source site Remember the best date you ever went on? As the night grew late, and the hours slipped away, you knew it had to come to an end. You held on as long as possible, maybe even talking in the driveway in your truck for another hour. But eventually, you parted ways and there was that immediate feeling of disappointment that something so fun, and potentially so special, had to come to an end.
Well, Thunder fans, your team just treated you to the best season of your life. Even a few days later, you’re still thinking about each incredible moment, every amazing victory, and how you just didn’t want it to end. Naturally, you’ll also let your mind wander to what could have been. The close calls, the near misses, and the wasted opportunities will replay in your mind again and again.
If only the date could keep going. If only the Thunder could take the court one more time.
Harden is a consistent performer off the bench and key piece of the Thunder’s future (courtesy fantasybasketballbreakdown.blogspot.com)
Trust me Thunder fans, momentary disappointment should soon give way to hopeful anticipation. You can be upset at losing the series, maybe even a little angry at the inability of the Thunder to close out games in the fourth quarter. You can question some of the shot selection and the plays drawn up in the final minutes of those nail-biting playoff losses. It’s all part of the fan’s necessary healing process.
What you can’t do is call this team a bunch of underachievers. In no way are you allowed to dwell on the negatives, when the positives are so blatantly overwhelming, and it’s definitely not okay for you to be calling for widespread changes to the roster or the coaching staff.
Look, in three short seasons, this franchise has put itself in a position no one thought possible. From 23 wins in the first year, to the playoffs in the year two, and now a run all the way to the Western Conference Finals. How could anyone possibly be upset with this progression? How could anyone possibly think this team isn’t right on schedule? Championships in professional sports take time. Successful franchises are built one block at a time, and the process is usually much longer than three seasons.
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The year was 1888 and the Wild West was changing. Recognizing that fact, showman Gordan W Lillie, known today as Pawnee Bill, started a Wild West show that traveled the country and the world until 1913. But, the story does not end there.
In 1988, the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum hosted the first re-enactment of Pawnee Bill’s original Wild West Show. Every year since, they have continued the tradition the last three Saturdays in June.
Today in our video blog we head to Pawnee, Oklahoma, to learn more about the man who began it all, and the people who have kept his dream alive more than a century later.
The Cox family is on the countdown to our first official family vacation. In the six years we’ve had children we’ve been on numerous trips to visit family and friends, but this trip is different. Webster’s defines vacation as “a period of suspension of work, study, or other mandatory activity, usually used for rest or recreation.” I personally equate vacation with traveling to a destination we’ve never been to pursue new adventures and spend quality time with my immediate family. So, guess what, we’re going to Disneyland! I’m not sure it will meet the criteria of being restful, but there is sure to be a good deal of quality time and recreation. Discover some of the most relaxing Scottsdale resorts for travelers.
The anticipation and excitement of our upcoming adventure got me thinking about my childhood family vacations. Like many working class families, I don’t think we took a vacation every year but a few travels stand out in my memory. It is when I think about the funny, stressful or otherwise memorable experiences we shared through the years that I truly appreciate the unmatched bond of family. Wondering Where is Hot in March? Uncover trending destinations, sun-soaked beaches, luxurious resorts, and captivating cultures across the globe. Vacationers are spoiled for choice with the incredible Scottsdale resorts available year-round.
There’s the time we took an RV and horse trailer across the country to Cheyenne, WY to watch my dad compete in a rodeo. If you had any doubt about my “Red Dirt” roots, they can be put to rest, as I grew up turning calves out of the chute as my dad practiced his roping skills. We traveled to many rodeos throughout my childhood, but the Wyoming trip carries special memories. We parked the RV amidst many others and spent what seemed like weeks, although I’m sure it was just a few days, living in a temporary community of rodeo families. Someone set up a dummy calf (bale of hay with a fake head on it) for the kids to practice their roping, and my daddy was so proud of my skills that he bought me my very own rope…..a huge deal to my six year old self.
