Derby

Losing the Baby

August 11th, 2010

Looking back I now realize how very quiet it was. Just considering the number of people that were there one would have expected some normal chatter. But the silence was really weird because the majority of people I remember seeing were infants and toddlers.

We all know infants and toddlers can be very quiet – if they are sleeping. But they were all awake. The infants were being held by their mothers and the toddlers were running around. Still, there was no noise. No talking. No babbling. No crying. Not only that, but there were no sounds from the feet of the walking and running toddlers.

Something else that did not strike me as odd until later was the size of the twins. One mother had a set of twins. They were so small that they looked to have just been born. Born about three months premature. They were tiny. Really, really tiny.

Things I don’t know: Where was I? All I do know is that it was a large industrial or commercial building of some kind. Why were we there? Haven’t the slightest. I don’t recall seeing any adults there except the mothers and myself. And there weren’t near enough mothers to account for all the toddlers running around. What was I doing while there? Some kind of official duty that I could do even with my arms full carrying an infant.

And that brings me to the strangest thing that I don’t know: How did I come to be responsible to carry around one of the sub-sized twins? I’m sure I did not just kidnap it. I don’t recall a conversation with the mother. I don’t recall it being handed to me. I only know that I found myself walking away from the mother with one of them in my arms. Mind you I was not against doing it – I just don’t know why I was entrusted with this tid-bit of a person.

Then the events started that should have caused me to feel guilty. But they didn’t.

I had been walking for a while – doing whatever it was that I was supposed to be doing – when I realized that the infant was not in my arms. I looked around for it. I say “it” because I don’t know the proper pronoun as I have no idea of the gender of this micro-baby – never had to change the diaper. I did not see it until I looked down on my left side. There it was, hanging with eight tiny fingers (the thumbs didn’t quite reach) wrapped over my belt. It looked like a character hanging on the edge of a cliff or a building in some old movie. Of course I rescued it and started to carry it as I should.

Some time later I realized that I, again, was not holding this tiny creature. I checked my belt. It was not there. I looked around and did not see it. Then I saw it and picked it up. I started back toward where the mother had been. I did not realize that the infant I had picked up was not the tiny one I had previously carried. This, in spite of the fact that it was three or four times larger. When I did realize it I decided to continue back to the mother of the tiny twins and hand her the infant I had, then go back and look for the one I misplaced.

Again, I don’t recall any conversation but I soon found myself handing off the larger infant and going back to look for the tiny one. It was, somehow, understood by the mother I handed the infant to, that she was to find it’s mother. And I started to retrace my steps.

I never found the tiny infant, because that was when I woke up. This episode was based on a dream I had not long ago. None of it was real. Still – I hope the parents of my grandsons never read this or those boys will never again be left in my care. Just so you know, I never have lost either one of them.

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Derby

Writing Lessons

July 28th, 2010

Some of you know that I have been writing for some time now but I’ve never had anything published in actual print – except for one political article which appeared in a local newsletter. The newsletter seems to have met its demise as it has never come out again since the issue with my article. I hope that there was no connection.

But it is fiction that I really wish to write. I could go around telling lies – that is fiction – but it’s not the same thing as writing fiction. And I have written some fiction stories as well as political articles and my blog articles here about other things (such as writing). You can find links on the right side of this page. So I have been looking at different websites to see what they can offer me in instruction to make my stories better.

One hint I’ve come across several times is to ’start late and finish early’. They mean to not take too much time leading into the action and not drag the story out after it is actually over. Let’s try this.

Elmer

Elmer screamed, “Oooooohhhhhhhhh!” as he fell off the thousand foot cliff.

The end.

Hmm. I don’t think that worked.

Another suggestion is to fully develop the characters, especially the main protagonist. Let’s try again.

Elmer

Thirty-two old Elmer Theodore Jones coughed. And he coughed again. The coughing woke him up from his lunchtime nap. It was a good thing too, since not only was it time to get back to work, which he really did not want to do, but he was having the dream again.

