as seen on a bumpersticker today...
Keep Texas Beautiful--
Put a Yankee on a Bus
sorry, northerners, but that's funny...
since they were born, i've referred to all money as college money...in other words, every time the kids try to cash in at the bank of mom, i tell them that their account is still empty and all my money is for them to become lil longhorns, to which they usually respond, "Hook 'em" like all good longhorns should..
when the oldest was two and the youngest was six months, i took them to Paris on a work trip.. we were stuck in JFK for hours...as i was sitting there at the gate, trying to corral the boys, this lady drops her purse and all this change comes flying out like a slot machine.. lots of change, i couldn't understand why she was lugging it all around.
my son true leaps into action..like it was mardi gras or something, he's on all fours scooping up the money into a pile and just grinning and laughing like mad...you'ld of thought he just won the lottery.
i said, "true, please, honey, you have to give that lady her money back"
i said, "seriously, son, that is not your money, now help the nice lady out and give her her money back"
true looked up at the lady with crocodile tears in his eyes and said, "but please, lady, i need this money for college..."
the woman begged us to keep the money, but i refused. damn embarrassing when your children beg for money, but damn amusing when they sound so goal oriented when they do it.
if i could just work this into a regular scam, i think i could quit my day job and just pimp em out like a gypsy..
roots are funny things..you can run away at supersonic speeds, but you can not escape that which is you, even if it isn't genetic, even if it isn't attractive, even if.
you notice that around children.. their immediate surroundings are their entire universe. that's what makes it so natural for them to be so "honest" out in public. it ain't honesty, trust me on this one, it's blissful ignorance-big difference...they're just taking their show on the road.
speaking of roots, have you ever had an older sibling pin you down by your elbows with their knees? dangling a giant loogie by a thread of spit just inches above your eyes? sucking it up only to shout empty threats at you, as if you could react? well that was my brother's form of water torture...the horror...retarded discipline, that's what that ahole taught me.
troop 606 was my sisterhood. devoid of female siblings, it was up to them to teach me all things feminine. fashion was roller skate patches on back pockets. love was passing a note. friendship meant you would never walk the slab alone. and bitchiness, don't get me started, the pms began before health class which came looooonnnnngggg before actual pms.
life wasn't any easier, in fact the more things change the more they seem the same. i still talk regularly with the sisterhood, 30 years later...troop 606 is having a reunion mid july. i can't wait. you better believe there will be fashion and love and friendship and bitchiness. we are real women and we'll have a lot to talk about...
the mini troops will probably be practicing retarded discipline, the boys outnumber the girls 8 to 3.
i'm a johnny come lately to the blog party...just got addicted to this mess late november. anyway, part of my early addiction was somewhat of a zoolike infatuation. kept reading and kept ending up in georgia. all blog roads lead to georgia. at least for me they did, truly mystifying..
then there were all the headlines from that rarely before heard of land...the nichols court shooting, the stone cold cool chick that talked him into custody, the missing kids, the evolution stickers, the runaway bride, all taking shape as the whole country hummed along... keeps georgia on my mind...
then one morning as the news is jolting me into my day...i hear there's a man, in georgia, of course... they aren't disclosing his identity, but he's killed his ex girlfriend and shimmied up a crane, it's a standoff. ok, a show of hands, how many of you, like me, on hearing this breaking news ran to the television saying out loud, "Good God,Rob, you've finally lost it..please come down?"
so what is going on in georgia? possibly just my own heightened awareness, i was blogtoxicated like i said...but still, are there aliens among you? are y'all eating thekronic kandy? you can tell us. free case of shiner or much preferred, real ale, for any serious evidence that could clear this all up...
mr. mcdaniels lived on stoney creek. even in my senior year, i recognized how apropos..the guy reeked of liberal ideology and sewed infectious thought among the youth.
