Hell of a Guy
Do, or do not. There is no 'try'. - Yoda

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Saturday Morning


It is Saturday morning in Bridgeport, WV.  I am sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep Cherokee typing on a laptop using just one finger on my left hand and three on my right.        It has just begun to rain, a morning shower.  Rain water is gently rolling down the windshield and it is quiet except for the rain drops on the roof of the car and the sound of four fingers striking the keys of the laptop.  There is serenity in this boredom.

I was up this morning at 6:05.  Jackie had already left for work; her twelve-hour shift at the emergency room begins at 6:30.  The rest of the household occupants are still fast asleep.  Ken is a recliner in the family room.  Jared in his room lay sound asleep sideways in his bed.  Jon-Luke is in his mother’s bed in a position similar to Jared’s, as Princess, the family cat, stands guard over him at the foot of the bed.  She gave me a wary look as I glanced in to see if Jon-Luke was near waking.  The Nancy, likewise, is in a deep sleep.

This is the third time this morning I have come to my car.  It is 8:42.  The first time out I made a trip to Starbucks for coffee and a chance to catch up on all the e-mail I missed yesterday afternoon, as I drove the 170 miles from The Farm to Bridgeport, the home of stepdaughter Jackie and her husband Ken.  I had my morning Joe and returned to the house hoping to have the two boys up to go to breakfast with me at Bob Evan’s.  They hadn’t stirred.  I grabbed a shower and rattled around the bathroom with the idea of waking up someone, but it did not work.  A bomb could go off and The Nancy might wake up, then again, probably not.  So I left the house for a second time and got gas for the Jeep and went to the bank for some cash.  I returned home the find things as they were when I left.  The house is as quiet as the car except for the snoring emanating from the family room and the room wherein The Nancy dwells. So here I sit alone in this car hungry as hell.

I found the remnants of a bag of pretzels, and this then is my gourmet breakfast – 140 calories in 21 pretzels, at least for now.  I am up to eighteen.  Oops!  Nineteen!

The rain has ceased.  The sky is getting a little lighter as the clouds move easterly.  It is 8:51 and I am about to go back into the house to see if I can get someone moving so I can get a real breakfast, perhaps some yogurt and fruit.  Damn, there were only twenty pretzels left in the bag.  So I am about to go back in, praying someone is upright.

Someone has to be up by now, right?

And that is all I have to say about that…

Friday, June 27, 2008

The Bridges of Morgan County


James Robert Waller wrote a book in 1992 with a catchy title something along the lines of the title of this piece.  This one is just a short story without the romance and the sexual innuendo contained in the Waller novelette.  Come to think of it, all his books were long short-stories but heavy in sexual innuendo and romance.  I wish there could be some sexual innuendo in this, but The Nancy says “no sex” in Morgan County.

My little county here in West Virginia is a little less rural and bucolic than it once was.  This was a farming community, and in the old days lots of small farms dotted the Morgan County quilt.  It doesn’t look so much like that these days, but there are some remnants of what once was here.  The bridges in the county, especially those as in the photographs below cause me to wonder what the county was like fifty years ago.  I don’t know what provoked this as a subject, but I thought I would have some fun with it and I did.

One day in June 2008 a crusty old fart – that would be yours truly – decided to capture the essence of this county’s bridges on film (digitally, of course – after all, this is a modern tale).  I traveled the back roads and the front roads looking for bridges.  I photographed a few, not all.  A covered bridge would have made the piece more romantic, but alas, there are no covered bridges in Morgan County, West Virginia that I know of.  We do have a shitload of one-laners, though!!!

There are one-lane bridges scattered all over this county.  Back in the day, one lane was all that was needed.  Some of these, probably most of them, were constructed in the 1920s and are fairly narrow.  There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of traffic to contend with, so there wasn’t much need for two-lane bridges unless they crossed rivers with major roads like Route 522 (which is a two-lane road through the county running north-south).  Just so you know, in the whole of Morgan County there are not four-lane roads.

Enjoy the photos, and come see us.

image image image image image image

If some of these happen to show up twice, please forgive me, I am not a good photographer.  In fact, I have a few more pictures, but it was a struggle for me to get these on this page, so I gave up.  This techno shit drives me up a wall.  I should quit this stuff and just be “Eye Candy for the World.”

And that is all I have to say about that ...



Wednesday, June 18, 2008

My Job is Getting in the Way of My Personal Life…


I do humbly apologize for not keeping up with my promise (mostly to me) to post something here once a week or so.  This is a busy time in the school furniture world, and I am knee deep in do-do.  One of my sales reps left the company earlier this month, so - please feel free to feel sorry for me - I have to do his job plus my own.  My boss’s boss tells me it is why I make the big bucks.  Big bucks?  Let me put this is perspective for you: this is the same dude who thinks an expensed McDonald’s lunch is extravagant.  I am doing my best to keep a level head and high spirits.

In the last two weeks The Nancy and I have lost a dear relative to cancer.  She was a truly an amazing woman who dealt with her terminal illness with the utmost dignity and grace.  She planned her funeral service down to the smallest detail, including what was said about her, the scripture that was read, the music and even food that was to be served.  The Nancy and I fully believe she arranged a trip to Martha’s Vineyard to die, so she would not pass in the house she and her family resided in, thereby eliminating a hurtful memory there for her husband and three sons.  Amazing!!!

The Nancy and I compared the deaths of our sweet Amy and that of Tim Russert.  I don’t know which type I would prefer.  Amy got to say goodbye to her family and to make plans for what would happen to her and them after her death.  Tim Russert’s family got not of this, but Tim died without the drawn out medical treatment and the pain.  But, it is nonetheless painful to his family that didn’t get to say goodbye to him.  Sad!!

I loved Amy, and I had a great deal of respect for Tim Russert.  Both are in a good place now.  They have rejoined the Soul of God.

And that is all I have to say about that…