It’s Already Open

I have become frustrated when trying to open a jars, bottles or anything with a cap that was tightened by a machine. When I was younger this was not a problem, but as I’ve gotten older my grip has weakened and opening a new catsup bottle to remove the seal is a problem. The seal is another problem. There’s an eighth inch tab that supposed to allow you to remove the seal. Really, the only way I can remove it is my teeth, but I’m not sure if that’s a Covid approved technique. I should ask Dr. Fauci, I’m sure he would have an opinion. Sometimes it’s easier to just stab the seal with a steak knife and cut it off.

Old people find ways to do things when they are blocked but traditional methods. 

Opening catsup and mustard packets and soy sauce, are just a few things where your bite strength comes in handy. Dr Fauci is old too, so he may use his teeth, but only with his mask still firmly attached. 

Our new kitchen tools include a needle nose pliers, and an adjustable wrench.

These two new kitchen tools take care of ninety percent of the problems. The red string on the cheese packets rarely works and the ziplock seal never lines up correctly. So that’s another fail. And I don’t know what kind of NASA plastic they use on Cheez-it bags, but it’s super strong . . . until it finally lets loose and the bag self destructs. Save yourself time and frustration. Just cut it open.

I am proposing two options for grocery stores. The first one is to have a special

section for seniors, called “It’s Already Open.” Everyone else is catered to because of all the complaining they do. Why not seniors? We need an aisle or two dedicated to old people. The concept is that every product is opened then gently closed. Sure, there’s a higher chance of spoilage, but we’re old and have gone through lot in our life, so what’s it gonna hurt. We’re the garden hose drinking generation.

The second option is to have a young person with big forearms posted at the

checkout or roaming around the store who would open all the jars and bags for senior citizens. Tips accepted for this service. “Just Saying . . .”

 

The Kindness of Strangers

The news paints a picture of a dangerous world with mean and selfish people. The world can be dangerous and some people are mean and selfish, but I do not live in that world and have not met those people. In fact it’s the exact opposite.

     My recent experiences have have proven to me that there are many more friendly and helpful people in this world. It’s not what the news media or Facebook might show, but I believe those sites only show the worst parts of society. 

     Over the past couple of months I have experienced the kindness of strangers. In all these cases the only reward they expected for their kindness was a smile and thanks.

     A few months ago I was at Walmart buying tabbed dividers for a binder. I waited in line behind a middle aged black lady. I greeted her and asked how her day was going. She smiled and responded and as quickly as that we started a friendly conversation. We shared a laugh but I don’t remember what it was about. As she was checking out she picked up my dividers and said, “I’m going to get this for you.”

     I said, “That’s very nice, but it’s not necessary.” 

    She insisted saying, “It’s important to do something nice for someone. I want to do this for you.”

    I couldn’t refuse. I thanked her and we chatted a little more before we parted ways.

    This act of kindness made her feel good and me as well. It wasn’t the $1.67 cents, it was the connection with another. It made my day, that a stranger would do this for me. I talk to strangers all the time, because I enjoy the smiles. 

    We were in Arizona recently on vacation and had reservations at a nice restaurant. Our table wasn’t ready so I went to the bar to get a glass of wine. The bartender served me as I sat on a barstool next to a young couple. My cousin signaled me he was going back to the waiting area. I said “I’ll be right there as soon as I paid for my wine.” I flagged the bartender for a bill, she acknowledged my request. It was a busy night, so I waited holding my credit card. Just then the young Hispanic man next to me said “I got this for you. I’ll add it to my bill.” 

   I was somewhat flabbergasted and thanked him for the gesture but politely refused. I said. “Thanks, but it’s really not necessary.”

     He said, “I want to do this. I like to do this once in awhile. It feels like the right thing to do.” 

     I thanked him, we exchanged names then fist bumped. I told him thanks again and said I would say a prayer for him. 

     Again, I walked away feeling great, even though I had done nothing, but allow someone to buy me a glass of wine. As I said earlier it wasn’t about the free wine, but the unexpected human connection. It’s hard to refuse someone when they say. “I want to do this for you.” 

    Just the other day Mimi an I were watching our granddaughter, Stella. After going to a movie and spending some time at the park, we stopped to get three small ice cream cones at Lions Choice. While waiting in at the drive up I dropped my money clip and it slid under the seat with all the lost books, cracker crumbs and only God knows what else. I hopped out of the car and tried fishing around under the seat for my money clip. I found many things but not what I needed. Mimi didn’t bring her purse so she would be of no help paying. The line was moving so I moved the car closer then jumped out to search again. No luck. Then the young lady in the car behind came to help. She said she has small hands and might be able to find it for me. She reached in a quickly found my money. I thanked her jumped back in the drivers seat. I paid for the ice creams and paid for the young lady’s meal. It was the right thing to do. She caught us at the stoplight and thanked us for buying her meal. We said you’re welcome, we were happy to do that for her.

    Yesterday morning I went for a walk at Veterans Memorial park. I go there frequently. It’s a friendly place and close by my house. My daughter, Maureen, commented how friendly the people were at this park. I agreed and my story will show this. 

    I walk three or four days a week and meet many people at the park. As I said I like to talk to people and  most don’t seemed to mind chatting and some may be like me always trying to connect with others. I greeted a few people on my walk, and frequently we pass a second time on a different part of the trail. I nod the second time without a greeting, but this young black girl commented how well I was doing. I laughed and said I was going to walk to the bench then decide how much longer to go. We chatted a little about the trail and weather, then she asked how I was doing. Maybe because I was using hiking poles or because I was an old guy. I said I was doing fine for a 73 year old. I had a few aches and sore muscles and joints but over all pretty good. She ask if she could pray for me and asked my name. I gave her my name and said I would never turn down a prayer. Her name was Hermine and she stood with me and prayed for my health. In turn a did the same for her, thanking her for her kindness.

    To some this may seem weird, but it didn’t feel like that. We wished each other a great day and continued our walk. Now you can call me crazy but I walked away with a little more spring in my step. Was it the prayer, the pleasant conversation or the kindness of this young lady. I don’t know but what I do know is this is the reason I talk to strangers. All four were strangers, one older black lady, one young Hispanic man, a young white girl and a young black girl each brightened my day. 