We borrowed some cowboy’s Cadillac (funny in and of itself, right?!) to drive into town to go swimming at an indoor pool where I experienced my first truly embarrassing moment when I chickened out on the high dive and forced a bunch of kids to climb back down the ladder so I wouldn’t have to take the plunge. And, I think this trip was the beginning of our family tradition of spending hours on the road coming up with new verses to the ever popular “Diarrhea” song. Once that got old, we could always count on dad to blast his favorite Platters album and sing at the top of his lungs. Yes, I know all the words to “The Great Pretender” and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.” In later years, I started singing the harmony just to change it up a bit.
In stark contrast, my parents took all six of us to Hawaii the summer before my junior year in high school. This was long after my dad had abandoned the rodeo circuit due to the requirement that he enter senior rodeo and his subsequent refusal to recognize himself as a senior. He decided golf was a wonderful substitute and began wearing shorts and tennis shoes, instead of boots and jeans, for the first time in his life. The best place he could imagine to wear said clothing was Hawaii. Flip flops quickly became part of the mix too, adding that easygoing island comfort perfect for Hawaii’s laid-back vibe.
My parents had been to Hawaii several times and, knowing that our family wouldn’t all be together for too much longer given my age (I’m the oldest), they bit the bullet and used my college money (not bitter) to take us on a magnificent trip. The great thing about this trip is that we have so many collective memories and continue to bond over them even now. When Jason and I were dating, we’d always joke that every trip to my parent’s house would inevitably include at least one sentence that began with, “Remember in Hawaii when…?”
We still make this joke and have refined it to assert that the only certainties in life are death, taxes and repeated conversations about Hawaii. We’ll talk about going parasailing, snorkeling and the undersea Nautilus tour. We’ll laugh about eating at the super fancy restaurant where my brother Cooper looked at the menu full of things we couldn’t pronounce and subsequently ordered a cheeseburger (blank stare from the not-so-amused waiter). This moment was followed by my brother Conner spitting out whatever fancy thing he ordered and my mom trying to discreetly clean the chewed lump off the floor before anyone noticed. News alert: they noticed. My dad will reminisce about driving to the top of the volcano on a one-lane road with no guard rails to prevent us from plummeting to our death, and that I was so convinced we were going to die that I curled up in the floorboard of the back seat and alternated between crying and praying. We’ll sing a chorus of “Tiny Bubbles” at the top of our lungs like some gregarious drunk guy did at the luau we attended. We’ll talk about the horrible one-way roads in Honolulu and how we were lost for hours in the middle of the night upon our initial arrival to the city. And we’ll all agree that the Pizza Hut delivery we ate on the floor of our hotel room after we finally made it was hands down the best we’d ever had.
Memories are made each and every day, but I’m ready to make some that are just ours to talk about for years to come. With a first-time airplane ride and a trip to Disneyland in our near future, I’m pretty confident I can accomplish this goal. And, even if we don’t have anything spectacular happen to us while we’re there, I’m eager to eat some pizza that, regardless of its quality and taste, will be the new “best I’ve ever had.”
[kendy]
Editor’s note: Visit HERE for Kendy’s post over how their family vacation held a surprise they certainly didn’t expect.
A real man rarely raises his voice and when he does, it is never out of anger.
A real man’s influence comes from the gravity of what he has to say and the character he has built over time. He lets his words stand on their own merit without resorting to amplifying his volume and furrowing his eyebrows to get his point across.
A real man knows that to raise his voice in anger, is to lose control of his emotions. When a man loses control of his emotions, his emotions then control him, and a real man is not controlled by his emotions. A real man realizes that screaming or yelling in anger or to get a point across is the vice of the emotionally weak. He is not afraid to express his emotions, but he is not controlled by them. A real man knows that yelling, though somewhat instinctive, is reactive and a real man rarely reacts… a real man acts with intention.
A real man knows that he when he raises his voice, people often tune him out and miss his message. And yet, the opposite happens when his voice is calm, cool, and collected. He finds that other people actually begin to lean in closer to hear what he has to say. They tune into his message and (if what he’s trying to convey has merit) he is able to persuade or influence them appropriately.
