Cranks My Tractor

When you just don't know what to say

When you get a message that says, “Can you call me,” you stop and ask yourself, “I wonder what’s up?” Then again, you get those and you think the worst. Someone is very sick or someone has passed away. I got one of those this week and I just didn’t know what to say.

After I got the bad news, I simply sat and thought, and then I cried. Not about getting sick or how my buddy died, but I thought about that little boy back in the late 60’s. He looked a little funny because his head was kind of bigger than the other boys. He was also much larger than the other boys in the first grade.

Searching for Truman Waters

We often look for excuses to do things we want to do, rather than doing things we need to do. Well, I am speaking for myself. Maybe you don’t do this. The other day I was faced with a situation where I needed to get some things out of a warehouse, but the warehouse folks were not in and I had forgotten my code to get through the gate. I made a call and left a message that I needed some help getting into the facility.

In the meantime, I decided I would “search for Truman Waters.” It had been many years since I had seen him, at least 35 years. My brother told me if I could find a certain church, I could find his house, because Truman Waters lived right across the road. I found the address and put it into my phone. I would need to do this if I were going three or four blocks in my own neighborhood, it’s just one of those things that I have to do.

My mapping gizmo said that it would take about 30 minutes to get to the church I was looking for somewhere in or around rural Randolph or Cleburne County. Honestly, I couldn’t figure out which county I was in – it didn’t matter. I wanted to see if I could find Truman Waters.

Dear Aunt Ruby

My Aunt Ruby passed away over two years ago at the age of 80. She was sweet and kind and always had wonderful things to say to lift you up. She was thankful for the smallest things in life and saw the toughest roads as happy journeys she was meant to be traveling.

While she was still living, I wrote stories about her noting how much she enjoyed her yellow swing on her front porch. She described the weather with the words of an artful Southern writer who wanted to put you in the swing with her. For these reasons and because she always wanted us to be thankful for everything, I put a little place on the internet just for her.

Criminals All Around

I’m starting to feel overlooked and not very special. It seems there have been a rash of criminals in my neighborhood lately. The last time I was “warned,” I had left a congratulatory sign for my daughter’s high school graduation in the yard too long. That was three years ago and I think I had left the sign in the yard for almost a week.

My homeowners’ association and neighborhood police force seem to be back on the job and hot after those who are not obeying the rules. I honestly understand having rules and don’t get too bent out of shape when they point out the big things. However, sometimes it seems that it comes in spurts and can be a bit ridiculous.

The way I figure it, one person gets mad at another and reports them. Then the violator, in an attempt to either justify their infringement or to get back at who they think reported them, starts pointing fingers. Then the cloud grows wider and wider, moving from street to street and folks start trolling the neighborhood for infractions in able to ask, “What about this house?”

Chik-chik-cha-chik

It’s difficult to describe, but it’s so distinctive. When you hear the “chik-chik-cha-chik,” followed by the “ding,” and the dragging “ziiiiiiiiip.” If you’ve heard an old typewriter, you don’t forget the sound. It is somewhat difficult to describe, but it’s one of those things that you can identify pretty easily.

Growing up and having a father in the newspaper business, I knew about typewriters and I knew what a room full of typewriters being used sounded like in Alabama’s largest home owned daily newspaper. The smell of ink still kind of gets to me, having worked there myself through high school, college and graduate school.

My first publishing experience was in the fourth grade. Having transferred back into the public school with many of my friends and my Mama being a schoolteacher, made the transition rather easy.

Janitor or Custodian?

Have you ever considered the difference between the two? I’m not sure what the real difference is, but it seems that I’m not the only one who gets mixed up. Traditionally, a janitor is entrusted with cleaning jobs, whereas a custodian is a person in charge of looking after a property or a child.

The confusion comes in because many janitors are seen performing other roles traditionally considered fit for a custodian. It seems a custodian is there on the premises of the property they are entrusted to maintain, whereas a janitor performs their duties in the morning or evenings. In the comparison, you can bring in the toilets, floors, security and changing of the light bulbs.

Still, very confusing…

People just don't do that anymore

Although I truly enjoy cooking, I also enjoy going to the Thai restaurant less than five minutes from my house. It’s my “Cheers,” you know the sitcom about the bar that ran on NBC from the early 80’s to the early 90’s. I don’t remember it being “political,” like so many television shows are now.

Cheers was good comedy and the reason that my Thai restaurant is my “Cheers” is not because I go there and drink, but because when I go in everyone knows my name. It is nice to be smiled at and spoken to and your humor laughed at. I’m sure my 12th grade English teacher would be cringing if she saw that last sentence.

Sometimes I do think that they don’t necessarily understand everything that I say. They speak and understand English very well, but they are not necessarily used to hearing it spoken with an Alabama brogue. So they smile and laugh a lot. I like that, as well as the food.

Mabel and Her Tomato

One of my favorite things to do is to sit or stand at the antique mall and go through all the postcards. I’m sure they were bought by the pound or bundle at an estate sale or yard sale for pennies a piece and brought to the antique mall where they can sell two or three and get their money back. The best I can tell, I’m one of the only ones who sit and go through them.

They go back to the early 1900s and have beautiful pictures from places I’ll probably never get to see. I like to think of them as “Poor Man’s Art.” Usually, I’m only interested in those that have not been used. Yes, there are a lot that have been written on, with penny stamps and more. I suppose some people would buy them for the stamps if they collected such things.

On this particular day, I was finding a nice handful of linen postcards from the 40’s and 50’s with some really cool things on them. I use them. I don’t frame them. I don’t store them. I put a stamp on them and send them to my children.

Somewhere around Turkey Heaven

About every week or so, I get a call from somewhere in rural Cleburne County, Alabama. I’m not sure what the place is called. It has to be somewhere around Turkey Heaven, Trickem, Lecta or possibly Edwardsville. I’ve been there and I could probably get there again, but I just don’t know the name of the place.

Since my Daddy passed away over 15 years ago, one of his good friends calls to check on me on a pretty regular basis. It means a lot to me and I know that this friend of his understands that it does. We talk about his kids, my kids, his grandkids and life in general.

He is about as country as country can get. Through the years, he has aged, but his sense of humor and outlook on life have not. A tall fellow who would probably remind you a little of country comedian Jerry Clower when he talks and maybe Reverend Billy Graham when he spreads his wisdom. He might throw in a few words and phrases that might sound a little irreverent, but I know he would never mean anything in that way.

She looked up...

One of my favorite hobbies is people watching. Whether it be at the airport, the water park or the Walmart, it’s just something that I enjoy doing. It helps me to understand and appreciate how different we all are and the various stages of life that people are experiencing. Whether it be trying to corral small children, looking for that perfect plastic thing you can’t live without or trying to fit into last year’s bathing suit.

My love of people watching and appreciation carries over to church, where I get to work the left door four months out of the year. In my part-time position, I get to talk to people, listen to people and watch their reaction when I say something a little off the wall. Not to frighten anyone off, I only say peculiar things to people I know, who understand that I am just trying to get a smile.

This past Sunday was not one of my working Sundays, so this means that I will sit far enough back to see the folks who I know sit in my section. I am also always trying to convince myself that there just seems to be more folks on my side of the church during the months that I am the “Keeper of the Left Door.” It’s not true, I know it is not, but I still like to think it and brag about it to my fellow doorkeepers.