    I talk to strangers. It’s what I do and it’s better than social media. “Just Saying . . .”

The Master of Adventure

This is a fictional story about a grandpa and his grandkids. There is light humor and fun dialog with the characters along with a twist.

* * *

The Master of Adventure

Twenty acres looked a lot bigger than I imagined. This was the first full week I’d spent on my newly purchased property. I bought a used but well-maintained 4-wheeler that would be useful to scout my land. There are hills and valleys and many trees, so getting around on the farm would be easier with the quad runner. It could be used to drag dead trees or brush away to clear a path through the land. It would be work, but this is where I plan to retire, so it would be worth the effort. 

This land was a place to hunt and fish, but also to host family gatherings and

show the grandkids the fun they could have in nature without video games and smartphones. I never understood why we call them smartphones when they seem to make people dumber. At age nine and seven, the grandkids were old enough for a real adventure.

Tuesday morning, after a restful night in the old cabin and a hearty breakfast, I cranked up the 4-wheeler to take a tour of my property to see exactly what I bought. The quad runner had big, bold lettering on the side, with the name “Mud Slinger.” It had been modified with a rear cargo bed large enough to hold some rope, chain, shovel, and a few small tools. Better to be prepared than have to haul my tired ass back to the house to pick up something that was needed.

Planning to pick the perfect location to set up a deer stand, made my way toward the creek and followed it through my property. As I rode along the creek bed, clearing a few dead trees out of my path, an abandoned car came into view. If I hadn’t removed the dead branches concealing the ditch where it rested, it would have gone unnoticed. Old cars intrigued me, and this was an old Packard. The taillights could help pinpoint the year, but they were busted out. It was late and I was tired, so I took some pictures with my phone to avoid the climb down in the ditch. Yes, I have a fancy cell phone, and it has a camera, but I’m not sure how smart it is because I never ask it any questions.

Today was a good day. I cleared some trees from around the creek and

found an old car in a ditch. That could be an interesting adventure for me and my grandkids when they come over on Sunday. They’ll be here for three weeks, so I have to find something fun for them to do, preferably something outside. I did a little research on my computer to find out more about the old Packard. My best estimate is that the car was built in the late 30s to early 40s. It would take crawling into the ditch to get more information on its age. We’ll see what tomorrow brings. The Packard could be a haven for animals, raccoons, snakes, rats, and more. So I will have to be cautious with the kids when we go there to check it out.

Sleep came quickly as soon as my head hit the pillow. That’s what a good hard day's work does for you. My first week at the old farm flew by, and I was anxious to spend time with my grandkids. My son dropped off Billy and Sarah around 9:00 am on Sunday morning. Three weeks would give us plenty of time to have a bonding experience. 

After breakfast, we loaded up the quad. Sarah and Billy sat in the truck

bed with the equipment. No seatbelts needed. Just hold on tight. My land, my rules. They laughed and giggled all the way to the creek. 

When I pulled up next to the ditch, the kids jumped out of the quad

runner and ran toward the car. 

I yelled, then held up my hand. “Hold up a minute. We need to get the rope.”

“Hurry up, Grandpa,” Billy said.

“Calm down, it’s been sittin’ there for over fifty years. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.” I

waved them back to the ATV, handed each of them a pair of leather gloves, and said. “Pick a hat,” pointing to the floorboard by the front seat. Sarah, the youngest, picked the cowboy hat. Billy was left with the John Deere cap. 

I threw the rope over my shoulder and walked to a tree that looked sturdy enough to hold my weight. I wrapped the rope around the tree then called the kids over to show them how to tie the king of knots, a bowline. After we had one end of the rope was securely tied, I tugged on it, then carried the rest over to the edge of the ditch and tossed it on top of the car.  It made a thud. A couple of squirrels scampered out of a window.

Billy started to wrap the rope around his waist. “Hold up one minute.” I waved my hands. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Billy still held the rope around his waist. “I’m going down in the ditch.” 

“I’m lighter,” Sarah said. “I should go.”

Wiping my brow, I said. “Thanks, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I need to

make sure it’s safe before you kids go down there.”

Still anxious to scurry down the rope, Billy said., “But Grandpa, you’re kinda

you know. . . “

I smiled. “You mean . .  . smart, handsome and athletic?”

“No.” Sarah chimed in. “Old, Billy means you’re old. You break easier than we do.”

“Thanks for that explanation, Sarah.” I untied the rope from Billy’s waist. “You

always tell it like it is.” Then I reached down and gave her a big hug. “Go fetch a couple of those rocks.” I flicked my head toward the tree.

They each brought back three or four rocks. “What do we need rocks for?” Sarah asked with a puzzled look.

“To throw on the car and chase all the varmints out.” I grabbed a rock and threw it on the trunk. 

Billy immediately picked one up and heaved it at the car but missed. 

I laughed. “How could you miss the car?”

Sarah was quick to join in. “Yeah! Billy, it’s so big.”

I told them to toss the rocks like a horseshoe. They immediately started pitching the stones on the trunk. A couple raccoons crawled out and scooted away. With no other sounds coming from the car, I felt it was safe for me to descend down the rope to get a better look. Carefully, I climbed down into the ditch and stepped on the trunk of the car.

Holding the rope with both hands, I stomped on the trunk. Still no animal sounds, so I felt safe to proceed. I stepped on a mound of dirt next to the trunk and when I bent down to grab the handle and heard a hissing sound, and jumped back. The kids giggled at the top of the ditch. They got me. It was an old Grandpa trick, which I pulled on them many times, but it was my turn this time.

“Very funny!” I chuckled. “I’ve taught you well.”

“Come on, Grandpa. Open the trunk.” Sarah giggled. “Don’t mind the snake.”

I reached down and twisted the trunk handle, but it didn’t budge. No surprise. I stuck a crowbar by the latch to pop it open. After a few tries, it broke loose. The trunk creaked and screeched but resisted my attempt to open it more than a couple of inches.

“Hey, put some muscle into it, Popsy,” Billy yelled. “You want me to show you how?” 

Popsy was the nickname they used for me when they were feeling spunky. “No, thanks, kiddo. I think this old man’s got it now.” I laughed inside, knowing Billy’s words were mine just coming out of a nine-year-old. It’s what they learned, and it’s how we bonded. 

