Does It Pay To Think Big?

Can a blog become a book? Better yet, is it worth the investment of one’s time to write a blog? Is a picture worth a thousand words? Brandon Stanton, a photographer in New York would probably say “Yes” to all three questions. I learned of his story by simply watching the news yesterday.

Stanton started his blog in November 2010. Initially it was his goal to garner 10,000 followers. Perhaps that falls under the category of “Think Big”! Can you imagine having 10,000 followers on Facebook?

Initially, when I signed up for Facebook, my immediate challenge was to find 6 friends.   I didn’t anticipate that I would be crossing over to the “sweet by and by” anytime soon, but it always helps to be prepared. Anyway you cut it, I’m not a spring chicken. By the way, Spring Chicken – Stay Young Forever or Die Trying really is the title of a best selling book that reportedly is both helpful and funny. On the outside chance that you didn’t read between the lines, let me explain. Most funerals need at least 6 pallbearers unless of course, the departed has been condensed to the contents of an urn.  Either way, it probably won’t be my call.  The General will get the last word on that one.

At any rate, Brandon Stanton, former (out of work) bond trader turned photographer, started taking candid portraits on the streets of New York. He subsequently posted his pictures and they became overnight hits on his Facebook page. Can it be that a picture really is better than a thousand words? Reportedly, folks in the know pertaining to social media, say that no one (obviously that includes my wife) wants to read a thousand words.

Maybe Stanton was on to something.  In the process of posting pictures, Stanton added a brief caption about his subject. A few written details coupled with the snapshot garnered immediate results. The number of his followers increased dramatically.

Perhaps the only error Brandon Stanton made in his thinking related to his potential. When he hoped for 10,000 followers on Facebook, he obviously was selling himself short. Today, Humans Of New York has 14.6 million followers on Facebook and 3.7 million followers on Instagram. In December 2013, Brandon Stanton was named one of Time Magazine’s 30 Under 30 People Changing The World.

Wow! Nothing excites me more than success stories of folks who both dare to dream and then close the gap by following their dreams. My only knowledge of Brandon Stanton is the snippet of information shared on the 6:00 news, but at face value Brandon Stanton’s story is one worth duplicating. By the way, his book “Humans Of New York” is reportedly “a collection of 400 of his best portraits, telling small stories that are outsized in their humor, candor, and humanity.”

Stanton’s story has lured me in like a Red Grouper in search of fish food. I am captivated by stories of people. Everyone has a story. Sometimes all you have to do is ask a question and folks enrich your life by sharing a portion of their own.

Yesterday, while enjoying a leisurely day of boating, I asked the owner of the boat, who coincidentally is a very successful architect, about his life. Mine was a simply question, “So, did you know when you were in the first grade that you wanted to be an architect?” He laughed and said, “Absolutely not! Nothing could have been farther from my mind”. He went on to say that it had been his intent to become a dentist?

Are you kidding me? Wouldn’t creating house designs have to be a lot more satisfying than pulling teeth? Was this guy sadistic or what? (My apologies to the dentists that I know – Yours is a critically important health care service) Obviously not! He has an amazing sense of humor and his whole demeanor adds an extra level to the term gregarious.

The architect went on to say, “My family was in the building business. All of my life I was told by my dad, “You’re not going to do this. You’re going to do something else.” Fortunately, while he was in college, he did an internship at a hospital. In the process, he made the discovery that whenever the sight of blood was involved, he wanted no part of that scenario. He subsequently talked with a cousin who was in graduate school related to architecture. He looked at his cousin’s schoolwork and said, “I can do that”! Innate ability? You got it.

Don’t we all come pre-wired with a skill set or area of interest that motivates us to invest our time and energies in perfecting the gifts that we have been given? The problem is, most of us opt to want to color outside the lines on that one and it seldom works. We look at the big ticket occupations that either produce income or the “perception of importance” and we want a job that “makes us somebody.” That is always a mistake. We were already created a somebody with built-in potential. All we have to do is lock into what we’ve been given and invest the effort to perfect the skill.

As you already know, my stories are pretty simple. Unfortunately, they are also too long to captivate most people’s interest. I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking, “Your delusional.  Staying engaged in one of your stories is worse than having a tooth pulled. And by the way, we reached that conclusion by the end of the first paragraph”.  Okay, so it’s a pipe dream.   But the dream occasionally gets a boost when someone opts to share one of my postings.

Whether it’s out of a sense of duty, expectation, or kindness, my son regularly shares my posts. He periodically tells me, “A friend I didn’t know was reading my Facebook selected ‘like’ on one your post.

Several months ago, someone sharing a posting I’d written, made the notation, “I don’t know who this guy is, but he is hilarious.” It was music to my ears! “Yes”, “Yes”, Yes”, I heard myself saying. You may not have noticed, but I have purposefully attempted to mostly steer clear of politics and religion as subject matters in my blogs. Those two issues divide people rather than unite people. Laughter on the other hand is universal. It brings folks together on a level playing field where everyone is a winner.

Who knows, someday my blog may emerge into book form. If so, I’ve got a title in mind: “This Laugh Is On Me”.  If you think it has promise, let me know.  If you think not, let me know that too.  Just remember “No” is a complete sentence. If that’s all you say, it will soften the blow.

All My Best!

Don

Somewhere In Time

Sometimes all it takes to learn the details of another’s story is to ask a simple question. The pianist was playing and singing a selection of easy listening music. I was not familiar with the last song in the repertoire of selected music. The melody seemed particularly soothing. Consequently, I commented, “I really liked that last song. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. The pianist responded, “The song is entitled, ‘And I Love You So’.” Without pausing for a response, she added, “I really like the song too. I played and sang it at my grandmother’s wedding.”

I probably asked too many questions, but the concept of attending a grandparent’s wedding intrigued me. I had absolutely no frame of reference. I remember attending 50^th Wedding Anniversary celebrations for both sets of my grandparents. Following the dissolution of their marriages by death, neither surviving grandparent ever remotely considered getting married again. Both were content with treasuring the memories and investing their lives in those of their children and grandchildren. To my knowledge, the thought of starting over wasn’t even remotely considered.

The pianist went on to share with me her grandmother’s story. Actually, I probably peppered her with questions. I didn’t mean to pry, but one piece of information lead to another question and so on until the bits and pieces of her grandmother’s life were recounted like an open book. She sounded like someone I would have enjoyed knowing.