Elmer was 17 years old and wanted to go to town. He knew his Fiat 500 was out of gas so he took, without permission, the Ford F150 pickup truck belonging to his father, a man of German and Russian ancestry. Having stayed out much later then he was supposed to, he came barreling up the long drive at about 60 mph with the lights out so his mother, a women of English, French and Irish ancestry would not see him coming home. His parents were in his car – they had started out to look for him. The Fiat had stopped because the gas ran out and his father had shut the lights out to save the battery while he hiked back to the shed for the gas can. He had not gotten out of the car yet. Elmer saw them just seconds to late to stop or avoid hitting the Fiat and both of his parents were killed.

Elmer was so annoyed that the dream never ended before he hit the car. He coughed again. He was about to step out of the Orange Deliveries orange delivery truck number 312 and walk around it once. This would have been to help wake him up a little more before driving to his next delivery. That seemed too much like work. It was bad enough he often had to walk up 10 or 12 steps at some of the houses he delivered to. He slid his six foot, 200 pound body onto the driver’s seat. And he coughed.

Elmer thought about stopping to get a bite to eat. As usual he had not bothered to make a lunch so he’d slept through his lunch break. Also, as usual, he had only had time for a quick breakfast. He had microwaved some potato pancakes and poured lots of maple syrup over them for breakfast. He must remember to get more syrup because he had finished the bottle this morning. He had lots of the pancakes left because he made very large batches about once a month and froze most of them in small packages. That way he didn’t have to wash the dishes so often. He ate from paper plates using plastic forks.

Checking the door pocket, Elmer found a granola bar. It must have been put there by the night shift driver of the truck because it seemed fresh and it was not his. He wondered if Orange, his goldfish, would like it. Probably not, so Elmer ate it then threw the wrapper out the window. Thinking about Orange swimming in that huge fish tank, all by himself, made Elmer smile.

Picking up the next delivery ticket, Elmer suddenly started angrily shaking his brown haired head viciously back and forth. The address was his own apartment building with the apartment number where Sally lived. Sally was a woman a dozen years his senior, but Elmer was madly in love with her. She had three children, which Elmer did not like, as well as a husband (Elmer did not like him either). As he thought about it, Elmer decided that the package might be a gift from Sally’s husband. That changed his mood to happy again as he reasoned the husband might be out of town and sending a gift. So Sally would be there alone. Well, except for the brats. Now he was miserable again.

Well, he would fix them. He wouldn’t deliver the package. It was quite small and he could easily ditch it somewhere. He rubbed his thumbs together as he thought about telling his boss at Orange Deliveries that the package was never put on his truck. He just went on to the rest of his deliveries and his mood changed back and forth as he thought first about Sally, then, alternately, about her kids and husband.

When he brought the truck back into the yard at Orange Deliveries, he realized his car, with the windows wide open, sat right next to the truck entrance. He stopped and jumped out, coughed, and dropped Sally’s package into his car. He hoped nobody noticed him doing it.

On the way home Elmer decided to go to Flat Mesa and throw the package off the thousand foot cliff. He coughed, then turned the car in the right direction. Elmer knew he would have to throw the box from quite a distance since his acrophobia would not let him get too close to the edge. He picked up the package and coughed. He headed for the edge – but not too close. Rearing back with all his might, Elmer threw the box and it hit the ground about eight feet from the edge and skidded another six feet.

Slowly, Elmer walked toward the box. Not too close. He coughed. A little closer. He coughed again. Now, if he were to lay on the ground and stretch his arm he should be able to reach the box. He did that. Stretching as much as he could left his fingertips just inches from the package. He scooted his body just enough to be able to grasp the box. Pulling it back with him he scooted backwards for a couple of yards. Then, coughing, he stood up.

One more throw and the box went over the edge. It sounded like it hit something just below the top. Ever so slowly, Elmer inched forward so he could turn his blue eyes downward to see where the box landed. Not too close, he reminded himself. Not too close. Then he slipped.

Elmer screamed, “Oooooohhhhhhhhh!” as he fell off the thousand foot cliff.

The end.

Is that better? Still room for improvement. Back to the websites.

They’re really helping, don’t you think?

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Derby

Grandsons and Computer Monitors

July 12th, 2010

I don’t let my grandsons anywhere near my computer, so they cannot be blamed for the problem that this article is actually about. If I had simply titled this “Computer Monitor” it would not attract much attention and few people would want to read it. The article is not actually about my grandsons or anyone else’s – although I suppose those people mentioned herein do, or did, have grandparents.