Just then, the lid broke loose, causing the trunk to fly open. It happened so

fast I fell backward onto a log. The adrenaline pumping triggered my reflexes to spread my arms, grabbing anything within reach. My right hand landed on a tree root, but once I gained my bearings, I realized the tree root was an old rusted rifle. 

Without warning, the kids jumped down into the ditch. They could no longer contain their excitement. Hell, I was the same way at their age. Sarah and Billy climbed into the trunk. “Hey, Popsy! There’s all kinds of cool stuff in here.” 

“Wait a minute!” I yelled. “Let’s be careful.” I held the mud-caked weapon

over my head. “I found a rifle.” 

“Cool,” Billy said. “But it looks all busted up, so it’s not dangerous.”

 “Maybe, but it would be hard to explain to your parents if something bad

happened.”

They started to rummage through the junk. 

I pointed to the top of the ditch. “No, stop. Go up top. There could be old bullets in the trunk.”

They grumbled but crawled back up the embankment. 

“I’ll look through the trunk and hand the stuff to you kids after I make sure it’s safe. We can take it back to the cabin and see what we got.”

I pulled out a suitcase, shoebox tied with heavy twine, and a woman’s hatbox and passed each of them up to the kids. I carried the old rifle up myself.

“Don’t open anything yet,” I warned them. “We’ll look at it when we get cleaned up.”

Once the ATV was loaded with our loot, we rode back to the cabin. They both rushed in to get cleaned up. This is one time they didn’t argue about taking showers. While they took turns in the bathroom, I gathered a few things from my bedroom that we would need. The grandkids came back into the big room, excited to get started. I had laid a tarp out, with all our treasures on top. This was a cabin, not fancy, but no need to make it worse with ditch dirt. “Which one do you kids want to open first?”

Sarah pointed at the hatbox. Billy didn’t care. “Just pick one. We’re burnin’

daylight.”

“Ha! That’s my line. Do you even know what that means?”

“Yes.” Billy grabbed the closest prize, the shoebox and shoved it toward me.

“You’re wasting time.”

“Good choice.” I picked up tin snips and cut the twine, then pulled the lid off.

No shoes, but it was filled with dust, dirty paper, and what I would call junk. “There’s more dirt than anything else.”

Sarah said, “I like dirt.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you after coming back from the playground.” 

With a quick survey, I could see there was nothing in the box that would be

harmful, so I let them check out the contents. After they picked through the stuff, I took a closer look. The box contained mainly store receipts and handwritten notes with the signature, Bonn E. The one thing that most interested me was a Babe Ruth baseball card. That’s a pretty good find, but when I looked closely, I saw the word ‘Bambino’ scribbled all over it. That probably made the card worthless, but we’ll see what the experts tell us. I took a minute to explain about the historic baseball player. Neither of them seemed impressed. 

I separated the paper into stacks, one for receipts, another for handwritten

notes, and a third stack for miscellaneous. Later, when there was more time, I would look closer at these items, but we needed to open the hatbox and suitcase. None of us would get any sleep without knowing the contents.

Sarah pushed the hatbox to me. I opened it, and we found a woman’s hat. Big surprise! It looked like a hat I’ve seen in the movie, Great Gatsby. It was purple with a lace band and flower. Billy was clearly disappointed, but Sarah picked up the hat, proudly placed it on her head and started prancing around, holding it in the air and waving like she was in a parade.

I was getting tired and believed the kids were too, although they’d never admit it. Kids would keep going until they dropped from exhaustion, then sleep like a baby even if they were lying on a rock. I said, “Maybe it would be better if we left the suitcase until tomorrow.” 

Reluctantly they agreed since the hatbox was more of a disappointment than a discovery. We headed to bed, knowing all of us would be up early. I flopped into bed, exhausted from our day. I knew I’d be up before the kids since getting a full night’s sleep for me was a rarity. There were quite a few things to occupy my morning, one of which was cleaning the rifle. 

As I dozed off to sleep I thought about today’s adventure. From the pictures I’d taken, I was able to determine the Packard was a 1933 model, not the late 30s to early 40s as I had originally assumed. It was a fun day with the kids. They never once asked about playing video games. 

 

* * *

 

I woke refreshed after a good night’s sleep. All I needed was to chase the grandkids around all day to tire me out. After a quick shower, I took a second look at the stuff we had. It was an interesting collection, which should keep them interested and anxious to find out more about them. I’m sure there was more to discover about the items we found.     

Breakfast was ready when the youngsters stumbled into the kitchen. Bacon,

scrambled eggs, toast with butter and jelly, coffee for me and milk for them. After they gobbled down the food, I told them to take a second look at the stuff we found yesterday while I cleaned up the dishes. “Check everything in the shoebox and the hatbox, sometimes it’s easy to miss an obvious clue.” I threw the dish towel over my shoulder. “Be a detective.”

“I want to open the suitcase.” Sarah put her hands on her hips, like her mom.

“We’ll get to that. Be patient.” 

A few minutes they rushed into the kitchen holding up a piece of paper, just

as I hoped. Both jumped and bounced with excitement. “We found a note.”

“That’s great! What does it say?”

Billy snatched the note from Sarah. “It’s smudged, but I think it says, ‘To my Gal, Love Champ.” 

“That’s interesting.” I said, “Where did you find it?”

“It was stuck in the hat.” Sarah took the hat off her head and pointed to the liner.

“Later tonight, when there’s more time, we’ll see if we can find more information about all the treasures we found, especially the old Packard.”

Billy and Sarah sat by anxiously as I pulled the suitcase toward me and attempted to open it. As I expected, the latch was rusted shut, so I pried it open using a screwdriver and claw hammer. 

Sarah leaned forward as I lifted the lid. “It’s empty. That stinks.” 

I scratched my head. That didn’t make sense because the suitcase had some weight to it when I pulled it out of the trunk. I ran my hand over the top and bottom, but I didn’t feel anything odd. Then I noticed the suitcase looked bigger from the outside. 

I looked at the kids. “It might have a false bottom.”

Billy scrunched his nose in puzzlement. “What’s a false bottom?”

