well have been on the Channel Four news.

Randy and Katie were coming to the Mule Barn for dinner on Tuesday. Shortly after seven. It would take them a few minutes to walk over there, hand-in-hand, and then?

Well, that’s what the topic of discussion was Tuesday morning among the members of the world dilemma think tank. They all agreed it was time to take their wives out for dinner, maybe at the Mule Barn? Sevenish?

So in came the two shy teenage love birds at 7:10 p.m., and there sat the Supreme Court of Everything That Goes On In Our Valley, sitting there with their wives, and everyone was smiling. The kids looked self conscious for a minute, but then Katie found them a booth and they both sat on the same side so they could hold hands.

Then here came Loretta, with a checkered tablecloth she’d brought from home. And Olivia came out of the kitchen with a candle in an empty wine bottle. Doc got up and found some Johnny Mathis snuggle music on the juke box, and Dud unscrewed two light bulbs in their portion of the dining room. For atmosphere. It was romantic enough to hug a cactus. A night to remember.

Oh … and Randy and Katie enjoyed it, too.

____________

Brought to you by "Ol' Slim's View From the Porch" published by the University of New Mexico Press and available at Slim Randles Web site

Fits of Temper

Back in June I started posting excerpts from my new book , which is a humorous memoir titled A Dead Tomato Plant and A Paycheck. This latest installment is from the chapter tentatively titled, The Silly Things We Do

This particular piece was inspired by a neighbor who was known to do some pretty amusing things and was always willing to let me write about them. I was saddened to hear recently that he passed away and it was ironically about the time I was working on this chapter.

I hope you are making them laugh up in heaven, Dick....

In all honesty, most of us will have to admit to being overcome with childish fits of temper at one time or another in our lives. Whether that happens frequently, occasionally or twice a day, we all have given in to the urge to throw something across the room and watch it smash into a million pieces. (We mothers have to be most careful when the impulse is to throw one of our kids).

Although we all fall prey to this type of behavior, it really takes a big person to admit it, and that being the case, I'm going to tell you what this friend of ours once did. This friend, who shall remain nameless, got mad at his telephone one day. He was so mad that just slamming the receiver back in place was not enough to satisfy him, so he ripped it off the wall.

Then he threw it down on the floor and jumped on it once or twice.

That still didn't ease his frustration, so he kicked it around the floor a bit, kind of stirring up all the little pieces.

Then he picked up all those little pieces, put them in a brown paper bag, and went to the nearest payphone to call the phone company. (Keep in mind this was before anyone had even thought of a cell phone.)

He told the girl in the service department that there was something wrong with his phone, and she said she would have someone check the lines and they would get back to him.

"'You don't understand," my friend said. "There's no trouble on the lines. My telephone is broken."

"Sir, do you mean the instrument itself is broken?"

"Yes, Ma’am, that's exactly what I mean."

"What is it that's broken on your telephone?"

"Well, you could say the whole thing is broken. In fact, you might want to send out a whole new unit."

“Oh, okay. I’ll have a technician come to your home.”

At that point, I would have skipped town and let someone else greet the repairman, but this friend is given to great shows of bravery as well as terrific temper tantrums. He acted as if it were nothing out of the ordinary to hand a telephone repairman a bag of junk that used to be a telephone and tell him that a Mack truck ran over it.

If I had been the repairman, I might not have been able to resist asking how the wall fared.

More Pictures

Took some shots of the sunrise one day this week. Thought it was interesting that the pictures were all taken about the same time, yet the colors vary significantly.

I didn't change the settings on my camera, so I don't know why the variance happened. But I thought the pictures were pretty.

Getting the Shot

I remember when I used to do PR work and would go out on a photo shoot with a photographer to get pictures for a brochure or annual report, and I was always amazed at how many shots he would take. I was used to the way most of us take family pictures -- one shot each.

