Grill'n pizza an' ride'n on a fender

I was grill'n pizza. I goes outside to check on it 'cause I don't see no more smoke com'n out from under the lid. What could possibly be wrong that there ain't no smoke? Oh oh, we slap out of propane. It's oven time. The pizza was great.

I don't remember if'n I ever told ya, but I use to not like pizza...not at all. In fack, I couldn't stand the stuff. So's I opened me up a pizza sell'n place. Served carry out medium an' large pizzas, Blue Bell ice cream an' occasionally walnut cake thingys....brownies. Outside was the miniature golf course an' a remote control car race track. Due to own'n a golf course, the business was named "Mr. Putt's Pizza". Business was slow due to location (Cut off Road) an' when it rain, my park'n lot was a mud hole. Funds were tight. But after time, I learn to like pizza, especially mine. *I'm think'n maybe Digiorno Rising Crust Supreme Pizza may have stole my recipe.* "Mr. Putts Pizza" was shut down after find'n my business partner (XX wife) was steal'n big ol' hands full of funds from the till an' when the bill collectors show up, there weren't no cash. But it was fun while it lasted...an' today, I like pizza. So it weren't a total loss.

Don't know if my walk yesterday could be considered a walk or not. It weren't very far. I had to sit down an' I had to sit down right now. So what do ya do when ya got to sit down? Well shoot, ya brew up a big ol' sammich an' ya take up a nap.....what else is there to do?

After writ'n yesterday's story, I go to think'n.....I ain't got many more stories to tell. Not good 'un anyhows. But, there are stories to tell. Like this one I'm gonna tell today.

Ya see, over on the OFM Barney's blog, he had him a little accident. He eat up some pavement. That reminded me of the time.....

Back in the late 50's us boys would jump in a car an' go explor'n....make a adventure out of a simple car outing. We was in cousin Lukie's old 1949 Oldsmobile, five of us. We took off to Robbers Roost located this side the Sierra mountains go'n to Bakersfield, Ca.....a few miles from Walkers Pass in the Sierra Mountains

This weren't the first time I been to Robers Roost, but this time, I was eat'n sand, dirt an' little sticks for lunch.

We spent a few hours climb'n round on that rock outcrop, we jump'n in the car an' do'n brodies (donuts) out in the desert, cruis'n them old dirt roads a hunnert mile a hour.

It was crowded in the car. So's me and....my god, I done forget his name...we climb out on the front fenders. Remember my location....driver side front fender.
Before I go on any further, I got to tell ya bout Luckie. He ain't like none the rest of us boys, he's a sissy, mama's boy....don't do nuttin what might cause a little pain. He do everthing accord'n to the book...we are go'n down a road bout 5 mile a hour. But....sit'n next to him in the front seat is my "hazardous" buddy Gerry. He says to Luckie..."step on it" an' he reaches over his foot on to Luckies foot...the engine roars an' we go'n a hunnert mile a hour. I'm hang'n on for rear life.

Luckie gets skeered. Not for us guys out there on the front fenders, but skeered he might get hurt if'n he crashes into a bush or something like that. He slams on the brakes to a screech'n halt. Me an' what's his name, we keep go'n, fly'n through the air. "Houston, we have launch". My feet is go'n a hunnert mile a hour just like Jesus is run'n lickity split on water.....I hit the ground run'n. I don't run 25 or 30 mile a hour. That old dirt road is eat'n my lunch as I tumble along, arms an' legs frail'n, for a good hunnert feet or more. Come to a stop in one them bushes Luckie was skeered of crash'n into. I'm pull'n pieces of wood out my bare arms, my hands are on fire from try'n to stop on that hard ass dirt road. "Oh my god!!!...I feel blood run'n out my mouth an my nose". I place a hand under my mouth an' nose....shoot, that ain't blood, it's sand. I got me a mough full of sand an' sand up my nostrils.   
Bodily damage inspections are made. Gerry is laugh'n his ass off. I'm good to go for another day....after I heal. But I ain't rid'n on that freak'n fender no more.

I mentioned Robbers Roost a couple time in the past.....like the time I went mountain lion hunt'n with a single shot .22 cal. rifle....at night.  Sane people don't do that. Only adventurous fools do.

Nuttin has changed. My depression is on edge, I hurt like hell in that damn right hip an' a little swell'n in the feet again this morn'n. An' I got a ton of things to do. Damn, 1000 miles to Georgia....will I make it?