I said, “You know, like a secret compartment.”

“Wow!” Billy’s eyes widened. 

To gauge the depth of the bottom part of the suitcase, I held the screwdriver on the outside then the inside. There was a noticeable difference. It didn’t have the depth it should. That convinced me I was right about the false bottom. I slid the flat part of the screwdriver around the edge on the inside of the bottom panel. As I dragged it around, there was a snap, and the bottom sprung open.

 

Three objects–all unexpected, all old, all related lay in the bottom. Billy grabbed the long one and tried to play it like a flute. “Popsy, It doesn’t work. I had one in third grade, but this one looks a lot different.”

“It is different. It’s an Indian peace pipe, not a musical instrument.” I stuck my

hand out. ”Let me see it a minute.”

“I want the fancy hat,” Sarah shouted. “Tell me about the fancy hat.”

I held my finger up.” I will, but first, let me tell you about the peace pipe.”

Billy waved his hand. “Sarah, you have to wait to hear about that goofy Indian hat.”

“The peace pipe had spiritual powers and was a ceremonial smoking pipe.

Leaders from opposing sides would smoke the pipe to seal a peace treaty.”

Sarah squirmed. “Tell me about the hat.” 

“That hat you’re wearing is an Indian headdress.” I looked at Billy. “It’s not a

goofy hat. The Chief wore it to show he was the leader.” 

Sarah lifted her hands in victory. “I’m the leader.”

I laughed. “Well, times are different today, but in the 1800s, the leaders of

American Indian tribes were always a male.”

“Everything has feathers, even that hatchety thing.” Billy piped up. “What’s with all the feathers?”

“Ha! I’m not going to tell you everything.” I laughed. “That’s what you need to

find out. Look it up on the Inter Web. And by the way, that hatchet thingy is called a Tomahawk.”

Tonight after supper we would use the Internet to do some research on all the stuff we found. They will have loads of fun and not even realize they are learning new things. 

“What do you want to do today.” I asked.

Sarah the impatient one, jumped up. “Can we go back to look for more stuff in the car?” 

“That’s a great idea. We may have missed something important.” I stood and

walked toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

They nearly knocked me over running to the door. I chuckled inside to see how excited my grandkids were. Giving them an adventure was all it took to get their butts off the couch. They were sitting in the back of the ATV before I stepped off the porch.

“Come on, Grandpa. Hurry up.”

I lifted my old bones into the Mudslinger and started it up. Billy and Sarah

whooped and hollered as we drove off. 

When we pulled up next to the ditch with the car, I told them not to climb in it

but check all around it to see if they could find anything was interesting. Billy was the first one to notice the holes in the door and fender. 

“See those holes.” I pointed at the car door, “How do you think they got there?”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s an old car. Is it from rust?”

“Come over here.” I put my hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “See how the metal is

turned in all around the hole.”

Billy jumped down in the ditch. “I see it. What does that mean?”

“They might be bullet holes.” I hinted.

“Wow, maybe from the cops,” Sarah guessed.

Billy whipped around. “Yes, I think Sarah’s right. The guy driving the car could have been a bad guy who robbed a bank.”

“You can try to figure that out tonight on the computer.” The kids had become deeply invested in the research to learn about history as I had hoped. “Keep looking to see if there’s anything else worthwhile.”

After about ten minutes more of searching the car, I decided that we found

everything worth finding and told the kids we needed to head back to the cabin.

On the ride out to the abandoned car, I spotted an old deer stand some hunter built. There was a makeshift ladder attached to the tree, so on our way back, I slowed the ATV to get a better look. The deer stand was just a platform, mounted between a few branches, and it didn’t look safe. I had some lumber at the cabin that I could use to beef it up for a kid’s treehouse, but I’d wait until tomorrow morning to tell them. It would be another surprise adventure they could have with Grandpa.

After supper, Billy and Sarah were hunched over the computer screen looking up details on the Indian artifacts. Over the next week and a half, they researched the Internet to learn more about all the treasures we found. 

When he made a discovery, Billy yelled. “All the stuff is from the Chickasaw

Nation.”

Before he could finish, Sarah yelled, “And the feathers they use are from eagles.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “What did you find out about the tomahawk?”

“The hatchet part is animal bone,” Sarah explained. “like from a horse.” 

They spent the whole evening reading about the American Indians. When

bedtime arrived I had to pull them away from the computer.

The next morning after breakfast, I told them I had a surprise. “We’re

going to be busy today with a new adventure.” I could see the excitement on their faces. “Go out to the ATV. I’ve got some boards piled in there.”

“What are we doing?” Sarah asked.

“We’re going to build something.” I didn’t tell them anymore until we pulled up to the tree, then I pointed to the ladder. “How about we build a treehouse?”

We spent the day sawing and hammering boards to reinforce and renovate the platform to make it a proper treehouse.  It would take a few days, but it would be another memory. 

In the evenings their fingers tapped away on the computer learning new things about the treasures we found. I gave them a few hints about gangsters in the thirties. It wasn’t long before they discovered Bonnie and Clyde and the Barrow gang. They learned Bonnie’s middle name was Elizabeth, which could explain the note signed by Bonn E. Clyde’s middle name was Chestnut, but he told everyone it was Champion. The note signed by Champ was found in the woman’s hat. The clues led the kids to believe the car was stolen by the famous gangsters. The bullet holes in the car sealed the deal for them, but it didn’t prove anything.

On our last evening together, I sent Billy and Sarah down to the root cellar to get some vegetables for our dinner. After a few minutes they both walked back in with big grins on their faces. 

Billy said, “We got you, Popsy.” 

They found the Amazon boxes and receipts from all my purchases.

“You’re busted, Grandpa.” Sarah held the receipts in the air. “You bought all the stuff we found in the car on Amazon.”

“I got you.” I let out a big laugh. “Well, most was bought online, but some came from garage sales.” I pointed and wagged a soup spoon at them.  “You learned a lot this summer.”

“Yeah! We learned Grandpa is a jokester,” Billy quipped.

“No argument there, but you learned much more.”

Sarah stood with her hands on her hips. “Like what?” 