The photographer I worked with was very talented, and very patient. I was always mindful of the clock ticking and the fees, and he patiently explained that there is a difference between taking a picture and taking a photograph. If you want a good photograph you can't rush the process and you may shoot a whole roll of film before you get that one great shot.

I was reminded of that the other morning when I discovered some beautiful butterflies having breakfast from the flowers in my old plow. I must have taken 20 shots, before I got this pretty yellow swallowtail.

I won't post all the pictures, but I'll post a few to show the progression from beginning to end.

More Humor From Tracy Farr

Just had to share this latest from my friend, Tracy Farr. Maybe I related just a bit too much, especially about the cats....

If we could talk to the animals, I’d run!

While a lot of very intelligent people are weighing in on health care, socialized medicine and obscenely high insurance rates, cows don’t give it a second thought. In fact, I’m sure if you were to even mention those things to a cow, it would look you straight in the eye and say, “Moo,” and really mean it.

Cows chew their cud, swat at flies, and never once worry about the things we worry about – which makes them pretty smart in my opinion. Sure, they eventually end up tasting mighty delicious on a plate with a bit of A1 Sauce, but up until that very moment, they don’t have a care in the world.

Scientists are now discovering that a lot of animals, just like cows, are more intelligent than we originally thought. No, they’re not smart enough to get your kid an A in calculus, but neither am I, which doesn’t prove a thing, so let’s continue with some absolutely true stories about smart animals.

Did you hear the one about the bird and the worm? The worm was floating in a glass of water, but because the water level was too low, the bird couldn’t reach it. Scientists gave the bird some stones, and before you could say, “nevermore,” the bird dropped the stones in the water, raising the water level and bringing the worm within easy reach.

If scientists were to put me in a room with a pile of rocks and a vat of water, and floating on the water was a cheeseburger – medium well but slightly out of my reach – I doubt very seriously I’d think of using the rocks to raise the water level. I might jump in, especially if it was an Angus Burger, but using rocks is for the birds.

So, how did this bird get so smart? Is it possible a new species of thinking, reasoning creatures that are able to use new math are gathering just under our noses? And if they are, why can’t we smell them? Don’t ask me – go ask your mother.

And then there’s the story about the chimps that can make and use tools (I usually buy and lose mine). They make spears out of tree limbs, jab them into other creatures and then eat them – which makes me have “Planet of the Apes” nightmares because it sounds less like they’re making tools, and more like they’re making weapons.

Dolphins, on the other hand, are too sneaky to need tools.

A dolphin was trained to bring up trash from his tank. Whenever he brought up trash, he was fed a “treat.”. One day, when the tank looked clean, the dolphin appeared with trash in his mouth, got his treat, but raised the suspicion of his trainer. The trainer discovered that the dolphin had made a cache of trash. Not only that, but instead of bringing up whole pieces, he was tearing off just bits of the trash, thus making his cache a long-lasting stash of trash. And what did this prove? That dolphins are sneaky – didn’t I already say that?

Finally, there’s a cat in my house and goats in my yard that are living proof that animals are smarter than we give them credit for. The cat meows at the door and I get up to let her out. I don’t want to. I fight against it. But the cat has trained me so well that I just give in and do what I’m told. Life is so much easier (and there’s less cat poop on the carpet) when you do what you’re told.

As for the goats: When the goats get out of their pen, I rattle a bucket of feed at them, they start following me, and I feed them when they get back into their pen. But the last time they escaped, I only had cat food. When I rattled the cat food at them, they followed, but refused to eat it. Minutes later, the goats were out again, but when I rattled the cat food, they just stared at me as if they were saying, “Listen my fine fellow, your entrées are very upsetting to our stomachs and we prefer to dine instead on these succulent weeds and grasses. So be a good fellow, run along and make sure our Cadillac is ready when we are.”

It sounded a whole lot like, “Baaaaaah” to my ears – but what do I know? I’m not as smart as a goat!

-------------------
Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

Could We Just Stop and Think?