My wife and I will often have our grandsons over to the house for a few hours. This gives the boy’s parents a break – something all parents need. If the weather is nice outside, that is where we will spend most of the visiting time. If not, there are plenty of toys for them in the house. In either case we will closely monitor their activities.

Speaking of monitors, the other day I turned on my computer and monitor. But the monitor did not come on. The power on light emitting diode did not emit any light. I plugged the power cord into a different outlet. Still nothing on the monitor lit up. So I tried a different power cord – no change. I switched back and forth a couple of times and kept trying the power on/off switch. Never did it ever come on.

The very first computers did not have monitors. Actually the first computers were people – people who computed. Hence they were called computers. The first non-living computer was designed by Charles Babbage. It was called a Difference Engine. It didn’t do quite all of the things that today’s computers do. In fact it was only designed to calculate numerical tables.

Now maybe Babbage’s computer did not need a monitor. Or maybe he got sidetracked and never got around to designing a monitor for it. You see, he did get involved in sports for a while as evidenced by his inventing the cow catcher in 1838. But I don’t think that game ever caught on. Or maybe it’s a United Kingdom thing.

But eventually computers started to come equipped with monitors (no thanks to Babbage). My very first computer, a Tandy Radio Shack TRS-80 Model I came with a 12” black and white television set that was converted to receive and display computer data instead of television signals.

The rumor is that Tandy Corporation was so uncertain of the sales of the TRS-80 Model I that the original production run was for 4000 units. The concept being that if they did not sell, each store would be able to use one. As it happened, they sold 10,000 in the first month. I can’t prove anything stated in this paragraph – so don’t hold me to it.

Back to the future (well it was the future during the TRS-80 hey-day). I went on line to check the warranty policy of the manufacture of my non-functioning monitor. If the monitor was less than three years old they would email me a label for me to ship it back in the original packing and box. And, no surprise, I would need to supply the the original purchase receipt. Upon receipt of the defective unit, they would ship me a refurbished monitor.

I have the original packing and probably have the receipt. Due to my office perpetually being in a state of serious disarray, I’ve no clue where the original receipt is located. On an old Visa statement I found a transaction that I believe is the purchase of this monitor along with some other item(s). The month was September, 2007. But being within the three years does not help if I can’t find the receipt.

The monitor was purchased at Best Buy. In my looking I found some other Best Buy receipts. These were all so faded that I could not be sure what purchases they covered. In each case I could read just enough to know it was NOT the receipt I needed. So I do know that I did not have in hand the correct receipt at any time that day.

Well, I spent quite a bit of time going through the mess in my office looking for that receipt but never found it. I figure if I find it in time I can send the monitor in for replacement and then we will have a spare monitor. Next step: shopping.

I checked a couple of places on line but did not see anything that justified the wait for shipping. So then I checked Best Buy and Radio Shack. With Radio Shack I got the impression that I would have to wait for the monitor of my choice to be shipped to the store. The best deals at Best Buy also were “on line only”.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Derby

Oh, Margaret

June 21st, 2010

Margaret and I met and married in 1990.  It was late that year or early in 1991 when I wrote this poem.  And sometime in the years that followed, I lost the original copy.  So on January 31, 2010, I rewrote the poem.  It is certainly possible that I have made some minor changes, but the concept and thoughts all remain.

.

Oh, Margaret, I’m glad you’re in my life

and glad you consented to be my wife.

.

I’m very glad that I love you

and glad you feel the same way, too.

.

I’m glad you bring me so much joy

and glad that you are not a boy.

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Derby

Ten Days Ago

June 17th, 2010

It was ten days ago. Ten long, thoughtful days ago. I had been wanting the adventure – no, adventure is not the right word. The experience – yes, I had been wanting the experience for a long time. Still, how could I know just what awaited me?

My wife, though not one of us, went with me. She bravely sat at my side throughout the whole thing. We arrived early. We stayed for the full event. She knew some of the people, I did not.

Second by second the time ticked by. Each participant spoke the words they had come to say. Some scientific, some of personal history, some of nature, some of death, and more. The range of topics was limited only by the number of participants present. No, not even that number was the limit as some covered more than a single subject.

The subject of death: that was mine. We were to speak words recently assembled, but my words were from nearly four decades ago. I had brought with me words written a long time ago because I did not know what the rules were. But I did not hide it. In fact, the very words themselves revealed the time lapse. I am not ashamed. The words were good. The story they told was not.