A real man sees that yelling as a form of persuasion or influence simply does not work. Not only that, but he also realizes that his yelling gives everyone around him a headache and makes him feel incompetent. Continue reading N.U.T. #5 – I don’t raise my voice in anger.→
As I write, medical examiners have yet to release the official cause of death for University of Oklahoma football player Austin Box. According to El Reno Police, a friend who lived with the 22 year-old found him unresponsive and believed he had overdosed on prescription pain pills. In a 911 recording, the roommate said Box takes pain pills and he’s not responding to me.
If true, it’s just the latest sad incident in a troubling trend: the misuse of prescription medication, whether intentionally or accidentally. Former OSU basketball coach Sean Sutton plead guilty last year for illegally obtaining pain pills that he began taking after a back surgery then to which he subsequently became addicted.
Box played a brutal sport that requires unusual physical and mental toughness. The demands often require playing through pain and sometimes even injury. I worry that in our attempts to explain such a tragic loss of life, we focus on the symptoms and not the wider disease. Prescription medications are just as addictive as anything purchased from a seedy street corner. According to law-enforcement, prescription painkillers rank second behind marijuana as the country’s most common illegal-drug problem. Today we begin a multiple-part video post about a growing problem that cuts across all age groups and economic classes.
Our pile of junk had been sitting in the pasture for seven years. It was a mixture of plastic, metal, and old wooden posts from a variety of sources around the ranch. It had evolved over time. If we needed a certain material for a project, the junk pile would be our first place to look to see what we could use out of it. Once I found an old door that we installed on the goat shed when we created a room addition for our new baby goats. I still remember the thumbs up my father-in-law gave me when I propped it up for him to see. Unfortunately, I noticed the goats and horses spending a lot of time close to the pile, and I worried that one of them would get tangled up in something and hurt. It was time to take this pile of treasure to the landfill.
We hooked up the trailer and started loading the accumulation of seven years of destruction. Mixed into the pieces of roofing, gutters, batteries, and brass candlesticks were landscape timbers that had been used for a small round pen built by my father-in-law in 1997. Hmmmm. Why had he used landscape timbers for a fence instead of fence posts? Had they been left by someone else? I was intrigued. Even though it was time consuming, I removed only the staples that held the remaining fence in place, put the old fence on the trailer, and set the wood aside. It took quite a bit of time and effort, but I loved the idea of salvaging one last repurposed item from the pile. Transport heavy equipment easily with our spacious 14ft utility trailer. Continue reading Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch: A RE-Purposeful Life→
Peter was shocked; he was insulted. He protested the notion that he would EVER deny his Lord. Jesus rightly predicted Peter’s infidelity. Jesus knew Peter much better than this famous disciple knew himself.
“Lord, I would never do such a thing,” Peter objected.
Jesus calmly replied, “Not only will you deny me once, but you’ll deny me three times.” And Jesus said it would happen before the rooster was well into his morning.
The thing is, most of us have good intentions. Whether to read the bible more, attend church more regularly, or to start exercising, the spirit is willing.
I’m not going to cuss and no more throwing my golf clubs; I’m nixing the desserts and I’ll stop saying negative things about anybody. It’s the right idea and a great plan. Jesus looks at us, smiles and says, “Grace to you.” I know this. He continually extends that portion to me.
On the main street of our little town, all the businesses were owned by our friends and neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Elliot opened and closed Elliot’s Department store. We purchased our jeans and underwear there. Mr. and Mrs. Hodge operated Hodge’s Grocery Store. He was in the back working as the butcher and she at the counter smiling and saying, “Thank you for coming in.”
We had Evan’s Drugstore, Inman’s Variety Store, Swanda’s Insurance, Lynch’s Western Store, Malone Ford, Kardokus Implements and perhaps the quintessential period piece general store, Levite’s. I can still recall the family names of gas station proprietors. And my favorite spot just a few doors up from Caldwell’s Barber Shop —- George’s Pool Hall. Continue reading Barbershop Theology: Let’s Make a Deal, Pt. 2→
Four years ago, Major Dan Rooney was on a commercial flight shortly after finishing his second of three tours of duty in Iraq. As the plane touched down, the pilot made an announcement. “Ladies and gentleman, we have an American hero on board – Corporal Brock Bucklin – and his brother, Corporal Brad Bucklin, is accompanying him home from Iraq. As a sign of respect, please remain seated while Corporal Bucklin’s family receives him in his final homecoming.”