Today I read a news bit on CNN about a judge in Florida who ruled in favor of two Florida school administrators who faced contempt charges for saying a prayer at a school luncheon. The two Florida school officials, Frank Lay, principal of Pace High School in Pace, Florida, and school athletic director Robert Freeman, could have faced up to six months in prison and fines if convicted.

Apparently the Civil Liberties Union brought court action based on the belief that students have a right to be free from administrators who foist their personal religious beliefs on them. And on that fact they are correct, nobody should have personal religious beliefs imposed on them.

However, merely saying a prayer is not imposing beliefs. It is not the same as evangelizing or mandating that the students change their beliefs. It's a simple prayer. And if a student's personal belief system does not incorporate a god or prayer, then he or she is free to ignore the prayer.

Certainly students who can ignore a teacher's academic lecture can ignore a prayer that may last a matter of a few seconds.

In this whole debate over the separation of church and state, I agree that the state should not meddle in telling people what to believe or what not to believe when it comes to religion. And I also think it should not be telling people when and how they can pray. I respect an agnostic's or atheist's right to not believe, but I also ask that they respect other people's right to believe.

Standing in a respectful silence during a prayer, whether it be in a family, school, or civic setting is a perfectly good choice for a non-believer.

"Blowing in the Wind"

I just read on CNN news that one of my all-time favorite singers has died. Mary Travers, of the famed Peter, Paul, and Mary trio died from side effects of treatment from a bone-marrow transplant after battling leukemia.

The songs of Peter, Paul and Mary were as influential on the 60s and 70s as those of Pete Seeger, and called people to action as the civil rights and anti-war movements moved into full swing. In 1963, the trio performed its hit song "If I Had a Hammer" at the Washington march where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his famed "I Have a Dream Speech."

That was a profound moment for me, and the idealist in me believed that if people only paid attention to what the songs were saying, we could end all the evils in society.

That was especially true of "Blowing in the Wind." How could a person listen to those lyrics and not want to change their ways? That song spoke to my soul in ways few other songs do, and I still count it as one of my favorites.

It was also one of the first songs I learned to play on guitar, and when I sing it now it still stirs my soul.

Recently I was listening to a CD of Peter, Paul, and Mary all-time hits, and I realized I know every song on the CD. I learned them all when we used to do Hootenannies at church.

For those young folks who read this a hootenanny is an informal performance by folk singers, typically with participation by the audience. )

Recently, I've idly thought about getting a hootenanny going at a venue here in my little corner of East Texas, and maybe this is the impetus to make it happen.

Rest in peace, dear Mary, your music will live on.



The singer was born in Louisville, Kentucky, in November 1936 and grew up in New York's Greenwich Village. As a teenager, she performed in a Broadway review, but stepped on to the folk music scene in the 1950s. She emerged as an iconic folk singer while performing with Peter Yarrow and Noel Paul Stookey.

Peter, Paul and Mary came together while singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" in Stookey's New York City apartment. They went on to play gigs at coffee houses and later on the radio.

"As a performer, her charisma was a barely contained nervous energy -- occasionally (and then only privately) revealed as stage fright," Stookey said.

Their music reflected the 1960s and the 1970s, a time of turmoil as the civil rights and anti-war movements moved into full swing.

Travers applied her recognition to rally behind those progressive movements. In 1963, the trio performed its hit song "If I Had a Hammer" at the Washington march where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his famed "I Have a Dream Speech," her publicist said.

Cat Pornography

Some writers work to the sweet sound of their favorite music. I get to work to the sweet sound of my dogs bathing. They come into my office and decide it is time to take care of those personal hygiene needs, and the constant slurping can drive me nuts. Not to mention the fact that Poppy has to "talk" to her fleas while she is biting them.

I don't know what it is about my office that attracts all the animals, but they all love it. The cats are especially annoying when they decide they MUST be right in front of my computer, with paws and tails draped over the keyboard. I'm a terrible typist without that kind of interference, so working around furry appendages is really a challenge.