Even though she is not one of us, Margaret was also required to speak some words. She asked me to recommend some of my words for her to speak. I did. She spoke them. She did well.

And then we were required to prove our ability by putting together words that related to a subject that was announced just before we started the creation of the new sentences and paragraphs. Although it may not be the intent of our host, this procedure would prove that the words we were soon to speak were truly structured by none other than ourselves. After all, who could say that the words I spoke on death were arranged by me? I could, but who else?

And so we did. It was scary. It is my habit to arrange words and rearrange them and often do that repeatedly before I consider them worthy of presenting to others. Even then I am not always so sure. But I did as required. I put together words about – toothpaste. And, even though she is not one of us, my wife did so also. And she did well.

The task was enabled by a chemical supplement: a product originating in the equatorial territory of the Americas. The product is made from a bean which comes from a pod which grows on a tree. The bean is fermented and roasted and further processed until it becomes the thick pellet we were given. It’s powers are nothing less than magical. All at the event were able to produce sentences that met the requirements of our host. For me, I am sure it was the cacao bean that made the difference.

So was the experience what I expected? No, not quite. I had anticipated true critiques of the word packages provided by each of us. That was not provided. In a way it was a relief. I was prepared for negative feedback on my words, but I’m not so sure I could reciprocate. And that would not be fair.

The group comes together on a regular schedule. The next time is four days from now. Will I be there? No, I will not. I’ll not stay away because of my concern stated in the previous paragraph. As it happens, I’ll be traveling to another state on the day of the meeting.

Will I assemble with these people in the future? Yes. After all, while I am required to sit through whatever words they wish to speak, regardless of my interest, or lack of interest, in the subject, this provides a reciprocal advantage. They must listen to whatever I choose to speak of, regardless of their interest, or lack of interest. In other words, I have what all writers want: a captive audience.

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Derby

Bid Box Sale

May 27th, 2010

Do you like to have yard sales? Or garage sales, sidewalk sales, or moving sales? I don’t.

The reason I don’t like to host such a sale is because I’m not good at bargaining. If I place a price of $12 for an item, I want $12 for that item. The other side of that token is that if I see something I wish to buy is priced at $12, I expect to pay $12 for it. If it’s not worth $12 to me, it’s likely I won’t buy it.

But that’s not the way it’s usually done. I remember taking a couple of items to a sale my sister was hosting a long time ago. I don’t recall the items but I do recall that when I sold an item (at a price less than I had been asking) I was left feeling that had I held out, I could have gotten more money for it. Likewise, if I did hold out, then failed to sell the item, I regretted not taking the best offer I had received.

Some months after that event, I found myself in the position of needing to sell the furnishings of a small house. Remembering my sister’s sale, I developed a system I call the Bid Box sale. It is sort of a silent auction – with variations. The first step was to set a threshold. I believe I set it at $25. Mind you, this was almost three decades ago, so some of the details I relate here may be inaccurate. The threshold was the dividing line between what would fall into the Bid Box grouping and what would not. Items priced at the threshold amount and above would be Bid Box items and subject to the Bid Box rules.

Next I prepared a small box with a slot in the top, much like the box you might put your ticket in for a drawing. I also prepared a number of slips of paper with a place to write a name, phone number, item name, bid amount, date, and time. I believe I included a comments field, also. If I didn’t, it would have been a good idea. The date and time were in case of two or more identical bids for the same object.

It worked like this: Everything priced below the threshold you could purchase for the price stated – or you could try (and usually succeed) to talk me down on the price. But not so for the Bid Box items. For them there was no haggling.

Mind you, you could purchase a Bid Box item for it’s stated price. That made me happy and you got to take the item home immediately. However, if you wanted to bargain me down, it didn’t work that way. You could put in a bid for the item by filling out a slip with all the pertinent information. The bid did not obligate you. Nor was I required to accept your bid – even if it was the highest. The bids were not checked until the end of the sale which was at 6:00 pm on Sunday. These points were emphasized to the bidder prior to their submission of a bid.

That three day sale (Friday through Sunday) was quite successful. I sold almost everything (above the threshold) at an acceptable price. No regretting having refused a low price. No getting stuck with something left unsold because I hoped for more than was offered. Here are a few of the items and what the sales results were. All the other Bid Box items not listed here sold at satisfactory prices.

