Eight Year Old Boy... Running Away

Thought For The Day

The time dragged on as we waited for our escape to freedom. We checked our food supply over and over, several times considering a snack of a carrot or perhaps a small cookie but we  decided to wait until later around dinner time. The plan had developed slowly. We left a number of sizable holes in our plan but agreed we would work those out as we went along our way. We did not have a lot of travel experience on our own. We did not even have bicycles but we decided that we would go to Midland, a town about twenty odd miles north of Saginaw that we both knew could be reached by following State Street, a major artery that ran North - South. An additional advantage to that plan was it's location, access was only one block away. And so about four thirty that afternoon we began our adventure. We walked directly to State Street and headed North.

It was late afternoon, about high tea time, and we were understandably hungry, neither of us were ready to tap the food stores yet but eight year old boys are only interested in two things, food and adventure. So far the adventure had been pretty mediocre so naturally the food part kept rearing it's head.

One of the first streets we had to cross was Hanchett and that was where John lived. We used our skills learned as young scouts trained in the ways of Straight Arrow, a radio Indian Scout. We looked carefully around the neighborhood making certain that no people we knew saw us, then ran a block to get out of sight. The next two blocks took us past Stone School, closed for the summer but we were aware that there could be classmates in the area. We did not want to come into contact with people who would ask questions and so we moved quickly on our way. But, at the end of the next block was a major obstacle, Spatz Bakery. Spatz made the best bread in Saginaw outside the family kitchen. So, even though there was no baking going on that time of day, there was an aroma of baking from an earlier time of the day that lingered, reached out and surrounded us with fresh, out of the oven flavors which sought to divert us from our objective. The Handy Andy Tool Kit which served as our pantry was beginning to look pitifully small. But on we continued.

We were now seven blocks from home. This was a significant distance, one block farther than our school. We were beginning to feel the reigns loose. We were on our way to a new life. Four more blocks and we came to Gaudreau Florist. We considered only briefly sending flowers to our parents but somehow that seemed to minimize our disappointment in how we were treated by them and so we decided against it. Also, we didn't have enough money for flowers or anything else once we examined our resources. We had crossed Woodbridge, a significant traffic artery, we now were feeling somewhat disconnected from our homes and the initial rush of independence flushed us with excitement. Only a little over 19 miles to go.

To be continued..........

©Herb Ratliff, February 22, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Eight Year Old Boy....continued The 2nd Thing

Thought For The Day

John Fielder and I -circa 1950

When we moved from our house on 17th St. to the house on Fayette I left my best friend, Johnny Barchek, behind. We played endless hours by the railroad track and in the field between our houses where there was a pond that housed plenty of critters suitable for the curiosity of two small boys. We also spent late afternoons lying on the floor listening to the exploits of Straight Arrow, Sky King, Sgt Preston of the Mounties and others on the radio. But Johnny became a casualty of the moving wars and after we moved I never saw or heard from him again.

But leaving old friends opens the door for new friends and when we moved to Fayette Street I met someone who would become a lifetime friend, John Fielder. I don't remember how I met John but I walked past his house on the way to school and I must assume he was in the same class with me. Somehow we became pals and found time to spend together doing a variety of things. One of the great activities was a weekend trip to his dad's cottage on Peach Lake. As I write this I have no idea where Peach Lake is but I will locate it on the map. It was the first trip I ever took away from home for an overnight stay. One of the more humorous events from that trip was the Saturday morning breakfast. John's Dad, Clyde offered me my breakfast and my response was I don't like or want or something along those lines to which he replied, OK, it's a long time til lunch. You might wanna try it. I did of course after only a small amount of consideration. It was a bit of early parent training for me. I used the same technique often as a parent myself. It's hard to tell these stories without a lot of sidebars, I'll try to control myself.

John and I spent a lot of time together doing kid things and one day we were talking about our parents and how badly they treated us. There is no accusation in that remark, I'm just setting the stage. We both felt that we were Dicken's kids, the Oliver Twist's of the neighborhood. After many discussion about this untenable situation it became obvious that there was only one solution to the problem. We had to run away from home. That put into motion the breakout plan of the century.

It was summer, you can't run away from home in the Winter. That's much too complicated. First we had to consider a suitable food supply to take with us. John had a Handy Andy red tool box that would perfectly disguise the food. One of us took a can of tuna fish out of the family larder along with some carrots and cookies. You never know when you might need to catch a horse for transportation or a rabbit to eat. We were preparing for the worst possible conditions, lack of food. We decided on the day and gathered an extra shirt or two. We set up a logical diversion by saying to his mom that we were going to my house and to my mother that were were going to his. With the time and place set, the food stores in place and the extra clothing stowed we awaited the right moment for the plan to be implemented. Our target date was Wednesday.

Wednesday arrived and we met for strategy session. Late afternoon was selected as the time. And so we waited.

To be continued.....