he started the year with his top ten words you better never misspell, automatic f. the dude had some pet peeves, but at least he was straightforward. "business" was on the list, and i don't know why but i always previously wanted to spell it buisness...mr. mcd handed me an f with a note in red i shall see the rest of my days... "get out in the world and see...business is just busy-ness, but not for you if you can't spell... congratulations, you fail!"
besides that he had a standing theory that North Dakota doesn't exist. solely a fictional location, propagated by the us government for them to hide all their problems...never has anything, good nor bad, come out of North Dakota. he backed it up with the theory that if you ever met anyone from north dakota, they were a government operative.
sure enough, 16 years went by and the only person i ever met from north dakota, was a postman...a government employee, just as mister mcdaniels had warned. now he didn't like the theory that his homeland was nonexistent, but he brought nothing to the table in the way of proof. in fact, the more he tried offering evidence, the more he sounded as contrived and manipulated as mister mcd had warned.
somehow the thought of North Dakota as a black hole of government propaganda still makes sense to me. if you can prove otherwise, please leave it in the comments. and i mean hands on, no movies, or friends of friends, only the real deal counts...
seems our great state's governor, rick perry, had a slip up monday...after the cameras stopped rolling he said, "Adios, Mofo." unfortunately, he was just talking with an aide, but was still miked up...of course, right..
hilarious...red told me she just isn't hip to the lingo these days, but that she heard the governor say "mofo" and she wondered if i could tell her if that's ebonics or something and did i know what that meant?
i said, "well, it's most commonly used to mean mother fucker, but i don't want to put words in the governor's mouth..."
she said, "well thanks for telling me. at least now i know not to say, 'bye mr. & mrs. client, we think y'all are really mofos!!"
indeed, glad i could help...
you certainly know how to surprise a gal. i woke up this morning and my sitemeter had gone nuts. referring url, redneck ramblings, a very familiar site...
i got to say, it felt kinda like a one night stand..you snuck in, in the middle of the night, and threw me some linky love...my first...and little did you know, i really needed the encouragement, for my blogfather had reprimanded me verily for my meanness on the same post.
and since i am so thankful for the varied and assorted readers that you brought me (hello? singapore government? where have you been hanging out?) i wanted to let you know how much i appreciate your blog as well...
i've been lurking at your place for months..you have a gift, a great one. who else so artisticly blends nude fishing and wholesome family fun? just you...keep writing..
and thanks for the mention..
a guy friend of mine was telling me about his new girlfriend. they met on the internet.. became interested..met in person and got it on that same night. chemistry, ka boom, and that's alright.
he digs her. she's great. he went away to a meeting and she sent him nudie shots on his camera phone. (whoa, you go girl!) since they don't live in the same town, but close, he spends a lot of time on the phone listening to all the ways she's going to abuse his giant hard cock the next time she sees him.herein lies the rub, seriously, they've fucked now maybe on 5 or so occasions, and she's never had an orgasm. he says she screams like a nut and is louder than anyone he's ever heard, but never cums. she tells him she can do it for herself, big time orgasm, but not with him there, and that no man has ever given her an orgasm. ever. 30 years ever.
what can my poor friend do? he fucks her just as good as he ever has?? he tries and tries and no orgasm?? oral? yes...foreplay? never ending...positions? everything his sick mind can come up with, he does it all... how is he going to get her off?
i'll tell you what he does, but men listen up, it is for you that i'm divulging this shit.. he never gives up. she, at her whim, can give in...inflating him from sex monkey to the master...yes, he will be The One that could make the little girl cum that couldn't.
damn, i love this woman. plays a man so hardcore and he never even sees it. he buys it, hook, line and sinker. she owns his ass and he laps it up, sanfrantastic!!
if you think she isn't going to be the queen that reigns over me, you've lost your mind as well. every woman i relay this story to vows to star as pollyanna pussypants from here on out. i know i will. if you can fake having, you sure as hell could fake not having. i can not wait.