I’m sure she valued and appreciated her granddaughter’s gift of adding a song that was for all practical purposes written exclusively for someone whose life circumstances mirrored her own.

“And I Love You So”

And I love you so,

The people ask me how,

How I’ve lived till now

I tell them “I don’t know”

I guess they understand

How lonely life has been

But life began again

The day you took my hand

And yes I know how lonely life can be

The shadows follow me

And the night won’t set me free

But I don’t let the evening bring me down

Now that you’re around me

And you love me too

Your thoughts are just for me

You set my spirit free

I’m happy that you do

The book of life is brief

And once a page is read

All but love is dead

This is my belief

And yes I know how loveless life can be

The shadows follow me

And the night won’t set me free

But I don’t let the evening get me down

Now that you’re around me

And I love you so

The people ask me how,

How I’ve lived till now

I tell them “I don’t know”

The song written by Don McLean wasn’t composed with the grandmother in mind, but the lyrics couldn’t have held a truer reflection of her grandmother’s circumstances. She knew first hand how “loveless life can be”. Life for her had often been filled with heartache and disappointment. Her cup had been filled with misery.

Her first marriage barely held together until her three children were grown. In fact, the second daughter had graduated from high school before she opted out of the marriage with the affirmation, “I can’t do this anymore”. Sadly, by that time, both parents were physically and relationally debilitated by their dependency on alcohol. As you might suspect, it was a short-term solution where “another round” proved less than satisfying.

The pianist didn’t share the time-line for her grandmother’s second marriage. It obviously was short lived. As is often the case, without treatment or personal resolve to do life differently, the marriage bed was one of perpetual drunkenness and hangovers. It was not a pretty picture. It, too, was simply a second verse of how “loveless life can be.”

Perhaps, the third time is the charm. At some point, the grandmother married a third time. The third husband was a prominent attorney in a moderately sized town and the two of them worked together to quell the demons of alcohol dependency. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, hope and resolve to do life differently permanently impacted her life. She credited God with the strength and ability to negotiate life differently. Respectability and contentment proved to be the lasting qualities. As an accomplished artist, she often did chalk talks for others as a testimony to God’s grace and the resourcefulness and sobriety He provided.

Unlike the previous two earlier marriages, the grandmother’s third marriage ended in the untimely death of her husband. They were married for twenty-something years and together they shared contentment and quality of life.

Several years after the death of her husband, the grandmother traveled to Michigan to visit a family member. While in Michigan, she and the family member visited Mackinac Island, a quaint picturesque resort town featuring at least five art galleries and a host of other attractions. The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island has been the setting for two feature films: This Time For Keeps in 1946 and Somewhere In Time in 1979.

In uncharacteristic fashion, the grandmother asked to go into a tavern. She wanted to listen to music. Was it love at first sight? Who knows, but the fiddle player in the group sent a couple of notes to the grandmother written on paper napkins. The two of them subsequently carved out the time to visit and hit it off.

Theirs proved to be a long distance courtship. After exchanging letters and sharing telephone calls together over a period of several months, the grandmother opted to accept the fiddle player’s hand in marriage. He traveled to Texas for the ceremony. Because of commitments to continue with music lessons to several folks on Mackinac Island for at least six months, the new bride accompanied him back to his home.

Horrified may be too strong of a word to describe her response to his living conditions, but the unkempt lawn, dirty dishes in the sink and the unorganized/cluttered nature of the house jolted her from what proved to be obviously a temporary infatuation. She went immediately back to Texas and filed for an annulment; opting instead to live with the treasured memories of a life shared with her third husband. The words to “And I Love You So” represented that relationship, not the all too brief relationship with husband number four.

You can learn a lot about others from just asking a few simple questions. Everyone has a story. No one’s story is a picture of perfection. Broken is the only way we come. Fortunately, with God’s grace we aren’t relegated to stay that way. Somewhere in time and love that lasts a life time is found in Him.

All My Best!

Don

Are We Really Moving To Florida!

Have you ever felt like a fish out of water? I say this tongue-in-cheek, but “How did I end up in Florida with a houseful of people with whom I have little in common?” For starters, that question suggestively is an exaggeration and probably (okay, strike the “probably) falls outside the realm of being totally accurate. It is; however, 100% accurate to suggest that the General is the primary common denominator that we share.

The folks with whom I’m sharing the week include her sister and brother-in-law and her brother and sister-in-law. Nice people, all amazingly nice people, but that’s the extent of information I dare risk sharing on my blog. Even at that, I’m taking the risk that it might potentially be interrupted as a violation of the written agreement I signed related to, “What happens in Florida, stays in Florida.”

Perhaps my logic is sound. They were nice people before I got to Florida, so to emphasis that characteristic positive trait doesn’t seem like a potential violation of our shared agreement that I wouldn’t blog about our week together. They were nice before I got here and they’ll be nice after I’m gone. Consequently, it is without guilt that I share that much information.

I was also copied on a multiple text messages prior to the trip asking what sorts of things we’d like to do while we are in Florida. There was also the caveat that we didn’t all have to do the same things. After all, this was a vacation. Make it fun. Make it enjoyable. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. However, the flips side is, “We can’t read your mind. If there is something you want to do, please speak up.”

I was shocked to read one of the General’s suggestions. “Why don’t we all go for a pedicure? Don went for one on his birthday and he really liked it.” Are you kidding me? I’m not going to Florida to get a pedicure. On the other hand, it was a true statement. I had my first pedicure at the age of 68. I resolved it would become a monthly priority. However, some of my priorities don’t always stay at the top of my agenda. That certainly was the case of getting a pedicure.

I’ve noticed that some wives sit at their husband’s feet and hang on to every word they utter. That doesn’t routinely happen at my house. Actually, that’s never happened at my house. The General makes it clear that time is of the essence. She seldom reads all of my daily blogs. In fact, anytime she sees quotation marks around anything included in one of my blogs, she skips over the content. Please don’t read that to suggest she hangs on to (or even reads) every word that is original with me. She isn’t hooked on my daily musings. She’d prefer that I invest my time elsewhere.

No, the General doesn’t sit at my feet. Consequently, the day will come in a couple of decades that I’ll need the kind of assistance that comes with a pedicure. I might as well get use to the idea and periodically experience one now. Sure, I was in for the pedicure.

