Poem: The Very Last Day of the Fall

I met her on the front steps of Autumn,
A neighbor that I'd never known
She smiled from behind dark drapes of her hair
Just beyond I saw bright lights were on
We loitered a while on the stoop of her home
Wondering when to take a step in
And later she laughed and  pulled back the drape
And I saw her welcome mat grin
Nervous and awkward, I stumbled a bit
at the threshold and entry hall
But my neighbor became my closest,  best friend
By the very last day of the Fall

Four Days and a Wedding

I'm here in Searcy, Arkansas, with Janice (my fiancee') to attend the festivities surrounding her daughter's wedding!  We got here on Thursday.  The rehearsal is Friday night, and the wedding is Saturday night.  We'll leave on Sunday.  In a time when there is so much to be sad over or disturbed by, this wedding is a real treat.

A Poem

TRIANGLES

They say triangles are a stable shape,

And the angles and the lines

Distribute the pressures in different ways

And through the pressure binds.

So why can’t we three feel bonded by such,

Pressed together, not apart

Triangles are fine for plane angles and lines,

Not for plain heads and hearts.

Is Your Food Talking to You

Well, is it?  Years ago my mom used to ask me that question when, after a big meal, my tummy would make various noises as my food settled.  I was reminded of that today when two foods I was eating spoke to me and asked me to "like" them. No I don't hear voices coming from cans, bags, or jars. Instead I noticed as I prepared a sandwich and some side foods that more and more foods have colorful labels inviting me to like them on one social network or follow them on another.  It made me stop and think whether I am becoming too friendly with some foods for my own good and whether I am completely ignoring others that I might like perfectly well if I just stopped to listen for a minute.  Then I realized that even if I decided to be more outgoing and more sociable with a broader range of foods, there would always be some left out and some I just couldn't bring myself to add to my friend list.

Is there a food out there you would never "like" or "follow"?  

Of Nickels and Half Dimes

The other day I was looking at my small coin collection and I noticed that I had an 1866 Indian Head Penny. I became interested in this penny that was almost 3 times as old as I was, and decided to do a search on the computer for the year 1866.  Among the things I found was information on another coin - the nickel.  I learned that prior to the 1860's America's 5 cent piece was called a Half Dime.  In the 1860's nickel mining interests succeeded in getting the government to coin a new 5 cent piece using the metal they mined.  The new coin featuring a nickel alloy was introduced.  The Half Dime faded into the past and the new kid on the block - the nickel - replaced it!

About Me, About Others

On the About Me page, I described my life and why I named my blog "One in a Thousand."  Today, I want to talk a little about someone else.  Some other people who are One in a Thousand.  On March 5, 2011, my niece (Rae Lynn Deal) had a little baby boy named Joshua.  Joshua wasn't like other little boys.  He was born to be a miracle.  You see, Joshua was born with a tumor growing inside his mouth. The tumor was about the size of a baseball or larger.  The tumor was something called a teratoma. Because ultrasound and other tests identified this tumor before birth, Rae Lynn and husband, Chad, went to specialists and found out that the tumor was life threatening and a serious health problem.  So they did what heroes do.  They made a decision that this baby would live, and this baby would have as good a life as possible for him.  They sought the best hospital and doctors to deal with this type of problem and they took off from their jobs and moved from northern Louisiana to Houston, Texas, to save their baby.  The birth was not easy,  and shortly after birth, Joshua was subjected to major surgery to remove 90% of the tumor. Tests showed there were some cancer cells in the tumor. He had other procedures in the few days following.  Because he had been born a few weeks premature, he not only had to endure recovery from the surgeries and the remaining tumor, he also had to gain weight and strength. He had a week of chemotherapy, too.  He remained in the hospital and in late May, he had surgery to remove the rest of the tumor. He finally went home to Downsville, Louisiana in early June, almost three months after birth.  Due to complications only days later he returned to the hospital for a few days, and is supposed to go home next Monday.

I tell you all this because Joshua - and his family too - are not just a One in a Thousand Family.  I looked up the statistics on this type of teratoma.  It is said to affect one in 4000 babies.  But that's just a statistic, and Joshua isn't a statistic.  He is our miracle.  And he (and family) will always be One in (Four) Thousand.  And he won't just survive.  He will thrive. 

Going to Spearfish

One evening, my fiance had just gotten off the phone with her dad.

"He's going to spearfish," I thought I heard her say.

"Janice, your dad, is well over 70 years old.  Do you really think he should be going to spearfish at his age and level of health?"

"Oh, he'll be alright.  He's been going a lot.  He's already been twice this year." Then I heard her add, "He lives in faith, so going to spearfish won't be difficult."

I was still a little bothered and told her so.  "I'm glad he lives in faith, but I still don't think he should tempt fate by going to spearfish."

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about," she said.  "He even used to take my grandmother to spearfish back before she passed away. And she was in her late 80's then."

"Your grandmother went to spearfish in her 80's? I thought you said she had lung disease."

Janice replied, "Well, after she got sick she started carrying her oxygen tank with her when she went."

"You mean she went to spearfish without an oxygen tank?"

"Well, before she got sick she had pretty good lungs, and they never went for more than a couple of days."

I was pretty concerned and confused about her family until she finally realized I had confused a trip her father was taking from his home in Faith, South Dakota to a nearby town named Spearfish, for a dangerous physical activity. We had a good laugh. But deep down inside, I was really glad her father didn't live in Kentucky.  I don't know how I would have taken it if she had put down the phone and told me her dad was going to Hell-For-Certain ..., Kentucky.

My Hopes

I hope each visitor to this site will enjoy what he finds here.  If you are among those who do, please click on an ad or visit the One in a Thousand store by way of the link near the bottom of this page. The store is where you can find books, music and dvd's.  If you dislike what you see here please click on the ad and visit the store as well.  I've always considered your purchase of a large book to be the clearest sign of your disapproval and the one most likely to make me feel sufficiently chastened.

