Asking for prayers and good thoughts for my nephew Dave @ Dave Mows Grass.
After being diagnosed with cancer last year he has managed to keep an incredibly positive attitude, run a couple 25 K Marathons, joke about breaking his record slowest times, ride bikes with his son every day the last 4 months (even the days the chemo was kicking his ass) , build a bike, take up bowling using the most unorthodox style imaginable with great success, complain not at all about the side effects of chemo (even though it has turned his red hair to an albino silver), and from what I can tell be a really super husband for his wife Cristina.
Please pray for him, and all the other Cancer Survivors, and give thanks for such an outstanding facility as MD Anderson, and the doctors and nurses and caregivers and the good work that they do.
Dave is the most courageous and resourceful guy I know, and God is good.
Thursday, July 02, 2015
Posted by bulletholes at 1:50 PM
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
But she had a beautiful tan, and one day when she mentioned she had been ‘tanning” I just had to ask:
“What good is a tan if you aren’t going to let anyone fuck you?”
She wears a big diamond engagement ring on her finger to "keep horny men away", she proudly says.
I told her I hadn't even noticed, I was too busy looking at her ass.
Posted by bulletholes at 12:38 PM
Monday, June 29, 2015
"Pledge? They made each other a pledge?"
From the Supreme Court ruling, lifting the ban on Same Sex Marriage in the United States:
"The history of marriage is one of both continuity and change. Changes, such as the decline of arranged marriages and the abandonment of the law of coverture, have worked deep transformations in the structure of marriage, affecting aspects of marriage once viewed as essential. These new insights have strengthened, not weakened, the institution. Changed understandings of marriage are characteristic of a Nation where new dimensions of freedom become apparent to new generations"
Posted by bulletholes at 2:15 PM
Friday, June 26, 2015
To focus more on understanding, and less on being understood.
Its easy for me to try to understand why people would want a Confederate Battle Flag flown at a State Capitol. The unity experienced by the South, and the pride it inspires is immeasurable. Damn, it’s a good looking Flag too, Ol’ Dixie, and I can remember the swelling in the chest I would get when I saw one. I remember as a boy in Detroit we would sing "Dixie" in Music class, and I would almost tear up as we sang it. I was the only person in my grammar school class from the south, and my buddies would all look at me and smile as we sang it. I read a lot of history books way back then, and could tell you all about Fredericksburg and Stonewall Jackson by the time I was in the Fourth Grade. On vacation trips back to Texas and going to Six Flags, I was always delighted watching the Confederate Army march past, with the black drummer boy bringing up the rear.
It filled me with an enormous sense of southern pride, and when I got back to Detroit and would try to tell my friends how wonderful it was, the story always fell a little flat.
There is no way you can explain that feeling to a Yankee. There is no way they can feel it themselves. I should not expect a Chinaman, or an Israelite, or a Negro to feel that way about Dixie.
Likewise, it’s a little harder for me to completely understand the other side. But I can try to put myself in the shoes of a black parent, with their four year old child, walking up the steps of a courthouse to register my car and seeing that flag. It just might give me a chill. It just might remind me of my Great-grandfather, who died in bondage. It might remind me of my grandfather, who was lynched. It might remind me of my father, who experienced the harshest effects of Jim Crow south. It might remind me of the subtle, and sometimes not so subtle form of systemic discrimination and racism I had experienced in my life time.
And I think how I might feel, standing there with my four year old daughter, and watching the flag be lowered from the State Capital for the last time and forever. Its difficult for me to imagine all this.
I also remember that at Six Flags I was afraid to ask mom and dad could i have a Dixie Flag, because I thought they would say no. I thought they would say no, because I always sensed deep inside that there was something a little wrong about wanting that flag.
But damn, its a handsome flag!
Posted by bulletholes at 9:14 AM
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
I watched Philip Mudd, former deputy director of the CIA Counter-Terrorism Center and former deputy director of the FBI National Security Branch on Charlie Rose two years ago.
Follow the first link for a great Charlie Rose interview with Phillip Mudd.
Posted by bulletholes at 10:59 PM
Monday, June 22, 2015
It was red, with Tongatoan writing and Easter Island statues printed on the fabric.
There were the trunks, and then a matching top, which amounted to a loose fitting shirt with no buttons. Dad was an apple, and his big belly stuck out, but the whole outfit looked right on him.
Of course he always had that cigar.
He wears that when I see him on the shoreline of Grapevine Lake, launching the boat, and we are about to go fishing.
“Do you think I can drive the boat today dad?” I always ask.
“Umm-hmm” will come his absent minded reply. But I know that I will not drive the boat today. I never did. Instead, we will cruise across the lake, and he will pull up to a spot, and say “Do you want to try it here?” and I will grin, and grab my pole.
As we lower our lines into the water, dad will look at me, and with the cigar still chomped between his teeth he will say:
“This looks like as bad a place as any”
Sometimes we caught fish, and sometimes we didn’t, and I never did get to drive the boat.
If I count the years back, I haven’t seen dad for 28 years now. I count all the years that he had Alzheimers, and couldn’t do all the things I remember him doing, locked away in that VA hospital. That would make more than 40 years without dad.