I also opted to say, “yes” to deep-sea fishing and a major league baseball game. I had no idea that I could be so flexible. I have never been a fisherman and I’ve hated baseball since the third grade. If it is true, you learn what you live, growing up in West Texas didn’t offer many opportunities to get hooked (pardon the pun) on fishing. My dad didn’t fish. I didn’t fish. My son opted to color outside the lines and he fishes. I guess you could say, he altered the generational mindset. His kids also fish.

Several times while Craig was stationed at Camp Pendleton, he insisted that we go out with him in his boat. He always caught fish. We would love the experience. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m a bad influence. Craig didn’t catch anything whenever we went fishing with him and neither did we. Fish? Never would I gravitate that direction. BORING doesn’t even begin to describe the experience (or at least my experience) when it comes to fishing.

Never let it be said that I can’t be a good sport. I opted to be included in the fishing excursion. Did I mention that Treva and I were on the same team? She is very competitive and she likes to win. I prefer to think that anything I do is recreational. I don’t have to win to enjoy it. However, the General and I were in trouble. Not only were we on the same team, we were the only two on our team. We were in deep water (I mean trouble). Neither of us know anything about fishing and obviously our stringer would be empty.

At some point, I looked to my left and people were catching fish. I looked to my right and people were catching fish. Actually, even the General had the story of “the one that got away”. In addition, she subsequently caught three fish. She was elated. It wasn’t a big deal, but I was obviously the odd man out. True to form, I hadn’t caught anything, but I was having a good time. It was nice to be on the water and the weather was overcast and pleasant. Would I do it again? You bet! It was nice to have variety to my routine.

In addition, once we got off the boat we were planning to eat a very late lunch at a restaurant on the pier. One of their specialties was preparing the fish you caught according to your liking. Like I dared to share earlier, the people with whom I’m sharing the week are nice people. They, including the General, had caught a lot of fish. There was plenty to share.

Wow! Wow! Wow! Before the fishing trip was over, I was not empty handed. One of the delicacies of the ocean is Red Grouper. Of course, the caveat is that you can’t keep one unless it is at least 20 inches long. I take no credit. It was simply the luck of the draw, but the Red Grouper on my line was a keeper.

Do you have any idea how much fun fishing is when you catch something? Going forward I’m totally in. We’re moving to Florida! Actually, that’s just a joke, but it was exhilarating! In addition, nothing taste better than fresh fish in a restaurant.

All My Best!

Don

Beach Music

I’m under a gag order. I guess it falls under the category of the majority rules. By a vote of 5 to 1, I find myself in uncharted territory. My marching orders for the week include the concept of “What happens in Florida, stays in Florida.” I’m not sure how that happened, but it is my intent to “honor” the commitment I made (somewhat forcibly) to keep “family secrets” family secrets. Oh, the stories I could tell. Add a little embellishment and I might step up a notch (okay, several notches) as a writer.

For many years I have enjoyed the auto-biographical writings of Pat Conroy. After graduation from the Citadel Military Academy in Charleston, South Carolina, Conroy initially taught English in Beaufort. While teaching he met and married a young widow of the Vietnam War with two small children. As a new husband and father, he subsequently accepted a job teaching underprivileged children in a one-room schoolhouse on Daufuskie Island, off of the South Carolina shore. His teaching career was cut short because he refused to use corporal punishment with his students or closely follow the directives of the school’s administration.

I guess you could say that Conroy got in the last word. He chronicled his experience and that of the students he taught in his book entitled The Water Is Wide. The book was published in 1972. He left no stone unturned. He vividly highlighted the racism and denigrating conditions impoverished students on Daufuskie Island endured. The book subsequently won Conroy an award by the National Education Association. It also was adapted for film and released as the movie entitled “Conrack”, starring Jon Voight.

What an incredible life lesson the young author must have learned. Report the facts. Craft them into a story and the public will embrace and relish your work. It makes sense to me. On almost a daily basis, I attempt to chronicle something closely akin to a true-life experience. If nothing else, it serves as a baseline of what not to do if you want to be recognized as a worthy writer. “Literary genius” has not yet been coined to describe anything I’ve written. There are days I’d gladly settle for “good stand up comedy”. That, too, hasn’t happened yet, but perhaps one day! The very hope keeps me cranking out a daily musings.

I suspect that even Conroy subsequently learned that you have to be both careful and discretionary in what you write. Revealing personal secrets may fare well as long as they are your own personal secrets. Revealing character flaws and/or less than ideal circumstances about other family members can take a nasty turn for the worse.

In his book, “The Great Santani”, Conroy vividly highlighted the abusive mistreatment his family endured from his father. Not only was the book not “light reading”, it unintentionally served as the catalyst that unraveled his relationships with his entire family. The relational wedge and disruption that resulted from disclosing family secrets served to fracture and result in anger and alienation. Even Conroy’s own marriage didn’t survive the stress. His parents also divorced. The family was in shambles.

At some level you have to wonder if Conroy was a slow learner. Of course, what better way to process conflict and promote healing than to write it down. Maybe there are times that some scripts are for the writer’s eyes only. Conroy’s next book, “The Lord’s of Discipline” was a literary exposé similar to The Water is Wide. It, too, highlighted the harsh military treatment, racism and sexism prevalent at the Citadel. I guess you could say Conroy was on a roll. That book was also made into a movie.

His next book was even more popular. Prince of Tides was a novel. It wasn’t written or intended as a family exposé, but portions of the storyline were a “little close to home”. Throughout the book, he unapologetically shared the kind of family secrets that most people try to hide. For starters, in his book he highlighted the mental health needs of a sister and her repeated suicide attempts. Coincidental? Maybe, but some would say the parallel between the story line and his own sister’s experience was a little too close.

Yesterday as I walked, I thought about Pat Conroy. He also wrote a book entitled “Beach Music.” It was the title of that book that came to mind yesterday. All in all, I cranked out eleven miles of walking. The last four were achieved walking barefooted on the beach. There is something about the sound of water lapping against the shore that has a calming effect. Hasn’t it been your experience that there is something physiological about the impact of water? Wallace J. Nichols, a marine biologist and author of “Blue Mind: The Surprising Science That Shows How Being Near, In, On, or Under Water Can Make You Happier, Healthier, More Connected and Better at What You Do” makes the same assertion. He combines neuroscience and the real life stories of “top athletes, leading scientists, military veterans, and gifted artists” to highlight that “proximity to water can improve performance, increase calm, diminish anxiety, and increase professional success”.