A Night at the Robbery

From the time I finished my first two years of college until twelve years later, when I entered law school, I worked for Brookshire's grocery store.  I started in 1981 as a sacker (and 190 pounds) and left as a scanning coordinator (and 132) in 1993.  I met a lot of people who are still a part of my life then and I shared something with a small group that could have ended it.  Early in 1993, I believe it was, I was working overnight with the grocery manager and the stockers when Brookshire's was robbed.  The store closed about ten o'clock at night, but our crew worked overnight to get the store ready for another day.  The doors had been locked, but it wasn't unusual for one or more of the crew to unlock the doors and go out briefly for a smoke or to retrieve something from their car.

I remember sometime after midnight, the grocery manager calling all the crew to the front of the store.  When we got there, we had an unwelcome surprise.  A young black man with a knit ski mask was with the grocery manager and he had a gun. We gathered there near the checkstands looking toward the big front windows of the Brookshire's on North West and 8th Street.  We were told we were being robbed and the robber wanted us to cooperate.  He asked Robert, one of the stockers, to lead the way back to the freezed. Robert led and I brought up the rear.  The robber was just behind me.  Even though we weren't told to do so we raised our hands in stick 'em up fashion, apparently all thinking that's what you do when you're being robbed.  The robber told us immediately to put our hands down, and we did.  I can remember shivering badly and very noticeably.  The robber put the gun and his hand draped across my neck, but not in a threatening way.  The barrel of the gun was not on me for that instant.  The robber then whispered that he did not intend to kill us.  I was not sure.  But it was better than being told he did intend to.

Robert was the dairy and frozen food stocker and knew the difference between the freezer and the dairy cooler well. He led us straight to the dairy cooler, a place noticeably less cold than the freezer.  After the robber placed most of us in the cooler, he made the grocery manager go back up front with him to the office where the safe was.  But before they went, the robber put something in the latch of the cooler to keep us from opening the door.  While in the cooler, one of the guys wanted to try to either bust out and run, or at least try to jump the robber when he opened the door.  I didn't like either idea and thought either was likely to get somebody killed.  Luckily the others agreed with me and we simply spread out around the cooler to try to make it harder for him to shoot us all if he chose to start firing.

When the robber brought Jimmy, our grocery manager back to the cooler, we all waited to see what was going to happen to us.  The robber said something we didn't expect.  He said, "Which one of you has the red mustang out front? I want the keys."  I knew who owned it and thought he was going to hand them over, but no one said anything.  Then, I said, "I don't have a red mustang, but I have the gray one up front."  I took out my keys and tossed them to the robber.  He shut and jammed the door on us again.

We waited a moment to let him clear the area and then several of the guys forced the door open.  Jimmy and I made our way to the office while the others carefully went to the front doors and secured them.  Jimmy was grabbing one phone to call the police and told me to call the store manager.  I told him to tell the police the color, make and model of my mustang and I dialed the manager and told him what had happened.

When the police arrived they had each of us describe what happened.  In the course of doing so, I learned that Jimmy had told the police all about my car, but had not made it clear that it was an employee's car and not the robber's.  There were apparently two police cars sitting by my house waiting for me to come home with the loot.  Around the same time, other officers had looked for and found my car abandoned on another street.  Before everybody got the word that the car was mine, some officers were searching my car for evidence.  A little while later someone took me to my car and I was able to take it home.  The robber was never caught, but the police suspected one fellow and believed he had a history of trying to rob the same businesses more than once.  So on a few occasions I spent nights at the store accompanied by an officer with a rifle.  And on other nights I was provided an alarm necklace I wore that would allow me to send a silent alarm.

One of the other guys told me later that the gun was a revolver and (according to him) had hollow point bullets in it.  All I know is that this is the one time in my life I have been a victim, witness and suspect in an armed robbery.

The OIAT Store

At the bottom of my blog, you will see a section for my links.  The first link on the page is for my One in a Thousand Store.  If you're looking for books and music, I have a great selection.

The Day Bigfoot Came to Town

I was probably about ten years old at the time, when a carnival type exhibit came to town.  A big tractor trailer rig parked on one of the discount store parking lots and advertised a Bigfoot Exhibit.  I was big on Bigfoot at the time and had to go.  My dad couldn't take me and I was too young to go across town on my own, so Dad got my older brother, Jim to take me.  We paid for tickets and entered the trailer.  It was really neat - they had all sorts of stuff related to Bigfoot.  They had cards next to each thing telling visitors that it was Bigfoot teeth, or Bigfoot hair, or a plaster cast of Bigfoot footprints, pictures of Bigfoot, home movies of Bigfoot, and newspaper clippings about Bigfoot.  But there was one display item that confused me.  Something kind of brownish gray that looked like a pile of dirt.  I understood the first word on the card - Bigfoot.  But it was the second word that confused me - manure. It was a good thing Jim was there because he probably knew what the word meant.  So I turned to him and said, "Hey Jim, what's MAN-ure?" Jim looked around for a second and then headed off to the next exhibit leaving me there next to the pile of MAN-ure.  I realized he must not have heart me, because the trailer was fairly noisy with all the visitors.  So, I tried again, a little louder.  "Hey Jim.  What's MAN-ure?"  I could see that it was still hard for him to hear, because he never even turned around.  He just headed through the truck for the exit.  I tried one more time. "HEY JIM.  WHAT'S MAN-ure?"   I knew I must be loud enough that time because people all over the trailer turned around.  But by the time I got it out, Jim was out the door and down the steps.  I didn't learn what MAN-ure was that day.  But I did learn later what it w