I Don’t Eat Liver

Yesterday I was privileged to spend the day in Abilene. The Texas Coalition of Homes for Children meets quarterly on the campus of Children at Heart Ministries in Round Rock. This quarter they decided to meet in Abilene and provide the membership an opportunity to tour Hendrick Home for Children and Ben Richey’s Boys Ranch.

When I retired from Children at Heart Ministries five years ago, I was provided a complimentary lifetime membership with the organization.  In addition, both of the agencies we were visiting yesterday are member agencies of the Coalition of Residential Excellence where I currently serve as executive director.

Consequently, I left for Abilene at 5:00 a.m. yesterday with the sound of “Abilene – Prettiest Town That I’ve Ever Seen” rolling around in my head.  The song recorded by George Hamilton IV in 1963,  was still very popular when I headed to Hardin-Simmons University in Abilene as a freshman in 1965. Of course, the Abilene that Hamilton was singing about was Abilene, Kansas, but I didn’t know that at the time.

The picture accompanying my blog is in front of one of the living units at Hendrick Home. We were divided into two groups as we toured the campus.  The children’s home began in 1939.  If I heard correctly, the lady providing the tour said there had only been four presidents of the agency.  I need to check that out. If that’s true I’ve personally known three of them.

Ben Richey Boys Ranch began the year I was born. They are celebrating their 75th anniversary this year.  The home was started by Ben Richey and his wife, Jamie, in 1947.  I was privileged to work for the founder and his wife in 1967.  At that time, the home was known as Abilene Boys Ranch. 

I worked as a counselor (quasi-house parent) in 1966. I have my pastor, Bro. Bob Rich to thank for that. He contacted me and asked if I’d have an interest in working there. They needed two staff persons to oversee boys.  Consequently, Bill Wiman and I started to work at the same time. We were both friends at school.

I was in one dorm, and Bill was in the other.  As I recall, our workday started long before we left for school.  Part of my assigned task was to go pick up the cook and bring her to the ranch.  While I was doing that, Bill was supervising and assisting the older boys in feeding the hogs. I guess you could say that I had the easy part.

I was off work one day a week and one weekend a month that began at noon on Saturday. I still remember some of the kids who lived at the ranch. Charles was gifted and talented. He drew a pencil sketch of my face. Would you believe, I still have it?  I remember his last time, but didn’t include it because of the need for confidentiality.

Of course, when I worked there, I had no idea of important things that I didn’t know.  Take for example, driving a school bus packed with boys to the movie on Friday nights. I didn’t know you needed a special license to do that.  I also didn’t know there were staff/child ratios that needed to be met. There were Friday nights that I was the only staff person.

The one thing I hated about the job was dinner on the evenings that liver and onions was served. Mrs. Richey thought it was an important ingredient, and it was on the menu once a month.  As a role model for kids, how could I not eat it?  I can truthfully say that I have not eaten liver since.

Ben Richey Boys Ranch looks nothing like the campus did in 1967. The two dorms and cafeteria that comprised the campus are gone. Today’s campus is beautiful and represents a thriving community of children and staff with multiple cottages. In addition, ten homes are also available for single mothers and their children. They are welcome to stay at the ranch as long as they are working to accomplish their goals.

Yesterday took me back in time. It was a day well spent.

All My Best!

Don

It Was Time Well Spent

Yesterday was my Aunt Trula’s 93rd birthday. Several weeks ago, her daughter, Deanna, thoughtfully reminded all of the cousins of the day and asked that they send her mother a birthday card. Trust me, the reminder was a gift to all of us. All of us as cousins can attest to the importance Aunt Trula continues to play in our lives.

Aunt Trula is the only member of her family of origin still on this side of eternity. Her parents and five siblings have been on the other side of eternity for many years. As cousins, we all feel privileged to be a part of the family tree. 

Aunt Trula’s family of origin was not an enmeshed family. Independence and healthy boundaries were the norm. That is true of the next generation of extended family members as well. Yet, the closeness shared was foundational in our understanding of healthy family dynamics. 

As cousins we were privileged to periodically have contact with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins throughout our lifetime. The memories are too precious to forget.

Our memories are mostly filled with happy times. Joy and laughter were commonplace. Yet, even the sad times were more manageable because of the ties that bind our extended family together.

Aunt Trula is no longer at a place where she can live independently. Memory issues and periodic problems with cognition place her in need of supervision 24/7 for her own safety.