“Old cars, Indians, gangsters, fancy hats, baseball, rifles, old luggage with secret compartments, tree houses, root cellars, and the bullet holes.” I folded my arms and looked at the kids. “Would you have searched the Inter Web for any information on that stuff if we hadn’t found it?”

Billy kicked at the ground. “No, having the stuff made it a game.”

Sarah jumped up. “We like games.”

“I know, so do I. This was a fun summer, and Grandpa got you to use the Inter Web for the right reason.”

“So was everything we found fake?” Sarah tilted her head and gave a puzzled look.

“I bought the tomahawk, peace pipe, headdress, and Babe Ruth reproduction card online. The luggage with the secret compartment, hatbox, and hat came from the farmer’s barn down the road, so those are old. I wrote all the notes you found. The rifle was one from my grandpa, so it’s pretty old as well. But the most important and most real thing we found was the good time we had.” I saw big smiles spread across their faces.

“You’re right, Popsy. We did have a great time.” Then they both held up their

arms like they just won a race. 

“I am the master. Say it.” I held my arms in the air. “Grandpa is the master.” 

In unison, they muttered, “. . . you are the master. . .”

I shook my head. “Come on, a little more enthusiasm, please.”

They both threw their arms up and bowed as they shouted. “YOU ARE THE

MASTER!”

Dinner that night was the best. We talked about our summer adventures and

What we learned. They were so excited to have all the treasures we found and packed them up to take back and show their mom and dad. They didn’t care that the stuff was purchased online.

The next morning my son came by early to pick up the kids. As they gathered their stuff, I told them to friend me on The Facebook so we could stay in touch.

“Grandpa.” Billy used his serious voice. “You always mess up names like when you say, Inter Web, The Facebook and The Amazon.”

“Ha!” I scratched my head. “I do that cause it makes you laugh.”

Sarah smiled. “It is funny, sometimes, the way you talk. But it makes you sound silly.”

“I don’t mind sounding silly.” I rubbed my chin. “Tell me what you think you

know about the Amazon?”

Billy chimed in. “That’s easy. Everybody knows Amazon is where you buy

things, even you. That’s where you bought all the stuff for our summer adventure.”

“That’s true, but here’s another thing to look up on the Internet when you get

home. Search for, The Amazon instead of Amazon and let me know what you find out.”

Billy smiled. “Finally, you said Internet instead of Inter Web. I guess you can

teach an old dog new tricks.”

I laughed as they walked out the door. “Just, look it up. Remember, I AM THE MASTER.”

The Best Time to be Born

I’ve heard many people say, “I’m glad I grew up in the ‘60s when I could be outside all day.” The same people also say, “I’d never want to be a kid today with all the restrictions they have.”

     But I sometimes wonder, if we are all born at the right moment. The world is constantly changing, so it’s understandable that the kids of today won’t experience life like we did. Their childhood will be as unique as ours, not worse than ours. I can imagine one day when my grandkids are my age, they might say, “ I’m glad I grew up in the 21first century when technology was at it’s best. I wouldn’t want to be a kid today,”

     I think what it comes down to is how much you enjoyed your childhood. If you had a great childhood it doesn’t make any difference when or where you were born. Sure life is different now than it was when I was a kid, but I look at the smiles of my grandkids and think this is their time. I hope they remember it as the perfect time to grow up.”Just Saying. . .”

Just Too Good

We are a junk food society. We buy junk food like chips, pretzels, candy and cookies. Without question cookies are my favorite, homemade’s the best but there are some delicious store bought cookies. 

     Today was our shopping day, so of course we bought chips, pretzels and cookies. Most cookies are good, but some are too good so we don’t buy them every week. Why would we do that? The elf cookies with the fudge filling are one of those too good cookies. A bag of cookies will usually last all week, the elf cookies seem to disappear in a matter of a few days. Just one more, that’s what we say to ourself until the bag is empty. We all have our nemesis, so please don’t judge.

     Tell me what junk food has a hold on you. I promise I won’t judge you or tell anyone.

     

The Internet

The idea of the Internet was to provide a system that allowed people to share information and communicate globally. That has been successful, but as with most things there are issues. The collateral damage it has created makes me wonder if it’s worth the trouble. I’m sure you know what I mean by collateral damage so I won’t go into detail. 

     I’m going to assume that the Internet was setup with good intentions, but that went quickly by the wayside when people start using it to spread hate. It’s unlikely that anyone was surprised because criminals do what they do to advance their agenda. The more surprising and sad part is the role of the average Joe has been infected by this hate. It’s common to see aggressive conversations attacking someone for no reason other than a difference of opinion. Why? Because we are protected by the anonymity of the Internet. 

     Times have passed where you could sit down and have an intelligent debate with someone on a current hot topic. The truth is those discussions could become heated as well, but the face-to-face conversations kept most people in check. 

     The Internet has taken those debates out of the bars and town halls to social media sites where there is a no-holds-barred attitude to say anything without recourse. 

     I’m not sure why some people think it’s okay to act this way, but it seems to be a widespread attitude. We have teachers, policeman and parents that try to keep us in check, but who do we have to keep the Internet trolls in check? No one, but ourselves.

     So next time you click on a post to make a comment, do a self check before you post to see if it’s worthwhile. “Just Saying . . . “

     

Random Memories of Old Friends

Sometimes while I'm sitting relaxed in my favorite chair my mind wanders. Names frequently pop in my head, old friends, acquaintances sometimes even people I've met on a trip who I had a connection with but knew little about.

     On most ocassions it's a pleasant memory, but sometimes it's regret for the way I treated them. It's too late to appoligise or ask for a do-over, but thankfully my good memories far outweigh the bad.

     This post is about the random memories of people in your past, good and bad. Why do these thoughts surface after so many years? Is it because of my age, that I’m reflecting on my life? Are these people thinking about me at the same time I’m thinking of them? That’s possible, but it seems unlikely. I don’t have any answers. 

     Apparently these people had some impact on my life and maybe I did on theirs. For whatever reason they have resurfaced via a memory. A life filled with memories especially good ones, seems like justification for living. 

     I’ve heard that a person exist as long as memories of them still circulate. I’m not sure about that, but I like the idea. Our time on this earth is short, but the impact we have could last forever. Never stop making memories. They could be your legacy.  “Just Saying. . . “

The Facebook Community

There are many opinions on Facebook, but I rarely comment on them. It seems like people are yelling their opinions, or challenging your intelligence if you don’t agree with them. 

