Don't Waste a Drop

   

  My father was a frugal man. He grew up poor in Idaho, and they made every penny count. Growing up we found recycled objects and fixed them. Sometimes to sell, some times to use ourselves. When he found a good deal he jumped on it. So when one of his sisters called him to let him know where he could get apple juice he got in the truck and picked up a dozen boxes.
  They were large boxes, at least a gallon, inside a box with a tap sticking out the bottom. I remember it wasn’t very sweet, and had a great amount of pulp. But good old dad told us, “Don’t waste a drop.”
So for weeks I came home from school and took a glass of juice and went off to watch the Flintstones.

   
  I was told juice was better for me than pop. Some weeks into it this new juice campaign I was started to agree. I even started to bottle to take to school for lunch.
  One day I came home and the juice was gone. I went in to the Washroom, (Pronounced “WORSHroom” in my family but that is another story.) The juice was gone; all the boxes had disappeared from the shelves.
I went to my dad and asked who had stolen the juice. He explained that his sister had called to tell us that the juice had started to ferment in the boxes and it contained alcohol.
  I asked again,” Where is the juice, right now?” I almost ran for the garbage can at that point.
  It had turned out the company knew that the juice was going bad and that is why they had gotten rid of it. This meant they had thrown it away and expected it to be left there. That didn’t stop my family.
  It also explained the headaches in the morning and my new found love of the Flintstones. Dad went down and bought some apply juice from the store but it would never be the same. So if you ever see me drink my apple juice down really fast. You will know why. “I was a teenage Wine-o.”

HEY, Mister Bondo man, Bondo me Volkswagen.

  When I was nineteen I lived in Seattle had a job and attended Shoreline community college. I drove a ford Mustang 2 that had been a hand-me-down from two brothers, who had both wreaked it at least once. I had paid to have the body work done but I didn't feel like it was mine. In fact, it belonged to my dad. I decided I needed a car. My employer offered a VW bug that he no longer needed.
  It was blue and had a Baja package. The tires were street legal, 60 series. It had the look of an off road beast but the heart of a low rider. The gas filler hole had been filled with bondo and painted over. This made for an interesting first fill. I walked around the car twice before opening the hood and discovering the filler tube.
  That was the first time I over filled the gas tank and the bug smelled a gas station for a week. That hadn't been the only mistake that had been that week. My dad and I picked the car up and had to put the motor in and the engine cage back on. The engine worked fine but when we picked up the cage we couldn't figure how it bolted to the firewall. I finally figure out how it fitted and we built brackets to make it work. Turned out it was up side down and I didn't find that out for 7 years. By that time I liked it the way it look and never thought twice about changing it.
  I once took the car to Reno, about 1300 miles round trip. We had decided to go at night because the car had no Air conditioning. We needed to carry extra few gallons of fuel. The car got great gas mileage but I knew there would be a point that the service stations would be closed and the range of the car wasn’t there to make it all the way. In the middle of the night the gas gage started to do its death dance. Bounce up and down to let the driver know that they were about to start walking when I stopped and put 2 or three gallons of fuel in. I can remember that night, we were in the east side near the southern boarder of Oregon and the stars were amazing. The Milky Way lit the sky like lightning.
  I drove the car for years until one father’s day I went out with some fiends to do a little rock crawling. I had put some heavy duty air shocks on the front that gave me awesome clearance in the front. But on the way back I looked down to get a tape off the floor and was blow off the road by the wind. I was going about 60 mph a long the bottom of a large ditch, the breaks failed and just a I grabbed for the E brake hit a culvert that worked as a ramp launching us high into the air and into a row of mail boxes that were made out of railroad ties.
  I would have liked to think if the mail boxes wouldn’t have been there I would have made the jump and landed safely on the other side.
  On a side note my friend Steve made up a song about the experience sang to the melody of “Day Oh“. It went. “Hey mister Bondo man, Bondo me Volkswagen, mail box come and we can’t go home. Mail boxes came and WE can go home.” That last part was for the back up singers. Oh it was well thought out.
  I ended up in the hospital for the day and my dad drove up to visit and retrieve my car from the ditch. It was totaled. The front end a total loss, every fender ripped off and the windshield shattered and the window column crushed.
  I decided that I wanted to spend as much as I could fixing, what I had done to my little car. I spent a year of Fridays working on that car. Back then I lived in Yakima, and the car was at my parent’s house in Sunnyside. Understand I had three jobs and it was hard to get Friday’s off. But I got most of them off to spend time with that car and my father.
  Looking back that was a great year. I got to spend a lot of time with my parents. It was one of my dad’s last good years soon his battle with cancer and failing body would slow him down. Some Fridays, he would come over and help me work on the car. Some days I would work on one of his projects. I loved that time. We ended up painting it white and it was shiny.
  The car went with me to Ellensburg with a new paint job. I deliver pizza in it for a few years and drove it in several parades. The company had given me nice decals to place on the doors and it looked sharp.
I drove it less once I bought my convertible because it was in fact a convertible. But one story of that era comes to mind. Jan and I were going on vacation and we were loading my convertible when she noticed that the tabs were due by about a month. So the trip was off. You can't buy a set of tabs to save a life in Ellensburg on a Saturday.
  As I thought about what to do I looked over at that little white bug of mine. It hadn't been on a trip like that for a long time. I had it down in Reno, but that was a long time ago and really wondered about driving into Seattle. An hour later we were on the freeway going 70 miles an hour with the rest of the traffic.
That was the last big trip I took with that car. I drove it less and less until it broke down. When I started to fix it my dad past away and I never had the heart to fix it without him.
  A few weeks ago I sold that car to someone that is going to rebuilt it once again. Part of me hated to see that car go. Part of me couldn't wait to be separated from it, but most of me just still misses my dad.
  If you want some advice Britney have your dad help you with that little car. He still has it in him and you may just build a connection you never thought you would have.