 

Shark fish'n the Glf of Mexico

Nice trip to Walmart....not a problem in the world. That' a positive statement.

Now for the negative side the same story, the trip to Walmart sucked.

I walk. Not very far, but I am walk'n. Ain't no way I'm gonna ever see a mile, but I been do'n me some walk'n.

Fell out the door. Landed in a plop on the ground. Positive side, I got up. Negative side, I spend half a hour lay'n on the floor.

It's hard to think positive when there are so many negatives. Like right now, I'm try'n to recall a story.

One more thing, my vision is go'n haywire. Little boxes an' grid things float'n round in my eyes.

Now for a story......*think'n....will they like this story*.

Johnny was build'n a boat in his garage. It was bout 1967. Me an' Joe would meet up over there at Johnny's garage to assist with the fibreglass'n an' stuff like that. Probly drink up a few cold ones too. It gonna be a pretty boat, but that sucker ain't gonna be in the water for another year or two. An' we been talk'n bout go'n fish'n.

Preparations was made for a fish'n trip. Reels was oiled up an' respooled with 120 pound test fish'n line. Rust cleaned off some really big fish'n hooks...a coffe can full of homemade sinkers (nuts an' bolts). Five foot long stainless steel leaders was constructed. We go'n "big fish" fish'n.

Joe come by with his boat the next morn'n with a little 32 cal. revolver strap to his side. Hmmmm, what that gun for? We load that boat up with all kind of fish'n gear...3 poles, a tackle box, a case of beer, a 5 gallon gas can an' a paper bag of sammiches.  Always go prepared with a refresh'n meal when ya go fish'n.

We launch the boat out on the Texas City dike an' we head due east to the open seas....we go'n shark fish'n in the Gulf of Mexico. Before I go on further with this story, all this fish'n gear is loaded up in a little 16 foot aluminum flat bottom "jon" boat with a 15 hp or 25 hp Johnson "putt putt" pull start motor on it. An' I do mean "putt putt". It's gonna be a long day.

As we ease our way through the Galveson bay we see many sail'n boats, fish'n boats, shrimp boats an' a few ships headed to an' from Houston. That little motor never miss a stroke as we enter the into the gulf...wide open "putt'n" all the way. A few cold ones an' Galveston is sit'n on the horizon....way the hell back there. There ain't no other boats way the hell out here. We are all alone. Sit'n in a tiny speck in the Gulf of Mexico under a blar'n sweat produc'n hot sun.

Hand lines are throwed over the side to catch us up some "shark bait" fish. Yeee Ha...we fish'n. My hand line tightens, then it starts sing'n, yank slap out my hands....poooof, gone, just like that. That were one big "bait" fish  I betcha a dollar. Enough small fish is finally catched up, so's switch over to our heavy duty fish poles. We lay back an' sip up a cold one just so's we look like full fledge fish'n people in case somebody happens out this way. It's a macho thing amoungst fishermen. Ya gotta look like a fisherman. The first clicker goes off with a hi pitched whine, Johnny is got a fish on. A big ass fish. It's a shark. One big spin'n leap out the water an' that shark is gone....pooof, just like that....done break that s/s leader.

I get my first bite.....spills my beer grab'n holt to that pole. My line tightens, I set the old rusty hook....I got a fish on. A couple jumps an' it's ascertained, I got me a shark on the end my fish'n line. Ascertained is a yankee word. Just thought it would be cool to use it here. Southern folk don't usually use words like that ya know. Bout the third jump, my shark is slap gone. He break my s/s leader. Now let me tell ya why those s/s leaders are 5 foots long. Just in case ya ever wanna go shark fish'n. When the shark clears water on a jump an' makes a spin with his body, your leader forms a little loop. When that loop tightens up, it's gonna break. Almost guaranteed. Most often it breaks right up close to the hook within a foot. When ya reel yer line in, you simply put another hook on an' you now have a 4 foots s/s leader. I mean, like shoot, that's common sense.

My next shark is brung up to the side that little boat. He's bout maybe 4 foots long an' that sucker has got a mouth full of deadly look'n well maintained teeth. The shark is calm, just lay'n there on top the water.....tak'n him a rest break I would rekon. I'm gonna reach down there an' unhook that little shark off'n my fish hook.....release him an' catch me up a bigger one. As I reaches my hand down to release the hook, that shark is eye ball'n my every move. Poooof....just like that, that shark comes slap alive, mak'n a "wide open mouth full of teeth" attempt to chew my dad gum hand off. Beat'n his head up against Joe's little boat a few times, Joe shoots that sucker dead. Put's him on a rope an' says...."we gonna be eat'n shark steak tonight". *Think'n it was a "blue tip"*.....hell, I don't know.

