OBC, just what is it?

Manufactures of cars, planes, train (and pontoon boats) place specification plates on their products. These plates are for general operating instructions and are used by dealers to set up products for owner use. In the case of boats the plate is known as OBC, Outboard Certification. It specifies the maximum horsepower engine which can be legally installed (insurance wise), get a lawyer.

But who reads safety plates, intructions or owners manuals?
How many of you have read your car’s owner manual cover to cover? One night you make yourself a cup of hot tea, turn off the TV and spend 15 minutes reading your car’s manual? I think not.

So I have this friend who seems to be headed into his second childhood. He usually drove the speed limit on the interstate when it was 55 mph and still did until recently. Now he’s got a 500 horse power car that rockets and his latest move is to 'kick things up a bit' is out there on the water.

He’s purchased a 26’ pontoon boat to cruise the chain of lakes. The boat is rated for a 90 hp outboat engine… but, oh no too mild… a 150 hp 6 cylinder Yamaha was mounted on his new craft.

This is the same friend who dillely-dallies down the interstate, but had a twin Beech that flew at 245mph. Now he wants to fly across the water. Yesterday, I got my first ride on his new Craft’. It didn’t straighten my hair, it cruled it or what’s left of it.

Don’t call my old aged, call it a matter of survival. Next time I think I’ll swim for who ever heard of a 60 mph pontoon boat.

"This program is not responding...."

Do you want to send a repoprt to the server? It is amazing the number of similar pop ups that come out of thin air and land on my computer screen.

"You are in error and we are sending a report to Microsoft."

It's literally dumbie proof, the computer instructions read. Well, they can dumbie this! I spent the last 20 minutes writing another gem that would hold your mind in the Twilight Zone, but no on comes a pop up and somehow I'd done it again. I'd gotton off of bed on the wrong side and now once again my typing has two left thumbs.

Working through all this stuff trying to smile and not put my foot through the monitor, I got this kool blog ready for you and the power flickered and poof, a blank screen (a rain strom ten miles away creats national power outage.) So, this gem in the rough is now lost in that void of nothingness. It was also lost in the back of my mind another void of nothingness.

And you know what? I don't care!

Memorial Day and a young old friend….

Today is a today of parades, marching bands, flags flying and old soldiers dressed in their VFW or Legion caps marching out to a memorial firing off a around or two in remembrance of friends lost in some forgotten war.

Time marches on but this day has a special feeling for me for I can’t get by the day without thinking about a special friend of mine, Mike LaBaron. We were friends during a special time in our lives. We skied together, snow and water, and partied together. We lived in different towns in the winter but spent the summers and Christmas breaks being up to no good. It was the joy of youth.

I was a year ahead of Mike and went off to college and I talked Mike into joining me attending Bradley U. Mike’s freshman year, my sophomore, was a fun time, a little to fun. So, Mike decided to join the Marines to "find himself" was sent to Vietnam. He only survived by his using his hunting skills honed by years of hunting in the woods of Hazelhurst. Mike knew I too was thinking about the Marines and he sent me a letter from over their saying, "Don’t, it’s a death trap!"

Mike had made it through two years of hell, and at Christmas had registered to go back to Bradley but drove north for a ski weekend at Indianhead. It was his last.

On his way back to Illinois for school he didn’t make it through a head on.
Mike is at rest in the Hazelhurst cemetery and each Memorial Day I try and stop to say hello to my young old friend…
good friends are very hard to come by.

Fireworks…

Getting turned up for the big holiday, the 4th of July takes some far sighted planning. I have this friend who was huge into the 4th. He’d spend weeks buying and then planning his lighting off a display that would level the neighborhood. For months while on business trips he’d stop at other road side booths in states that allow the sale of the BIG stuff, things that go boom in the night.

Our small island town would literally explode with people from around the state coming in to see the town’s large fireworks display. For years my friend felt that he should out due the taxpayers and have his own display. Many of us would gather on the eve of the 4th in his front yard and watch him launch the BIG stuff out over the lake and drink his scotch when he wasn’t looking.

There were ooohhhs, and ahhhh’s from the front yard and from boaters out on the lake. He'd light off his display after the town’s show and it became an annual event until… till one year, one of his aerial salutes backfired and landed in a boat of a friend. Yes it went bang!

Now a days, we all leave it to the pros to light things off. Sitting in our lawn chairs with mint juleps in hand we toast the founding of our counrty and watch our grownup kids level the neighborhood with their own fireworks.
Only five weeks to the fourth, we all better start shopping for the BIG stuff..

A tugg… and I don’t mean a tow boat.