John, will usually just sleep when he gets to the favorite spot in front of my computer and keeps his feet to himself, but recently Orca has started claiming that spot. Not only does he nap here, he also bathes, which means he is moving around in front of the monitor. But that is not even the worst part.

After he has slept for a while, he decides he has to air out the family jewels, of which he has none, but he doesn't seem to realize that.

So I look down to type something and, well, there he is.

Monday Morning Levity

It's been a while since I shared something from my friend, Tracy Farr, and this one had me laughing out loud. Maybe it was just me, but chances are you will find it funny, too.

The pert-near truth about daughters


I have a daughter. Chances are, you have a daughter, too. There’s a special room in heaven just waiting for us. It has a sign on the door that reads: “Shell Shock Recovery Room. No Sudden Loud Noises!”

I’m not an authority on daughters. I only have the one whereas you may have a whole herd of them. But I’m starting to understand some things that I’d like to pass on to those of you who have no daughters, but who really want a few because you’ve heard they’re always polite and never belch at the table (which is a total lie).

So, here’s what I’ve learned so far. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got:

1. All little girls want horses. They will not be denied. Sure, you could use the logical arguments of high cost, not having enough back yard to keep one, a horse’s pooper-scooper being called a shovel – but when it comes to horses, little girls don’t think logically. It’s best to buy them a subscription to a horse magazine and put off buying a real horse until they’re married and their husband can afford it.

If the subscription doesn’t work, maybe a stuffed animal or poster will do. If not, don’t blame me.

2. A daughter is born with a telephone attached to her left ear. You probably missed it on the day of her birth. Don’t feel bad, most parents do. But now that you see it, I would suggest subscribing to the “You’ve Got A Daughter” cell phone plan. Unlimited minutes, unlimited texting, no roaming charges, national and international coverage, nights & weekends, rollover minutes, and friendly customer service guaranteed for the life of your daughter. It will cost you $1.5 gazillion a year, but that’s a whole lot cheaper than if she “borrowed” your phone and sent her 30 best friends 1,000 text messages a day.

I guess you could get her a phone “only to be used in emergencies,” but a daughter’s definition of “emergency” is: “I haven’t talked to my BFFs for nearly 17 minutes. I must talk to them NOW or the world will come to an end.”

3. When your baby girl starts talking about needing to shave parts of her body, that’s when you need to start looking for a boat. It would be easier if you already had one, but sometimes it’s impossible to see the future through your daughter’s bright, girlish smiles and hugs that seem to say, “Daddy, I love you.”

WARNING: When your daughter gives you those bright, girlish smiles and hugs that seem to say, “Daddy, I love you,” she’s really setting you up for a trap. It’s just a ploy to get either a horse or to borrow one of your razors. Don’t fall for it. Be a man and buy the biggest boat you can afford. You’re going to be using it a lot, so you might as well be comfortable.

4. The menstrual cycle is a perfect excuse to go fishing on that brand new boat. If you have more than one “little girl” in the house, you get to fish twice as much. If you’re a man who has a hard time talking about “that time of the month,” join the rest of us out on the lake. We’ll be waiting for you by the dam.

5. One day your little girl is wearing pigtails, the next day she has boobs. Boobs attract boys; their brains short-circuit when confronted with cleavage; but boys understand shotguns and the damage they can inflict if they don’t steer clear of your little girl’s “blessings.” A daddy has to do what a daddy has to do – whether it be with .12 gauge or .24. And if the shotgun doesn’t do the trick, try the chainsaw.

6. Don't be sad when the day comes that you must “give your daughter away.” Just be thankful you don't have to pay someone to take her. Although, there are times when I think the dowry system of marriage should be revised. (Those times correspond to whenever the goats are out of their pen.)