12 years now, without knowing what i'll make next week, or next month or next year... variable compensation...buzzkill? sometimes...it varies, hence the name...
sales is funny business, people. it evokes some ickity images for some, i know.. i couldn't count the number of times i've heard someone ragging on "sales positions" or "salesmen", but the most real down to earth folks i've ever known have been killer salesmen..
we live in the greatest country on the planet. i read somewhere that children today in america have no idea what the american dream is. i think that's horseshit. i have children. they are as brainwashed as i ever was. the dream is alive, we all just need to know it's worth embracing.
to me, in a nutshell, the american dream is that old adage if you can see it and believe it you can achieve it. that means if it's worth having, it's worth working for. we all want, sure different things, but we are free to invest our dreams in mansions or lottery tickets. freedom is what makes capitalism work.
which brings me back to the beloved salesman. a person that aspires to be at the crux of capitalism. zero hour when then barter is going down. since i live the position, my hat is off to you if you share in a sales occupation...for i truly empathize in knowing that the variable compensation is often not financial at all, but human.
you get to learn a lot about people, good and bad, when you step in and help them achieve their dreams. you learn a lot more from those who don't.
..you're resting on the beach after taking a pounding by the surf...it's hotter than hades outside and your mind drifts like wood between random thoughts...then you hear the music...it's approaching, god bless capitalism, alive and well on the gulf of mexico.
the van is playing music, but it's more mariachi than ice cream man...no bother. you can respect the ice cream man for coming through no matter what tune he lures you with...
but no, there's something more amiss about this ice cream man... he has spanish words sprawled all over his van...you search the high school spanish data bank in your mind and find most the volumes checked out. but here's the one word you recognize for sure, caliente, cripes neighbors, where have i been? hot ice cream?
i turned to our hispanic brethren who were hanging out and asked, "mike buddy, can i get a translation over here?"
mike said, "sure, what ya need?"
"the ice cream van? what's up with caliente? doesn't that mean hot?" i asked
"that's not ice cream, it's corn in a cup with chili pepper, jalapenos, mayonnaise, and a little lemon juice...it's good, you want some?"
"hot corn in a cup? it's 110 out here...it's got mayo and lemon juice? who eats that?"
"stop it, girl, you are making me hungry..."
so, there were two interesting things i learned from the hot corn sales on the beach. 1> must be an ethnic thing, the thought of eating hot corn in lemony mayo makes this gringo wanna puke. and 2> the hispanic folk love hot corn no matter what the temperature... i saw three "hot refreshment" vans go by in under an hour. the demand must be red hot, because the supply was ceaseless.
fyi: not a single ice cream treat for sale in the musical corn van. never occurred to em, i guess...far out.
had quite the excursion down south...woke up at 6 am in south central texas...drove 6 hours to the south, never left texas, and didn't see all that much of it either..it's just big, people. if you learned geography in hours, then i do believe you are a texan.
weather was good, sun, sun, and more sun. 110 on the heat index. breezy and postcard posey.
i'm sunfried and can't type much as i'm in utter agony. i wore sunscreen, religiously, but the counter effects of drinking en masse and then swimming in the salty gulf erased the potency of all my preventive measures.
i don't swim elegantly, not in the ocean...it's more like mary catherine gallagher might. i'm too afraid of a shark attack. and i was severely mentally scarred by man-o-wars as a child. hell hath no fury like that of the jelly fish.
how many times did my brother and i swim back from the third sand bar as kids? i remember crying all the way due to the underwater jelly attacks. damn, and often on the face. ouch i hurt just thinking about it.
my friend's eleven year old child was barbed on saturday by a sting ray.. it was just between the first and second sandbars too. the child went to the e.r. in brownsville and is fine, antibiotics to combat the venom. apparently, a regular occurrence on the coast, no big deal. interesting, i wasn't afraid of that before, now i know better.
anyway, i'm spent. i love when the vacation kicks your ass so you can't imagine how you'll work.
yeppers, y'all, i'm outta here....