Gratefully, much remains that has not been taken.  Consequently, Aunt Trula is still with us. What a wonderful gift we’ve been given. If you were meeting Aunt Trula for the first time, you’d be clueless that there are problems associated to cognition. Politeness is second nature to her, and her faith in God is a continual source of her strength.   

I asked her yesterday, in looking back over the past 93 years, which stood out as her best year? Her response was immediate. She didn’t even have to think about it. She said, it was the year that I met Troy.

My Uncle Troy was a perpetual well of encouragement to others. He lived with the notion that the glass is always at least half full. In addition, he was one of most patient people I’ve ever known.

Aunt Trula’s answer to my question was touching and heartfelt. It was the highest of platitudes to the man who was the love of her life.

The time shared with my aunt and cousin yesterday was a feel good experience for me.  It wasn’t that I crashed the party, even though I invited myself.  Okay, so maybe I did crash the party. Both Aunt Trula and Deanna graciously made me feel welcomed. I also had the good fortune to second-handedly be in touch with other family members who face-timed or telephoned my aunt yesterday.

All My Best!

Don

A Day Worthy Of Remembrance

There are things that serve us well to remember. I still get a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach with the very thought of September 11, 2001. I arrived at the Health and Human Services building in Austin around 9:45 a.m. for a meeting. I was standing in line to get my identification checked before I could actually enter beyond the lobby of the building. There was a television monitor on the desk.

At some point, the person checking identities and issuing visitor permits stopped in his tracks. His eyes were fixed on the television screen. We all followed suit. Everyone in the line watched spellbound and horrified as we witnessed the televised crash of American Airlines Flight 11 into the North tower of the World Trade Center.

In short order, three other passenger airlines were used in coordinated terrorist attacks by the Islamic terrorist group al-Qaeda. In total, the attacks claimed the lives of 2,996 people (including the 19 hijackers) and caused at least $10 billion in property and infrastructure damage. From that day to this, we have been a nation at war.

As I attempted to process the televised coverage, I wondered if this signaled the beginning of the end of the world? We had never witnessed this kind of carnage on American soil in my lifetime.  It was extremely unsettling.

I also remember the sense of solidarity and unity that Americans intuitively held for one another in the aftermath of the attack. Somehow we correctly interpreted the threat we faced as being of such magnitude that only by standing together in unison, with God’s help, could we overcome it.

Perhaps at no time in my life, has our Nation been more in one accord in a resolve to stand united and rely upon God to equip us with the wisdom to right the wrong that had been thrust upon us.

I also remember the beautiful prayer that Max Lucado shared the following Saturday at a national prayer vigil. He expressed in word pictures what we were all thinking, but were not articulate enough to verbalize. His words were a fitting tribute to ask for God’s help and to honor those whose lives were taken:

Dear Lord,

We’re still hoping we’ll wake up. We’re still hoping we’ll open a sleepy eye and think, What a hor­rible dream.

But we won’t, will we, Father? What we saw was not a dream. Planes did gouge towers. Flames did consume our fortress. People did perish. It was no dream and, dear Father, we are sad.

There is a ballet dancer who will no longer dance and a doctor who will no longer heal. A church has lost her priest, a classroom is minus a teacher. Cora ran a food pantry. Paige was a counselor and Dana, dearest Father, Dana was only three years old. (Who held her in those final moments?)

We are sad, Father. For as the innocent are buried, our innocence is buried as well. We thought we were safe. Perhaps we should have known better. But we didn’t.

And so we come to you. We don’t ask you for help; we beg you for it. We don’t request it; we implore it. We know what you can do. We’ve read the accounts. We’ve pondered the stories and now we plead, Do it again, Lord. Do it again.

Remember Joseph? You rescued him from the pit. You can do the same for us. Do it again, Lord.

Remember the Hebrews in Egypt? You protected their children from the angel of death. We have children, too, Lord. Do it again.

And Sarah? Remember her prayers? You heard them. Joshua? Remember his fears? You inspired him. The women at the tomb? You resurrected their hope. The doubts of Thomas? You took them away. Do it again, Lord. Do it again.

You changed Daniel from a captive into a king’s counselor. You took Peter the fisherman and made him Peter an apostle. Because of you, David went from leading sheep to leading armies. Do it again, Lord, for we need counselors today, Lord. We need apostles. We need leaders. Do it again, dear Lord.

Most of all, do again what you did at Calvary. What we saw here on that Tuesday, you saw there on that Friday. Innocence slaughtered. Goodness murdered. Mothers weeping. Evil dancing. Just as the ash fell on our children, the darkness fell on your Son. Just as our towers were shattered, the very Tower of Eternity was pierced.