With all our leaders broke....an' "cold ones" run'n low, we heads back to the Texas City dike. Shark in tow.
"Hey look, that guy just catched a red fish". We anchor up an' we red fish'n in nuttin flat. A red fish is a "red drum" by name, pretty good eat'n, but nuttin like eat'n a spotted sea trout (speck). Take my word for it, I know what I'm talk'n bout. I'm wored slap out an' a bit on the tipsy side, I lay back in the bow of the boat....fish pole in hand. Ok, another tip for anybody that wants to go red fish fish'n. When ya lay back in the bow of a boat, make sure your reel in in the clicker position an' ya ain't got that sucker in gear. I hears a couple strained clicks an' my fish pole is fly'n through the air a hunnert mile a hour, hits the water an' that sucker is slap gone....poooof, just like that. Look like a torpedo go'n through the water.
In 1967, $200 is a pile of change to replace a lost fish pole an' brand spank'n new reel. 

Before I left Texas City in 1970, Johnny was still work'n on his boat. Joe had blowed that little "putt putt" Johnson motor up, divorced his wife an' sold the boat an' trailer for $50. I wonder where they are today. Probly dead 'cause they was both older than me.

Ok, just for fun, I Google search on Johnny. It seems he is still alive an' living in La Marque, Texas just outside of Texas City by a couple three miles. Aged 77....this could very well my my "shark fish'n" buddy Johnny.

How do ya put a title on something like this????

Not only is today another Monday, it's right on the edge of say'n "Adios el Marcho". Ha ha, I learn to speak Mexican in a little cantina in Laredo, Texas. Ya see, the nice little waitress lady didn't speak no English, an, me an' my buddy was want'n us a cold beer. She look at me an' say..."Me no speekee Engleesh". Tak'n out my translation book...I says..."dame me un cervesa...two times".

There ain't a lick of sunshine out there. I done got up early so's I could make that Aransas Pass trip this morn'n. Now what the hell am I gonna do? Ya cain't just jump in a car an' take off when there ain't no sunshine an' a slight chance of rain. What ya gonna do if'n ya have a flat tire.....sheesh! You gonna get wet. But I may chance it anyhows since I'm slap out of meds an' could use a few groceries.

Speak'n of meds, I really ain't got no meds no more like the ones I used to take. I quit tak'n the ones that make me dizzy an' raise my blood pressure out of sight bout a year or so ago. I take a blood pressure pill, a tachycardia pill an' a Spriva inhaler for my lungs.  That little tachycardia pill I'll have to take till I die. Only one attack in the last bout 6 or 8 years. If'n ya ever had a tachycardia attack, you know what I'm talk'n bout. I take the Spriva inhaler just for the hell of it. Don't know if it does me any good or not. That's it, that's my meds. Well I do take a daily acid reducer for my stomach, an' let me tell ya, if'n I don't take it, I wakes up with a case of acid reflux. Of course I take my aspirin, but that ain't a med. So what I'm think'n this morn'n, a trip to Aransas Pass ain't really that important.

Do I write too much when I do my blog? Ha, I think so too. You should see the shit I just deleted so's it wouldn't be too long today. Do I use too many cuss'n words? Nope, I'm practic'n to be a rapper. What better place to practice than a blog? Ha, I can just see the old Billy Bob stand'n in front of crowd of scream'n mariwanna smok'n teenagers try'n to do a rap routine. Shoot, I would bring the house down.

This is NOT a political statement, it's a pissed off comment......
I watch the news ya know, an' I pay close attention to what's go'n on. It ain't good. A few years ago I was tell'n everbody I would be dead before things got really bad. Well I ain't dead an' things are really bad. It's been 73 years (WWII) since our great nation has been threatened with the threats like we receive today....."Kill America"....stuff like that. It's been years an' years since we've had the racial tensions we have today....."Kill cops....Hands Up don't shoot". Our nation is divided right down the middle. But that's normal when ya got opinions an' beliefs. Been go'n on for a couple hunnert years. It's just sad that it's tak'n America down faster than you can say "Jack be nimble Jack be quick". Folks, something ain't right an' it needs a good fix'n.