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! all future suitable suitors for my daughter’s hand in matrimony. You are hereby informed that on the happy day of your union, not only will you receive my daughter and all the bills she’s run up over the years, but you’ll also receive three pygmy goats and their offspring, along with enough fencing material to keep them on your property and not on mine. I’ll even help load your truck at no extra charge.

-----
Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

Let us not Forget

Sometimes as we are distanced from tragedy the memories dim somewhat. That's a normal human reaction, a way of dealing with pain and grief.

Now, nine years after that horrible day in September when we saw planes crash into buildings and thousands of people die, the images are not as crisp in my mind as they were a year or two years ago.

On one hand that is a good thing, as that deep ache I used to feel is not as heavy as it once was. But on the other hand, I want to cling to the feelings of intense patriotism that tragedy instilled in me and people all across the country. We were united in our anguish and our purpose.

And that is what I wish we all could focus on in these troubled economic and political times. United we can do great things. Divided we will fail. And we do not honor the memory of the dead by failing.

Another Excerpt from my Book

Back in June I started posting excerpts from my new book , which is a humorous memoir titled A Dead Tomato Plant and A Paycheck. This latest installment is from a chapter tentatively titled, Socially Unacceptable. As parents, we reach a point where we are barely tolerated by our children......

It's an indisputable fact that as parents our intelligence ratio is in direct proportion to the ages of our children. The younger they are, the smarter we are.

I came to this profound realization the day my oldest daughter turned 16 and half my gray matter disintegrated. I could hardly believe that she was the same daughter who used to consider me the final authority on everything from why God made bugs to how the moon got up in the sky.

How fondly I remembered those good old days when she was four and I was smart.

She stood in awe of me because I could answer all her questions, not to mention that I could actually grow a plant from her watermelon seed.

Then she grew up and it reached a point where I would have given almost anything for just one brief glimmer of that old wide-eyed wonder. In fact, I would have given anything for a simple nodding acknowledgment that I might know something besides my name, address, and phone number.

It was a terrible shock to realize this was happening to me. I had years of education behind me. Not to mention all the accumulated wisdom from the intervening years, and I was reduced to pre-kindergarten status by one disdainful glance.

I, who used to be the most respected beauty consultant outside of Glamour magazine, suddenly knew nothing about hair care or make up.

I, who used to rival Chef Tell and the Galloping Gourmet in the kitchen, was now hard pressed to turn out a decent carrot stick.

I, who at one point could have started my own designer label with all the cute little dresses I created, had about as much taste as Miss Piggy.

Mind you, this was the same daughter who used to wear those dresses and tell everyone that her mommy made them for her. Now she wanted all the old photographs destroyed so nobody would ever see that she once wore a dress made out of pillow ticking.

It was a cute dress. Honest. With little yellow daisies on it that I hand appliqued. But did that matter? No. All she worried about was the fashion police and the fact that someone might decide she looked like a pillow.

This disdain for my mental acuity reached a point that I started wishing we could go back in time so I could bask in her adoration once again.

But then I had a second thought on the subject.

If we went back in time, this day of reckoning would still be lurking in my future, and I'd eventually have to face into it. Since I was already there, I might as well tough it out while I still had a small shred of intelligence left.

And, there were four other kids waiting in line.

Random Things

In honor of Labor Day, which is a holiday for all of us in the U.S., I just want to wish all my compatriots a happy and safe holiday. I was going to write a little reflection in honor of the day, but a friend, Joe Dan Boyd, who is also a journalist, sent me his essay and I couldn't top that. Here is a link if you care to read it.

I also received another funny piece from my humorist friend, Tracy Farr, so here is a link to his latest nonsense on WinnsboroToday.com. He has a new take on reality shows.

Last, but not least, my other regular columnist for WinnsboroToday.com, Slim Randles, has some dating tips on his latest offering. Here is a link to his essay.

Hope you enjoy these essays and columns. I am so thankful that these terrific writers share their talent with me and the folks who read WinnsboroToday.com

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming....