did that sound excited? good...i'm going to south padre island for an annual meeting. they like to have our meetings at beaches, golf courses, ranches...beautiful places in general so when the meeting ends, vacation begins...
now it does eliminate any sane person's ability to learn anything at the meetings. generally the speaker is standing in front of a giant picture window while he drones on and on about ratios and the like. but because you love your corporate papa for putting you there, you want to be a good steward and learn something...
they are extremely smart. while we're not learning anything at our meeting, our families are off frolicking, with the whole corporate clan, drinking the kool aid. and i do mean the kool aid.
ever since law suit mania started, what a decade ago?? someone tell me...anyway, back then, we- broke underpaid newbie employees- came for the free drinks...no mo...no corporate sponsored sin, none, zero tolerance. for all you back biting fuckers out there that brought on the bullshit regulation, i wish to say thank you, but of course, i mean, fuck you!! i didn't want the sarcasm lost on such an important point.
i loved the old days.. when you were allowed to get loaded and blow off steam with a bunch of folks that were dealing with similar issues...it really was truly therapeutic. yeah, most the evenings' conversations grew more lewd by the rounds, but what good party isn't marked by wild progressive dialogue?
first came sexual harassment...no more titty bars, folks, no dirty jokes, no discussing whether you wax, shave or let it grow wild
then, i think, came my favorite, hostile working environment...no more expressing any outward frustration during working hours or in corporate company, no cussing, no slamming the phone down, no negative vibes, folks, you could scare someone.
then came financial perks, let's make this one easy...50 bucks, from you or to you...that is all...anyone can be viewed a client, so any gifts you give or receive, go ahead and send in a letter of documentation to the legal team. better to disclose it than to get caught red handed spending more and get canned...
then came the other perks, no more ball games, no more golf, no more fishing, no more fancy dinners. any one of those things would cost more than 50 bucks, so let's just cut it out completely
and finally, the saddest day of all, the end of open bar. i think the year was 2002 when i walked up to the bar before the big awards finale and asked for a bloody mary. the bartender did a fabulous job but then he turned to me and said something so offensive, and so cold, i will never forgive him and i will never forget the honest uncaring look in his eyes either..that'll be five bucks, mam..
yeah, ten years of progressive regulation and where has it gotten us? well, we are more family friendly these days, almost like disneyland, really, without the huge entrance fee.
but if i had to be honest, i wish i was heading to the beach and it was 1994. i'd get drunk and tan and learn whether bob's wife shaves or waxes...i'd gamble with the boys in a cigar smoke filled room...we would stumble back across the mexican border at dawn, pockets full of chicklets, tequila freedom, how it washes away those client blues ... yes indeedy, and i tell you something people, we would all be better, more sold-out corporate peons if it were still the case..and i guarantee we would learn a lot more at the meetings.
just one woman's opinion...i'm gone to the beach now to drink the kool aid and possibly spike it.
afterthought: i'm definitely bringing a flask, i want to be good and liquored up when they announce the new regulations...prolly no more beach meetings, if i was a betting man
sorry, but my reality has whipsawed between too real and twilight zone since the boys have been gone. what's a mommy to do? venture out?...i tried that, and here's how it went..
went to see my friend the drink slinger at the ole waterin' hole. two men sat on either side of me. the first, to my right, was Dave (hack, cough, wheeze, what's your problem? dave)...he was the belligerent type. the guy to my left was scrumdillyumptious, my age and named will. had seen him before...
dave had me practically moved out to his ranch diapering his decrepid ancient parents and completely oblivious to the fact i wasn't listening to him (spurs were playing). he turned to me and in a quiet schmucky tone he asked, "is that your husband?" pointing to will.
did i mention that i don't think fast on my feet? lying at the time felt like the quickest out of all so with little to no hesitation, i said, "yep, that's him alright"
"Well, what's his name?" shit, i didn't have any idea...fuck, busted, ok, that's not my husband, that's another alcoholic, y'all should be properly introduced...
i said, "i don't know what i'm supposed to be calling him these days?"
at this point, dave drifted away and will became immediately interested. oh shit. i guess claiming a stranger as your husband comes off as a come on? i don't get out enough...
will said, "you're cute, don't i know you already?"
and i said, "yea, we met a couple of years ago at the inn of the hills" (it's a bar-a hotel too, but you go to the inn to drink)
he looked at me square in the eyes and asked, "did we spend some time together in the unisex bathroom there?"