Sorry I posted that here, but I'm pissed. Too many of my "rights" have been took away in the last few years. An' as a retiree, I pay more in taxes than 47% of America what don't pay a freak'n copper cent. My insurance (Medicare) ain't free even though I paid dearly into it for many many years an' pay more into it every month (bout $108)....plus what I pay into my secondary insurance. Then I get told ...."Oh no, we don't cover that". My food is regulated. My health is regulated. My speech is regulated. My rights are regulated. 

Ok, let's talk bout something else.
As days pass by, my plans make a beeline for the dumpster. Everthing I was mak'n plans for a couple months ago are be'n edited an' parts are be'n deleted. Today, all plans are just sit'n here with no positive thoughts. An' shoot, I was git'n a little bit excitis. Hook'n up an' get'n on the road don't fix a damn thing, so don't even suggest that. The problems will still be there. Ha, kind of like drink'n your troubles away. It don't work an' ya only wake up with a dreadful headache. Health issues an' a case of depression can do weird things in the way ya think. Positive thoughts are no help.  

Maybe a trip to Walmart will cheer me up on a sunless day......laters

You sit toooo much Billy Bob.....git up

Man boy howdy....damn!!! That left foot got all swolled up again yesterday an' I didn't do nuttin to cause it to. Unless by chance, I sit on my ass too much.

I remember when I just a young feller, I would walk down the street passed the house of a old codger sit'n outside on his front porch.....sip'n up a cup an', a great possibility, he was also do'n some think'n like I do. I would say...."damn, is that all that guy does is sit on his porch all day"? As the years flew by, I began to find me a place to sit down for a spell....sip me up a cup an' do me some think'n. As more years flew by......poooof, just like that, I now have the answer to why that old codger sit on his porch. That's as far as he could go. Old age ain't how many years old you are, it's more like "my god, I got to sit down". Don't knock nobody sit'n down, sip'n up a cup an' do'n some think'n....your day will come. Possibly sooner 'an ya think.

I had it in my mind to jump in the "billy jeep" yesterday an' go for a ride. Head off to Aransas Pass to Walmart. Pick up my meds an' do me a little shop'n. I really don't need to say any more...I didn't make it. Maybe today if'n I get to feel'n a bit better. Odds ain't in my favor.

I was sit'n there in "that chair" watch'n golf on the TV....an' I got to think'n. "let's go on a golf'n tour". I did that a few years back with my grandson Colby on a trip from south Texas to Georgia. Took us 10 days an' close to $800 to get there. An' we hit bout a dozen golf courses along the way. A couple stops, we extended our stay at the RV parks to play another round.  I'm think'n...."I could do that"....again.

In my mind I got me plenty excit'n an' adventurous ideas pop up from time to time, but the old body has other ideas....."sit down, sip up a cut an' stop thinkn". The golf bag full of golf ball swak'n clubs are stowed. The "bubba boat" is com'n out the car to be stowed   in my old VW bus.Ha, if'n I get somewheres an' need a "bubba boat", I'll just buy a new one.....simple as that.  My fish'n stuff is [this] close to find'n a new home. The "Coyote" project is sit'n on the back burner with no flame under it.  

There was a time, an' I remember it well, I would get me a idea in my head....an' I was gone...down the road a hunnert mile a hour. The last couple years or so, that's all I got...memories. You would think liv'n in  motorhome, all ya got to do is fire 'er up an' go. Well that ain't true no more. There's preparations that's got to be made before you jump on the freeways an' go somewheres. In my case, there's a ton of other stuff that needs to be done. Oil changes on "da house" "Billy jeep" an' the Onan generator. Air in the tires. Empty tanks. Fill the gas tanks. Empty the holding tanks. State inspection. Warsh job. Sheesh, that's gonna take a freak'n month. An' I ain't got me no help. Ha, invited a homeless to dinner one time. He sit down to the table an' I tell him...."help yerself". So that's where I stand.....I got to "help yerself".

Ok, I'm out of here for the day....got things to do ya know.....Laters.

A interesting trip to Port Aransas

Me an' my dog Sadie Mae took us a trip to Port Aransas yesterday. A 45 minute wait in the ferry line an' we was in paradise. That's what we used to call Port A many years ago before a gob of "do gooders" decided to turn it into a CITY. It's no longer the little fishing village it was back in it's earlier days.