©Herb Ratliff, February 17, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Eight Year Old ....continued

Thought For The Day

Next on the agenda would be the walk from Kroger’s past Clark’s Drug’s, across the street was a service station, full service, and a little south of that Russell Electric and some other small business’ I cannot remember. To the east and across Michigan Avenue was Schmeck’s Drugs. Later in my young work career I would work there for a short time. To the south and on the east side of Michigan was the North Side Café, affectionately called, Charlie’s Café by the regulars. Next to that was my dad’s shoe repair shop. I would check the door to make certain it was locked. I think even then I knew what I was doing was not something that would have been allowed if I had asked permission and so attempted to justify my activities by responsible behavior of a sort. Then I would go back to Michigan Ave and head east toward the River and  downtown.

There was not anything terribly noteworthy, to me at least, between Michigan Ave and the Bridge with the possible exception of a bakery, a commercial bakery called Case’s I think. The smells coming from those sacred cloisters made me very, very hungry. I never was able to figure a way to get hot bread, a troubling failure in my early growth. It was about the equivalent of six blocks to the bridge and over into the downtown.
A bridge at night is a wonderful, mystical thing. There are sounds and shadows that excite and frighten anyone. If you are eight, there are evil, venomous creatures lurking in the depths waiting for you to lose your way, stop paying attention and become an easy target for capture. Sound on water travels far and loud with a strange clarity  that pronounces mystery and intrigue with perfect diction. So there I would stand, gazing into the shadows, listening for any recognizable sounds and watching furtively for any quick motions in my peripheral vision. It was then that I became Bobby Benson, or Clipper, Sky King’s nephew ready for action, quick wits and action. When I remained unchallenged by bad guys and monsters I moved on but knew that on the return trip they could be waiting. I would be ready for them with Rusty at the ready we could handle any situation.
Down into the town where there were buildings to be seen. I would look in the windows and fantasize being able to wear the amazing clothes on the plaster mannequins. I’d walk by the Bancroft Hotel and down past the Temple theater and by that time would begin to feel a bit tired and ready to turn back toward home. I don’t know how many times I made these trips but it was a very frequent activity. What still surprises me is that I was never even seen by a policeman or if I was he was unimpressed with my adventure and said nothing to me. If the bridge seemed ominous to me on the way back I would walk to it and then run as fast as I could manage until I was on the other side. I knew with my superior speed and dog like Rusty that no one would dare confront me.
Back at home I would slide under the covers and wish that Rusty could have stayed in my room with me but that was not to be and so off to sleep until the next sleepless night and a new adventure.
The other thing that happened during that time frame will take a little too long to cover today so I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

To be continued.............

©Herb Ratliff, February 16, 2012, All Rights Reserved

An Eight Year Old Boy Tells All

Thought For The Day

In 1949 - 1950 my family lived in a house near the corner of Genesee and North Fayette in Saginaw,Michigan. I was in the third grade and attended Stone School, my teacher was Mrs. House. Among other things we learned to square dance in her class. A couple a significant things happened during that time frame and their value lies primarily in how graphically they illustrate the difference in lifestyle we grew up in compared to the way our children and grandchildren grow up today. 

The corner we lived near bordered on a commercial area. Brenske Plumbing was across the street, next to us was a Sunoco Gas Station. On the opposite side of Genesee there was a Kroger Store and there was a movie theater, The Roxie, just down the block. We were about a mile or so from the main downtown area which lay across the bridge of the Saginaw River. The downtown area housed the Bancroft Hotel, Morley Brothers, Heavenrich's and other holy grail establishments of commerce.

At the ripe old age of eight I walked to school every day. That was not at all unusual. It was only a five blocks and many of the other children from the neighborhood walked to school as well. There were no buses, it was a neighborhood school. And, besides, we had patrol boys. They guarded the street crossings and told us when it was safe to cross. Every boy in the school wanted to be a patrol boy. That was a very big deal. If you were selected for that grand duty you were given a white band that was constructed of a heavy cotton material that was connected by adjustable fasteners. One part went around your waste and the other crossed diagonally across your chest. That symbolized your authority to hold or advance other students across the street, one of the early badges of peer authority. It was a much sought after prize.

I mentioned there were a couple of items that stood out for me during that time. The first that I will mention had to do with the difficulty I had sleeping. It was not because of any particular problem, noise or condition. I really don't remember why I couldn't sleep, just that I woke up at night and was unable to go back to sleep. If you are eight and can't sleep remaining in bed is an unnatural act. So I got up and wandered the house. My father worked very hard. He had a shoe repair shop and he worked for General Motors. When he finished at midnight at "The Gun Plant", a name given to Steering Gear Plant Number two because guns had been made there during World War Two, the war the entire nation participated in proudly, he was very tired and needed to sleep. He had no trouble sleeping. But waking him was not anything any of us wanted to do. If we woke him, that meant mother would awaken and having two unhappy parents in the middle of the night was simply not a desirable situation.
So, I quietly wandered the house until that was simply too uninteresting and eventually I would find my way to the door and ease out quietly into the night. I had a dog named Rusty. He knew the routine including the need for quiet movement. Together we would go into the world of the night people, those who made our daytime activity possible. The first stop would be across the street to the Kroger Store. The trucks would be unloading the groceries that lined the shelves and the meat and produce that made our dinners. They enjoyed the diversion we provided and would cut off small bits of meat for Rusty for which he was most appreciative.

To be continued........