HOLY SMOKES!!! no fucking way...even if i had "spent time in the unisex" with will, even as romantically as he tried to put it, i'm sure i would have still been offended...
ah again i say it, you, sweet wonderful you, blog love, i couldn't wait to get home to you. you are the freakin sanity bomb. i don't care what you think, you rock and i love you...
sleep tight, nighty night
i loved lurking...i still love lurking..i've always had a little cyber paranoia about commenting...a deep paranoia.. there have been many times i wanted to comment but out of fear of there being a take-down by one of the blog's regulars, i very rarely did.
that must be a geek complex of sorts, but there you have it. i would envision myself commenting something inane like, "that's the greatest post ever" and some blog thug following up with, "hey hayseed, pipe the fuck down you idiot"
i also loved the anonymity. damn, isn't reading someone's blog just like digging through their panty drawer? all their secrets out there... spell checked, and templated, and archived... ooh la la
anyway, to honor the great bloggers who have sent me running to my computer after work for months for fear of missing their posts, i'm going to update the ole blogroll shortly with some must reads...
but my fear for you, dear lurkers in particular, is that you'll become so entranced as i have, you'll find yourself at your hill country home, viewing your pacific ocean view, hearing the bustling city sounds that seem to drown out the natural fauna...and suddenly you too will have to add your sound and insight into the mix.
please do, i never tire of reading a good story..and as long as you're digging through my panty drawer, go ahead and say hi in the comments...it's the right thing to do. oh, and please don't tell my mommy what you find in there...
she's an 81 year old new year's baby and the matriarch of our family, my only living grand. when my uncle arrived at her house he found the lights on but my grandma suspiciously on hiatus.
she's had a history of quick growing brain tumors and has had three major surgeries. none have ever effected her at all, her logic, and humor and wit have always returned..that's miraculous to me, the first surgery ever was a softball size tumor. grandma was only in her 60's then...she had been deteriorating, in fact, her over pressured mind was starting to give off major tell tale signs, but none of us knew at the time what those signs meant..
weeks before her first tumor was found, i went to visit her. she asked if i was hungry and then she made me boxed mac and cheese...wtf? the best cook on the planet? what was she doing? she then proceeded to put a couple of tablespoons of garlic salt in it...the shit was unbearable, the worst prison gruel i had ever tasted...it was just weeks later that she fell over, had a seizure, and then we all found out what was up...
like i said though, the woman takes a licking and keeps on ticking...three massive tumor removal surgeries behind her, and she has a stroke...must have been a light one...she was jumbling words and unable to express herself...you could see the frustration in her eyes as she struggled to string sensible thoughts together...(my grandmother has told me that the most frightening experiences she has had have been while she was physically unable to express herself, but aware of the panic she was causing)
my uncle said, "mother, who is the president?"
she said, "hmmm, you know, i can't think of his name...but i know i love him.."
she's much better this morning...still in the hospital, but blood thinners have helped. she was giggling and smiling and enjoying the impromptu family gathering that she unknowingly brought on...maybe that's why she recovers so well, can't stand to miss anything...
someday the saturday sun will shine,
another chance to get it right,
another chance to get it right
you give me...something to look forward to
what we want..is something to look forward to
everybody needs...something to look forward to
it isn't like the dream is dead, but it ain't feeling very well
someday the saturday sun will shine,
another chance to get it right
another chance to get it right
you give me...something to look forward to
what we want..is something to look forward to
everybody needs...something to look forward to..