I remember the first time I visited Port Aransas. It was back in 1964 while I was finish'n up my time in the US Navy. One more year to go Yeee haa....an' I got extended due to Viet Nam. Hospital time caused me to miss my ride to over there. I was restationed on another ship an' gave 30 days leave. Where to go? Hey I know, I ain't see my dad in bout 8 or10 years an' he lives in Port Aransas, Texas. I jump in the old 1956 Ford an' hit the road west in the direction of Texas somewheres west.

I got me a bunch of road maps but all them maps ain't no help to find Port Aransas. I don't know where the hell Port Aransas is at. Far as I know, it's close to El Paso.....or maybe Dallas. I don't know. At that time, Port Aransas was not populated enough to be on a map. By the time I reach Beaumont, Texas, I figger it's bout time to be ask'n directions. Nobody knowed neither. All they tell me is "it's gotta be somewheres west of Beaumont". But where?

Then I let my "sailor" mind kick in. A port, as in Port Aransas, in usually on the water an' the only water where ya can drive a ship, is the Gulf of Mexico.....that's south an' I end up in Galveston. I ask directions again at a Texaco gas station an' some old timer tells me it's down close to Corpus Christi. A new Texaco map reveals a tiny little fishing village out on a freak'n island....Mustang island by name. A barrier island. I still got me a couple hunnert miles to go. I had a flat tire an' two cops help me change it. One keeps ask'n for my driver license. For 10 minutes he keep ask'n me....an' I delay him with "wait a minute". When the first cop finish tighten the lug nuts, he says...."have a safe trip"....an' I'm out of there lickity split. The other cop is scratch'n his head...he didn't see my driver license. Thank god.

Follow'n the map directions, I pulls up to a little ferry boat. Pays my $1 an' drive up on that thing for a slow trip across the Corpus Christi ship channel. There's only two paved roads in Port Aransas, I follow one of 'em. That paved road leads me to a bunch of neon lit up beer signs in winders. Hmmmmm, I can get me a cold one an' ask if'n anybody know where to find my dad. Before I place my order, I hear this little band play'n in the back corner an' some drunk try'n to sing Hank Snow. Guess who THAT was? I spend the next 3 weeks in Port Aransas before I head back to the ship in Charleston, S. Carolina. I meet all my dad's drink'n buddies, I knows every bar maid on the island by name. I knowed where every poker game was go'n on. I knowed who has wanted posters by the law. I knowed both the local law enforcement officers.This was my dads way of entertain'n his long lost son.....Grrrrrrrr.   

Later I was stationed on another ship out of Galveston. A officer train'n ship. Terrible terrible duty....always out to sea do'n silly shit to train them officers how to scream an' chew ass of enlisted sailors. Many trips was made to Port Aransas on week ends. I met "yo mama" an' we was hitched. I watched the population of Port Aransas increase from bout 400 to 800 in the next couple years. 2012 population 3778....????. Discharged from the Navy in 1966, we finally moved to Port Aransas in 1968 or 69..."Paradise" on the Texas gulf coast.....Yeee haw!

For MsB....I was discharged from the Navy with good conduct honors. Three ribbons for my service. Git'n drunk an' do'n silly stuff ain't grounds for a bad conduct discharge. I think ya gotta punch somebody for that to happen. Ha....did I ever tell ya bout the time...I threatened a office I would push him overboard if'n I caught him on deck at night. I was only josh'n but he thought I mean it. At Captains mast, I was only restricted to ship for 30 days. Me an' Captain, we was tight. 

Back to yesterdays trip. I stop by Walmart to drop off my empty med thingys. "I'll pick 'em up on my way back". After the long wait for the ferrys, I heads to the 2 liquor stores. Pick up me some smokes....10 cartons. At $12.47 a carton for little cigars, I ain't out much. Ha, much much less than if'n I was a Marlboro man at something like $55 a carton. Jesus, I would quit before I pay that much.

I goes by my mail service place an' pick up my mail. Mistake #1 was, I didn't thumb through my mail. Cruised around the island a bit an' headed back to the ferry line, board an' we off the island. Sadie Mae has got to pee. So's we make a stop, let Sadie Mae out to do her business an' sniff all the plants. I sit in the "billy jeep" an' thumb through my mail. YIKES.....what's this??? A post office box rental fee notice. My box rent is due by Feb. 28th. I begin to stress....is my PO box closed. Have I lost all my recent mail? How comes my box rent ain't been paid? I ain't got no phone to call the post office. Ain't got no phone to call my mail service people. My blood pressure goes up. It's 3:15 an' the ferry line is 1 hour wait time long. The post office will be closed.

