Hi folks, and welcome back for some more ramblings about people you don't know and places you'll probably never go to. In last weeks Flashback Friday #42, I mentioned in passing the riding lawnmower we had. Anyone who has ever had to mow a large area with a push mower realizes what a blessing a riding mower is. We had two lots (we had purchased the neighbor's lot when I was four), and that made for a good sized yard.
Dad had mowed the yard with a push mower up until I was about nine years old. One day he came home in one of his friend's truck. In the back of the truck was the prettiest green riding mower I had ever seen. Beeing green, you can guess the maker of the mower. At first, Dad was adamant that he was the only person to use the mower. After a while, he had a brainstorm. "I have two kids", he thought. "Why am I outside mowing the grass while I could be inside watching TV?" It wasn't long before he trained us to work his pride & joy.
One day I was tooling around the yard (I was nine or ten) and I guess I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was going. When I realized what was going to happen, I tried to take evasive action, but I was too late. I was headed , full throttle toward the swing set. As I hit the leg of the swing set, the wheels kept turning, and sent me right up the support leg. There I was sitting on a lawn mower that had just climbed the leg of a swing set, and would have kept going if there had been anything for the wheels to grip. I was lucky that it didn't tip over and crush me. Dad rescued me, and Sir Gattabout made my life miserable by teasing me about it for weeks. Here is a lesson to be learned. Never tease someone for something that they did, because it might happen to you. A few weeks later, Gattabout was mowing when something distracted him. Before he knew what was happening, he was climbing a tree with the mower. Fortunately, he didn't get hurt either, except for a bruise on his ego.
Drag racing was a popular pastime with the mower. Since our road was fairly quiet, you could set up races against neighboring teens. One kid would be the starter (usually me), one kid would be the finish line judge and two kids would watch for traffic(one watching each way, seeing we were using both lanes). A shout of "CAR" would send the mowers off to the sides of the road. Dad never caught Gattabout racing his lawn mower. He would have grounded him forever.
We always hung the key to the mower just inside the front door. One day, Dad went to get the key, and it wasn't there. Nobody knew what had happened to the key. Since he had kept all the papers that came with the mower, a spare key could be sent for as long a the serial number of the tractor accompanied the request, but it would take 4-6 weeks to come in the mail. By that time we would have had a jungle in the back yard. As everyone continued to search, I came up with an idea. I went though some of my "good junk" and came up with a sardine key. I took it to Dad and asked if it would work (since it was a "key"). He laughed and told me that it wouldn't work. While they were looking for the real key, I decided to try my key to see if I could get it to work. I stuck that sardine key into the ignition and turned it. The mower started, and I drove it around to the front of the house. Dad asked where I had found the key. I held up that sardine key. He told me there was no way that I could have started the mower with that. I turned the mower off, re-inserted the sardine key, and started the mower again. You could have knock him over with a feather. We used the sardine key until the replacement came, and hung it behind the key,"just to be safe".
Pictured are Pooh & Tigger (sorry for chopping you off Pooh), Three Stooges, Football Looney Tunes, Sesame Street, Dilbert & cow-orkers, Mickey, Charlie Chaplin, Pooh & friends and Super Taz.
Next we have Pooh & friends, Mickey & friends, Looney Tunes montage, Disney geometrics, Looney Tunes, Snoopy sports, Donald Duck, Disney paisley, and Looney Tunes with Bugs Bunny Stamp.
Now these are my conversational ties. We have American Flag, Lions, Columbus Blue Jackets, Philadelphia Eagles, Money, Peace, Books of the Bible, Mission from God, lighthouse, I AM, Church and Noah's ark.
I didn't take any pictures of the GQ ties, because you can open your husband's closet and look at those. I haven't paid more than $5 for any of my ties. Most have been given to me, or discovered at Goodwill. I can't pass up a $1.99 cartoon tie.
We had a missionary from Africa come through our chuch one time, and he explained that due to the heat, suits are unheard of there. If you dress up, you put on a tie, and he asked us to weed out our ugly/outdated/unwanted ties we didn't want and give to him. He said it doesn't matter what the tie looks like, one of the native preachers will love to have it. He got a dozen of mine.
Yesterday, at church, I won a major award (no, it wasn't a leg lamp). Two of our ministers annually give "fabulous prizes" out on Mother's Day & Father's Day. These ministers have great senses of humor (of which I like to think that I helped cultivate). Yesterday they gave awards for the oldest pick-up truck (a roll of duct tape), the person who grills out the most (an apron), the man who drinks the most coffee (sippy cups), the greatest outdoorsman (little toy bow & arrow, man who snores the loudest (ear plugs for his wife) and the man with the most ties (a huge plastic bow tie). My major award is pictured below:
When asked who had the most ties, nearly my entire Sunday school class jumped up and pointed at me. I make it a habit to wear a different tie every Sunday, sometimes incorporating my lesson in the tie. Talking with Lady Nottaguy-TYG last night, I may even wear this tie for next Sunday Morning as part of my lesson on the wisdom of Solomon.
Hello. Welcome to another edition of Flashback Friday. With Father's Day just around the corner, I saved one of my favorite memories about Dad until now. We will have to get into the Way-Back machine and jump the timeline, back to when I was six years old.
Sir Gattabout and our neighbor (the flaming marshmallow flinger of Flashback Friday #3) were going to walk down to the creek and go fishing. I wanted to go to. I had never been fishing, but it looked like so much fun on TV. "You're too little" Gattabout told me. "You stay here." My little heart was broken. I wanted so much to go fishing. I burst into tears.