It’s down there. I just know it is. I’ve been waiting hours on it. Actually about forty years, make that fifty. It’s that monster bass that annually spans in front of our dock. It’s a whale. The bass season doesn’t open for another week of two but who cares.

Even if I did get the thing on my line, I ‘d let her go. I just want to boat and lease her. It’s a principle of the thing. That bass with its pea-sized brain can’t be any smarter then me with my pea -sized brain. I’ve been waiting the thing out but it’s been four hours just sitting here. She has to take a lunch break. I can see her on her fresh sand nest shoeing away little panfish from her eggs.

This year I’ve make all the right moves, new line on my reel, an actual fishing license and even the boat is registered…. Hold it there’s a tugg on the line, there it is, I see the line moving. Now dip the tip and set the hook… on a rock! Another miss…time for lunch. The bass isn’t going anywhere neither am I.

May 21st a cold night

Frost warnings?
Last Several nights ago we had a heavy frost, it was 27 degrees! and this was the fourth night in a row with below freezing temps.

Is this unusual?
No it’s not! In past years we’ve had frost even in June and Rosebud would cover our tomato plants. But come on, this was the fifth night in a row of frost and this whole month of May has been the pitts.

Cold Mays, warm Januarys and flags go up and some people's concerns mount. "There are hurricanes in Florida and Texas needs rain…" this is a line from an old Kingston Trio tune of the 60’s. In 40 plus years not much has changed accept the waether. This brings up the subject for the day… the word normal.

My definition of normal or one that I use is " what most people except."
But if you are associated with a group of abs or sub normal people what is normal to your little world in the eyes of others is contair’. So our little frost to the people of Point Barrow, Alaska would have been a heat wave but to the folks in the Island of Bonaire, a natural disaster.

A type 5 huricane in the Gulf area is not to normal but not uncommon. But what is abnormal are the subnormal people that allowed building homes in a swamp area that's below sea level.

Going out to the saloons till closing for weeks at a time is NOT normal to some people. However, in some parts of the country (Fairfield, Iowa) it is considered standard operating procedure, normal. It’s all (normal) according to your constitution and I don’t mean a piece of paper that our founding fathers signed.
Excuse me now, I have to go uncover the tomatoes plants or Rosebud will have a bird, which is normal.

Who knows where the wild goose goes?

There are questions for the ages and these are not some of them…
but on an every day basis they are just as important.
Have you seen my wallet?
Do you remember where we parked the car?
What do you mean, I had the car keys last?

Half way through the movie… Did you let the dog out?
Did you turn off the coffee maker?
Here’s one… did you take your pills?

And another…
Did I have you sign the tax return before mailing it?
Why is there a black bear on our deck looking in the window?
And why is the dog hiding under the bed?
When are we going to finish painting the dock purple?
Why is gas at $3.20 a gallon?
Who is your daddy?
Now where did I put that new fishing license?
When was our tee time?

I mean these are huge questions. Almost daily they keep re-appearing in some form or another and in most all cases the answers have to be found just to make it to noon time. I mean you are not going very far without your car keys… and you are not going to pay for the $3.20 gas without your credit card which is in your misplaced wallet. By the way your wallet is in your blue pants which are currently in the washing machine getting a good soaking.

No, we can not blame all this on brain fade. You must start the day and finish it with a checklist, written or mental. I have found a check list the secret of my success. By the way one last question, have you seen my checklist?

Perk a booo...Goggle Earth….. 5/22

There you are... did you know I am watching you? No, it's not Big Brother but an an online program! It takes half an half hour to down load Goggle Earth but you can see places on the earth up close from a camera in the sky. From deserts to mountain tops you can zoom in and see details, even the brats burning on our grill out on our front deck . This is stuff Ian Flemming could have gotten his teeth into.


What’s your interest on mother Earth? Race tracks? Golf Courses? The croplands of South American? It’s all there in living color. You can even track highways for trip planning. Ity makes our Earth really comes into perspective. Just click on and zoom in. It should also remind us all that Earth is an important gift and should be treated as such.

The other day I was zooming in to see what I thought were the Black Hills in South Dakota. I was off by several states. I was in central Tennessee, Dolly Parton’s backyard and somebody was sun bathing. Well, Pardon me Dolly.

Seriously, Ahhhhh…. 5/19
That’s right, serious is a word that makes you think heavy thoughts. I awoke this am in one of those thoughtful moods, seriously. It wasn’t heavy-duty serious as ‘What is the real meaning of life?’ It was more like geee my heart is working, I’m breathing, I can see and I got up without the alarm ringing in my ear. All these were positive signs and I am serious.