And by dusk, heaven’s sweetest song was silent, buried behind a rock.

But you did not waver, 0 Lord. You did not waver. After three days in a dark  hole, you rolled the rock and rumbled the earth and turned the darkest Friday into the brightest Sunday. Do it again, Lord. Grant us a September Easter.

We thank you, dear Father, for these hours of unity. Disaster has done what  discussion could not. Doctrinal fences have fallen. Republicans are standing with Democrats. Skin colors have been covered by the ash of burning buildings. We thank you for these hours of unity.

And we thank you for these hours of prayer. The Enemy sought to bring us to our knees and suc­ceeded. He had no idea, however, that we would kneel before you. And he has no idea what you can do.

Let your mercy be upon our President, Vice President, and their families.  Grant to those who lead us wisdom beyond their years and experience.  Have mercy upon the souls who have departed and the wounded who remain.  Give us grace that we might forgive and faith that we might believe.

And look kindly upon your church.  For two thousand years you’ve used her to heal a hurting world.

Do IT again, Lord. Do it again.

Through Christ, Amen”.

May this be a day of remembering, Don

Hate or Love?

I noticed options on Facebook this morning offering opportunities to join different groups that share information. If there is one thing I don’t need, it is another group to follow. My dreams are already filled with the sound of: “Hello, my name is Don and I’m a….”  Okay, so that was a joke. I sense it fell flat.

In looking at the groups that were available, two of the options seemed markedly different.  I couldn’t help but wonder about the content of information you could find on either site.

One choice was: “Neighbors Who Hate Neighbors”.  It included this explanation: “Why I hate neighbors – When it is early on the weekend and the whole neighborhood is cutting grass”. Reportedly, this group has 55 members.

The contrasting group was “Love Your Neighbor”. Interestingly and perhaps sadly, the group is composed of only 20 members. I recognize that both groups are relatively small, but there is almost three times as many people in the Neighbors Who Hate Neighbors Group as the Love Your Neighbor Group.

Do those percentages seem to work in the neighborhood where you live or workplace where you work?  I once worked in an office where a staff person appeared to be perpetually in a bad mood. In response, I found myself figuratively walking on eggshells to avoid conflict with that individual.

When I saw the neighbors who hate neighbors option, my first thought was, I’ve never had a neighbor I hated. I could think of awful situations that would make living next door to someone less than desirable, but hate, as a response seems like a lot of negative emotion to store inside. 

I once had a neighbor that leased his acreage to law enforcement agencies as a shooting range. You would have thought that bullets were free from the number of rounds that routinely permeated one’s hearing. The sound of automatic assault rifles and gunfire was non-stop throughout the weekend. It gave me some insight into what a war zone would sound like. I was not happy with the situation, but hate is a strong word that carries a lot of emotion. I didn’t hate the guy, but I was not happy with him either.

 So what kind of neighbor would trigger hatred as a response? My first thought was having people next-door whose lifestyle is filled with domestic violence, profanity, the use of the “F” word, and routine abusive treatment to a spouse or children. If a neighbor is meaner than the junkyard dog,  I don’t want them living next door. I would hate having them as a neighbor.

What about you? If the choice is neighbors who hate neighbors or neighbors who love neighbors, which group is a better fit for you?

All My Best!

I Was Like A Hummingbird Seeking Nectar

At the risk of your thinking I have no shame, I have to confess that nothing turns my head or captures my attention like a hot car.  Yesterday there was a flurry of vehicle traffic outside our home. We are in a gated townhome community and the house diagonally across the street is on the market.  It is an incredible home and has many custom features. Had it come on the market before we started building, it would have been a serious consideration for us. 

It is not that we are nosey, but there is a lot of glass across the front of our townhome. Yesterday the General expressed her thought that they might be having an open house for realtors across the street since several cars were parked along our very short street.

As I said, cars garner my interest. There was a newer model white Range Rover parked on the curb in front of our house and another car or two parked across the street.  I was standing near the window in the kitchen when a black BMW pulled up and a young woman and small child got out of the vehicle. 

This was not an open house for realtors. Obviously, this was someone interested in purchasing the home. In short order, wanting to have more than a birds-eye view, I walked outside to the courtyard. Okay, so maybe I am nosey.

It was then that I saw it. The shiny black-colored vehicle was parked at the end of our short street on our side of the road.  The pickup truck obviously had been backed in because the front of the truck was facing my direction.  I had never seen a truck like it before. My grandson Jake would have described it as fancy. I’d be inclined to agree.