Carolyn Gregoire, Huffington Post writer states: “Since ancient times, humans have assigned healing and transformational properties to water. In early Rome, baths were an important part of cultural life, a place where citizens went to find relaxation and to connect with others in a calm setting…Today we still turn to water for a sense of calm and clarity. We spend our vacations on the beach or at the lake; get exercise and enjoyment from water sorts like surfing, scuba diving, sailing, and swimming; refresh ourselves with long showers and soothing baths, and often build our lives and homes around being near the water”.

“Beach music” is a concise summation of my walk on the beach yesterday. It was as though I didn’t have a care in the world. Perhaps I should say, tongue-in-cheek, I didn’t worry about mistakenly sharing too much in my blog. Actually, I didn’t worry about anything. The subtle sound of water lapping along the shore was music; beach music. I can’t think of a more calming effect.

All My Best!

Don

The Reinvention Of The Drive-In Theatre

The title of this month’s issue of “Southwest –The Magazine” located in the seat pocket in front of me on the airplane caught my attention. It was entitled, “The Reinvention of the Drive-In Theatre”. Try as I may, I can’t recall going to a drive-in movie since I was in high school. Well, depending on how you define drive-in movie, that may not be a true statement, but I will elaborate more on that in a moment.

During my childhood years, Mother took us to see children’s movies at an indoor theatre. She was intent that we have those kinds of normal childhood experiences. However, when it came to movies that had a broader interest, as a family we always went to the drive-in movie. In fact, I don’t recall my dad ever going with us to any other kind of theatre. My paternal grandparents lived next door. On many occasions, Granny would go with us to the movies. I don’t recall that my granddad ever did.

Our family frequently went to movies at the Broncho Drive-In located at 27^th Street and the Andrews Hwy in Odessa. There was also a drive-in theatre located on the Southside of Odessa, but I don’t’ remember the name. I also don’t remember the exact location.

I guess from a little kid’s perspective, one of the favorite parts was a trip to the snack bar. I can’t recall if there was an intermission during the movie or if you just went to the snack bar when you had a hankering for something to drink and candy or popcorn.

I remember our family was at a drive-in movie once during a hailstorm. We left and headed home only to find that a couple of our windows at home had been broken out by hail. My dad had the windows repaired the following day.

The magazine article on drive-in theatres brought back a lot of memories. What about you? Have you thought of drive-in theatre’s in years? I also have a faint memory of going to a drive-in movie in Nocona two or three different times. If I’m not mistaken, my aunt helped out in the snack bar. It was through that experience that I was introduced to corndogs and mustard. Sixty years later, I still like that taste.

As a teenager, I most often opted to go to indoor theatres. The sound was better and it was a lot more comfortable venue for watching a movie. Perhaps the biggest advantage was climate control. First let me say that when I was a kid growing up, my parents never had a vehicle with an air conditioner. I guess for that matter, the first new car I purchased didn’t have an air conditioner either. It was a 1967 VW. The following year, the General and I got married. I remember many times when we were going on a trip, we’d buy a bag of crushed ice to eat in an effort to stay cool. When it came to climate control, an in-door theatre was optimum.

Three or four years ago, the General and I were visiting a friend in Quebec City, Canada. It was simply by happenstance, but the city was celebrating a monumental landmark in terms of history and heritage. To honor the occasion, a movie had been made to highlight the history of Quebec City. The movie was shown in an out-door venue. The screen was the side of a series of side-by-side grain elevators that covered an area about the length of a football field.

We actually watched the movie from an elevated portion of the city adjacent to old town. However, there was a large area of seating available for the community on the lower street level in front of the grain elevators. The view and sound was spectacular.

The quality of the picture and the sound seemed an upgrade from what I remembered from the venue of outdoor movie theatres. Do you remember the gray metal speakers that hung on the side of the door window? Wouldn’t you hate for that to be the source of sound for any movie you watched today?

The drive-in’s peak popularity came in the late 1950s and early 1960s, particularly in rural areas, with some 4,000 drive-ins spread across the United States. One of the largest drive-in theaters was the Johnny All-Weather Drive-In in Copiague, New York. Covering over 29 acres, it could park 2,500 vehicles. It had a full-service restaurant with seating on the roof, and a trolley system to take children and adults to a playground and a large indoor theater for bad weather or for those who wanted to watch in air-conditioned comfort.

According to “Southwest – The Magazine”, drive-in movie variations are on the increase. For example, there is an outdoor venue located near Austin that features a variation of seating. Movie-goers watch the movie while floating on inner-tubes in a small pond. Of course the movie venue features the movie, “Jaws”. The screen actually touches the water’s edge. Consequently, it was easy to ascertain you were in the ocean when you were seeing water mixed with water. Is that not surreal with a heavy layer of terror to top?

I cannot imagine why anyone would even consider that kind of movie experience as an option. I watched the movie “Jaws” once. That was more than enough. If I had watched “Jaws” while floating on an inner-tube in a pool of water, it likely be my last moving-going experience. If I survived the heart attack, I would probably have also developed the capacity to walk on the water.

Perhaps some things are better left to memory. I don’t think I’m eager to duplicate a big screen experience at a traditional outdoor drive-in. However, if given a chance to watch it on the side of a series of grain elevators in Quebec City, I’d gladly embrace the opportunity.

All My Best!

Don

Animal Lovers Are Strange People, But Could They Be Guilty Of Murder?

Have your ever thought about the power of the written word? In yesterday’s blog I mentioned my experience of drinking coffee laced with vinegar. Actually, it took me a moment to process the taste. My first thought was that the General was trying to poison me. I know, I know, that seems far-fetched. But is it really?

Ours is a strange world. I’ve never known the General to be anything other than kind. It is one of her core values. The General is kind to everyone. However, if you could hear the way she talks to Barnabas, her eleven year old Yorkie, who routinely can do nothing wrong (her perception/not mine), you’d know she is a little eccentric.  Consequently, how is one to know when she could potentially take a turn for the worse? Animal lovers are strange people. I really don’t get it.

To substantiate my case, wasn’t there a veterinarian in San Angelo that pleaded no contest to killing her husband? Of course, the veterinarian was significantly younger than the General. I think she was in her mid-twenties. So was her husband, an airman stationed at Dyess Air Force Base in Abilene. On January 16, 2005, Wendi Davidson, the veterinarian, reported her husband missing to law enforcement officials. He had been missing since the day before. Reportedly, her husband, Staff Sgt. Michael Severance had been acting erratically for the previous two weeks. She said he had been frequenting local clubs and sports bars and disappearing for hours at a time. What was she thinking? If you ever watched the television series “Cheers” you’d know that’s not erratic behavior. It is simply a lifestyle for many people. Talk about over-reacting! She should have at least waited a couple of days or weeks before reporting him missing.

If you want to talk about erratic behavior, Wendi’s filing for divorce two days following Michael’s disappearance seems more than a little strange. Obviously, she had an inking that Michael wasn’t coming back. As the story unfolded, it sounded very similar to Edgar Allan Poe’s story, The Tell-Tale Heart. I’ve heard the expression, “kiss and tell”. I guess it stands to reason “kill and tell” also surfaces as people begin to weigh the magnitude of their misdeeds. After all, “thou shalt not kill” is one of the “Big Ten”.

At any rate, a little over a month later, Wendi confided to her brother, Marshall Davidson, that she had dumped her husband’s body in a stock pond on private ranchland to which she had access. Reportedly, she found him dead in bed and thought a member of her family had killed him.

Wow! That adds a whole new dimension to “in law” jokes. That, too, makes me a little nervous since the General and I are flying to Florida later today to spend time with her family. Could this family vacation be the beginning of the end? I guess only time can tell.

What was Wendi thinking? How do you tell your brother you dumped a body and expect him to keep that quiet? Hey, he might have even liked his brother-in-law. Some people do. Please God, let that be right. I’m spending the next six days with two brother-in-laws.

As it turns out, law enforcement officials in San Angelo “didn’t cotton” to folks tampering with evidence. They charged the veterinarian with that crime. But that was only the beginning. They subsequently recovered the body. The experience adds a whole new dimension to the expression, “It wasn’t a pretty picture.” The evidence looked bad for the veterinarian. Interestingly, the cause of death was not the multiple stab wounds. “No”, the stab wounds were purposefully made following Michael’s death to prevent air pockets from forming and forcing the body to float to the surface. Talk about calculated and self-serving! The official cause of death was drug intoxication caused by Phenobarbital, a drug used both to treat seizures in humans and to euthanize animals.

It was a strange taste of coffee. I suspect it would have garnered your attention as well. It probably wasn’t justification to have a passing thought of “hemlock and coffee”. The General really wasn’t trying to kill me.

You don’t think so either? You’re probably right. If she were going to poison me, she wouldn’t have waited until now. Forty plus years ago, she may have given it a passing thought. Now? Not so much. It wasn’t hemlock in my coffee. It was vinegar.

I used to jokingly tell people (well, I guess I still do since I’m writing this) that if the General had killed me when she first thought about it, she would be out of prison by now. Seriously, doesn’t that have to be a bitter pill for her to swallow? What I didn’t realize is that she would have been out of prison decades ago. Wendi Davidson was sentenced to twenty-five years, but will be eligible for parole in 2019.

Out of curiosity, I entered Wendi’s name on Google to see what I could find. What I found left a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. Seriously, you’ve got to be kidding. Wendi is using the Internet to look for new friends.

Yesterday when I made reference to vinegar laced coffee I had no way of knowing how that would impact readers. How was I to know that some readers would have a gag reflex when they read what I had written? It really wasn’t my intent to share the pain.

Of course, not everyone was impacted the same way from reading about my coffee. A dear friend called to say something closely akin to “I spewed coffee threw my nose in a fit of laughter while I was reading your blog”.

I suspect no one will laugh when they read the posting I discovered through a Google search this morning. It is listed under “Meet-An-Inmate. com”

“Does an old cowboy wear boxers or briefs? Depends!

Single, White 35 year old female Veterinarian seeking to meet new people and make new friends. I’m a country girl who loves to laugh and have fun. I enjoy sports, outdoor recreation, fitness, most music, dancing, and good times with good people. My world revolves around my boys and I really love animals, except maybe not spiders so much, lol. I am a very open minded, honest girl, and I try not to take life too seriously. Live, laugh, love, and all that. I would love to hear form you…”

Just for the record, Wendi Davidson didn’t plead guilty to the charges of murder or tampering with evidence. She simply pleaded no contest.

At any rate, I’m on vacation this week.  However, since I’m spending an inordinate amount of time with in-laws, I’ll check in with you daily so you’ll know I’m not in harm’s way.

All My Best!

Don

  

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again

Despite the fact that yesterday was an early morning, I didn’t get up on the wrong side of the bed. I awakened early with the thought that I was already behind. Do you ever have a day like that? Somehow I intuitively knew that regardless of whatever I did, there weren’t going to be enough hours in the day to get it all done. I’ve never thought of myself as a prophet, but my initial thoughts unfolded in a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The time constraint quagmire was a result of my failure to complete the budget process for one of the agencies where I work. I had planned to devote Sunday afternoon and evening to a final review of the process, but technology doesn’t always work. When I attempted to log on to the Internet server where I work from my home office, the “Y-drive” was not available.

I went to bed Sunday night knowing that I was behind. Obviously that weighed heavily on my mind. I looked at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. My days go by too quickly despite the fact that they are generally long. However, seldom do they start at 3:00 a.m. It was simply too early to get out of bed. I just needed one more hour of sleep. My efforts to drift back to sleep were futile.   Consequently, I got out of bed at 3:39.

“Carpe Diem” was an energizing thought. Let the day begin. I would give it a running start. My spirits were good by the time I showered, dressed and posted my blog. My energy level was high. It would be a good day.

I filled my coffee cup with coffee just before I headed out the door. The General had thoughtfully cleaned the Keurig on Sunday afternoon. It apparently is a time consuming process that takes 3 to 4 hours. The process isn’t tedious. It simply takes that long for the vinegar to work its magic and to subsequently filter fresh water through the system.

I was grateful for the General’s efforts. I had noticed that the coffee tasted bitter the past few times I had opted to drink a cup. It never occurred to me the coffee maker needed to be cleaned. It was the General’s astute sense of smell when I made a cup of coffee Sunday morning that alerted her to the fact that it smelled bitter. How did she know? She never drinks coffee. She must be really smart. I suspect she knows everything, or so it seems (more her perception than mine). I threw that line in to capture a smile. She really is smart.

As I shut the door to the car, all was well with my world. I even sensed there was a smile on my face. I set the cup of fresh coffee in the cup-holder and backed out of the driveway.   Did I mention, I was ecstatic to have my car out of the auto body shop? Six weeks was a long time to wait while it was being repaired. The body shop had done a magnificent job. They even guarantee their work for the life of the car. I guess you have to be pretty confident to do that. The body shop has a reputation for careful attention to details. I didn’t drive the car over the weekend. It was spotlessly clean (well almost – it did rain on Friday when I picked it up), but I wanted to keep it looking new (oops – I meant renewed).

As I turned left out of our gate, I reached for my coffee. I almost involuntarily spewed the taste of coffee out of my mouth. There is nothing quite like vinegar-flavored coffee. I don’t recommend it! I swallowed what was in my mouth, but stopped the car a short time later to pour the coffee out. Yuck! I started to stop at the store in Dripping Springs and fill my coffee cup up again. I talked myself out of it with the thought that the cup needed to be rinsed thoroughly with water before I used it again.

I was off and running, but the sour taste in my mouth played itself out a couple of times over. Did I mention there is nothing quite like the start of school in Austin to enhance road congestion? It was after 7:15 p.m. before I made it back home yesterday. To add insult to injury, I had the sense that things were not well with my car.   Sometimes being hearing impaired complicates my assessment skills. The very faint sound was almost as if something was rubbing against the tire. Was that what I was hearing? Was it static with the radio? I actually rolled the front windows down and decided that it was my imagination. I didn’t hear anything.

When I pulled away from the next stoplight, I faintly heard the sound again. Was it my imagination? I didn’t think so. I pulled off the roadway and got out of my car to look at my left front tire. Nothing was dragging. It was my imagination.

After I got home I went back out to my car to get my briefcase. That’s when I saw it. There was a portion of a rubber/plastic liner hanging down from under part of the front bumper. I had the thought… Actually I had several thoughts, but one of them was satisfaction in knowing the bodywork was guaranteed for the life of the car. Of course, who would have thought that it would be falling apart in less than 200 miles of use? That, too, left kind of a sour taste in my mouth.

Walking back into the house, I noticed that my cell phone was not working. The screen was black and I couldn’t get any kind of display. I tried turning the phone on, but nothing happened. You name it & I tried it. Well, so I thought. The phone appeared locked down in off position. What’s another 30 mile trek back into town? I opted to drive my truck.

Fortunately, the problem with the phone was easily resolved. That was both a relief and a source of frustration. I was angry with myself for not doing a Google search to determine how to resolve the problem. I could have saved 45 miles of driving and two hours of my time. Apparently, you have to hold down two buttons on the phone to turn it back on when it is frozen in off position.

The General and I got back home at 9:30. It was time for bed (my perception, not hers). Of course, she hadn’t been up since 3:39 a.m. We watched a couple of episodes of HGTV before calling it a day. What a day it was. I’m headed back to the body shop with my car again this morning. I’m sure they will be surprised to see me. After all, they do really good work. Oh, and by the way, I awakened at 3:39 again this morning.

“Carpe Diem – Seize the day!” are the only marching orders, I’m choosing to hear. I’m going to give it my best shot. I’ve got a good start. I just checked and the coffee doesn’t taste like vinegar.

All My Best!

Don

Why Does Anyone Wait Until Saturday Afternoon To Go To The Grocery Store?

Late Saturday afternoon I heard the General ask, “Do you want to go with me to the grocery store?” I was sitting on the sofa at the time. I was apparently somewhere between partially awake and sound asleep. I can’t recall what episode of HGTV I was watching, but it obviously wasn’t capturing my full attention. I remember uttering, “Sure”. I don’t think there was an inkling of sarcasm in my response, but the last thing I wanted to do was go to the grocery store.

So is it a game we play? We’ve been married all of my life and the General knows I’d rather be hit in the head with a sock full of rocks before I’d voluntarily go to the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon. What I can’t understand is why this scenario repeats itself on a regular basis. The General lives by certain rules of conduct. With the exception of buying groceries, she never (repeat never) waits until the last minute to do anything. She is organized, has a “To Do List” of things she wants to accomplish, executes her mission and completes her tasks. There is never a kink in the armor. She is as predictable as the hands on a clock. They always go clockwise. She routinely maintains her laundry lists of things to accomplish and never varies from her routine.

As I’ve mentioned many times, she is predictable. When the General prefaces a question with “Do you want to…”, that triggers something in my psyche that automatically reframes what I’d really prefer as an outcome and I find myself pushing a grocery basket.

Saturday proved to be different. She asked if I wanted to go. I made the obligatory “sure” response and when I next awakened, I discovered she wasn’t home. She obviously had gone to the grocery store without me. At least, that was my assumption. A short time later she returned and I went to the garage and unloaded the groceries.

As an explanation for her absence, she voluntarily said she knew that I really didn’t want to go to the grocery store, so she opted to let me sleep. I was grateful for her kindness, but also confused by her confession. If she already knows that I don’t want to go to the grocery store, why does she invariably ask me if I want to go?

Could her kindness in letting me sleep rather than push the issue of my going to the grocery store have something to do with my devoting all of Saturday morning to cleaning her car? If that’s the case, I’ll make that trade-out any time. If it keeps me out of HEB on a Saturday afternoon, I’ll wash and vacuum her car every Saturday morning.

Actually, on Saturday morning after I discovered a product that worked in removing the tar and oil from the car, I enjoyed engaging in the process. Truthfully, the two of us gave her car a bath like it’s never had since we purchased it. There wasn’t a place on that car that didn’t get scrubbed. After ensuring all of the oil and tar had vanished, I rinsed the car off and went to the car wash in Dripping Springs to wash it again. Throw in vacuuming and drying the car with a chamois and it looked better than new.

Thinking about the process of cleaning the car reminded me of my dad. He took pride in driving a vehicle that was clean and shiny. He routinely devoted the time on a Saturday at least two or three times a year to wax the car. I remember when we were little, he’d let us take a soft cloth and help him remove the dried residue of wax off the car. As I recall, he said the wax protected the finish.