A couch that I priced at $140. On the second day of the sale a gentleman came by and offered me $120. I explained the Bid Box system and he placed a bid for $120. He walked back to his pickup on the street, then turned around, came back to me and bought the couch for the full $140.

A compact washer-dryer set priced at $150. A few bids were placed. One was for $140. but when I contacted them Sunday evening, they said that they had changed their minds. I believe that they found another set elsewhere and purchased it. The next highest bid was for $125. That bidder did purchase it for that amount.

A television set priced at $100. A man came by on Friday and offered $50. He would not place a bid. He came back on Saturday and offered $60. He still would not place a bid. In the meantime others were putting bids in the box. The man came back later on Saturday and offered an even higher bid. I don’t recall the exact amounts of all of his bids. He came twice on Sunday. Each time he raised his offer and each time he would not place a bid. Then he came back a third time on Sunday. It was just before the sale was to close. This time he gave me the full $100 asking price.

My favorite bid incident was the only major item I did not sell. It was a teletype machine that had an adapter board which allowed it to be used as a computer printer. When I purchased it used, to use with my Radio Shack TRS-80 Model I computer, the printers that were on the market were in the $1000 and up range. I paid $600 for this machine.

By the time of this sale the prices of personal computer printers had dropped considerably. I had a newer and better printer for my computer. The teletype machine had virtually no value. I decided to price it at $100. I would have been thrilled to get that price – or even half of it. Nobody offered me full price and only one person placed a bid for it. The bid was for the grand sum of one dollar. Just one.

I declined the bid. I took the machine with me to my new home in another state. After I had been living there for a few months I realized it was time to try to sell the teletype for whatever I could get. I placed an ad with the asking price of $125. I was prepared to drop the price as needed to – well, probably to as little as $10 or $15. I received only one inquiry. That person bought the teletype for the full $125 that I was asking. It was worth rejecting the bid offer and hauling the machine nearly 200 miles.

As you can see, the Bid Box sale really worked out well for me. Without it I know I’d have let the TV and couch go for less than I got for them. The same is likely true for the washer-dryer set. Or maybe I would have been stuck with some of these items left unsold. As for the teletype, who knows?

If you plan on a sale which will involve several items worth more than pocket change, feel free to use my Bid Box system. I don’t care if you call it a garage sale, yard sale or moving sale. However, if it is a yard sale, please let me know. I just might come by. I could use a larger yard.

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Derby

More of Me

May 1st, 2010

Just what you need, right?

Well, you can ignore it if you wish but you may be missing out on some entertainment. Or not. It depends on your taste in stories. My new site is called “Derby Deedon’s Stories”

Derby Deedon’s Stories will consist of any fiction stories I author. I have started with a few Micro Stories. As of the date of this posting, the Micro Stories are all I have up on the new site. The Micro Stories are all very short. “Fiction – a bite at a time.” As of yet, no one of them exceeds 1200 words.

There is a variety. Two of the current selection are in the genre of the Twilight Zone. One is a dark story – at least after the surprise ending. The others, I hope you will find a bit amusing.

Future entries will include some (longer than micro) short stories I have already written but have not yet posted anywhere. A hard drive crash of a little over two months ago has made the original files unavailable to me. At least unavailable for a while. Now don’t bawl me out for not having backups, I’ve beaten myself over the head enough for that already. I do have hard copies of two of the stories so, if necessary (and ONLY if necessary), I can either do an OCR scanning of the hard copies or, worse yet, hand (re)type them. I will get them back and, when it happens, they will be posted for your entertainment.

What else will appear at the new site? I don’t know for sure. I may write a true story that has been on my mind for a few years. So it may not all be fiction. Time will tell.

You have always been welcome to make comments to my blogs at either blog site. You are equally welcome to make comments about my writings at Derby Deedon’s Stories. I have set up a forum for that purpose. I actually am looking forward to reading comments in all veins regarding the stories.

Comments about liking or disliking the story. Comments about my writing style – good or bad. Comments about the content of the story. Discussions with other readers about any aspect of any story. Basically, you can say what you want. And I hope you will.

In case you lose track of this specific post, you can find the link in the Miscellaneous listing in the right column of either this site or my political blog site (Deedon’s Blog).