Step Up or Sit Down and Run

  
  Back in 1996 life was different at least for me. I was younger and had a jet ski and went out and partied and I had a jet ski. People thought I was cool or at least in my head I was cool.
  One of the best days from that era for me was a trip I took to Ocean shores, Washington. There were a few people on there trip, some are gone; some are people I don't talk with much anymore. But that really isn’t the point of this post.
  My brother and I both had jet skis. We had decided lakes and rivers were getting a little boring. So we made for the open waters of Ocean Shore. We dropped them into the Grays harbor and made the long run around the spit to the ocean side. Halfway around the spit we noticed that boats and a small ferry were circling around in like a cheap 60's western.
  Keeping in mind we had no clue what we were getting into we moved closer. Not entering into the circle just kind of watching from the side line or so we thought. Before long we saw the people looking back at us pointing. It turns out they weren't pointing at us exactly, they were pointing at the pod of whales swimming near our little boat.
  We had turned our skis off to watch the action turned out to be right in the middle of it. They swam by about twenty feet breaching just out of the water. We could smell there breath. It wasn’t nice. We really didn't understand the danger until one of the grey whales breached between us, just feet from my portside. The whale was very long. I can remember how its skin look cracked and slimmy. I can remember his eye looking right back at me. I remember that moment was the first time I could say that I ever saw a whale and was the first time I remember ever loving whales.
  In a blink of an eye they dropped below the surface and we were off traveling in the opposite direction at about as fast as humanly possible. I wish that had been the most dangerous thing we had done that day, but in wasn't. We had a plan to meet our friends and family around the spit as I mentioned before. We went by the beach and no family. It had turned out that they had waited for us and when we had not showed up went looking for us. Being delayed by the whales had its consequences.
  We headed around into the open ocean and the breakers as we found out in short order. I watched my brother go from twenty feet below to twenty feet above me. He said something about leaving back to the nice beach we had just been by. Honestly I didn't stick around to find out what his exact wording had been. I sat down and took off on a dead run. He caught up before long and away we went. The family was there sitting waiting for us, a little mad at our delay. I was just grateful not to have died twice.
  We played in the 6 foot waves, enjoyed the sunny day, lunch was great and the sun got low in the sky as the afternoon got away from us.

  
  Taking the skis around the spit and back to the little harbor in Ocean Shores we were stopped by the fact the tide had dropped by eight feet and three feet below the edge of the boat ramp. It stopped us in our tracks.
  It was Sunday and everyone needed to head home back to Yakima, a six hour drive. Lee stepped up and said he would stay the night and wait for the tide and we left for home.
  I guess there are several morals to this story. Know your environment, stick to the plan, and stay out of places you don't belong. Like the breakers. Oh and have a brother willing to step up and cover your ass.

A Case of Mistaken Identity.

   
  We all want to feel important and have felt important at one time or another, from your child looking up at you asking your advice, to the spouse taking your hand and your lead.
  One Saturday, a couple of weeks ago, we had gotten up early to watch hot air Balloons in Prosser. Back home I worked in the yard, for a while before Jan came out and asked that we go to the Central Washington State fair. She didn’t know that I kind of wanted to go to the fair. I only asked that we had a plan.
  We made it up there in good time, parked in the main parking lot, and headed to the gate. Halfway to the gate for the parking spot, I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone. Since the cell phone replaced the walkie-talkie long ago, we couldn’t go on without it. She decided to go back.
  Darrel in hand, I continued to the gate and she being of better health went jogging back to the car. A few minutes later I was at the end of the row and could see, Jan running to catch the Tracker and trailer, Transport offered by the fair grounds people.
  I stood there watching the tracker creep along in direct sun light when a car stopped in front of me and asked out the opened window. “So where do you want me to park.”
  I thought about telling him to ask someone else that gave a crap where he parked, but settled on, “There are open spotted down this way.” I watched as he turned and disappeared up the roll in search of parking.
  The very next car looked over and questioned with their hands. I once again motioned up the roll. Turning around I looked for the spouse and back, only to find another car waiting for my instruction. “Oh, come on.” I remembered thinking.
  From a behind I heard someone talking and turned. It was two people walking towards, Darrel and I. They wore bright orange shirts, obviously parking attendants. The older man was asking the younger man to go up the roll and count the spots. I re-laid the info I knew about the two rows I had been up and looked over and once again someone was waiting to know where to park.
  The parking guy looked over me and laughed, just before he said,” I bet you wished you had worn something different. I looked down and there was the answer, a bright Orange shirt. The only thing I could think of was that I was glad I didn’t tell the first guy off. Darrel thought was awesome (Darrel’s catch phrase) that everyone asked me to help them park. For a little while I guess I felt a little more important, even if it was just a case of mistaken identity.