Rooney, an F-16 pilot with the Oklahoma Air National Guard, looked out the window as a casket was carried off the plane. Behind a fence just beyond the tarmac, Rooney could see Corporal Bucklin’s family members and a four-year old boy who would grow up without a father.
Every passenger on that flight was moved by what they witnessed, but Major Rooney was also inspired. He couldn’t get the image of that little boy out of his head.
Back home in Broken Arrow, Major Rooney decided something had to be done to help the children of America’s fallen soldiers. He founded a charity called the Folds of Honor Foundation with the aim of providing college scholarships to the spouses and children of service members disabled or killed as a result of their sacrifice to our nation. Rooney chose the name to represent the 13 folds that form the triangle shape of an American flag that is folded at a soldier’s funeral. Corporal Bucklin’s son, Jacob, received the very first Folds of Honor scholarship. Four years later, the Folds of Honor Foundation has awarded 2,000 scholarships and raised $8.5 million for the dependents of America’s fallen and disabled soldiers.
I love my job. Every week I get to meet people who know significantly more about something than I do. I once heard Bill Moyers liken it to walking on the shores of others’ oceans of knowledge. That is why in 2005 we started a PBS television show called https://epicbrew.net/finding-light-review/ Oklahoma Horizon, to discuss the issues and visit the places that give our viewers context to our changing world. From an awful time slot on a single station, we have grown into a show now seen in 40 million homes across the U.S. and in 17 countries around the world.
The stories we tell from week to week will range from economic and social trends to just plain ole feel good stories about life in a state we all love and want to see be the very best. This week we begin our postings with a story about a story.
Native American legend has it that a very long time ago, a little boy and girl were wondering through the Cherokee Hills when they were caught in a blizzard. It was not until the following spring their bodies were found lying next to each other, their hands still clasped together. Between the two little ones, an unusual red fern had sprouted, leaning its vast shade over the two tiny bodies. It is a legend that influenced an Oklahoma boy to start writing stories he wanted to read and eventually pen the classic “Where the Red Fern Grows.” We debut our Red Dirt Chronicles blog with a video trip to Tahlequah, Oklahoma to visit the festival that honors Oklahoma author Wilson Rawls.
Editor’s Note: If you are just now catching Michael’s Man Cave series on N.U.T.s, please note the guide to all previous posts at the bottom of this essay ~ Thanks.
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What does it mean for a man to be involved in the life of his children? A book I’m reading right now called, “The Heart of a Father,” by Ken Canfield offers a pretty good description:
My friend Paul is an involved father. He works forty hours each week, and in fact chose a job that allows him to be home each night and each weekend. At home, he likes spending time with his daughter Susan. They play Chutes and Ladders on the living room floor, and he reads her a story before bed. Cindy is a bit older. With her, involvement means driving her to gymnastics and cheering at her meets. It means sitting down next to her at the kitchen table when she lays out her math homework.
Sometimes Paul has his own work to do, his own errands to run. “I’m going to the hardware store,” he announces. “Anyone want to come along?” Occasionally Cindy or Susan will join him. The youngest child is Jacob. Among all the things that involvement means for this toddler, it also means changing diapers. Paul participates in the daily activities of his kids.
This indeterminate tomato variety was said to have originated from the Cherokee over 100 years ago.
Springtime has a way of promoting growth in so many ways. We see the results of growth in plants as our surroundings turn from brown to green, and we see the growth in people as they try new things. My friend and co-worker Shannon came to me one day and told me she wanted to plant tomatoes, but she had never grown anything….ever. I had just found out that our Master Gardener speaker for April was a man known for his fabulous tomatoes. We made a plan to attend together.
Our speaker, Sputt Garnett of Yum Yum, TN, explained everything we ever wanted to know about tomatoes. I never really understood the difference between determinate and indeterminate, and I had certainly never seen tomato varieties like Black Prince. We were especially enthralled with the idea of the heirloom variety tomato, so we each purchased one Cherokee Purple tomato plant at the end of the workshop.
I explained to Shannon that I only had one growing season of tomatoes under my belt. I had planted them from seed last year during my first garden experience and had good success. Our excitement over tomatoes surpassed our need for dessert, so we headed next door to Wal-Mart to look at some plants. We explored the varieties but left the store with a $5.00 purchase: one envelope of Rutgers tomato seeds and one Jiffy Seed Starter Greenhouse. Continue reading Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch: We’re Growing More Than Tomatoes→
I suppose it was a Saturday afternoon. It could have easily been a weekday in early summer. Hair clippings clumped around the base of my dad’s barber chair and it was my habit to grab a broom and sweep from time to time. (A habit highly encouraged by my dad).
The barber shop had three, huge store-front windows. They seemed particularly large to an eleven year old who had to clean them. The sunshine across Evans Avenue was long gone. The air was peculiarly static. Folks outside moved purposefully to their vehicles, casting weary glances at an ominous gathering of clouds.
A storm was coming. It had been a topic of conversation that afternoon in the barber shop.
In Oklahoma, there is often a strange stillness and weightiness to the air before a storm. We have “thunder-boomers” and tornados; it’s not a storm unless it affects you personally. There weren’t sophisticated weather reports and no such things as Doppler radar. We stepped out front to survey the color of the sky, the smell of the air and checked horizons for wall clouds. It had grown too dark to tell very much, and it was still the middle of the day.
I don’t remember how the storm front arrived; I am very familiar with hundreds of Oklahoma storm fronts since. I do remember looking across the street at the large trees behind the Malone Ford Dealership. The tops of trees were starting to whip violently. This was turning into the scariest storm of my young life. There was blowing debris, the building creaked, and the windows actually bowed. I was terrified! Continue reading Barbershop Theology: Let’s Make A Deal→
A few weeks ago, the Tulsa World published this article about how more Tulsans are embracing the Oklahoma City Thunder. Overall, the tone of the article is positive. It cites increasing ticket sales and rising TV ratings from the East side of the state. However, if you read the article and read some of the comments, you’ll quickly realize just how ignorant, jealous and petty so many folks are about the Thunder bearing the name “Oklahoma City.”
Tulsans don't need to go to this extreme, but you get the idea. (courtesy bleacherreport.com)
I don’t want to admit this is true, but having lived in Tulsa for almost seven years now, there is an inferiority complex for too many people when it comes to competition with OKC. These are the same imbeciles who need something to be offended by, something to rant about on sports radio, and who cling to the past like it’s keeping them alive. The ridiculous sentiment of this pathetic crowd is, “They’re not the Oklahoma Thunder, so why should I care? They don’t market themselves to Tulsa or play games up here, so why I am going to support a team that doesn’t acknowledge me?”
Really? Sometimes you people sound like too much like the kid who gets picked last for dodge ball. Did you ever think it’s because maybe you’re not good enough? Instead of whining and complaining just get better.
The BOK Center is a start, bust more downtown renewal must follow.
Let’s face facts here; Oklahoma City had a vision back in the mid-nineties. The MAPS project was executed flawlessly and now OKC has transformed itself into a big league city that is deserving of a professional franchise. Tulsa is a fantastic place to live, and offers plenty of things that OKC doesn’t, but it just isn’t on the same level when it comes to being ready for pro sports. Sure, Tulsa has the BOK Center downtown. It’s a beautiful facility and it’s a huge step in the right direction. But Tulsa also has a city council that squabbles incessantly, excruciatingly slow development along the river, and surface streets that make this town the perfect place to open up your own alignment shop. What takes Oklahoma City ten years seems to take Tulsa 25 years to accomplish. Believe me, Tulsa is changing and improving, but it’s not there yet.