The headlights were like none that I’ve ever seen before.  They were very narrow and vertical. There was also a horizontal strip that might be lights across the front of the vehicle just under the hood. 

I didn’t want to be obvious, but I couldn’t quell the desire to get a better look. Everyone was now inside the home. I  walked out into the middle of the street to take a better photo with my iPhone.  Wow! The truck was really something! 

I couldn’t help myself. I was like a hummingbird seeking nectar. I had to have a closer view.  I intuitively walked in the direction of the truck. When I saw the computer screen mounted inside the vehicle, the dots inside my head connected. This was an electric truck. I’d seen a similar screen in a friend’s Tesla.

So was the truck made by Tesla?  I didn’t notice the brand until I got to the back of the truck. The large brushed chrome-like letters spelled out “RIVIAN”.  I had never heard of that brand, but I sensed it was expensive.

I walked back to the courtyard and waited for people to exit the house. From the length of time, they were inside the home, I surmised they had a real interest.  Eventually, the front door opened and people came outside.

The guy who eventually walked to the truck was with the woman and small child who arrived in the black BMW.  This was a family interested in the home.

Okay, so I have no shame. I walked back to the truck and complimented the man on his truck.  He smiled and asked if it was the first RIVIAN I had seen?  He reportedly really likes the truck and in our brief conversation, I ascertained that the man was very interested in the home. I found myself hoping this will be the family that moves across the street.

All My Best!

Don

Turn Around – Don’t Drown

No one asked, but this is my two cents worth

Sometimes pie-in-the-sky legislation or roadway safety codes become an albatross for people. I recently visited with an individual who has the vision and skill-set to be an exemplary resource for academically gifted children. The individual operates a private school located in an incredibly isolated and serene country setting. Trust me, you have to be going there to get there. The location would be your purposeful intent, or you’d never be on that roadway.

In order for the new private school to figuratively get a green light from the county to begin serving the public, relatively newly constructed road and bridge requirements intended to satisfy worst possible case scenarios associated with a 100-year flood have to be met. We are talking about a private road on private property with a low water crossing. Seldom if ever is there even a trickle of water at the low water crossing.

So here’s the deal, it will take $5 million dollars to meet the new code requirements. Of course, public roads in the county don’t even come close and no one in the county is asking that current roadways be brought up to the new code.

Speaking of low water crossings, I live in Hays County and the Creek Road between Henly and Dripping Springs has at least two one-lane bridges. I’m talking about a public road with lots of traffic. In addition, even at least one commercial bus has turned over following an evening wedding in a low water crossing on that road. The bus driver apparently failed to remember: “Turn around, don’t drown.”

Fortunately, no one was injured, but it could have been worse. Some of you are thinking I’m making a point for the county’s enforcement of the new codes.

That is not my intent! I don’t think the government should have the authority to mandate bridge requirements on private land on a private road just because it is a forum to get to a private school.

Until our recent move following the sale of our home, we were locked between two low-water crossings, one on each side of our home. In the nineteen years, we lived in that location, we were stranded on either side of where we needed to be less than half a dozen times. The key to resolving the situation was to wait for two hours.

For my two cents worth, pie-in-the-sky 100-year-flood requirements need to stick to public roadways and not be enforced on private land. Most of us have the good sense to “turn around and not drown.”

Those are my thoughts, and it would take a lot for me to change my mind.

All My Best!

Don

Déjà Vu

Sunday evening proved to be the most enjoyable evening. As I mentioned in my blog yesterday, from beginning to end, the day could not have been better. My blog yesterday dealt with Sunday morning. As Paul Harvey often said: “And now, for the rest of the story.”   

The General and I stopped for a brief visit with friends around 5:30 p.m. to look at the new water feature constructed in stone in the home’s courtyard and the newly completed landscape around their pool.

When we arrived, we bypassed the home and headed to the side yard as per the instructions received via text. They were outside at the pool. One of their grandsons and three of his high school friends were swimming. 

Our friends were seated at a table on the patio. The weather was perfect for enjoying the outdoors and taking in the serenity of the Texas Hill Country.

Had our visit been brief, we would have left before the guys who were swimming. As it turned out, we stayed long after they left.

It proved to be a déjà vu kind of experience and too meaningful to abbreviate with a brief visit. In the resources of my memory, the years evaporated and rolled back the time. I suspect the experience was true for all of us.

Forty-three years ago, we often enjoyed shared time in the home of our friends. They lived in a different home back then, but the serenity of the outdoors where one could soak in the beauty of God’s creation was the same.

They joy of one day having grandchildren was a distant concept beyond anything we could begin to imagine. In fact, it wasn’t anything we even paused to consider. Their son was eight-years-old, and ours was seven. Both fell in the “only child” designation. 

I was thirty-two years old at the time.  My how the years have changed a lot of things including the color of my hair.  Of course, Craig credits his sister as having something to do with that. I was thirty-four when she was born and almost overnight the gray began to surface.

Sunday evening proved to be a déjà experience, but it highlighted the reality that the thing of greatest value is the 43-year relationship that we’ve shared. This couple have enriched our lives greatly, and I’d like to think there has been a sense of reciprocity in that.

People need people.  I’m grateful that what we shared will not dissipate with the passing of time.  Our friendship obviously is forever.

Of course, it will take effort going forward to be available and be responsive to emerging needs that take their toll on older adults.  What we’ve shared has been a gift.  It is far too precious to let go of on this side of eternity. 

All My Best!

Don

Where Do Your Priorities Fall?

From beginning to end, yesterday was a picture-perfect day.  For starters, the worship service at church was “awful” in light of the King James version of the Bible.  Okay, so right out of the gate, I have garnered your attention. Who would say the pastor’s message was awful?

Legend has it that when Queen Anne of the British Monarch first saw St. Paul’s Cathedral, she said of the structure: “It is awful.” When the King James’ version of the Bible was written years earlier, the term awful meant awe-inspiring.  Without doubt, if that interpretation of awful worked in the language of the day for the Bible translators, it worked for Queen Anne. 

Our pastor always prefaces his message with a story from his week. I really like his approach. It is almost as if he is audibly asking the question of God: “What am I supposed to learn from this?

I appreciate his transparency and his willingness to be vulnerable. In addition, he always has the congregation hanging on to the story like a hummingbird discovering nectar for the first  time. We get hooked first by his story and then by the Gospel-truth that follows. It carries with it the potential to be life-changing.

The thing about a good story is that most of us can relate to the narrative and see glimpses of ourselves in the storyline.  Yesterday, he mentioned changing a sink faucet out for a customer.  The thing that was painfully obvious to him right out of the gate was the thought that being smaller would have served him well. There was little room for him to move under the sink. 

Both of his hands were elevated in spaces almost too small for their presence. I immediately had a flashback to the only time I have changed the faucet on a kitchen sink. I was a little reluctant to take on that task, but the General’s sister has done that more than once.  I figured if she could, I could. Okay, so I don’t always get it right.

I won’t bore you with the details, but I had to go back to Home Deport to get a different wrench before I could finish the task. At any rate, the woman reportedly engaged the pastor in conversation while he was fighting claustrophobia with his head and upper body uncomfortably positioned inside the cabinet.

Okay, so I’m taking a few liberties here.  Our pastor didn’t actually use the term “claustrophobia”, but I’m certain that was his experience.  Like I said, “I’ve been there and done that once.”- Never again!

The lady mentioned that the sink had not been operable in thirteen years. The first thought that filled the pastor’s head was the question: “Is your husband dead?”  Frankly, I thought that was knee-slapping funny!  I guess you can interpret the question in a couple of different ways. Either way is worthy of a smile.

He didn’t verbalize the question, but the customer may have perceptively read his mind. She went on to share with him the message God has recently made known to her. 

Whose to say? Maybe she has a laundry list of things she wants her husband to change about himself? God impressed upon her the importance of moving her focus from her husband’s faults or short comings to address some of the issues God wants modified in her own life. God impressed upon her the importance of doing the hard work in her own life first.

I guess in the final analysis, it gets back to our priorities. Do we want to mature and change to reflect more of God’s image, or are we content to be as useful as a sink that hasn’t been used in over a decade?

All My Best!

Don

It Is No Secret What God Can Do

It is abundantly clear that one of the ladies in our church has a love for children. She and her husband have seven children together. The mother had a daughter before the couple married, and the father had two daughters. Of course, the lady’s expressed hope before they married was to have twelve children.

Whether that is still a dream, I don’t know. I do know that Alyson has a heart for serving children. As an outreach option for our church, she suggested we support The Foster Village in Dripping Springs, an agency providing wrap-around services to foster parents and the children they serve.