     It appears they are trying to convince me to change my opinion, because their argument is irrefutable. Most of the opinions leave no room for negotiations, which shows that they are not willing to hear your viewpoint. That’s because, they know they are right, therefore no other opinions are needed. What’s interesting is that many of the comments taking the opposite opinions are frequently stated with strong, nasty and challenging words that are designed to jab the writer of the post with the real facts. I said facts, but in reality it’s just opinions the same as the post, both masquerading as facts. It’s like eight year olds arguing in a school yard.

     Opinions are worthwhile, but they are not necessarily facts. I believe opinions can lead us to facts, but only if we listen and entertain the idea, that your opinion may not be the only viable or worthwhile option. Listening to anothers opinion won't necessarily change your mind, but it could open up a new thought path which could lead you to modify your opinion.

     An intelligent discussion by two people of different opinions is worthwhile, but it's unlikely that you will see this happen on Facebook. I could be wrong, but I have found that my listening skills are suppressed when people yell their opinion at me or treat me as if I'm stupid, which is how opinions are expressed on Facebook. 

     I am not swayed to your side by intimidation. Maybe it's time to try another tactic. How about an open discussion without prejudging each other? I imagine this would be extremely difficult, because people are passinate about their beliefs. Even if I had an irrefutable answer to offer on an issue, it wouldn’t make a difference, because no one on Facebook is listening. 

     So, that’s the end of my rant. I will remain a member of Facebook, but only to read the jokes and interesting stories of my friends. “Just Saying . . .”

     

Mystery at the Swimming Hole pg 43-45, Epilogue

“Nothing, I’ll take care of it.” Then he pulled a gun from under his jacket and shot Tad twice then a third shot to seal the deal, like the woman found at the bottom of the quarry.

 The boss dumped the body in the woods then he went back to the mansion to deal with Grandma Parker. He would send the guys over to clean up the site.

Carson took two deputies and drove to Wilkies. The sheriff saw Tad’s the crew leaving so he sent the deputies to follow them.

He recognized Hawkins car in the driveway and wondered who called the inspector. He was supposed to be on the other side of the county working a big case.

As he entered the house he saw the inspector guiding Parker down the stairs into the basement.

“Hold up Greg. What’s going on?” Carson asked.

Hawkins turned. “I’ve got this, sheriff. Check the perimeter for Tad’s crew.”

A frown of suspicion covered the sheriffs’ face. He sent his deputies to follow Tad’s guys, so what was the inspector trying to pull. “My deputies got that covered. Why are you taking Parker to the basement?”

Hawkins spun around and shot Carson. The sheriff fell knocking over a chair. He laid still, playing dead until Hawkins went downstairs. 

* * *

The boys were worried and wanted to do their part so they jumped in Frank’s car and drove over to Tad’s. They discussed what they would do on there way over. 

They know enough not to barge into the house so they peered through the windows, but saw nothing. The door was unlocked. It was a big house, so they entered but split up. Frank and Mike went left toward the massive den. John and me went right toward the basement.

It wasn’t long before we saw the sheriff laying on floor a few steps away from the basement door. He was bleeding badly. I could hear voices coming from the basement. I sent John to get the boys to help me then I told him to take Franks car and get help for the sheriff.

Mike and Frank showed up quickly. I told them to be quiet because someone was in the basement and they weren’t going to welcome us. Being quiet for Mike was not the norm but he did well on this occasion.

            They knew going down the stairs was the wrong approach. The metal treads made it impossible to walk down with out creating a noisy entrance. There was no way to avoid being heard.

            Frank picked up Carson’s gun. I stood behind the basement door with a club that I took from one of the statues in the hall. Frank signaled Mike to yell as if he just found the sheriff. We had to get the attention of whoever was downstairs. We knew they would have to come check out the noise. 

            It was only seconds later we heard someone running up the steps. Inspector Hawkins appeared with a gun in hand. He saw Mike and said. “What are you doing here? Did you do that to the sheriff?”

            “No, we found him like this.”

            “Where’s the rest of the boys?” Hawkins waved his gun for Mike to stand up. 

            I knew immediately Hawkins was a dirty cop. I jumped out behind the door and swung the club as hard as I could at the inspectors’ gun hand. The gun went flying and he grabbed his hand. He screamed in pain. Frank came around the corner with the gun pointed at Hawkins. Mike picked up the inspectors gun.

            We could hear the sirens in the distance. Help was on the way. Mike and Frank watched the inspector while I went downstairs. G-ma was tied up but uninjured. I untied her then followed her back upstairs. G-ma brought the bindings with her. I pointed at the inspector. “We need to tie him up.”

            G-ma smiled. “Glad to oblige. Keep the gun on him. This won’t take long.” She hog-tied him like they did at the rodeo. 

Just then the deputies charged in and seconds later the paramedics. They attended to the sheriff, loaded him on a stretched and rushed him to the hospital. The deputies took charge of Hawkins. They already had Tad’s two guys in the squad car when they threw Hawkins in with them. Their jail cells would be full tonight.  

            We headed toward the door to go back to the station when G-ma told us to hold-up. She went into Tad’s office and retrieved the tape recorder.

            We dropped G-ma off at the station and she gave her statement about the inspector shooting Carson. Later that day we drove over to the hospital. Five people in Franks car was a tight squeeze, so we voted to have Mike sit on the hump in the back. He wasn’t happy about the seating arrangements, but we promised him he could have a seat on the way back. G-ma stayed at the hospital, so none of us had to sit on the hump. They removed the bullet from the sheriff and he recovered quickly with help from Grandma Parker. 

The batteries on the tape recorder died but they lasted long enough to capture a conversation Tad had with his crew after they locked Parker up in the bedroom. The recording revealed Lindy was killed because she was about to expose the truth about the dog-fighting ring. 

Blood money and murder in a small Missouri town was a news story that went nationwide, since a police inspector was at the center of the investigation. 

Me and the guys got a reward for our part in the capture and prosecution of the Hawkins for the murders of Lindy and Tad Wilkies. The dog-fighting crew were sent up the river for a few years for their part in the crimes.