©Herb Ratliff, February 15, 2011, All Rights Reserved

H

There Just Isn't Anything Better

Thought For The Day

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare  

(1564 - 1616)

Monday Morning

Thought For The Day

Wrapped in blankets, sheets and pillows In the morning's light 

when the warmth saved from your tumbles in the dream dance of the night

Turns your focus button slowly to the clock's face on the stand

Where the "must do" list is waiting for the movement of your hand

But, it's Monday shouts your worn out, tired, narcissistic self,

I don't want to, it's not fair, just another hour please, knock the clock right off the shelf

Then the world begins to quiver with the thought of getting up, but you know

That there's no hiding from job, the rent and the stuff that makes you go

So you climb out of your sleep nest and put feet upon the floor

And you walk into the kitchen, thinking, but there's something, something more

And to your great surprise, happy, joyous, whoops, I just forgot

That the work that I must go to is no more, I worketh not.

I'm inspired

cause

I'm retired.

©Herb Ratliff, February 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nymphs, Midges and Streamers

Thought For The Day

You can: 

let go, 

drop,  or toss, 

throw out, cut off, or  abandon,

back out, bail out or bow out,

flake out, fly the coop, or give up the ship

quit, run out on or storm out,

take a powder, take a walk or wash your hands of,

leave behind, relinquish or withdraw

 but the truth is it's probably

a lot better to

just 

release gently.

©Herb Ratliff, February 10, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Guns and Grandpas

Thought For The Day

John and Ada Johnson

OK, that's not when he taught me.

When I was a child there were a couple of things that happened that deeply affected my personal view of the role responsibilities of one charged with being a father or a grandfather. One of those factors was time which we all know is the director of a good bit of our living conditions. My father had a shoe repair shop, Economy Shoe Rebuilders and he worked full time at Saginaw Steering Gear, a General Motors Manufacturing Facility. That did not leave a lot of time for what we would call "quality time" to spend with me. I spent some time with him in the shoe shop where he did teach me how to repair shoes and the fine art of cleaning up the shop after all of the polishers and grinders had sent fine leather dust like a sheer muslin sheet over the entire building. But, little time was spent in conversation, imagination or philosophizing. Frankly, I can't imagine how he held up doing what he did every day and quite often it included Saturday. 

We did not have what one would think of now as a vacation. We did not go to restaurants for dinner. We did not have "Father and Son" outings. Whenever something like that came up I usually tagged along with a friend's father if it could be worked out. I was not angry about my dad not being able to go with me, I didn't see how he could do it either. But let me go back to the "vacation" part.

These were nothing if not remarkable examples of a different world and a different life style. They typically began with being awaken sometime between 1:00AM and 5:00AM. The packing would have been completed and food stores laid in the car along with blankets, pillows and traveling stuff. The transportation was not equipped with electronic devices with my entertainment in mind. The only entertainment was the radio if it worked and whatever I had brought along in the way of reading material. The radio was for dad, period. The food was soda crackers, ring Bologna and water. It would be meted out in excruciatingly small quantities at exasperatingly long intervals.

It was approximately eight hundred miles between Saginaw, Michigan and Pocahontas, Arkansas. There was a gas station built of field stone with a sign with a lion's head that marked the end of our journey and that lion entered my brain when I got in the car and I willed it to hurry to me for the whole eight hundred miles. For in that gas station awaited a coconut bar colored brown, white and pink that was all for me. Ah, the indulgence of  personal satisfaction. Not far from that gas station was the home of my grandparents.

Now both sets of grandparents lived there not too far apart. My grandpa Johnson was to be the man who taught me about splitting wood and gun safety. What stands out to me as the metric for measuring the effectiveness of his teaching is the way it has locked into me and stayed for these many years. That and the look of horror on my mothers face when he walked through the living room carrying me and a .22 caliber rifle. He told me about guns, what they were for, how they should be handled, never to point it at another person, and never to carry it loaded. It was a single shot rifle. I could not have been more than five or six when that happened. He died not long after that but he left me with that wonderful memory and a respect for guns that has served me well.

©Herb Ratliff, February 9, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Dad's Last Run

Thought For The Day

Sometimes I try to imagine the morning it happened. It's not the sort of thing one likes to fix upon, but still, as you are growing up there are unreasonable fears that emerge from time to time that lock into your head and refuse to let go. I really don't know precisely what happened but I can give you a recreation based on what I have been told.

It was a bright Spring day, the sun was shining, birds singing like the beginning of a Disney movie. My grandfather was taking the horses which were hitched to a wagon down to the creek for water. Grandpa Ratliff was a blacksmith, a burly, barrel chested man with arms the size of large fence posts. He once asked me to pump the bellows for him when I was very small. I could not reach the handle and so he lifted me to it and I hung there while he moved it up and down.  Dad was nine years old.

Now here I have to stop and imagine, what is was like to be a nine year old boy in Pocahontas, Arkansas in 1920. The truth is, I couldn't begin to imagine something like that but I'll try. It must have been a weekend or the summer or he would have been in school. I do have a little knowledge about nine year old boys. I was one once, raised one who was and have five grandsons who have reached that age. I have also observed a number of them as cohorts of the others. So, what do I know? They are impetuous, fearless, excitable, happy, delightful, changeable and filled with expectation. They are optimistic beyond description. Oh, and deaf to directions from others, especially older others. 