More Pretty Pictures

Yesterday morning I was out early just as the sun was coming up. Needed to feed animals and do some trimming around the yard, but couldn't resist stopping for some pictures first.

I couldn't quite capture the sunrise in all it's glory. It's amazing how quickly a scene will change in the few minute it took me to walk back to the house and get my camera. But I did manage to catch some of the morning fog and a bit of the orange in the sky.

Then I noticed that dew was clinging to the ends of the pine needles. When I saw it, I couldn't help but think of the descriptions I've read in books of early mornings with dew glistening like jewels. Next time I read a description like that, this is the image that will come to mind.

And of course, while I had my camera out, I had to take a picture of some of the animals. Poppy couldn't understand why I had stopped throwing her ball, but was patiently waiting for me to resume her favorite pastime.

Orca was waiting in the grass for the gopher. He had a long wait.

What's Happening to the Neighborhood Library?

According to a story by John D. Sutter for CNN, libraries as we know them will soon be a thing of the past. Well, maybe not soon as in next week, but perhaps too soon for those of us who love going to the library, pulling a book from the shelf, and sitting at a table to read or do research.

Sutter writes:

Books are being pushed aside for digital learning centers and gaming areas. "Loud rooms" that promote public discourse and group projects are taking over the bookish quiet. Hipster staffers who blog, chat on Twitter and care little about the Dewey Decimal System are edging out old-school librarians.

I do embrace a lot of the new technology and love the fact that if I am doing a story and need to find a specific detail or check for accuracy, I can switch from Word and go on the Internet to find the detail or verify the fact. There was a time when I had to stop working and go to the library to do that.

On the other hand, I will miss the "old-school" librarians, like the one who presided over the little library of my childhood. She encouraged a young girl to read more than just the horse stories that were my first love, and when I'd exhausted most of the books that were in the children's section, she wrote a note to my mother asking permission to give me "select" adult books to read.

So I got to read Little Women, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Of Mice and Men and many other books that both charmed me and broadened my world view.

Will that same type of personal relationship and fostering be possible in this new age? I don't know. That remains to be seen. But I hope this same kind of magic can happen, because a love of reading, no matter how that love is introduced, can take a young person a long way toward success. Not to mention how much fun there is along the journey.

Just think of the books you have read in your lifetime and what they mean to you.

I want to take a moment to thank that lady, along with all the other "old-school" librarians who have touched my life and helped me with research through all the years I have been writing. New technology may dominate the future, but you will never be replaced.

Kreativ Blogger Award

Patricia Stolty honored me with the Kreativ Blogger Award and this came as such a nice surprise. Patricia has a wonderful blog where she talks about writing and things related to Colorado authors.

Thank you so much Patricia for this recognition. Coming from someone with such an awesome blog and blog site, I am humbled.

There are rules associated with this award.

*****Rule for Passing on the Kreativ Blogger Award

It functions as a meme---list 7 of your favorite things, 7 of your favorite activities, 7 things no one knows about you.

Seven of my favorite things: family, chocolate, puzzles, animals, hamburgers, spaghetti, cookies.

Seven of my favorite activities: writing, playing guitar, acting, gardening, riding horses, watching movies, quilting.

Seven things no one knows about me: This is hard since I am pretty much out there with what I think and how I act, but I'll try to come up with something. Hmmmm...... Some people don't know I used to work for a veterinarian. Other people may not know that I am a hospital chaplain.

Gotta give up on thinking of other things. It would be easier if the rule was seven things some people don't know about me, but there isn't much that no one knows.

Kreativ Blogger award. More rules:
1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.
5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

For the Kreativ Blog I nominate:

Helen Ginger's Straight From Hel
Beth Groundwater's Blog
Ginger Simpson's Dishin' It Out
Lou Ann Morgan's Reading Frenzy
Terry O'Dell's Terrys Place
The Book Muncher
Marilyn Meridith's Marilyn's Musings

These are all blogs I visit frequently, if not daily, and all have great content and are very well done.