This posting consists of an e-mail (and my response) that I received from a friend of my daughter, one that I’ve never met, but I feel that I know the writer well through the e-mail. This is the friend's e-mail: “I know you have enjoyed my rants in the past. Your daughter always asks if I sent something to you that I had sent her. This time I can say, “Yes.” This runs long. You may need coffee or an intermission so you can go get popcorn and some … Read More
Daily Archives: August 8, 2010
Re: Congress, illegal immigration & missing fingers . . . (via The King of Texas)
Letter to Lorene—December 6, 1994 . . .
San Antonio Int’l Airport
December 6, 1993
Your phone call yesterday was really a pleasant surprise. I had just about decided that you were keeping a mad on with me, because you didn’t write, you didn’t call . . .
I got to work right at 9 o’clock, just in time to make the daily schedule. Actually they didn’t need me. If I hadn’t shown up the inspectors would have assigned themselves the different jobs and processed the arriving aircraft. Sure is nice to know you’re not needed, isn’t it?
Sundays and holidays are nothing days anyhow. I work from 9 till about 11, then go home and piddle all day and come back at 6 pm, work for about an hour then go home. I get paid for all the time in between because I can’t go anywhere. I’m on standby.
Effective in January our overtime system changes, and probably not for the better. I’m certain the amount of overtime we earn is going to drop significantly. The good part about the new system is that the overtime we earn will be used to compute our high-three earning years to determine our retirement pay. The system we use now does not take overtime into account in determining retirement. So it’s one of those every cloud has a silver lining deals.
I’m not sure it’s true that every cloud must have a silver lining. I’ve seen lots of clouds that didn’t have a lining, silver or otherwise. The only way a cloud can have a silver lining is if the sun is behind it. What about a cloud that doesn’t have the sun behind it? The saying should be changed to every cloud with the sun behind it must have a silver lining and then it would be true.
I’ve definitely seen clouds without silver linings, and I’ve seen situations and circumstances and events that were bad, 100 percent bad, nothing good about them, or nothing that I could see, anyway. Wow! Am I feeling pessimistic, or what?
Not really. I’m feeling good. Yesterday I had a phone call from one of my two favorite sisters (worded that one neatly, didn’t I!), I’m at work making good money and earning 10 percent extra wages just for being on the evening shift (and it goes to 15 percent January1), and they got my concrete poured today, and if all goes well I should have the new patio cover up in a week or so, and all my kids are well and we will all be together for Christmas, and I have no doubt that the rest of the universe is unfolding as it should, even without my help!
Did I ever tell you about my dog? I’ve had her for about four years now, and sometimes I really don’t like her. She is a barker and a sitter—I omitted the H—when people ask what breed of dog I have, I tell them that she is a Shitzalot, and some say, Oh, okay, I’ve heard of that breed. I can’t keep the patio clean because she tracks dirt and mud on it, and I can’t have a pretty back yard because she cuts trails all through the grass, and I have been threatening to give her away, sell her, shoot her, or donate her to the dog pound almost from the time we got her as a puppy. And I unfairly blame Alta, because she is the one that wanted a puppy four years ago.
Today one of the concrete workers said that she was a pretty dog and he really liked her, and I asked him if he wanted her. He said he really would like to have her, and guess what? I don’t want him to have her. She’s my dog, and I’m stuck with her. I must have figured that if someone else wanted her she must be an outstanding dog, and it would be foolish to get rid of such a fine animal.
I made Alta a promise, though. I had my chance to get rid of her—the dog, not Alta—and didn’t take it, so I promised never to cuss or punish or even complain about her again—the dog, not Alta. It isn’t going to be an easy promise to keep, but I’ll work hard at it.
The dog was supposed to be a Cockapoo, a mix of Cocker Spaniel and French Poodle, but somehow a Labrador Retriever got into the act and accomplished the act, so my Cockapoo weighs about 40 pounds and eats like a horse and dumps like a horse and cuts paths in my yard like a horse—but I’m not complaining!
Would you believe it? I have been sitting here looking at the screen for a long time, couldn’t think of anything to talk about. That’s not like me, is it? Usually I have something to chatter about. How about San Antonio and its drive-by shootings? We are right up there with the big boys in Los Angeles and Chicago and New York. The city is averaging some 3-4 drive-by shootings daily. They are mostly on the east side where most of the blacks live, and on the south and west side where most of the Hispanics live. However, youth gangs are beginning to spread to the north side where most of the white folks live.