But I imagine heaven, and seeing him in that funny red outfit, and we are fishing again.
In heaven you get to do stuff over you know, and I’d like a do-over on our fishing trip.
You might think my do-over would be where I finally get to drive the boat.
But that’s not it.
In my do-over, when we stop to fish and dad says “Do you want to try it here?”, I beat dad to the punch, and it is me who says:
“Looks like as bad a place as any, Pop!”
I have to remember to do that when I get to heaven.
I think he will like that a lot.
Posted by bulletholes at 9:59 AM
Thursday, June 18, 2015
I wish the AARP would not send my sister any more mail. I wish they wouldnt send her any more invitations to join, with a 3X5 sized "Temporary Membership Card" made out of Credit Card stock, with a big picture of a "Day Bag" on it which can be "YOURS, ABSOLUTELY FREE" just for joining AARP today by sending in $16.
It says the Day Bag will hold your electronic tablet, your copy of AARP magazine, and a six pack of Ensure. Its "great for day trips, or any time you are on the go".
The thing is, I'm older than my sister. Why are they not sending ME offers for free stuff? Do they know that because of bad financial planning I will never be able to retire? They seem to know that in order to get my sister to join all they needed was to offer her a free Day Bag.
If they know all that, why do they not know my sister is dead? That she will never need another day bag, not even for a minute?
I wish the AARP would stop sending my sister offers for free stuff.
Posted by Bulletholes at 7:04 PM
Wednesday, June 03, 2015
“You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.”
Posted by bulletholes at 10:06 AM
Thursday, May 28, 2015
"Long time we travel on way to new land. People feel bad when they leave Old Nation. Women cry and make sad wails, Children cry and many men cry...but they say nothing and just put heads down and keep on go towards West. Many days pass and people die very much."
Trail of Tears survivor, 1829
5/28/1830, Andrew Jackson signs the Indian Removal Act.
"It gives me pleasure to announce to Congress that the benevolent policy of the Government, steadily pursued for nearly thirty years, in relation to the removal of the Indians beyond the white settlements is approaching to a happy consummation." He also said, "Toward the aborigines of the country no one can indulge a more friendly feeling than myself, or would go further in attempting to reclaim them from their wandering habits and make them a happy, prosperous people."
Leading the way had been the Supreme Court ruling in 1823 that the "right of discovery" outweighed the "right of occupancy".
Posted by bulletholes at 1:57 PM
Sunday, May 10, 2015
It was day 225 of the Iranian hostage crisis, back in 1979. I was Kitchen Manager at The Keg, and living at Moms house. We hadnt had to put dad in the VA hospital yet with his Alzheimers. I guess I was feeling Patriotic, or maybe I was just feeling listless, being 22 and not entirely happy with the work I was doing.
Whatever it was, I thought about joining the Marines.
I told my mom.
“Mom, I’m thinking about joining the Marines.”
“Oh no Stevie. Why would you want to join the Marines?”
“Well, Mom, the thing is, I’m not very tough. I’ve never been in a fight. I wouldn’t know what to do. I’m thinking the Marines might toughen me up some.”
She looked at me real hard, then her face started to soften.
“Oh no Stevie. You don’t need to be tough. I want you just like you are. Just a nice boy who is sweet and doesnt know how to fight.”
“Ok Mom, I won’t join the Marines”
Then 12 years later, during Gulf War One I was Chef at Rivercrest. I was happy there. I had a nice house a wife and two kids, 2 and 3 years old. The phone rang one day. It was an Army Recruiter. He wanted to recruit me. I didn’t just tell him "NO" outright, but asked him what it would pay, and where they would send me, stuff like that. I told him “Hey, I make pretty good money,. I got a house, a wife, and two kids and I just don’t see me joining the Army or the Foreign Legion at 35 years old.”
“Sir, you are eligible for another two years!” he informed me.
“Ok, well, thanks for the information” and I hung up the phone.
But about a week later there was a knock at the door. When I answered it there was an Army Captain, in full dress uniform, standing there. I didn't know whether to salute or shake his hand.
“Mr. Renfro?” he asked.
“I talked to you last week about opportunities in the United States Army, and I thought I’d stop by today and give you this packet of information” and he hands me an official looking folder with an eagle and a pair of crossed rifles embossed on the cover.
Oh man! I couldn’t believe it! I invited him in, introduced him to my kids, showed him where I kept the lawnmower, the grill and charcoal I fired up every Monday night; the badminton court I had set up in the back yard; my boat and $10,000 worth of fishing tackle and camping gear which I used QUITE regularly, and explained to him again that while I was always open to new opportunities, me and the Army probably weren’t the best match at this point in my life.
I saluted as he left.
I told my brother about this encounter. He was a Colonel in the Army at the time. He wasn’t surprised and laughed.
“Yes, the pressure is really on these recruiters these days. If they cant sign enough guys up, they end up in Saudi Arabia, getting ready for the big push to Baghdad.”
Anyway, Happy Mothers Day Mom.
You were right.
I like me better not being tough too.
Posted by Bulletholes at 6:40 AM