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Derby

The New Nursing Home

April 26th, 2010

Just a little note about an amusing incident. Amusing if you are me. For Margaret, not so much.

Margaret is a Registered Nurse. Actually, all nurses are registered nurses because the state requires you to have a license before they let you earn an income doing nursing work. Getting a license is registering.

But I digress. I like to do that, (digress, that is) because it helps me make a really short incident a bit longer. And the more words I use telling you that I’m not yet telling you what I started out to tell you, the longer it will take me to tell you whatever it was that I was going to tell you. What was I going to tell you, anyhow?

Oh, yeah! I remember. Margaret is a Registered Nurse as in RN vs a Licensed Practical Nurse as in LPN. In other words she went to school longer than LPNs do.

Margaret works in a nursing home. She has worked in nursing homes for most of the time we have spent as a married couple. And that is nearly two decades. Two very good decades, I would like to point out. But I digress. I like to . . . Oh, never mind.

It is very common for her to receive an occasional mail solicitation from a medical facility (nursing home or hospital, etc.), suggesting she contact them about an employment opportunity. This is especially true when a new facility opens in the local area. Or in the not so local area. Sometimes even out of state.

Recently, we have had two new hospitals open in Lafayette. Even more recently a new nursing home opened in town. Today the mail carrier delivered a large post card from this new nursing home. It was addressed to my darling wife, Margaret. Well, let me clarify that – it was not addressed to: Ms. My Darling Wife Margaret. It was addressed to: Ms. Margaret Deedon.

So it was addressed to Margaret, not to me. Why would I think it might have been addressed to me? Margaret is ten years younger than I am. I won’t tell her age but I am . . . uh, forget that. Anyway, she is ten years younger than I and we are both in pretty good health. So there is no reason that those sending out the postcards might think she is not a possible prospective employee. None at all.

So as I looked at this postcard sent to my (ten years younger than I am) wife, I noticed that they were not seeking employees. They were suggesting that she “Reserve your private suite now. . .” In other words, they want her as a resident!!

I’ll come and visit you once in a while, Margaret.

ROFL

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Derby

Decapitating Dandelions

April 18th, 2010

It’s that time of the year. The time to decapitate the dandelions. I most ashamedly admit to doing it today. But you know, it is really hard to mow the grass around and between the dandelions. Have you ever tried? Neither have I. I know an impossible job when I see one.

Most people think of dandelions as weeds. A lot of them try to commit genocide on the poor plants. They use herbicides and/or pesticides to do them in. Since my decapitating process is bloodless, I think it is better for Mother Earth. If it was bloody, or if I could hear the dandelions scream, I would have to look at other options for removing dandelions and other so called weeds.

A weed is any plant that grows where you don’t want it to grow. My dandelions aren’t weeds because I do want them there. Without the dandelions my lawn would be nothing but green. Green isn’t the worst color ever but, in my opinion, it’s not the best, either.

Now if grass was a nice bright blue, maybe I wouldn’t want dandelions scattered across my lawn.

When I was about the age of eight years old, I drove from Chicago to Texas to visit my grandfather. My parents and siblings went along. In fact, since I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, my dad did the actual driving.

We lived in a flat in a building with three other flats. There was a front yard and a back yard. Neither yard had any grass. In fact, there were virtually no weeds there, either. Do I seem to have gotten off track? Well just be patient, I’m getting’ there. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Traveling to Texas.

If you check with Google Maps you will find three suggested routes from Chicago to Brownsville. All three of them stay west of Kentucky. But we didn’t. Maybe Dad got lost (highly unlikely) or maybe my Mom suggested a roundabout way so we could see more states. Or maybe it really was the best way back in the days before the Interstate Highway System, (Yeah, I’m that old. What of it?)

Whatever the reason, we went into Kentucky. Well, I had heard of Kentucky Blue Grass and I was looking forward to seeing some of it. I expected that as we crossed the state line we would see the ground covered with bright blue grass. Boy, was I disappointed. It was not bright blue as I thought it would (and should) be. It was green grass with a vaguely blue tint. So I have never since had hopes of seeing grass a nice bright blue. Therefore, I want the yellow dandelions to dot my lawn and add some color to it.