Embarrassingly as an older adult, I can’t remember waxing a car in years. I’d like to believe that the improved painting process along with the clear coat finish applied to the car negates the need to wax a vehicle. Yet, how can that be? While I was looking through the auto care section at the automotive store, I saw all types of car wax and polish. Maybe I need to look at the owners manual and reference car care? I’m probably negligent and don’t even know it.

I did notice when I drove my truck to church yesterday morning that the vehicle registration expired in July. I don’t drive the truck often. I’ve had it three years and it has just under 12,000 miles on it. What I can’t understand is how the oversight in lapse of registration could have occurred.

When I asked the General she was also puzzled. Actually, she manages anything that requires writing a check. When the renewal notice comes from the County, she routinely handles getting the form returned and the check mailed. My job is to apply the sticker when it comes back from the County. She didn’t recall getting a renewal notice. She also said she was expecting a renewal notice for her car. Her registration expires in September.

In typical fashion, once the General became aware of the problem, she resorted to finding the solution. She immediately got online and discovered the county doesn’t have our correct mailing address associated to our vehicles. We now have a post office box and apparently failed to update records related to our vehicle registrations.

Quick as a flash, she had the problem solved and the new registration requested and paid for by using our credit card. She also changed the mailing address associated to my truck and her car. Efficient! The lady is ever so efficient!

I guess that brings me full circle to the question I pondered earlier. Why does the General ever wait until Saturday afternoon to go to the grocery store for anything? Better yet, why does she routinely ask if I want to go?

Perhaps the only probable answer is, “She likes my company.”  I  guess that means I am blessed beyond my deserving.

All My Best!

Don

Desperate People Do Desperate Things

It wasn’t as simple as the directions indicated. It certainly was as simply as, “A,B,C”.  Actually if the product had been as effective as the “tag line” stated, it would have been worth the investment of what ever time it took. Unfortunately, I had the sinking suspicion that to get the desired outcome, the product needed more horsepower than it had the capacity to provide. Yet, I didn’t know what else to do.

When I say that the General’s Lexus was covered with tar and oil, I am not exaggerating. I know several weeks ago when she was driving to eye appointments following cataract surgery in both eyes, she complained of blurred vision. In fact, I took off work a couple of times to drive for her. But eventually, the bird has to leave the nest. Could her vision have been so blurred that she missed a “road closed” sign? I’m not making this up. She had to have ignored a detour sign or some other barricade to drive on a road that wet with oil and tar.

Maybe her vision was really impaired. Maybe she didn’t see the truck spraying oil all over the roadway. Maybe, just maybe, she was driving too close. She had to have been tailgating the truck spraying oil to get that much tar and oil on her car. Of course, she is admitting to none of this. She has no idea how her car got covered with oil and tar. Trust me, I’m a smart man. I’m choosing not to push the issue and praying she doesn’t read this blog. It really doesn’t matter how it happened. The only thing that is important is how do you get it off?

I’m not talking a “little here and a little there”. There was black tar and oil splattered all over her white car. It defies description. Even the top of her car was covered with a residue of splattered oil and tar. How did it get up there? How did that happen? Of course, a better question is, “How do you remove it?” How do you restore what was once your shiny white car to once again being a shiny white car?

Don’t think for a moment I didn’t do a Google search. How surprised was I? I saw it with my own eyes. Someone recommended using WD-40. You just spray it on and wipe it off. Desperate people do desperate things. The General had an uncle that used WD-40 to spray on his elbows, shoulders and knees. He thought it was a miracle cure for arthritis. He said it worked like a charm. Fortunately, I don’t have arthritis, so I haven’t tried it, but we keep a can on hand, just in case. Actually, I deplore the scent of WD-40. It would not be my fragrance of choice.

Isn’t it true that the two essentials that everyone needs on hand is duct tape and WD-40? We’ve got both, but I can’t remember for what purpose we use either. However, I did try the WD-40 to eliminate the residue of tar and oil. Maybe I didn’t wait long enough? Maybe I didn’t hold my mouth quite right when I said, “Hocus pocus.” For whatever reason, I needed a “Plan B”. The WD-40 was not effective in helping me remove the residue.

I even tried removing the residue of oil and tire with lighter fluid for charcoal. Like I said, desperate people do desperate things. My judgment may have been flawed. Yet, I had the thought that if it didn’t work any better than the WD-40, I could at least set the car on fire.

Obviously, the General is more rational than I. She suggested we go to an auto parts store. She intuitively knew they would have something available that would work. Why didn’t I think of that? I found the “car care needs” section of the store, but didn’t locate what I needed. I hate asking for help, but I walked to the counter and asked, “What do I need to get to remove tar and oil from my car?” The man behind the counter said, “I’ll show you what we have, but it isn’t all that good”.  How’s that for making you want to purchase the product?

As we walked back to the section I had just looked through, he said, “I use a tire cleaner on my car called Bleche-Wite. We don’t sell it here, but it really works. First you have to soak your car with water and then hurriedly apply the tire cleaner and then wash it off before it damages the finish.” Are you kidding me? Who in their right mind would use tire cleaner on paint? Like I said earlier, desperate people do desperate things.

I don’t always read the direction on products, but before I applied the “bug and tar” remover on the General’s car, I thought I should follow instructions. “Apply only on a cool car. Do not use in direct sunlight” was highlighted on the spray can. Well that was a deal breaker. It was 103 degrees outside. It may have been two degrees cooler in our garage, but it obviously would be a day or two (I mean month) before weather conditions were conducive to using the product.

The General isn’t nearly as verbal (histrionic may be a better word) as I am, but apparently she, too, was concerned about the appearance of her car. She opted to take the situation in her own hands and work on removing the tar and oil residue in the mornings while I was at work. She invested hours in the project, but I was relieved to see that she was making progress.

Saturday morning around 8:00, she walked into my home office and asked how long I had been at the computer? She didn’t wait for an answer. She suggested it probably had been three hours. I let it go. I didn’t need to hear how I’m wasting my life away. Her next question was, “What do you want to do today?” I started to wait for her to answer that question for me as well, but opted to interject, “Why don’t we get your car cleaned up? You’ve made a lot of progress, but with the two of us working together, we can get it knocked out in no time”.

I was wrong. The man at the auto store who said, “I’ll show you what we have, but it isn’t all that good,” was accurately describing the product. This wasn’t something we were going to get knocked out in no time. What a tedious task! We hadn’t work long before I made two observations. The spray can was empty and progress was slow. What a horrible way to spend a Saturday.