Dad came home to find me crying my eyes out. "What's wrong?" he asked. "The boys went fishing and told me I was to little to go along." I blubbered out. "Let's see what we can do about taking you fishing" he said. He was tired after a long day at work, but he could stand to see me in my heartbroken state.
I didn't have the first piece of fishing equipment, so Dad scrounged around the house to see what he could find. He found an old cane pole upstairs in one of the rooms that we didn't use (we had just recently moved into this house). It had been left behind by the former resident. He then tied about three feet of string onto the pole. A cork become the bobber and a Christmas tree ornament hanger became the hook. We were ready to go fishing.
He walked me back to the creek. It was only about a half mile, but it seemed like a thousand to a six year old. We found a prime fishing spot, complete with a very large rock to sit upon. It was an angler's paradise. I "casted" my line and waited for the great haul of fish that I knew were just waiting to be caught. We fished for hours (or six minutes, which ever came sooner), and I told Dad that the fish weren't biting today, and that I was ready to go home. Did he fuss about spending all that time preparing my gear only to fish for about six minutes? Nope, he smiled, took my hand and we walked back to the house. He was happy because I got to fish, and now I was happy.
The images of sitting there "fishing" with Dad are forever burned into my mind. I never really cared for fishing after that. It may have had something to do with Gattabout chasing me around the yard with fish guts from a fish he had caught, but I really think it was because it couldn't have been any better than the first time. Thanks for taking me fishing Dad.
What is this fascinating creation? Something that can keep a four month old mesmerised for nearly a half hour? This is it:
It is a "Night at the Museum" toy. It is Octavius the Roman centurion riding a squirrel. She loved watching it hop around like a rodeo rider. Watching her giggle & laugh was worth eating at McFastfoods.
Hello all. I promised many moons ago a post about the creek that ran behind our house. That creek has been mentioned in Flashback Friday #17, 28, 32, 35, & 37 (and probably a few more that I missed). Here it is.
The creek that ran behind our house (a good half mile behind) was a feeder creek to Alum Creek. I'm thinking that it was a part of Big Walnut Creek. Under normal conditions, it didn't get much higher that my chest in any of the areas that we frequented. It was about 20-25" across. After storms, I've seen it jump it's banks and come up close to our back fence.
Anyone who has read these rambling reminisces knows that I can't swim. Why would someone who can't swim constantly be around a creek. Perhaps he's not the brightest crayon in the box? Or, could it be that it was so much fun back the that he couldn't stay away.
As long as I can remember, we were allowed to go back to the creek. Sir Gattabout always complained that I was too little and he didn't see why he had to watch me. Whenever he would threaten to throw me in, my fear of the water overrode my fear of him. "If you do, I'll tell Mom!" After the dunking I got in Flashback Friday #4, he could beat me up all he wanted, I didn't care to relive that.
In the spring, summer & fall, we would wade, skip rocks, make boats, look for stuff that washed down from upstream, catch crawdads or just lay on the banks with our feet hanging in the water. Sir Gattabout liked to fish, but never caught anything really worth taking home. We would also do crazy things like make a mudslide, and slide like otters into the creek (what a mess) or ride our bikes off the bank into the creek. When the creek overflowed, we would roll 55 gallon drums into the field behind us, and try to"ride the bronco". When you put a 55 gallon drum in water and then try to sit on it, the results are hysterical. It's a shame we didn't have a home movie camera.
One of the things that I enjoyed doing was making "Bigfoot" tracks. You do this by entering the water on the other bank, and get out where there is mud (firm mud, not the real squishy kind). As you exit the water, put all your weight on your heel, and put your other foot down normal. You then lift your heal and step down with your toes 11-12" from your heel. Adding an extra toe with your thumb was always good for an added measure. You then smoothed out where your stationery foot was and you've got yourself a "Bigfoot" track.
During the winter the creek froze over. Sometimes it wasn't very thick (we always had to tempt fate and see if it would support us) and other times it was quite thick. One time during a very frigid winter, we got a few days of warmth. The ice cracked and buckled. Like most Ohio winters, the warming trend didn't last. The ice refroze, forming weird silhouettes of upraised ice. Some of that ice was a foot thick. Sir Gattabout & I took a piece of log and used it as a battering ram to break off a piece of ice that was sticking up.
I think the most dangerous thing I ever did at the creek was cross it on a tree that fallen across it. What's the big deal, you may ask, doesn't everybody do that? I did it during spring thaw. The ground had become spongy causing a tree to fall. This was a new development from the last time I was there. A natural bridge (the real bridge was only 100 yards away). I got on that tree and straddled it, scooting myself across while icy torrents of water that hovered just over the freezing mark rushed beneath me. I got about five feet from the other side when the tree petered out and I would have had to wade to the shore. I then stood myself up, turned around, re-straddled the tree, and went back to the shore I came from. If I was my Dad, and found me doing that, I would have tanned my hide for sure. Had I fallen in, if I didn't drowned, hypothermia would have killed me.
I was at my parent's house last week and stopped on the one lane bridge that crosses the creek to snap a picture. I had considered walking back, but most of the neighbors who knew me as a child are gone. You tend to tolerate a little boy walking through your field much more that a 45 year old man.
This is the view from the cab of my truck. I spent many a day in the waters of that old creek. Did you have a natural playground like this when you were young?