So, I can see dad vaulting off the front porch and running full speed to catch the wagon and yelling at the top of his lungs for grandpa to wait for him. It was just about then when his left foot, stretched out to full speed extension, fell upon the old, rusted nail that impaled his foot right at the Dorsal Metatarsal and opening his young foot to a severe case of Septicemia (Blood Poisoning) which would forever change his life and possibilities. 

The blood poisoning was so severe that his leg had to be amputated to midway through his femur and left him with what he affectionately called his "stump". Today that would never have happened in Pocahontas, Arkansas or almost anywhere in America. And the other thing that might not have happened was his love of music and the way he played the guitar, fiddle, harmonica and other stringed instruments without the slightest notion how to read music. And he might not have met my mother which would have had a serious impact on me and my beautiful sisters. But that's another story.

©Herb Ratliff, February 8, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Comfort Food

Thought For The Day

Yesterday afternoon as I was returning from my daily walk with Charley, my neighbor, Tina, hailed me. 

"Would you like some blueberry pie." She asked.

Now I ask you, who in their right mind would say no to a question like that? So, trying to sound casual, I accepted her kind offer of blueberry pie. (My mouth is watering just thinking about it.) I thanked her for her generosity and started home when she said:

"Do you like Cabbage Rolls?"

"I couldn't say", I replied, "I've never had them."

She looked astonished and queried, "Would you like to try some? Mike's mother fixed us dinner without telling me and I had already made the cabbage rolls." 

I'm a bachelor, living with my faithful canine companion, Charley. Charley and I have never entertained a negative response to questions involving free food prepared by experienced cooks. So, what could I do but reply in the affirmative. I wouldn't want to hurt my lovely neighbor's feeling, would I? Besides, I could smell the food and it was dinner time and I was hungry. (Darn, I'm drooling again.)

"Certainly, I'd love to try them." I said.

There are few thing that send the flag up for gratitude like a home made dinner. It's one of those things that never loses it's delight. And to get that meal from a neighbor is like icing on the cake, isn't it? Having a neighbor share their bounty with you is a bit like an unscheduled Thanksgiving.  Because, in fact, that's just what it is, a chance to be thankful for random acts of kindness, sharing, hot food and my good fortune for being in the right place at the right time. So really, if it hadn't been for Charley none of that would have happened.

 Thanks,Tina and thanks, Charley . The Cabbage Rolls and Blueberry Pie were great.

©Herb Ratliff, February 7, 2012, All Rights Reserved

The Best You Can Do

Thought For The Day

Bill was a businessman,  whose best friend, John was a builder. They were having lunch one day when Bill reached down and pulled an over sized, manila envelope out of his briefcase and handed it to John. He told John to look at it and call him when he had time to talk about it.

A few days later John called and said he had looked at the plans and was ready to discuss it. John said it was the best and most complete set of plans he had ever seen. Every detail is shown and the materials list is exact.

Bill said, "Will you build it?"

"It would be a pleasure to build this.", John said.

So the agreement was made and in a few weeks excavation began on the project and the materials were ordered. The materials would be coming from all over the world and so the first order of business was to build a warehouse to store everything that was going to be used in the building. It would be a private home on a beautiful site.

Bill told John the building was a very special project. He told him to use only the very best materials and craftsmen on the job. He had explained that while he had no intention of being wasteful, he did not want to quibble over details and that he wanted only the very best in workmanship and material to be used. He even asked John to promise that he would not cut corners on the project. "Only the best." He advised his friend.

It was a large house with many rooms and there were carpenters who built cabinetry, plasterers, tile workers and men trained in marble work tending to the project. It was a time consuming effort and after many months John began to lose interest in the job and it's overwhelming requirement on his time. He began to push his workers to hurry when possible and it would not affect what would be visible to the naked eye to just get it done. He had also had some losses from a building that had cost him a lot of money and needed to recover costs and saw an opportunity to plump up his profit on this project.

Finally, the project neared completion and John called Bill for a "walk through". As they walked through the building Bill began talking about their friendship and how much it had meant to him. He thanked John for his honesty and dependability, for his willingness to help others and his sense of pride in his work. He told him that he was delighted with what he saw and was looking forward to the day when the work ended and the house could be occupied. John was thinking that he would be glad to get this albatross off his back and get on with his normal work.

John saw the end of the project nearing and began to push the workers to completion. He cared little for the detail of fine work and just wanted out. And so the day came when he was ready to turn the house over to his friend, satisfied that what he had done was sufficient and what couldn't be seen was of no consequence anyway. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, so to speak.

Bill was ecstatic with his final inspection. He was fairly beaming when he finished.

"This is a special moment, John, your work is the reason I asked you to take on this job. That, and your friendship. You see John, this house is for you. It is an expression of my appreciation for the kind of friend you have been and the quality of your friendship. Enjoy the fruits of your labor."

Herb Ratliff, February 6, 2012, All Rights Reserved

This is my version of a story I heard from my mother when I was growing up, this and "The Little Red Hen". I do not know it's origin but I hope I never forget it.

She loved jonquils

Thought For The Day

She loved jonquils and red bud,

from her childhood in the south I suppose.

I loved telling her they were here and 

inviting her to come and see them.