I’m really not sure who to blame, whether it’s the parents’ fault, or television and the movies, or the government, or maybe that old a-tomic bomb they keep setting off. I imagine more effort will be put into the problem now that it is spreading to the side of town where all the power movers and the wealthy live—the people with the financial and political clout.
Since I live on the north side, you won’t have to worry about the gangs when you come to visit. I mention this only to allay your fears, not to imply that I am one of the wealthy or a power mover, or one of those with financial or political clout. I live on the north side just because it’s closer to the airport. We looked everywhere in the city before we finally settled on this house. I believe I could qualify as a taxi driver in virtually every section of San Antonio.
Valley High, the subdivision we lived in from 1964 till 1972, is now one of the most crime-ridden areas in the city. Our old house still looks good, except it is now a bright pink with blue trim—doesn’t look too bad, actually. The area has junk cars on the streets and in the front yards, and many of the homeowners have completely fenced their houses, front yard as well as the back. I guess the fence is intended to keep out people as well as dogs. We have some friends who still live in Valley High, but we don’t visit too often. Well, actually, we haven’t visited them in 6 years. I guess that’s not too often, isn’t it?
They’ve been to our house a couple of times since we returned to San Antonio, but that’s about it. Is this depressing you? It’s depressing me. I feel a deep resentment when I see how property values have gone down in various areas here because of the influx of lower income people. I don’t know who to blame for this, either. I suppose the people do the best they can with what they have to work with.
So whose fault is it that they don’t have much to work with? Is it theirs because they don’t try to improve, or is it ours because we fail to share with them, or is it government’s fault because it doesn’t provide adequately for them?
Boy, I’m waxing philosophical, ain’t I? Want to know how I really feel about all this? To heck with them—I have mine, let them get theirs! The only problem is that too often they want to get theirs from someone else instead of earning it.
I know you’re not supposed to listen to bad jokes, so skip this paragraph. Three young women, all pregnant, were at the clinic waiting to see the doctor. They were discussing the sex of their unborn children and one said, “I know I’m going to have a little boy because my husband was on top when our baby was conceived.” The second woman said, “Well, I’m sure mine is going to be a girl, because my husband was on the bottom when our baby was conceived.” The third woman burst into tears and said, “Oh, my God, I’m gonna have a puppy!
You can open your eyes now, but don’t look back. You remember what happened to Lott’s wife, don’t you? Are you aware that she was probably the first salt lick in history?
Are you getting tired? Would you like to take a break, maybe get a cup of coffee, go to the bathroom or walk around for awhile or something? I don’t mind. I can wait. Go ahead.
Boy, you must have really had to go!
Did I ever tell you about the time we were traveling through North Carolina and Debbie, who was about four years old, started to ask me something then said, Oh, never mind, you’ll just tell me I’m going upstream. We finally figured out that she meant was that I would tell her she was going to extremes. She also brought me the phone book one time and asked me to show her an unlisted number. And the funny thing is, I started to hunt one. She was about 17 then. No, she was about seven, I guess.
Isn’t it funny the things we remember about the kids? I remember so clearly you telling about Larry, when he was just a little fellow, playing on the porch and saying Whew, tod dam, and he turned out to be saying what Elmer would say when he got home from working, Whew, tired down. You did tell me that, didn’t you? I do remember it right, don’t I? Or did I make it up? Well, if I did, it’s a good story. I’ve told it a lot over the years.
My girls come up with stories about when they were little, especially about things concerning me, that I know never happened. My only problem is that when one of them tells the story, the other two back her up. In fact, Alta usually jumps on the bandwagon and also claims it happened just like they said. Can you believe that?
Oops, got a plane to work. This is my last one tonight, from Mexico City. Shouldn’t take long, just 21 passengers. Maybe we’ll get out early tonight. So I’ll close for now.
Lots of love to you and yours, from us and ours,
Reflections of a Chihuahua named Bimbo . . .
Reflections of a Chihuahua . . .