On the heels of Mother’s Day, I have been reflecting on my journey as a mother. Before I had children I thought I knew what sort of mother I would be. There was no question that I’d do everything exactly right, using both book knowledge and God-given intuition to raise perfect little angels.
Then I gave birth.
Most of us who’ve traveled down the motherhood road would agree that it’s the hardest job there is. The confident and easy decisions are few compared to the mountain of “I’m not sure” moments which leave you questioning both your abilities and the likelihood your offspring might end up on an episode of “Intervention” talking about where the dysfunction began.
I haven’t been a perfect mom, this I know for certain. But, I’ve been me and that means my kids get a little bad with hopefully a lot of good. I will not bore you with ALL my thoughts on the subject, but I wanted to share a few points about how hopefully the bad isn’t so bad and the good is really great.
On one hand….
I did not avoid soft cheeses and diet coke when you were in my tummy. I had faith that my vices wouldn’t lead to the growth of a third hand…..and I sure am glad I was right.
I did not boil the binky every time you dropped it. It would have been your lucky day if I even ran it under the faucet or wiped it off with my own shirt.
I did not nurse you for one year, but barely made it a couple of months. I will admit I’ve never felt more like a failure than the day I called it quits. In other news, you did not care one way or another.
I did not choose to forgo a career to stay at home with you full time. I struggle with this daily, but I’m also proud of my accomplishments at work AND at home. Continue reading I Hope My DIDs Exceed My DIDN’Ts→
Though rites of passage have been around since the dawning of time, as a general theory of socialization the concept (and the term) was first formally coined by the French social scientist and anthropologist Arnold van Gennep.
This little tool saves hours in the garden, so I can spend hours away from it.
It’s been said that the right tool makes every job easier. I say, that, my friend, is a fact.
I spent many hours on Mother’s Day relocating my last year’s garden. I discovered that mowing around it was a problem, so this year we decided to make a few adjustments. Creating a new garden is easy enough, however, filling in the former garden spot with grass (not weeds) can be tough. I had been working diligently relocating Bermuda grass when I remembered a garden tool I bought a couple of summers ago.
My husband calls this the “Weed Twister.” It was purchased because I refused to use weed killer in my yard. We had finally begun to see some grass growing on our property, but it was accompanied by a monster weed that was virtually impossible to dig up. I was spending ten or fifteen minutes digging up each weed. I was not getting very far. This tool helps get the job done. The key is the claw at the bottom. The claw is attached to a long pole so the gardener does not have to continuously bend over. Simply stand over the weed, pound the tool into the ground over the weed, and twist. Do it again. That should loosen it enough to get even the toughest weed out of the ground. Continue reading Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch: The Mother of All Garden Tools→
A few months back, I wrote an article detailing all the reasons why people shouldn’t go into coaching. You can read here about all the stresses and frustrations coaches have to put up with. The pressure to win is overwhelming, rarely is anyone satisfied, and at almost every level of coaching you have someone telling you how to do your job.
Well, call me a flip-flopper if you want, but I have to disagree with my past self. I think I was letting off some steam when I wrote that piece. In fact, I know that was the case. Truth is coaching has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my entire life.
Why the sudden change of heart? Our high school tennis team had its year end banquet the other night and I always give a little speech about each one of my players. As I was writing my remarks, I found myself smiling at all the stories, the inside jokes, and the closeness of our team. I’m not going to remember our record, or where we finished in the conference standings. Laughing with those guys on the bus rides and poking fun at each other on the practice court, those are the irreplaceable memories that take the work right out of the job.
How can I forget one of my sophomores asking, “Coach, will you take us to eat at Hooters? I promise we won’t tell anyone.” How can I possibly describe the satisfaction of talking to one of my volatile freshman about maturity and character, then having him be the one to ask if he can stay after practice and if he could organize off-season workouts? Of course, parents complained and sometimes the effort level in our practices wasn’t what it should have been. There were several difficult days. The kind of days when I lost my cool and I wondered if I was really having any kind of impact at all. Then there was the day when my lone senior told me how he hated tennis his first two years, how he thought about quitting because the team had no chemistry. He said, “I’m so glad I didn’t Coach Loeber. In these last two seasons, I’ve had more fun than at any other time in school. I love this team, and I’m gonna miss you guys.”
And that’s when it hit me. This is all worth it. Who cares about backhand technique or doubles strategy? In the end what matters are the friendships, and that’s why being a coach is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. I have a connection with a group of guys that will last forever, and they’ve made me a better man along the way. The best part for me is watching them become young men with drive, passion, and integrity.
Its that time of year. Do you put the space heaters and electric blankets up yet or wait until June?! My friends and I say all the time “Only in Oklahoma…” will you have the air and heat on all in the same day. I’m quite sure there are more places that have the same issues, but its something to laugh about!
I have to admit I have not been cooking much lately. Its hard to have motivation some days to cook for just one after being on your feet all day at work. I justify my microwave “cooking” by saying that one day I will not be able to eat Lean Cuisines and cereal every night. The Stockyards City Cookbook definitely has plenty of amazing recipes to cure the cereal kick!
Since it was dreary and cool today I decided to go with the Cheesy Chicken Soup. This soup is hearty and easy to make.
2 cans lowfat cream of chicken soup
1 can lowfat cream of mushroom soup
2 chicken breasts cooked & shredded (I boiled mine)
2-3 cans water (2 was enough)
1 can Rotel (I used Spicy, it was yummy)
2-lb. block of light Velveeta cheese
1 chicken bouillon cube
The following is the third guest post from David Roberts, who is one of the best high school English Teachers in the land by day and a defender of all things awesomely manly by night. He also happens to be my brother-in-law.
Enjoy!
[michael]
Despite what Ford and Chevy might have us believe, a truck does not make a man. However, as a t-shirt my wife bought me says, “A man and his truck is a beautiful thing.”
Red, you turned twelve this past April. I remember the first day we met–what a surprise you were. I had no clue what was in store for us.
You took me to college that August, your first of many trips up and down the I-35 corridor between Dallas and OKC. All my worldly possessions–mostly clothes, but some keepsakes, too, and my bucket of cleaning supplies to give you your regular bath–were in the passenger seat and your bed. I was worried some of those items might fly out, but your lovely aerodynamics kept everything snug. If you are planning to buy used cars in palos hills il, be sure to choose a car that is well-maintained and looks pristine.
You turned heads on campus from the beginning. I had you “duded” up a little bit–headlight covers, tinted windows, subwoofers & amp. I didn’t know then, as I do now, that you didn’t need any embellishing. But you put up with my young ways.
I remember that time we crammed six or eight of us in the cab and bed for a trip to the lake. We were trying to avoid paying admission for more than one vehicle (the park charged by the car, not the person), and you were perfect for the occasion. That was to be a trend.
While at college, I also met my future wife. You took us on our first date, and we sat inside your cab for our first kiss. Years later, you would take us from the church after our wedding.
I also started mistreating you a bit on campus. I dinged you when I carelessly backed into a low fence post; I scratched you parking too close to a cedar tree. Continue reading Ode to My Truck→
This spring the rain has been abundant and the sun intermittent, but many of my hardy plants have come back from last year in multiples. I am happy to share them with friends.
Last week I overheard my friend Anna say that she’d like to plant some Lemon Verbena. Lucky for her, I have tons. Her only job was to provide me a list of its uses. I am going to try it as a tea.
I gave my friend Deauna a bunch of oregano that came back from last year. She is a great cook, so I know it’s something she will use. I kept a little for myself. I will try to cook something with it…but no promises as to how it will come out. The good thing is that I have plenty to use in my culinary experiments.
My herbs are planted in a wagon wheel-six herb plants fit perfectly!
And, I think this trip was the beginning of our family tradition of spending hours on the road coming up with new verses to the ever popular “Diarrhea” song. Once that got old, we could always count on dad to blast his favorite Platters album and sing at the top of his lungs. Yes, I know all the words to “The Great Pretender” and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.” In later years, I started singing the harmony just to change it up a bit.