I went back to the auto store for another can of “not so good” bug and tar remover. I took it to the counter and said, “I really wanted something that would work more quickly.” The man looked at me and said, “Well, this is going to take a while. Our computers are down and we can’t check you out right now.” I opted to leave the store empty handed. Fortunately, Dripping Springs has two auto supply stores. I guess you could say, “I am consistent”. I didn’t find what I was looking for and immediately went to ask for assistance.

The store didn’t have the same product I purchased from the other store, but they did have a “bug and tar” remover. When I went to check-out, the man at the counter asked me if I had an “awards card”. The answer was no, but I said, “Someone should give you an award if this product really works.”

The instructions on the spray bottle were similar to the other product. The primary difference was the length of time you were to wait before washing the product off.   This one required 3 to 5 minutes. The other had been for a much shorter time frame. Surprise of surprise, this product really worked. The General and I had the car totally tar and bug free within an hour. I then went to the car wash in Dripping Springs and washed the car. It looked as good as new. Actually, I probably thought it looked better than new. It was amazing.

Consequently, I’ll end today’s blog with this tip: “If you ever tailgate a truck spraying oil and tar, go to the nearest auto supply store and purchase, “rainx Bug and Tar Pre-Wash Gel”. It really works!

All My Best!

Don

Your Answers To Our Questions Won’t Have A Negative Impact

“This call is for Donald Forrester” is a strange beginning for a telephone conversation. I started to hang up, but before I could do so the “automated attendant” with a male voice asked, “Are you Donald Forrester?” He then added, “Say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. The automated attendant then linked his identity to my primary health insurance carrier. “We only need a brief moment of your time for a few survey questions. Your answers to our questions will not have a negative impact on our provision of your health care coverage…”

Out of curiosity, I wanted to ask, “Why then are you calling?” but technology related to “interactive voice response” is often limited. Seriously, how interactive can a robotic telephone conversation really become? I ask that, but I’m often amazed at the skill set “Siri” has in understanding what I say and knowing what I mean. I haven’t tinkered with my new phone to determine if I have options related to choosing a voice sound in negotiating inquiries or getting directions. On my last phone, I was able to opt to have the sound of an “English butler” provide directions. It was a nice contrast to what I sometimes experience firsthand when someone else is riding with me.

For example, the General and I invited our daughter and son-in-law to go to dinner last night. We opted for Trattoria Lisina, an Italian food restaurant in Driftwood. The ambience of the restaurant is always inviting, the food is excellent and you can negotiate getting most of the way to the location on a two-lane back road highway. Isn’t that the formula for a reduction of stress and a very pleasant evening? I know that you’re thinking, “Yes”. I would have thought so as well. However, from the sound of the back seat I heard my daughter using her mother’s voice, “Your driving is scaring me to death. You are going to get us killed.” Twenty seconds later, the second assault came, “You need to let Kevin drive. You are all over the road.”

I generally try not to personalize such disparaging comments, but honestly it was a dramatic overstatement of our circumstances. We were not in imminent peril. I have been driving for many years and plan to drive for many more. God help the person(s) who ever decide it is time for me to relinquish the car keys. Of course, the General couldn’t help herself. She re-enforced my daughter’s mistaken assessment of my behind-the-wheel prowess by saying we had ridden with another couple to Fredericksburg on Sunday. She found the ride most enjoyable because the driver paid attention, traveled at a uniform rate of speed and was not all over the road.

Where is the sound of an English butler when I need one? For one thing, a butler (who was worth his salt) would never question the ability or wisdom of the one for whom he worked. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten out of the car at the restaurant saying, “You either let Kevin drive back or I’m calling a cab.” I was amused. I had not idea that my daughter was good at stand-up comedy. Good luck at finding a taxi in Driftwood.

Getting back to my interactive voice communication with the “automated attendant” asking questions on behalf of my insurance carrier, he wanted to know if I considered my health condition “excellent”, “good”, “bad” or “grave”. Actually, I immediately made my choice between excellent or good and didn’t listen to the other options. I chose “excellent” as my response. However, you’ve got to hand it to me, the term “Grave” is pretty funny. Grave would have been a good choice of words to reflect a “red alert” for my health insurance company.

Suggesting that any “confidential answers” I provided to my health insurance carrier ‘s automated attendant survey would have no adverse impact on my health insurance coverage was outrageous. If I believed that, it would be synonymous to voluntarily waving my “Miranda Warning” rights. You know the drill, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Last year, my State Farm Insurance representative subtly tried the same approach. He suggested that since I seldom drive my truck, I could get a discount on my auto insurance if I allowed them to equip my truck with an electronic device. Through the use of technology, the device would allow State Farm to monitor my mileage. Of course, the device would also enable them to monitor my rate of speed and other aspects of my driving. While I absolutely deny that the General or my daughter’s assessment of my driving has value, I’m certainly not going to mistakenly open myself up for a computer to also make a faulty value judgment.

The automated attended wanted to know, on a scale of 0-10, if in the last 30 days health issues kept me from functioning in regular day-to-day activities. Choose the number that highlights the level of difficulty. I honestly answered, “0”. My vision has been impaired for the past 30 days, but I’ve still got one good eye. I sometimes cover the good eye with one hand while I’m driving just to check on the progress I’m making with the other. I’ve still got a ways to go. If the vision in both eyes were impaired, my driving would scare me to death. As it is, all is good. I guess you could say, “I’m good to go.”

“On a scale of 0-10, in the last 30 days, were there times you needed assistance to fulfill personal care and hygiene needs?” Are you kidding me? I brush my own teeth. Just for grins, I started to answer, “Depends”, but opted to select “0” instead.

I passed the litany of physical health questions by truthfully selecting “0” as the most appropriate response. My health is excellent. I was a little surprised when the survey questions then turned to “mental health” questions. Seriously, who in their right mind would answer a health insurance survey by acknowledging they couldn’t get out of bed in the morning because they were depressed?

Most folks think I’m a little crazy, but I passed the mental health questions with flying colors. I selected “0” related to impairment from regular activities because of mental health issues. I was out of bed by 5:00 a.m. this morning ready to find the adventure in a new day.

Actually, I am thankful for excellent health. Too often I simply take it for granted without realizing many don’t have the same opportunities.

All My Best!

Don