She was a German Shepherd and she was beautiful, so beautiful that I was immediately drawn to her. I was attracted by her looks, but there was also a strong aura about her, a heady odor like fine perfume, an aura to which I was irresistibly drawn—I was incapable of resisting it. However, she took umbrage at my attempt to exercise my right to conduct an olfactory examination of her you-know-what-and-where, a highly sensual and sensitive area that normally would be readily presented to a dashing male such as I, one with a highly sensual, sensitive and inquiring nose.
At the first sniff she spun around and smiled—at least I thought it was a smile, but it was accompanied by a sound remarkably similar to a snarl—in fact she was snarling, and I realized that I had bitten off more than I could chew—so to speak. The lady was taller, longer, stronger, wider and heavier than I, and I realized that my rejection and my defeat were inevitable, so I dropped and rolled over on my back, presenting my soft underbelly, a universal practice among the canine genus. Such a move was a sign of surrender, and any self-respecting canine would acknowledge that action and desist from ripping said underbelly from stem to stern. I was duly rewarded by her response—she stopped snarling and with a slight smile began a non-offensive visual—and olfactory—survey of the area I had presented for the coup de grace.
Please note: That is not me in the picture above—the photographer just used him to stand in for me. I’m brown and white and I’m much—well, I’m much cuter and I’m a lot bigger, if you get my drift! And the picture above him is not the beautiful lady—that’s the Big Guy, the one that did me in.
The object of my affections abruptly began laughing, uncontrollable laughter, actually falling and rolling in the dust, making no attempt to conceal her mirth. At first nonplussed, I came to the realization that I had inadvertently displayed more than my vulnerability. I had also exposed my essentials to her view, hence her dissolution into gales of laughter—no, it was not disillusion rather than dissolution—admittedly a fine distinction but applicable. At this point, I must inform the reader that, for a Chihuahua, I was remarkably well—let’s see, what’s the past tense of the verb to hang? Yeah, that’s it—that’s what I was!
The reason for her laughter was simply the contradiction of my essentials relative to my size. The truth is that when my Maker made me, He made my essentials first and then hung the rest of me on them—got it? I was well-known around the neighborhood, and for good reason!
When the Big Guy, a full-grown male German Shepherd arrived on the scene I immediately sprang to my feet and attacked, realizing that in some battles surprise is tantamount to victory. However, the battle was over in a few seconds—just one giant chomp by the Big Guy and I was soon en route to the vet, in a state of shock but feeling very little pain, and soon after my arrival I was free of pain and in another world, detached from my former world but still aware of it.
I seemed to be hovering above the doctor and the man and the young girl that took me there, the same folks that I had lived with since my birth some seven years earlier, except for several months that I lived with another family after I climbed our backyard fence and went exploring. I had a good life with my family—they even took me with them on vacations—none of that vet boarding for me! Click here to read about a memorable vacation I took with my family—it’s well worth the visit and the read! It’s all about Chihuahuas, ham hocks and butter beans.
I followed Mike and Kelley to their car and stayed with them while they took a long drive through the countryside, moving at a slow speed, neither of them speaking and both crying. My tears also flowed freely—at least I felt like I was crying, but I was not sad—I could see the beautiful place that lay ahead in my future and I looked forward to being there—no more standing at the patio doors pretending to be freezing on the hottest day of the year, hoping I would be allowed to come in so I could pee on the living room carpet. I learned early that the shivering act would bring almost immediate relief from the Texas heat.
Listen up, everybody! There is a place called Rainbow Bridge. You can Google it if you don’t believe me, but for those that may not have a computer and those that are too busy to bother Googling, I’ll furnish a precise description of Rainbow Bridge below. I’m there now and I’m happy, but always on the lookout for certain people—they know who they are, and I know we will be together again—they have to come through here—it’s a requirement for entry into their ultimate destination. And they need to know that I’m here with Sambo, Hammer Head, Phu, Tuffie, Yuki, Mikki, Dumas Walker, Annie, Callie, Tee, Shiloh, Heidi and Buster and several others—their names escape me for the moment—we’re all here waiting, and in the meantime we’re having a ball!
That’s my story, Reflections of a Chihuahua named Bimbo, and I’m sticking to it!
Signed: Bimbo, the well “- – – -” Chihuahua
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .