Showing posts with label a Cowboy's Guide to Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a Cowboy's Guide to Writing. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

No Black Friday Shopping for Doc

The day before Thanksgiving I thought Slim Randles would have a heart-tugging thoughtful piece about all the ways he is thankful, but he surprised me. Not that this isn't a thoughtful piece. Doc makes a lot of sense if you stop and think about it. So help me welcome Slim as my Wednesday's Guest today, and have a piece of pumpkin pie while you are reading. We always need to test the pies the day before Thanksgiving. At least that was the rule in our house. Enjoy...

“Hey Doc,” said Herb, reading the latest copy of the Valley Weekly Miracle, “did you see all these specials they’re having in the city? Just for the Friday after Thanksgiving, too. You know, a guy could get a lot of Christmas shopping done then and save some money.”

“I guess so,” Doc said, putting his cup down so Loretta could top it off.

“You’re not going to go shopping?”

“Not on Black Friday.”

Herb looked at Dud and Steve along the philosophy counter. Like buzzards circling a battlefield, they could sense a story.
Dud asked, “Any special reason, Doc?”

Something inside Doc swelled up and he seemed much taller than usual. He was prepared to expound, and we braced ourselves. We always listen to Doc. Besides being one of the world’s kindest people, he has more initials after his name than most governmental agencies.

“I don’t shop on Black Friday,” he said, “because it’s expected of me. I don’t attend church on Easter or Christmas, either, even if I go regularly the rest of the year. Every Labor Day, I work instead of going fishing or going on a picnic.

“Now, I do celebrate Valentine’s Day with a card and flowers, because I like Mrs. Doc and plan to keep her happy. But for the big expected holidays, I defer. You see, boys, man was put here on this earth to break trail for others. To set out on his own to make traditions, not follow them. Everybody else waters grass to make it grow and when it does, they cut it down. It takes time and sweat and money to do that. You know how I garden … leave it alone and if something grows that offends me, I take it out with a shovel.

“I tell you, guys, we are fashion setters, not fashion followers. Our mission is to set examples for others, not blindly go do something because everyone else does it. You remember when we were kids, our mamas told us not to play in the street because it was dangerous and we told them the other kids got to do it, and they told us if the other kids jumped off a cliff, would we do that, too? Sure you do. Every mother in the world has said that a dozen times. So why should we just follow along like sheep when someone on Wall Street decides we should go out and stand in long lines and spend money on one certain day?”

Herb nodded. “As usual, Doc, you make a lot of sense. I never really gave it that much thought.”

Doc smiled back, “Besides, I’ve already done most of my shopping online.”

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Brought to you by Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing 

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Let's Go Fishing

Humor writer Slim Randles is back as today's Wednesday's Guest. This piece reminds me of all the great times I had fishing over the years. I can almost taste the perch we caught on the lake in Michigan and cleaned and fried right there on the beach. Yum. Then there were all the wall-eyes in South Dakota. Still my favorite fish. I caught quite a few trout in Nebraska, but they are my least favorite to eat. My garden sure loved them though. If you have a favorite fishing story, do share it if you'd like. Meanwhile, let's have a cool glass of lemonade this hot Texas day and enjoy....


Image Courtesty of KitchenTalks.com where you can read about the history of lemonade

“What do you figure he’ll weigh now, Doc?” said Steve. Mavis topped off their cups at the philosophy counter of the Mule Barn coffee shop.

“A good three pounds, if my guessing is any good,” Doc said, shaking his head.

“Your dog?” asked Mavis.

“No, Hon,” Doc said with a smile, “Ol’ Lunker, that big trout down in Lewis Creek.”

The best fly tying and fly fishing had failed to bring O.L. to the net for a long time now. Oh, sometimes he’d investigate a fly closely and start a near panic attack in the angler, but then he’d turn back into his hole and let the fly drift on by. It was maddening.

“Maybe he’s just smart,” Dud said.

“Instinct, I think,” said Doc. “I just don’t think any trout is all that smart. But instinct could account for it. He knows what he wants to eat, and somehow, the flies we send him just don’t quite look right, or smell right, or float properly, or sink fast enough. Who knows?”

“I’ve tied my best for him,” Marvin Pincus said, looking semi-depressed. “I swear I don’t know what that fish wants.”

“You’re the best fly tier in the valley, Marvin,” Steve added. “If your flies can’t do it, I’m wondering if anything can.”

“Have you tried using bait?” Mavis asked. “My brother does okay with worms and salmon eggs.”

Every member of the world dilemma think tank gave hostile stares at their friendly waitress until she remembered something in the kitchen and left in a hurry.

“Bait? Use BAIT?” Doc moaned.

Marvin nodded. “Might just as well shoot the dang fish.”

Life, after all, would mean nothing without standards and values. 
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Brought to you by Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing. Learn more at www.lpdpress.com