My granduncle was the oldest man I had ever seen. His name was Father William Cashman, and I guessed his age at 500 or 600 years, but that was just a guess. He may have been older.
You might have seen the news story last week: A couple of guys from Georgia told people that they had a found the body of a dead Bigfoot – and they were going to show it at a press conference, proving once and for all that such a creature really existed.
A friend of mine was driving past a cemetery with his 4-year-old daughter one day and noticed her looking closely at it. “Do you know what that place is?” the dad asked. “Oh sure,” she answered casually. “That’s where the dead guys live.”
The phone call came in during the early morning hours. “Cashman, it’s me,” said the voice on the other end. “I’ve got to cancel our lunch today.” It was my old friend D.W. Clark, whose name – for the purposes of maintaining his anonymity here – I will change to D.W. Flark.
I’m planning to write one of those self-help, motivational books one of these days. That is, if I can get up for it. I almost got around to it yesterday, but I got invited to a chili feed at the last moment.
Can you spot the sentence that is not contained within our nation’s Declaration of Independence?
• “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal.”
• “We mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred honor.”
• “Can I get some more mustard on this wiener?”
Among the sights I have yet to see is that of a protester marching in front of the corporate headquarters of Raid, carrying a placard that says, “End the killing of spiders, fleas, houseflies, chiggers, mealworms and cockroaches!”
As far as I know, there is no PETA-like group that speaks out in defense of stinkbugs, snout beetles and termites.
It’s not only insects that receive a lack of support. Everybody loves a baby bunny; fewer love baby nematodes.
Ugly creatures don’t have a lobby.
So it’s no surprise that plenty of folks in Texas – especially ranchers – have little regard for buzzards.
Fathers Day is coming up this week, and so is my dad’s 85th birthday. I sure wish he were going to be here to celebrate both occasions, but he’s been gone for 20 years.
Digging through a bunch of old photos of him the other day, I came across one from Fathers Day 1964. I was startled. It was a photo of our entire family – me, my four brothers and mom dutifully facing the camera, posing the way conventional people do. Except for dad. He is facing backwards. Why was he facing backwards? Simply because it looked funny, I guess. Or maybe he was showing off a new haircut. There was no other reason.
My wife and I are currently trying to sell her parents’ home – who have quite happily moved out to enjoy the greater ease of assisted living. With their house now empty, we met with a real estate agent the other day to get things started.
His race for Dufur public office was not going well. The voters in Dufur (DOO-fur), a small town in Oregon, were leaning to his opponent in overwhelming numbers – or at least as overwhelming as a town of 500 can muster.