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

Each of us had achieved success in different ways. 

 

In 1971 at eighteen John tried out for ‘72 Olympics. He was unsuccessful but we, his buddies were impressed with John’s athletic abilities. To us he was a winner. He earned a teaching certificate and taught classes at the local high school plus being the swim coach. 

Mike had many jobs but never seemed to be satisfied with any of them until one Friday night he did a comedy act at the local bar and was a hit. People always say comedians hide they insecurities behind their humor. That explained Mike. He honed his comedic skills playing clubs around the Midwest. He made a living doing what he loved, entertaining people. 

Frank was a car guy from the day installed the lawn chairs in the 54 Chevy. He was always sweet on Miss Hot Pants, the librarian and shortly after he fixed up the Chevy he asked her out on a date. She was three years older than him, but that didn’t make any difference. They got married in 1973. Frank was twenty and Miss Hot Pants, Cheryl was twenty-three. One year later they welcomed a baby boy to the family.

I graduated college in 1975 with a degree in creative writing. A guy named Samuel from Hannibal, Mo paid my college tuition as long as I maintained a ‘B’ average.  It was the only way I was going to college so, I shot for an ‘A’. I know what you’re thinking; Samuel Clemens aka Marl Twain paid my way through college. That would be a good story, but it was Samuel Benson. He owned the hardware store in Hannibal and he was a true philanthropist before it became popular. There is a connection to Mark Twain though. Young Samuel Clemens worked at the hardware store. The kid that created Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn characters was caught stealing a hammer, something he needed to build a raft. True story. Well, I can’t prove it, but that’s what I’ve heard.

Three months after I graduated, I received a wedding invitation to G-ma and Sheriff Carson’s nuptials. I wasn’t at all surprised. Mike had informed me that they had been seen around town giggling and canoodling like teenagers, so he assumed they were dating. That seemed like an odd word to use from old people, but Mike knew something was going on. What surprised me most was that Mike was going to be the best man. 

We always made sure we got together once a year at the quarry to reminisce about the old times and talk about our plans for the future. The wedding would give us another chance to get together. The ceremony was nice, but the reception was amazing. 

Mike greeted me at the door and showed me to my table. “Hey Kevin! Have you started that novel yet?” 

“Funny that you should ask. I started it three weeks ago.” 

Mike smiled. “Cool, what’s it about?”

“It’s an adventure story about the old gang.”

“That should be easy. You lived it.” Mike pointed to the table. “One favor, don’t make me the small guy.” 

“But you are the small guy. God did that, not me.”

“Frank’s already at the table with Cheryl. Ask him what’s new?” Mike left to greet more guests.

I walked up to Frank and Cheryl. “Frank, how did you get so lucky? Cheryl’s way too good for you.” I laughed. “What’s new with you guys?”

Cheryl giggled and Frank said. “We’re pregnant.”

“That’s great, both of you?” 

            “Ha, funny Kevin.” Frank stirred his drink. “It’s twins.”

            “Wow, that’s fantastic. Congratulations.”

            John walked up just as Frank told me the news. “Twins! That calls for a celebration.” 

            “Mike wants to get together for a barbeque at my shop.” Frank pulled a chair out for John. “Ever since I installed a BBQ pit in the trunk of the ole ’54 Chevy, Mike shows up with burgers every couple of weeks and we talk about our time as undercover agents. Ha, Ha.”

            John dug a soda out of the ice bucket on the table. “Sounds great. I can bring some turkey jerky from the new batch I just finished.”

            Cheryl turned to Frank. “Can you go get me a slice of wedding pie? Peach, if there’s any left.”

            “Yes dear, I’ll put a big scoop of ice cream on top for you.” Frank stood up to fetch the pie.

            “Hold up, Frank I’ll go with you.” I slid out of my chair. “I can’t pass up G-ma’s pie.”

            “We need to go see Mike’s act at the Comedy Barn when he’s there next.” Frank picked up some plastic forks. “He should have his dog in the act by then.

            “What?”

            “John trained Mike’s dog to laugh on command and Mike’s gonna use him in his comedy act. The dog has such a weird bark it almost sounds like laughter.”

            We each came back with three slices to share with the table. There were gone in no time. John went back for more and brought Mike back with him. 

             The wedding was a blast. It felt like we were teenagers again. The next day we ate barbeque burgers at Franks shop. Turns out the ’54 Chevy made a better barbeque pit than a car, but we didn’t tell Frank. Mike brought his dog and debuted his comedy act with his dog, Carlson. 

            There are many roads to travel in life, but sometimes the old roads with your buddies are the ones that bring you the best memories.

Mystery at the Swimming Hole pg 38-42

As it turned out, the divers were brothers with records and spent some time in jail for petty crimes. The younger one, was Carl and the oldest was Karl with a ‘K’. He said he was named after his uncle . . . Keith. 

“Huh?” Carson scratched his head.

Karl sensed the confusion and said, “Keith starts with a ‘K’ and so does Karl.” 

Carson shook his head in amazement and pointed at his badge. “Well, I’m the sheriff and it starts with an ‘S’ but how it ends is up to you.”

Both Carson and Hawkins interrogated the (K)Carls. I quietly listened behind a curtain, and there was a slit that allowed me to watch without being noticed.

The brothers were the muscle not the brains, no where smart enough to run a dog-fighting ring. They were brought in separately and each grilled by the sheriff and the investigator. Karl with a ‘K’ was the first to be questioned. Inspector Hawkins asked what he knew about the woman found in the quarry to get a reaction from him. 

Both brothers claimed they knew nothing, which in a way wasn’t hard to believe. Neither was the sharpest pencil in the drawer, and they could be manipulated. Karl said they were called in after the girl was murdered. 

“Murdered? I didn’t say anything about murder.” Carson squinted his eyes.

Karl squirmed in his chair. “I just assumed. She was found at the bottom of the quarry. That doesn’t seem like an accident.”

“It could’ve been if she was drunk, right?” Hawkins pried. 

“Look, I don’t know anything about the girl. My brother and me don’t get involved in that kinda stuff.”

“The girl was shot three times with a 22 caliber weapon.” Carson explained. “she was dead before the car took a nose dive into the quarry.” 