Last night, to prime the pump, so-to-speak, as an activity, our church watched the movie “Mully”, the life story of Charles Mully in Kenya, Africa. It powerfully portrays the unmet needs of children and the possibilities of what one person can do.

I have been involved in child welfare service all of my adult life. I had never heard of Mully or of the Mully Children’s Family in Kenya, Africa. Wow! The documentary is powerful.

In watching the documentary of Mully’s life, the words of a song written by Stuart Hamblin came to mind: “It Is No Secret What God Can Do”. The song was autobiographical for  Hamblin. Though Hamblin was highly successful and widely recognized as a singing cowboy, entertainer, actor and Hollywood stunt man, the “thorn in his flesh” that threatened his undoing was alcohol.

Although Hamblin’s dad was a Church of Christ minister, it was not until Hamblin attended a Billy Graham crusade in Los Angeles that the presence of Christ in his life became clear. It turned his life around.

Charles Mully could also attest to the truth of God’s ability to intervene in the toughest of circumstances and life-threatening realities. During the midst of childhood, his family abandoned and left Mully to fend for himself.

His was the plight of an improvised orphan, for all intents and purposes. He found himself a kid on the streets where gang violence and overwhelming difficulties became his constant companions. The life expectancy of a child in those circumstances is minimal.

At the age of 17, Mully walked into a church and made the personal discovery that it is no secret what God can do. He subsequently found work in Nairobi in the private home of a family. He scrubbed their floors, cleaned their home, did their laundry, cooked their meals and proved himself capable of more.

The family eventually offered him the position of a farm assistant where his responsibilities included oversight of 800 farm employees. It was there that he met his wife. They subsequently had eight children.

Mully subsequently became an independent businessman; operating a taxi service with the sounds of Jim Reeves and other country music celebrities filling his vehicles. His is definitely a “from rags to riches” story. In the midst of great wealth, he questioned the meaning of life and felt led to rescue other orphans from the streets. If you’ve not seen the film, I highly recommend it.

All My Best!

Don

The Morning After

It is the morning after, and we discovered the evening before could have yielded more. It wasn’t just the disappointment associated with our inability to catch (pardon the pun) Friday night’s game of the Sealy Tigers against the Smithville Tigers. They were playing in Smithville.  As it turned out, the game reportedly wasn’t much of a catfight. Would you believe the score was 48 to 0 in Sealy’s favor?

As I said, it wasn’t just that we missed the game.  Of course, we could have driven to Smithville and back yesterday. Initially, we thought that we would.  The distance is only 62 miles. That literally is nothing. The game started at 8:00 p.m. Obviously, we had plenty or time, or did we?

According to MapQuest, the distance represents one hour and five minutes of driving time each way. You don’t have to look twice to figure out that I’m not the sharpest Crayola in the box, but we had driven past Smithville the previous Friday on our way to Sealy for the first game of the season. 

 Road construction, closed lanes and two times as many vehicles as that stretch of road can accommodate and keep traffic flowing at the posted speed limit was the reality of our experience.  Did I mention that I hate bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go driving?

I figured out on Thursday that this is Labor Day weekend. That was a game changer from my perspective. I didn’t want to drive in Friday’s traffic on a holiday weekend. Seriously, you’d have to be exercising something less than prudent judgment to opt for the excursion.  I for one thought it best that we stay home and listen to the game on the Sealy Sports Network.

Did I mention that the General and I don’t always agree?  Okay, so we were going to drive to the game.  I regularly get 49% of the vote. In addition, I knew it was important to the General. No one was putting a gun to my head. The General has more style than that. If she wanted to go to the game, we would go. 

Actually, I have Snickers to thank that we didn’t. Snickers needs an insulin injection at game time.  Making that happen and being two plus hours down the road proved to be the deciding factor for the General to change her mind. We couldn’t take Snickers with us to the game.  The logistics didn’t work. 

In terms of the General’s priorities, she mostly adheres to the lyrics of Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine sung by Tom T. Hall. That song will be rolling around in my head for the rest of the day. 

The General definitely makes old dogs and children a priority. She has never been a fan of either watermelon or wine.

Last night we logged on to the Sealy Sports Network and found that either the game hadn’t started or the network was unavailable.  Once the game started, we then stayed current with the score. Other than the score, nothing was available to us on the networ.  We were disappointed. 

This morning the General talked to her sister in Florida. Her sister mentioned that she really liked having access to the video as well as the audio. She watched last night’s game on the Sealy Sports Network.

That leaves me wondering, what did I do wrong?   I honestly don’t know.

All the Best!

Don