It seems to me we should just let nature put what is best for our yards there and then let it grow. That’s getting back to nature. We are coming up on Earth Day and this would be a good start toward bringing the earth back to it’s natural state. At least my yard could get back to nature.

Of course the City of Lafayette has it’s little regulations that prohibit me from allowing my grass to grow too tall. Too tall is an arbitrary number chosen by people who believe that they know better than I what my lawn should look like. Ignore this entire paragraph – it is political and belongs in my other blog – Deedon’s Blog. (Note how I sneaked a plug in for my other blog but was not so brazen as to put the actual link to it there.)

Actually I have to like dandelions because my lovely and darling wife’s lovely and darling daughter, Michelle, uses the name dandelionheart as part of her email address. (The preceding sentence should be worth a couple points to me between the two of them.) Of course I never knew dandelions had hearts. But I don’t know that they don’t have them either.

A long time ago I read something that I truly wish I had written. But someone else thought of it first so I must leave credit where it belongs. Actually, I don’t know who wrote it first but I re-found it via StartPage search engine at this link. God on Lawns is the title of the article. Now if you find this funnier than the blog article you just read, don’t expect me to ever again share anyone else’s articles with you.

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Derby

Cletus Koors

March 25th, 2010

In Lafayette, Indiana, there is a company called SIA. SIA stands for Subaru of Indiana Automotive, Inc. Originally the “I” stood for Isuzu but they dropped out of the agreement a few years ago. I work for US Security Associates (USSA). SIA contracts with USSA for security services.

This year March 13th was the night of the annual awards banquet for the SIA group of the USSA employees. It is often referred to as our Christmas party, but it is a bit off season. It either runs from one to three months late, or from nine to eleven months early. I’ve never been sure which. Regardless, it matters little as there are no Christmas decorations or Christmas music. Nor is there anything else about it that would remind you of Christmas. Well, there are drawings for gift cards so I guess they could count as gifts for the lucky winners.

The company, SIA, began production in 1989 with the first Subaru coming off the line on September 11 of that year. Early in the life of the company there were some employees of SIA that also worked for USSA at SIA. Or perhaps it was employees of USSA that worked for SIA. Maybe both. A long time before I came on the scene here, a ruling was made that prohibited this “double dipping”.

There was an exception made for one Cletus Koors. This year marks Cletus’ 20th anniversary with USSA. I’ve known Cletus for seven years and have always admired and respected him for his knowledge and excellent work ethic. I’m sure these factors played a role in his being the exception to the no double dipping rule. At this year’s banquet he was given special recognition for his two decades of service to USSA. For most of the time I have known Cletus (perhaps all of the time and beyond), he has worked full time for SIA during the week and worked almost full time for USSA on the weekend. That is part of the work ethic I spoke of.

All of the above I already knew. At the banquet I learned that Cletus saved the lives of a family from a fire. He was driving past the house where he could see a fire going on and he helped the residents escape from the flames. There is no doubt he saved the lives of those people.

On another occasion he stopped to help a stranded motorist. In doing so he went out of his way to help the motorist get a part needed to get the car going again. Upon return to the vehicle they discovered it had been crashed into by a semi-truck. Police and medical rescue personnel were on the scene – searching for bodies. The body (the motorist) was safe and sound because Cletus had taken him from the scene to find the needed part. In all probability the man’s life was saved by that act of kindness performed by Cletus.

After I had been an employee of USSA for a while there was an occasion when I was nearby while Cletus and Somebody were having a discussion about something. Now my memory has dropped some of the details on this, but bear with me. I don’t recall who Somebody was so I’ll simply call him “Somebody”. (Sorry, Somebody, I have a poor memory.) I don’t recall the topic of their discussion either, so I’ll simply say “something”. Cletus and Somebody held different opinions on the matter of something.

As the discussion ended, Somebody turned to me and sought my opinion on the matter. No doubt Somebody was trying to get me to agree with him and against Cletus. I declined to express an opinion on something. The reason I gave Somebody was that I didn’t want to make Cletus mad because I knew Cletus had two interests, money and guns. And I also knew that if he got mad at me he wouldn’t throw money at me.

Now let me be perfectly clear: Never did I ever think I’d have to worry about work place violence with Cletus. Never!

Still, it never hurts to play it safe.

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Posted in Tribute, True Stories | 1 Comment »

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