After questioning both, the sheriff brought Karl back in and showed him a money bag that he said was found in Carl’s backpack. 

“I don’t know what you think about this.” Lifting up the bag. “But this looks like a money bag. I think your brother was holding out on you.”

“That can’t be. We were together the whole time.”

“The money was never at the kid’s house. That was a lie to get you there.” Carson picked up a pen and note pad. “I think Carl had it and was just playing along.”

“You have no proof that bag contained any money.” 

Hawkins sniffed the bag. “Did you ever smell money?” He dropped the bag on the table. “This bag smells like money.” He took a dollar bill from his wallet. “Smell this.” The inspector held the bill to Karl’s nose.

He sniffed the bill then the bag. “That no good son-of-a-bitch.” Karl’s face turned red with rage.

“Tell us your side. It’ll be easier on you, than having to beat it out of you.” Carson turned his chair around and straddled it.

Karl told his story, but swore neither; he nor his brother had anything to do with the girl’s murder. They were just called in to retrieve the money then kept on to work the dog-fighting competition. No one was sure how much Lindy had taken from the stash, so when the rumor mill started about more money they were told to find it. Tad was terrible at keeping records, which really upset the boss man.

            Hawkins leaned forward. “Who’s the boss man?”

            “No one but Tad has met him or even talked with him on the phone.” Karl insisted. The divers were locked up in the county jail for trespassing and endangering the life of a minor. 

* * *

The next morning out of habit all the boys showed up at G-Ma’s and were welcomed as always. Neither the sheriff nor inspector was there. None of the boys or grandma knew what the next move was going to be. They did know that somehow they needed to find out who the bossman was, but how? It was in Tad’s best interest to keep quiet. They would have to trick him to get the information.

Since G-Ma was on the inside, she would need to be the one to pry some information out of Tad. She borrowed Kevin’s tape recorder, hid it in her carpetbag purse to take to Wilkie’s place. She planned to tell him she came to collect the money he owed her. 

* * *

            When Parker arrived at the estate she immediately noticed something seemed off. Tad appeared suspicious of her, but she ignored her senses and followed him into the parlor. A couple of his guys were sitting there, guzzling beers. It looked like they had been drinking for a while. He told Parker to wait while he got her the money. G-ma quietly pressed the record button as she waited for Tad to return. Something was definitely off, she sensed a negative vibe from the guys in the parlor. 

            She decided to question them. “What’s with you guys? Is something wrong?”

            The skinny one’s lip quivered. “Tad says we have a snitch on the crew.”

            “Why? What did he say?” 

            He stretched his long legs. “That’s just it, he didn’t say much so we’re kinda on edge. We all look suspicious to Tad.”

            Just then Tad walked back into the parlor holding an envelope, which he handed to Parker. She took it, said thanks, and headed to the door. But he stopped her and said. “Follow me, I want to show you something.” 

            The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Can this wait till later? I got some pies in the oven that won’t wait for nobody.”

            “It won’t take long.” Tad held the door open to his office. The room was full of trophies from the hunting trips he took. He directed her to sit, then handed her a stuffed bird. 

            “What’s this for?” Parker asked. 

            Wilkie smiled. “It’s a pigeon.”  He crossed his arms. “Pigeons were used as decoys to draw the prey into a net. A live pigeon was tied to a stool. When it was moved the pigeon’s wings fluttered attracting other birds.” 

            Trying to stay calm and in control, Parker said, “That’s fascinating, but who gives a pigeon crap about that.”

            “Well, we both know the more common meaning . . . don’t we?” Tad looked smug as he leaned back in his chair. “The big boss is pointing his finger in your direction.”

            “Are you calling me a stool pigeon?” Tad strolled to the door then opened it to call the two guys. Parker reached down to into her huge purse when his back was turned and shoved the tape recorder behind a shelf.

            Tad signaled for the guys to take Parker. “Grandma’s real tired. Take her to the guest room and lock the door. We don’t need anyone to disturb her.”

* * *

            The boys waited at G-ma’s until well past the time she was expected to return. I finally spoke up. “Something has happened. She should have been back long ago.”

            “You’re right Kevin.” Frank pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “We need to go see the sheriff.” 

* * * 

            When the boys showed up at the station, the sheriff was going over some paperwork. 

            Mike was the first to notice. “What’s up Sheriff? You looked puzzled.”

            “I can’t say right now, but pieces aren’t fitting into place with this woman’s murder.” Carson looked up. “What are you boys doing here?”

            “We think Grandma’s in trouble.” Frank said, “She went to Wilkie’s but hasn’t returned.”

            “Yeah, we think something bad happened,” my voice broke. “She’s been gone too long.”   

“That doesn’t sound like a big problem Parker can handle herself.”

“Yes, but she took my tape recorder.” I explained. “She was going to try to get Tad to spill the beans on the boss man.”

“Agh! That was a terrible idea.” Carson furrowed his brow. “If she was caught recording him, she’s in big trouble.”

“Should we tell the inspector?” Mike fidgeted with a pencil taken from the sheriff’s desk.

“Hawkins has another important case he’s working or the other side of the county, so he’s not around right now.” The sheriff signaled for his deputy to come over. “Stay here boys. Me and my deputy need to talk.”

            

* * * 

The bossman called Tad and told him to meet him at Cutthroat Daycare and Tattoo Parlor, an abandoned business, down the street from the hotel. There were some important issues that needed to be discussed. Tad didn’t like the idea of an offsite meeting, but it was the only way the boss could keep his identity secret. 

The door was locked when Tad arrived. Torn, faded flyers still taped to window offered a discount on tattoos for kids five and up. No wonder this place was out-of-business. The boss unlocked the door and let him in.

“Why are we meeting here?” Tad asked, “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Do you?” The boss inquired, “Where’s Parker?”

“She ain’t goin nowhere.” Tad assured him, “Got her locked up in a bedroom.”

“You said that about the kid . . .  and where is he?”

“We’ll find him. He can’t have gone far.” Tad leaned on the desk. “Probably drowned in the pond.”

“There’s too many things that have gone wrong.” The boss paced the room. “Loose ends will do us in.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” Tad held his hands up.