I'm got myself so stressed out that I done forget all bout my meds at Walmart. I'm go'n a hunnert mile a hour to get back to "da house" an' my phone before the post office shuts down for the day. Ha, I'm 5 minutes late...it's 4:05 an' them suckers don't answer the the freak'n ring'n phone. I calls the mail service people. The nice little girl tells me...."I don't know if we paid the fee or not". I'm bout to puke...I'm too freak'n old for this kind of stuff.

So's I get online. I did this one time before an' pay my box rent. What could be so hard? Well, let me tell ya bout the changes. You have to join some USPS personal account thingy. User names, passwords, name an' address....stuff like that. Well, I ain't got a address. Ain't had one in 12 years. All I got is a PO box number.
Anyhows, I finally give the City Marina address where my sailboat was at. It worked, I'm a registered member of the post office. I'm still stressed. I finally get to my PO box rental fee page an' guess what.....my rent ain't due until Feb 2016. Man....I wipes me some sweat off'n my brows.....sit back an' relax....take me some deep breaths. Light up a smoke an' down a mug of coffee.

Shoot, I can walk a hunnert mile

Ha, for those that missed my comment yesterday....I did some very strenuous exercise. I walked around the yard for a good 500 YARDS, not feet. An' walk'n 500 yards through knee deep grass an' weeds is strenuous. Ha, I can see you MILE walkers shak'n yer heads an' say'n..."I can walk further than Billy Bob".

Now let me tell ya bout walk'n. While I served in the Navy, I walked everwheres. We would get a day "off ship" (liberty) an' I would set off to walk'n. No busses, taxis or horse drawed carriages for this guy, I'm gonna do me some walk'n. An' for the rest of the day, I would wear a good inch off'n my shoes.

Speak'n of shoes, did ya ever "spit" shine a pair of shoes? Back in them old Navy days, shipboard engine rooms was very hot. My switchboard watch was in the engine room. An' it's humid down there. Perfect conditions to shine up a pair of dress shoes. Now there's something bout human spit. Don't know what it is, but you spit on yer shoes an' you gonna end up with a mirror finish. On my 4 hour switchboard watches, I would shine up bout 4 pairs of shoes....at two dollar a pair.

Shoot, while we talk'n bout shiny shoes, let me tell ya bout a night on the town in Kingston, Jamaica. For a little guy, it don't take many beers to git the feel'n.....I was lit up. That's a important requirement if'n you are a sailor. A Jamaican resident wanted my shoes an' he was will'n to pay for 'em. Back then, military sailor shoes costed $6 a pair. I sold my freshly spit shined shoes for a $10 dollar bill....an a pair of authentic Jamaican sandals the guy was wear'n.
Upon arrival back at the ship, this dad gum officer calls me off to the side....an' he chew me up one side an' down the other. "You are out of uniform Billy Bob, sandals are not Navy issue". I'm restricted to the ship for the next 30 days....an' I got to warsh dishes for a week. 

Speak'n of restricted, we was in Key West, Florida. I was perform'n my traditional sailor duties....chas'n wimmins an' git'n drunk. Before I go on any further, Key West had a law back in the 60's....you DO NOT touch a palm tree. You don't even think bout it, 'cause they gonna throw you in jail. I gits back to the ship a few minutes before curfew (midnight), an' I got this great big ol' palm frond in my hand. My god, you would'a think the world was com'n to a end. I'm on 90 days of restriction while all my buddies are "on the beach" perform'n their sailor duties.    

After my tour of duty, I continued to walk. "Hey honey, I'm gonna walk down to the beer joint an' drink me up a "cold one". I've walked hike'n trails, climbed mountains, walked to the corner grocery for a "soda pop". ...I could walk a hunnert miles if'n I had wanted to.

I had me a pair of hand made cowboy boots. You DO NOT go for a walk in cowboy boots. Pay $300 dollar for them things. No they weren't western boots, they was cowboy boots.
I searched the internet....this is as close as I can come, but this gives ya a idea of what black an' white cowboy boots look like. 