And there it was right in the middle of things, I was using the word serious as others miss-use or over-use words like the word like. See I did it myself, like you know what I mean? These brain twitches are more obvious in our speech patterns rather that in our written word, like you know what I mean???

Then there is the use of 'Ahhhh.' It used when we are speaking and our brains aren’t as fast on the draw as our mouth. To fill the moment of void good old Ahhhh’s then comes rolling out of our mouths. It, Ahhh, is in popular demand and used by politicians and jocs. Just stick a mike in front of them and start counting their use of either Ahhh’s and likes or both. Then there's the word it used in the place of a noun, the subject of this sentence, but what is it?

The other day George W came on TV talking to a group about the use of ethanol. Now I can take the president on most days with a grain of salt but this time he really got on the Ahhh bandwagon. I was in full agreement with what he was saying, using ethanol, but I found it once again hard to hardle the way he was saying it.

I started counting the Ahhhhhhhhhhhh’s and after twenty two I ground my teeth got up and changed stations to the Weather Channel, seriously like ahhh, you know what I mean? I thought I was in a dentist chair.

It's down …. 5/18

No it’s not my waistline nor the market …. but our tread mill!
What a great feeling knowing that you have blown through the rubber track on your ‘human squirrel cage’, the treadmill. The track itself is complete history. We got the thing about five years ago. For the first four years Rosebud used it daily. I used it as a coat rack. I’d only get near the thing to moving it so she could vacuum around it. That was about it.

It’s not that I do not want to look like my younger brothers who are in semi-shape. It’s that I thought I was near perfect condition. But after five knee operations and a mess of other physical problems I am lucky to be walking let alone getting in shape to run a Boston Marathon.

This mentality lasted till last fall until the hospital changed my logical thinking. It’s simple… without a heart you have no knees. So they, the knees, are now a constant pain, swollen up, and hurt like the blazes after 40-minutes of tread millings. Now our treadmill has a flat tire, we wore out. It will be down while I order parts then 'extended' weeks while I then try a repair.

In the meantime I’ve got to find alternate exercises. There’s high speed walking in the woods with our friends the wood ticks or doubling up on two wet suites and swimming in 50 degree water in our lake. Or I could use the high school’s indoor track at 5 am or even the athletic equipment at a hotel in town. But with gas at 3 bucks I think I’ll speed walk the dog , that is if she can keep up with me.

Birch Bark or the title of this site…5/17

Ok, back to nature again. This time it’s about those white birch trees. So who cares? Bare with me…Birches are pleasant to the eye when mixed with the green needled pines, maples and oaks. This is very true in the fall when the leaves change colors. But the problem with birch trees is they are weak sisters, they have no iron constitution.

Rub them the wrong way and over they go. And as for fire wood… if you don’t split them up breaking the bark you end up with a pile of dry rote all over the floor. When you burn a birch log the bark blazes like crazy but its soots all over the place very similar to some people I know.

Then there are the birch canoes that the native Americans developed. They were lightweight, easy to carry, portag'e and most all of them went in the direction when they were paddled. Even the first early French settlers around the Great Lakes tried using birch bark canoes until they found one draw back. The bottoms were weak. Step in the wrong place and everything started swimming. They finally gave up and built their canoes out of stripped cedar and the advance is on.

Today canoes are made from high tech materials and are a joy to handle...and birch bark? Its exported to China where thy make toy canoes and drums that are brought back into this country and sold our town’s souvenir shops and the local Wal-Mart, progress it’s a grand thing.

A candy wrapper… 5/16

Where’d it come from? I don’t know. It wasn’t there yesterday. I had my pants pockets cleared out. There must be mice hiding things in my room. No way could a Snicker bar wrapper find it’s way into a place where it doesn’t belong.
Months ago a turned over a new leaf.. "Not me, junk food is a thing of the past! " I’ve reformed, I can’t go through another visit to the heart doctor getting unplug again. I’ve learned my lesson. "No dear, that’s not my wrapper, no way."

It wasn’t out of my mouth before I knew she wouldn’t believe a word of it.
Oh, it was trauma. This time think of another excuse! How did such a little piece of paper wind up in my pocket and then get found by my live-in FBI agent? I hadn’t answer.

I couldn’t have fall off the wagon so easy knowing I’ve got one foot on a banana pile and the other on a big slice of chocolate cake. How about this one? "I was walking across a packing lot and the wind blow it into my pocket while I was looking the other way." How’s that? Will she bite?