Small world or a Train ride into the past.

    I made a commitment to myself not to give an hourly update, on this blog. Not to be that guy.
That aside I thought I would relay this story. In the last, few weeks I have been feeling nostalgic. Thinking of people in my past. Remembering stories that I should have forgotten. Going through old photos I found one of Jan (wife), Darrel (son). Ben (friend) and his daughter. It was taken in Toppenish at the train museum. I had rushed into the little caboose and took the best seats only to give them up to my Family. I had been on this ride before. It was a short ride, but I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. Darrel, has a train addiction, and so do I.
    They jumped up the ladder, and settled in. I took the picture and sat down in the rear of the car.
    That would have been the end of the story. Except….
    When I sat down I made the acquaintance of a man, volunteering as a brake man on the train. I hope that was his title. Anyways, I watched him perform his jobs. Making sure we didn’t kill anyone as we navigated across a street in Toppenish.
    We spoke about trains, and our history around the railroad. I mentioned my grand father, who had work most of his life on the rails.
    We hit it off. We were a lot a like. He was a bit taller , but built the same.
    When the ride ended, I offered my hand in friendship. He shook my and told me his name, Greg Bliss.
    I stood there to what could only been described as Slack jawed. My heart rate increased, my face went flush and I thought I would pass out.
    He was observant of my condition and asked what was wrong.
I first refused to tell him. I am not really sure why. He was larger as I mentioned before. He stood there holding his ground, waiting for my answer. He smiled and said. “This isn’t because of my mother.”
    “Well, kind of. Is she Jerry Bliss?”
    “She was,” he answered.
    “Well, I was Married to her once.” I exclaimed.
    He laughed, “Well, she had never told me about you.”
    I could tell he wasn’t convinced. I did my best to remember everything I could about her. I told him we meant her camping, on the O’Sullivan damn Reservoir.
    He agreed his family liked to camp there.
    I told him we had a on again, off again relationship that lasted 8 years before we ran off to Reno to get hitched. We weren’t together very long and divorced a few months later. Which time I never really knew what had happen to her or my step son, Gregory.
    He smiled. He said that he needed to talk to his grand mother about all of what I had said.
    I thought that it would be a good idea, I remember her as been someone that was fair and honest. I also had knew that she had raised him most of his life at least until he was 4 years old.
    I introduced him to My wife, Jan. and Darrel my boy.
    Took a picture and then said our goodbyes.
    A few days later, he called and his grandmother had confirmed the history that I had shared with him.
    For a few months we kept in touch, but slowly drifted apart.
    I think of my past and remember the ex-wife. I know now that I had been to young to get married. But I do remember thinking it over and having more than a few conversations with God about take a wife that already had a child. I excepted him as my own and he took to my very quickly.
    When we separated, I missed him the most. I still have friends that can remember what I went through back in college and contested to the night spent wallowing in my depression.
    There were days I wanted it to go back to the way it was, but statements were made and life’s had been changed forever.
    Thanks, Greg for being my Friend on Facebook. If you will allow me, I will try to be a better friend and a better man.

Darrel's first cub scout meeting.

  
  Last night I was tasked to take Darrel to his first cub scout meeting. When we left for the meeting he struggled with the idea. He was upset about going, more nervous than anything else. We left a few minutes before the meeting and stopped just outside the church, where the meeting was being held. He looked up and realized that it was where he went to Pre-school. He related all good things with this place. He started to get excited about cub then.
  It was held in the cafeteria, and like all church cafeterias it is mostly white, well lit, and has a screened counter hiding the kitchen somewhere in the back.
  I only mention this because 20 minutes waiting for the meeting to start was like a year in kid years. He moved around in his chair and spoke up every few minutes asking. "When are they going to start?” he moaned.
  I really didn't know what to say, I was bored, too. I have learned over the years not to let him know that.
The meeting started, he learned about the pledge, he watched them carry the flags around. I watched him, he really seem disinterested in the whole thing.
  I sat there thinking should I sign him up. Finely, I filled out the form and paid the money. I figured if we never went to another meeting we would as least have given the money to a good cause.
  I then learned that I would be the cub leader of my own child. I thought great then I could teach him something. This excited me a little.
  Returning to the table, I watched him, moving around in his seat, he looked bored.
  The meeting was soon over and he received his first token, a Cub Scout base ball cap hat. Picture will follow, he was SO Cute.
  As we left he looked up at me and announced that he thought that the meeting was really cool and he couldn't wait to start.
  I looked down at the little man, and I learning something from him. Even though he looked like he wasn't paying attention, he was and I can't wait to work with him on something beside video games.