Fancy black an' white suckers what I weared to go danc'n, eat at fancy restaurants, weddings an' neighborly back yard BBQ's. Problem was, my calves was too big for comfort from all that walk'n. I'm talk'n tight fit'n boots. I had done walked too much. At the danc'n place, I would take 'em off, an', set 'em up on the table for everbody to see an' do my danc'n sock footed. The girls loved it when I slide all over the floor in my sock feet. Put 'em in a dip.
 
Now days, walk'n is for kids....that is if'n ya can get 'em off their ass text'n each other. Danc'n too if'n ya know what I mean.  Been a few years since I been out on a dance floor. Ha...."hey honey, ya wanna dance a new dance? It's called 'toe step'n'".

Ok, I got me a freak'n car, I don't need to walk no more...I'll drive to Walmart.

I ain't gonna say that yesterdays long walk fixed my feet....still too early to tell. But this morn'n, both feet are [this] close to normal that ya gotta look real hard to see any swell'n. Well maybe not look real hard, but the swell'n is down. Some of the pains is gone. I'll do me another walk today.



 

Anybody can grill chicken, but ain't everybody can set it on fire

Well shoot, looks like if'n I'm gonna go to Georgia this summer, I'm gonna have to locate me a RV park to camp in.

Ya see, when I posted that photo of my new camp'n site at "Yo Mama's RV Resort an' Chicken Farm", Robert has decided to place a building in that spot. Which means my camp'n site will now be in the freak'n alley. Right out there beside to the chicken pen. Smell chicken poop all day long. Snakes an' stuff. Too far for me to walk to the "shop" to build stuff. Well, it ain't really ALL that bad, but I'm think'n I may need to make other arrangements. Robert knows what he's do'n, so it ain't my place to say anything. Other than....Grrrrrrr.

Spring break is over. This means I can get to the island, Port Aransas, without wait'n in a ferry boat line for a couple hours. But it ain't gonna happen today. Stay tuned.

Have ya ever NOT took your blood pressure out of fear of what it might be. I been do'n that for a few weeks now with all this new stuff that's been pop'n up. You know, swolled feet, a big ol' red spot on my arm that don't go away, eyes not work'n right.....just to name a few. Well, I just took it. Ain't as bad as I was expect'n....145/75, but not what I would like to see. I tend to get a bit nervous when it begins to rise.

In a attempt to get me some much needed exercise yesterday, I took me a walk. Now all these "other" walkers post'n on blogs bout how far they walk, they are always talk'n in miles. Ha, I'm talk'n in feet. Something like bout 200 feet or so. An' then I got to figger a way to get back to "da house" so's I can sit down for a few. Ha ha, that sounds funny to only walk a couple hunnert feet an' call it exercise. But that was what it was, I couldn't go no further. Right hip give out on me an' my feet hurt like hell. I'm think'n I need me some more exercise like that. Like a walk around in a big ol' Walmart store....god I love Walmart.

Ok, "Weber grill....I'm gonna beat yer ass". All my life I been knowed to grill up some the best chicken you ever eat in your life. Although, I have set it on fire a few times.....smoke an' flames. But with my Weber grill, I don't even like my grilled chicken. I burn the slap'n hell out a big ol' leg quarter last night. An' this ain't the first time....dry an' black.....on low an' slow. An' that was on a trivet a inch above the grates. I'm gonna have to look into this in the near future. Something ain't right. Too freak'n hot (350 degs) on low an' slow setting. Shoot, that even burns the bottoms of my grilled biscuits.

Pork ribs an' chicken on the grill was always my specialty. Come out perfect ever time. That is unless there was smoke an' flames bellow'n out from under the lid. In a case like that, ya either throw 'em in the dumpster, give 'em to the dog or ya scrape all the burn stuff off an' gobble 'em down fast ya can.

I still recall the time out in Deming, New Mexico, "pesky neighbor" Wayne, he holler at me..."hey Billy Bob, your porch is on fire". Over there in the corner on "da porch" sit my bbq grill....an' you talk bout smoke an' flames, that sucker was ablaze. We ain't talk'n a little fire, we talk'n forrest fire. From experience as a seasoned griller, I knowed exactly what to do...grab holt to the water hose an' douse that sucker with a few gallons of water. Fire out, I continued to grill what was still grillable. Wayne ate at home that night. Sadie Mae an' Lug Nut had a great supper of charred to the bone chicken an' ribs. Take note, certain bones were not fed to my dogs.

Dang I miss my Lug Nut.

 I betcha a dollar Sadie Mae misses him too.