have a great friday night...
with the elitist hippie fest in full swing and winding down this coming weekend, the flats have become crapped out with after effects of hippie waste..funny to see the damn tree huggers leaving behind their empty bottles of dr. brommer's all natural peppermint soap. i thought there was something just wrong about that...
the boys are learning a lot about packing it out down there, especially since the hippie bomb went off at quiet valley ranch. we take a plastic bag every time, and the oldest practices reading and trash collecting..."i found a bud light, mommy" oh joy, son...
topless lesbian love is one more thing i'd like to siphon down just a bit. (i realize this opinion isn't popular, but hear me out...) come on folks, it's a family affair here.. i'm as open-minded as they come, but you better share that dope you're smoking if i'm going to have to watch you grope one another in the presence of my boys. sorry, but they just ask too many damn questions..help a brother out, will ya? tone it the fuck down!
fishing was out of this world today. caught a mess of minnows in our hands using goldfish crackers for bait. my boys wanted to keep em, but their gills were all gummed up as they feverishly circled in the hazy gatorade cheesewater tank. i convinced the boys we had no real use for em, so they let em go...those that were still swimming that is, they got away...
sunbaked summer days, nothing like em...
not that i have the prettiest eyes, i don't, but i definately related to the eye fettish. i love eyes. everyone, everyone in my family has blue eyes. all four grands, my uncles & aunts, my mom, my bro and my two kids. for a recessive gene, it's pretty much dominated our gene pool.
not me, i got green eyes...the dirty spoon..does anyone know what that is? i once had an irish woman stop me at an outdoor concert in Montana...she told me i was her irish sister and she could tell by my eyes..."You've got the dirty spoon," she said.
now i can't site a source, i've searched google using "dirty spoon" and "greasy spoon" and i can't find a single back up to her claim. but ever since that warm july day, i've looked for it in my irish bretheren. and i believe she's right. wow, a genetic tell-tale. and all this time i'd spent just being whitey, i had no idea my eyes were telling another story.
i love the intonation eyes add to a conversation.. the emotion, the truth or the lack thereof. the twinge of deep meaning they can add to an otherwise bland story. the traces of the brown bottle flu that can be seen there. the eyes speak so loudly for a silent organ.
i hope this pulsates your pupils...course i doubt that it will. if anyone knows what characterizes the "dirty spoon" trait, leave it in the comments..i want to know if that holds any validity, or if that nice woman was completely crackers....
i once met a guy at a chamber event. he owned a septic business. i convinced myself it was ok to go out with him, since at least he owned the business, not like he was playing in the shit himself...
boy, was i wrong...he told septic jokes from start to finish. he called himself "the 2004 world terd herdin champion." as if that would have been enough, it was the tip of the iceberg. he also asked if i noticed his giant hose... he told someone (some random someone) he cleaned out my system and i really needed to work on my diet. there was no escaping the fact that i was out on the town with the poo poo man, oh glorious wonderful me...
besides being vile company, he did not share my lust for men in uniform. we walked on the patio and there was a cutie pie policeman on duty. my date turned to me and in the most sinister voice he said, "i hate fuckin cops"
ok, now i'm out with a wanted criminal? you don't tell a date that...shame on him. around that time he revealed a tattoo of a gigantic dagger with a swastika in the middle of it.. deal breaker, wtf?
i never really got to know the man. he was cute, but that was all. in short i learned that there is no reason to make justifications, if you're not alright with hanging out with someone, then going along just to see if they have redeeming qualities is a wasted enterprise.
i learned that you can take the man out of the shit, but you can't take the shit out of the man.
thanks to the fine firemen of new hampshire who were visiting that hunter's weekend and were kind enough to deliver me one moment of clarity. one of them turned to me and said, "you are a nice girl, none of us can figure out what the hell you're doing out with the terd herder??" ah, touche. sometimes those moments of truth can only come from a disinterested third party. on that note, i made my escape...
ever had a married man make advances on you? persistant and cunning, the married man will give you a false sense of security, afterall, he may be a philanderer but at least he's taken..he'll be no serious threat to you.
recently i have had two occurences...the first a client, who always calls me "sweetie". i once thought he just had me confused with his wife, i was calling on his cell...he said, "hey sweetie, what you up to?" i said, "no, this is your broker" he said, "i know, sweetie, how's it going?"
yow...the other is the ex-husband of a co worker...we have lunch together every monday. it's my hunter's lunch, and as such i'm usually the only one there not in camo...love it..but the main guy is always trying to pull me aside for private discussions about masturbation, sex, you name it...it has been a delicate act of dodge ball for almost two years now..the one question that is presently haunting me, "if i was single, would you go out with me?"
both of these winners had their wives leave them in the last two months...i'm scared.
if my dear friend little debbie from austin was here, she'd tell me to have some knob creek and not talk about it...that's how you get through the unspeakable. cheers.
secret swimming holes...where is your favorite? ours is on the north fork of the guadalupe..known only locally as the flats, pristine white limestone bluffs illuminate the river bed, which is completely transparent and roughly 30 feet wide. there are deep pockets everywhere to sit in and small jacuziesque falls every so often..
the water is only a couple of inches deep and the moonlike terrain easy to maneuver, unless, dear ones, you make the mistake we all make at the flats...you get thirsty
have a beverage or two and i guarantee you'll want to throw the frisbee..throw the frisbee awhile and you'll think it's all good....but beware, i've seen some death falls out there...the sandpapery surface is glazed with fresh algae and will grant you no favors, rasberry city...and the previously funloving onlookers will grant you no slack.. if there's one thing we all love, it's to see someone skinned up, ass in the air, privates shooting out of the suit..(we've all been there) hail yes, summer days at the flats
i freed the chillies from the lice factory around two. it was 2:30 by the time we made our approach. i think maybe 2:42 when i realized i was completely brain dead. a mind is a wonderful thing to waste..
i grew up in a funny little church. i'm going to go into the reasons it's funny, but fear not, i'm not going to save you. frankly, i'm too freaking busy trying to save myself these days...so don't let the title fool ya.
i want to tell you about the church, but more about the pastor....he was the root of everything wonderful there that outsiders, and some insiders i'm sure, never got.
He was a lieutenant colonel in the army air corps during ww2...so everyone just called him the colonel. he ran that church like the army too...it was mon, tues, wed, thurs, and twice on sunday...those weren't different classes or studies or feel good fellowship potlucks either, that was church. it was a constantly progressing study of the bible (non-denominational). if you had the nerve to miss, then fuck you, it just might cost you your soul on life's battlefield. but you could do what you want...
when you sat in the colonel's church, you didn't move a muscle (except to take notes) and you didn't utter a sound. respect. like the army i said, if you moved around, then you were considered to be distracting others from the word of god, and the colonel didn't put up with distractions...he'd throw your ass out, that's right, i grew up watching my pastor stop his sermon to tell some fidgety bastard to take it outside...tell me you've seen that?? he didn't do it all nicey-christiany sweet either, he yelled you out of the building like a drill sergeant...how dare you have the nerve to pull that shit in god's house, anyway...i can still see the veins popping out of his forehead...
we didn't sing much either, except for "christian soldier" which we sang every sunday. not the one you might know, same music, but the colonel changed the words. there was a lot more military imagery in the colonel's lyrics.
what an incredible man. i can tell you that i learned a lot of doctrine beyond the bible from him. he was an amazing teacher, very captivating...very focused on history, and was a humble respectful soldier in every breath.
i wish i could take you all back in a time machine...for the colonel is no longer there...he was a pastor for 53 years, but is disappearing in ahlzeimer's now. His son took over as pastor of the church and he's an entertaining, youthful chip off the old block.
besides making it tocyberland, the colonel is still fighting the good fight in the hearts of the troops he trained...