She didn't like to travel anymore,

things unfamiliar confused her.

But her smile lit the room in Spring,

It was her time: the promise it held,

the coming color, pageantry, and sounds.

So when the brave and impatient jonquils

rush to show off their joy in February

I think of her, the jonquils and her smile.

Wouldn't you?

©Herb Ratliff, February 3, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Sunflower

Thought For The Day

Brown centered, yellow petals

stark

against an ice blue morning

circle

eagle-like 

climbing, soaring, singing in

soliloquy,

the sun

on

a 

green

stem.

©Herb Ratliff, February 2, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Where the &*#@$%% are you going?

Thought For The Day

It seems a small thing but it is one of the more useful small things upon which most of us have agreed for  many years that has in the last few years seemed to have gone away. It is the convention of bearing to the right when walking in buildings, on sidewalks, paths, jogging, walking the dog and other like activities. It no longer seems to be an applied convention and it is, at times, really annoying and sometimes downright painful. The painful part is when the idea of sharing the designated space is not expressed in an amenable way, but rather approached as Wide World of Wrestling participant might approach an opponent. An expression only useful if you are angry and larger than the opposing perambulator.

I have never been given to convention for convention's sake but I must say that certain agreements of the human race are useful. This is one is of particular value because of its tendency to keep the flow of people speedy and without injury. To see it all but ignored is a bit frightening. I have been battered and banged by belligerent bipeds in churches, businesses, parks and hospitals without so much as a "pardon me". 

Are we really in that big a hurry? Is getting to a place that important? Is the intransigence of holding your space in the wrong lane important enough to injure old folks and children? But the real question is what do you give up by contributing to a predictable flow of people. Is it an affront to your individuality, an invasion of your right of expression or an admission of inferiority?  What gives?

If you can bear to the right in your automobile in the interest of avoiding expensive repairs to your body and your car's body why not do it when you are walking too? Please.

©Herb Ratliff, February 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Rumer

Rumer

I was going to fill my time with a lot of platitudes about this woman but, really, all you need to know is in her

 voice not my words. 

Listen. 

I have not heard a voice like this for a long, long time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PQ5FdwFElE&feature=related

A Bag of Chips

Crows must have a rich sense of humor. The familiar sound of crows making editorial comments about the people and events in their lives remind me of a certain kind of person who feels prevailed upon to verbalize every thought that passes through their brain. You know one or two, I am sure, we all do. Crows can be forgiven. At least we don't make terribly severe judgments about them, their heritage or the level of intelligence they possess. Well, maybe the level of their intelligence is just  what we do wonder about. I do. I tend to give them rather high marks in that category. 

I have read a bit about crows and ravens. Most ornithologists give them pretty high marks. And while it is interesting to read about their behavior nothing matches seeing them at work.

Several years ago I was visiting a client in Texas. Frankly, I don't even remember what city it was but it was near some very good golf courses. One of the courses was quite well known among the golfers of the world and so I thought it should be a good location for a bit of business review. The man I needed to talk with was the chairman of the board and somewhat difficult to corner during the business day, but he loved to chase the little white ball and for a few bucks and a ride across some of the most beautiful landscape in Texas he was mine for at least four hours. 

Now you have to be a bit careful about mixing business and pleasure. Business on the golf course is tricky. Generally what you do is just play golf until you are finished and then over lunch or dinner get into the business. That is really not the point here though because this is about Crows.

We had finished playing the front nine holes and stopped for a bit of food and some drinks at the little halfway house. We each got a couple of hot dogs, some chips, something to drink and headed for the tenth tee. That's just the way we do it. 

The walk from the golf cart to the Tee was a bit farther than what one normally expects but not far enough to call it a problem. We had, at that point, begun eating the various food items and left them in the cart when we went to the tee. I had honors and so I hit my tee shot and my guest stood and admired the length and accuracy of my drive. (It's my story, I get to have a good drive.) He took a couple of practice swings and walked toward the tee and then he noticed that a crow was sitting in the cart eating his potato chips. For some reason he reacted rather belligerently, yelling obscenities at the crow. We were far enough away that the crow was completely nonplussed at he enraged man screaming at him and continued to eat the chips. To my complete surprise the man dropped his club and started toward the golf cart. The crow did not budge. Then the man ran, waving his arms and yelling. This caught the attention of the crow and he picked up the chips and flew a few feet from the cart. My client continued after the crow. The crow hopped on. 

Finally, my friend got close enough to the crow and the crow dropped the bag of chips, emptied the bag and flew into a low branch of a tree and cackled at the man.

I was in stitches. My friend was not. Never have I seen such ire over a bag of chips. And that crow, my guess is he still tells that story to his kids and laughs to this day.

©Herb Ratliff, January 30, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Baby, The Rain Must Fall

Even the bird songs drip.

The rain, ceaselessly saturates the ground, the air, my thoughts.

There is no sunshine, no wind, just wet.

Can you imagine forty days and nights?

What is gopher wood anyway?

And what is a cubit?

The sun is waiting,  like me

for a better day,

for a bluer sky,

fly away.

Herb Ratliff, January 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Anyone who knows even a little bit about me knows that I love to wade streams and tempt trout with hand tied flies. It has been a part of my life for a long time. So it would probably come as no surprise to people that wanting my children to join me in such an activity would be a logical next step and they would be spot on. The story begins with a trip the family took to Frankfort , Michigan sometime in the seventies, my guess is about seventy six. That would make Bud six, Julie four and Lindsay a coming attraction.

We were to be there for a week and the weather had been very nice. Bud and Julie wanted to get up early and go trout fishing with dad so we planned for each of them to have their own morning to go alone with me. So far, so good. Bud's morning began with twittering birds, light on the horizon, the sun's head just beginning to rise and so we went to a dandy little breakfast place and had hot chocolate, pancakes, sausage and the lot. We trekked off to the river and gathered some trout and went back to the cabin for the cheers of the waiting crowds of expectant, adoring fans. We were not disappointed, they treated us like royalty returning from battle, victorious.

Julie's morning was somewhat less idyllic. It was raining torrents, we could barely see out the window. I meekly suggested we put off the adventure for a better day and Julie howled her disapproval and demanded we not let a little rain stop our adventure. What could I do. I did not have appropriate rain gear for a four year old or sufficient creativity to come up with a reasonable alternative plan to satisfy the desire of a four year old to go fishing with her dad. (This single minded determination was not a single incident. Did I mention that she is a CPA?) I tried a variety of approaches all designed to try a delay but that was useless. Finally, I had to come up with some kind of plan that would come close to keeping her protected from the elements. I searched through my fishing equipment but sizes were simply not compatible and so I had to take another tack. 

Garbage bags. Yep, that's what this great mind came up with to solve the problem. A cutout for the head and arms would work for the torso, the corner cutoff for a hat, a small bag tied at the thigh for each leg, (wading) and sleeves fashioned out of other bags. You've heard of  "The Man From Glad"? This was a little twist on the theme.

Dressed and protected, at least momentarily, for the elements we took our gear to the car and went as fast as we could to the little breakfast place for hot chocolate and warm food. I won't detail the fishing because what I remember most clearly is that I was with my little girl dressed in fly fishing gear and we were on our way to a glorious adventure. And do you know what? That is without a doubt one of the finest fishing or fathering experiences I have ever had.

©Herb Ratliff, January 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Gratitude

This picture is from 1993. Left to right back:Bud, me
Front: L to R:Julie, Lindsay, Dora holding Nick, Cory holding Lindsay.
There are now ten more grandchildren:Lindsey,Kirkland, Joshua, Skylar, Zachary, Logan, Keaton, Xander, Zoe, Brayden.

Have you ever thought carefully about the things you are most grateful for? 

I'm very visual and so my eyes are at the top of the list. Ears that function reasonably well, taste, touch, smell and a little esp now and again. I have enough athletic ability to engage in most sports and compete at a better than average level if I choose. I am teachable. That is what I may be most thankful for on another level. Second chances are high on the list too. If it weren't for second chances no one would ever see this blog. Good health, the ability to heal: physically, mentally and spiritually.

I've had numerous opportunities to apply my skills in a work environment that provided rich rewards. Sometimes I did it with a high level of competence and creativity and provided exceptional service to my employer and clients. Sometimes I did not and that's where some of those second chances I spoke of come into play.

I have met and been befriended by some of the finest people in the world. Many of them have taught me about life. All of them have given something special to me: their time, their experience, their forgiveness in some cases, their disdain in others. Most everything I have received has been as a direct result of my actions and attitude. I must add here that while complaining about results that were less than complimentary to me I was complaining to a friend about things not being "fair or just" and he looked me in the eye and said, "Herb, of all the people I know, you are the last who should be asking for justice. You should be praying for mercy." He was right and I hope I never forget it. I also hope I never forget there are a lot of people out there just like me.

Some parts of my life have been a train wreck. There just isn't any other way to express it. I have fallen hard and often on this journey but, I have never laid there and quit. I have hurt other people, sometimes on purpose, sometimes without intent and sometimes from just being too fixed on my own interests to care about anything else.

Most of my life has been a miracle. More good has come into my life from the generosity of others than I can begin to list. But I cannot continue without acknowledging the best part of my life, my children. They are smart, thoughtful, generous, forgiving. They are wonderful parents. They are dependable friends and they are good neighbors. I hope you get a chance to meet them someday.

Give some thought to making a list of your own. I think you will find that life is good, hope enriches it and experience can be the catalyst for change or plunging you deeper into the denial that life isn't fair. Thanks for stopping by, I'm grateful for you too.

Herb Ratliff, January 24, 2011, All Rights Reserved

The Great Ones

George B. Dorr overlooking the land he loved

I've always had a naive side to me in spite of the great desire I have had to be worldly and sophisticated. So it always comes as a surprise when I discover that something I thought I knew is all wrong or a bit like a Disney Movie. The desire to be great lies in all of us. The desire to accomplish great things lies only in a few. The passion, persistence and refusal to accept defeat is in but a handful.

Part of the reason for the sophomoric view of greatness in my case is the requirement that whatever I propose to be great about has to meet certain criterion. Some but not all of the criteria are honesty, the common good, adherence to a Christian ethic. But here is where the difficulty begins. Who that we as a culture list as the great leaders of mankind can claim even those three aforementioned qualities as a basis for their greatness? For that matter, what institution can make such a claim?

I have been lied to by so many for so long that I find it miraculous that I have any faith in truth. I have been sold the idea of the common good by self serving snake oil salesmen in the suits of public servants and the Christian ethic, beautiful as it is in theory is rarely if ever practiced by any of the leaders and but a few of the most sincerely converted. It turns out that in most cases honesty and truth are nothing more than a tool by which the dishonest milk the naive of their hard earned money.

But George B. Dorr is one of the few who truly had a dream and backed it with his own money and the wealth of his well to do friends. That is a story worth knowing.

It begins with his love of Mount Desert Island, the death of Charles Eliot at the age of 38 and Charles' father, Charles W. Eliot reading an article his son had written proposing the formation of a trust to protect the island from being controlled by a few wealthy landholders and made available to the public. The result was Acadia National Park. It started with one man's deep love for a part of the earth and a desire to share it with his fellow man.

So, naive or not. don't give up on your dreams.

Herb Ratliff, January 23, 2011, All Rights Reserved

You Can't Go Home Again

Florida is a different animal. Even if you have lived here or do live here the essence of  "home" to me at least is lost in the shallow rooted feel of this sandy soil-less land. Dried black sooty muck from the glades wafts through the air like an uber dry fog that cannot find a place to stay. So like the part time residents, when it's out of substance it leaves.

There are parts of me that were born here and I feel the link to it's importance but there are no supporting members. 

The traffic is in the hands of the unwilling, unable and unnecessary and their approach to movement is erratic and  at times downright frightening. None of this is terribly important but a need for catharsis drove me to write this morning.

Live where you are keeps coming to mind. So I will stop complaining. I'm just uncomfortable I suppose and I know I'll get over it.

If I weren't here I'd be there and here, there and everywhere is a song from the musical mind of Paul McCartney so I think I will stop this and listen to music.

Herb Ratliff, January 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Earthie ?

Last night as I curled into my sleeping position I had a picture of  the earth from a considerable enough distance that it's size and color resembled a blue marble. I know that isn't an original thought, give me a minute. That view had the psychological effect of putting an "ie" or a "y" on the end of a name. It seemed small and vulnerable and in need of caring, thoughtful attention. 

The next thing I thought of was an incubator: for chicks first, then for babies and then I thought for us. Suppose the earth is an incubator for life as we know it. Even a small amount of knowledge about the universe and a couple of episodes of Star Trek will tell you it's dangerous out there. If I were in charge of a vulnerable, beautiful, new life form, I would want to protect it until it was sufficiently capable of taking care of itself. If it was a vastly different life form from the myriad others I had produced, I would consider giving it an extra bit of protection and close observation would not be out of the question.

Then I thought, if I left the maintenance and development of the blue marble to this life form they would take care of it the way I had taken care of them by being vigilant of it's needs and relentless in it's protection and care.

So I slipped off to sleep feeling like I was special enough to be placed in an extra special location and set of environmental conditions to protect the unique form of life that I am, that we are. Then, I thought, what are we doing to our incubator and each other?

©Herb Ratliff, January 12, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Elephant in the House

There's an elephant in the house now, in the kitchen on the sink.

If you dare not deign believe me, hear it trumpet, see it wink.

Now she's dancing in the den with my golf clubs in her hands,

Singing songs of Asian rajahs and the desert's endless sands.

What does one do in these moments, seeking quiet solitude?

How does noise factor in to my poetic writing mood?

There, a door slammed, now the cat screamed, what is that vicissitude?

Maybe when the earth stops spinning, when it's quiet as a mouse,

Oops, I scared that silly elephant. Now she's gone. Good, quiet house.

Herb Ratliff, January 11, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Journey

If you do not believe the beauty of  life is in the process consider how it would be to focus only on results.

Herb Ratliff, January 10, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Tranquility

Only

soliloquies

of the moon

in the

cricket-quiet

night.

Herb Ratliff, January 9, 2011, All Rights Reserved

After The Party

After The Party

When I walked away from you on that warm summer night,

 I was thinking of when we were somewhere between 12 and 18.

Yes, I knew it was a 50 year anniversary.

Yes, I knew how old I was.

But, I wasn’t ready for you to die.

There was more to do, more to see,

More to feel, more to be, but I didn’t know

There was no more time.

And, I didn’t know there was an imminent epidemic 

of exits.

I don’t want to go, but, I am afraid of standing here

alone.

Herb Ratliff, January 6, 2011, All Rights Reserved

What is Love?

Is it love when I say, I love you?

Is it love when I say, I care?

Is it love when I look

 at a scruffy teddy bear?

Is love the swirling angst

 of being all alone?

Is love the word, goodbye, 

when it cuts you to the bone?

Is love the tear that jewels your cheek

 in morning's early hue

When the night you spent alone

 left your pillow wet with dew?

Is love a sometime thing

That comes and goes each day?

Or, is love an endless current

Urging flow without dismay?

Is love a two way thing

That seeks a balanced set?

Or, can love go on and on

Never needing to be met?

Is balance, inequality or 

harmony a ghost?

Is love the thing you get

When you get what you want most?

Is love one thing that

Does not change or changes all the time?

Is it mine or yours or theirs or ours

If the seasons set in rhyme?

When does love become a dust ball?

When do stars begin to glow?

When does heavy, humid air

Catch a cold and turn to snow?

I don't know what heaven's angels

Have in store for you and me.

I don't know why all God's creature's

Build a nest or climb a tree.

All I know is that He's watching,

Sometimes laughing, sometimes not

And that what we do will show us

What will happen, what will not.

©Herb Ratliff, January 5, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Preemptive Dismissal

How many times have you said no without really understanding your reasoning behind the refusal? How much of your life and lifestyle is predicated on the opinions and preferences of others? Have you been forged into your philosophy of life by the passion of others who have convinced you that their point of view is better than yours?

Every day we make hundreds of decisions, maybe thousands. Whatever the number, we make a lot of decisions. Some of them are small.  Do I put salt on this bland spoonful of mashed potatoes or in the interest of better health eat them bland? Should I stay home today and catch up on some much needed sleep or go to work? What should I have for lunch? Who should I vote for?

Have you noticed that if you engage another in your selection process they will have an opinion. Some will reluctantly share an opinion, others will happily tell you exactly what to do. Believe it or not there are actually some people who will offer their preference without being ask. So the question arises, when do I solicit opinions about what choice I should make and when should I make a decision without the benefit of additional points of view?

If you want to buy a computer and you know someone who is familiar with computers and how they work on a broad scale, it would probably benefit you to ask them to help you make a selection if they are willing. What they will likely do is ask you what you plan to do with the computer. They will ask specific questions about the tasks you believe will be aided by using a computer. Careful questioning will lead them to a storehouse of information they have accumulated about computers and that information coupled with your specific needs will lead them to a conclusion that will be very useful to you because it will impact directly the cost, speed, convenience and general usefulness of the computer you would find most beneficial. If you are sitting in a coffee shop and discussing the purchase of a computer in general terms with a stranger with strong opinions, the suggestions they will make about the kind of computer you should buy will be based on what they would use a computer for and that is the key to other peoples opinions. Do they want to convince you that they made a good choice or do they want to help you meet your needs in a better way?

If you really want to know about something, the best way is to experience it. However, that is often not a practical or reasonable way to learn. So the next best thing is to ask another's opinion. To get an opinion with your needs in mind is unlikely even from the most well-intentioned advisers. Everyone has an agenda.

My daughter, Julie and I went to San Francisco for her birthday when she was a youngster. We were having dinner in one of my favorite restaurants, El Meson. Their food was spectacular. I always had a hard time trying to pick out an entree and so I usually just got several appetizers and ignored the entree. One of the appetizers I got was Calamari Fritta. Julie, always the inquisitive child wanted to know what it was. I told her it was Calamari Fritta.

"Yes", she said, "but what is that?"

I told her it was Calamari.

"But, what is Calamari?" she insisted. 

I continued to repeat the same answer. Then, she wanted to know if she could have some. 

"Certainly.", I told her. 

"Ummmmm, this is good.", she said. "Can I have some more?"

It would be a while before I gave more explicit meaning to Calamari but her enjoyment of it never diminished.

New Beginnings

I was just under six months old when I began my first new year. My prospects were pretty good. I had parents, a home, food at the ready, comfort was available and hugging was plentiful. I had an experienced sibling that had been around for nearly five years to survey the new digs and help me negotiate the new terrain. I can't give you much in  the way of details but overall my needs were met. Other than the parents being a little slow on feeding and cleaning sometimes, life looked like a pretty good gig.

Franklin D. Roosevelt was president, Henry A Wallace was vice president, Population was 136,739,353. The National budget was 78.56 billion, Federal debt 142.7 billion, unemployment was 1.9% and it cost three cents to mail a first class letter. You could send a post card for a penny.

None of that meant a thing to me personally but it affected how my family lived. The president froze prices, salaries and wages to prevent inflation. Withholding taxes on wages were introduced. In the world of medicine Selman Waksman discovered streptomycin and coined the word antibiotic and Doctors began to use the pap test to detect cervical cancer. Finally, the Pentagon was completed and became the largest office building in the world.

Our world is different now but the point of all this is to say that the potential for change is not theoretical. For all of us there will be tremendous changes in our lifestyle. For some the change will be minimal because they will not be here long enough to see any substantial changes. For those who stay, the infants, the toddlers, the prepubescent, the teens, and the collegiates, who have the benefit of knowing pretty much everything anyway, the change will be driven by them and so it will be tolerable. But here is the challenge. You personally can create or influence the change. If there is a condition or a crisis that needs to be addressed, you can have an effect on its outcome. Everything that happens in this world starts with an idea or a problem. So, if you are unhappy with the world or love it, you input counts. Adolf Hitler was one person. Steve Jobs was one person. Sam Walton was one person, from Arkansas for crying out loud.

Do not ever sell short what you can do, never. And, don't be afraid to fail. Failure is a part of the process and as sure as your next breath but it is O.K. Check out the number of things Thomas Edison tried to use as filaments for the incandescent light bulb before he came up with an ideal substance. You are as powerful as your dream.

Herb Ratliff, January 2, 2012, All Rights Reserved