Nature Stuff… 5/15

On Friday’s post I gave you a nature theme. I really can get into this nature stuff but this morning I was ready to put a knife in Mrs. Nature and move back into the city, Minocqua. It’s been five morning in a row that there has been a family of huge red headed wood peckers having very early morning breakfasts on a dead oak right outside our bedroom window. It’s rat-a tat-tat all morning. The first morning it was nice to know that spring was really here but come on, rat-tat- tat at 5am?

Imagine listening to those ultra- monster boom boxes kids install in their cars a foot from your head. Well, those boom boxes, are a lot quieter than this family of birds who each am were making more noise than the Boston Pops on the 4th of July. Yes, there is a time and place for all of God’s loving creatures but 10 feet from our bedroom window at 5am?

There are laws protecting eagles, woodpeckers even the spotted owl. However they could be a little more appreciative of others that inhabit nature’s world. I mean we don’t water ski after 10 o’clock at night not wanting to disrupt their tranquility. Sometimes I wonder about the mentality of birds and others... zero.

I think I’ll follows those woodpeckers and find out what tree they are nesting in, then go out at midnight with a hammer with in hand and bang it on their tree.
But in the end, isn't nature grand stuff?

Five dazes a week is enough… 5/13

After due consideration of the facts, the clock and calendar on the wall it has come to the attention of this blogger that it’s getting on to summer time. Then add the fact that it was the opener of fishing season last week and I haven’t touch the boat, nor have had time to stop and get a license…

So I ask, " What in the #%$@&* are you and I doing at a computer especially on a week end? I’ve got friends (one) coming to town, things to do, a canoe trip to plan for, an up and coming cook out and a dog to un-train.

So without any complaints from you, I am putting you on notice. There will be no Birch Bark Tales blogs on the weekend during the ‘play time’ of the year, summer. Plus, it’s getting harder to find gems in the rough and I don’t mean lost golf balls.

Cry all that we want… I’ll just turn a deaf ear... to be continued on Mondays

A walk in the woods… 5/12

Several years ago my son-in-law gave me a Christmas book, "A Walk in the Woods." by Bill Bryson. Brother Bill the author was born and raised in Des Moines and began writing about things out there in this big old world. Having been born and raised in Iowa I can see where Bryson had his eyes opened after he moved his own family to Maine. " A Walk in the Woods" is the story of his discovering America by walking the entire length of the Appalachian Trail, 2,100 miles. Huf , huf!

It’s rather different scenery out east with the Blue Ridge and the Smokes. Walking 2,100 miles is something amazing for has its ups and downs, mostly ups. I really got into the book for Bryson wasn’t alone for he had a walking companion. He talked a life long friend who was over weight and out of shape to join him. His friend, we all can identify with for his backpack was filled with the good stuff, Snickers, Baby Ruths, 40 pounds of M&Ms, Ho-Ho’s and Zingers.

As they traveled along every 40 or 50 miles they found places where they could find heart healthy food. However, this also let Howard his friend could refill his backpack with the good stuff, a man after my own heart with triple by-passes.

Recently we were back in Death Moines and Rosebud, my dear wife, was showing me around her old neighbor. She to is a Des Moines native. We past by Drake U. then down her street. Then she showed me the Bryson home that was just around the corner. Small world for they both went to the same grade school.

I only mention this for this a.m. I went for a very quite walk in the woods myself and for once I really listened. It amazing the sounds that nature throws at you if you just let yourself listen. Like the sounds of a heavy snow blizzard in the middle of May? Hello? Whose there ? Its only Big Foot.

Find your game…

For many a year I’ve spent trying to find within myself, the real me. Or as the Greek Plato once said " Know thy self." It is tuff to butt heads with a butt head and come out second best. The real Greek Plato that I am talking about actually is a teaching golf pro in Milwaukee who has a Spanish name that immigrated from Great Britain where unfortunately for me golf was invented by a northern goat herder.

Are you with me?
Life at times is confusing, as is the person within you and as the game of golf. So then it is logical that an illogical person finds the game of golf confusing.
Where does one first turn for help in overcoming the frustration of not being able to correct the person inside? You turn to family and friends. They usually after some time offer advice that further compounds your confusion….
Are you still following me?

Now then the mark of true intelligence is knowing when to run up the white flag and quite operating on yourself…You go out and seek professional help and as everyone knows a professional is a person with a framed certificate on the wall.

Last week I ran up a white flag myself and took a golf lesson… I have refound my game and it’s only a bit rust with a slight slice.

It’s raining… 5/10
No big deal you say. Some spots are getting a lot of it, We (northern Wisconsin) are not. For about 6 years the North Country has been relatively dry. By dry I mean our annual winter snowfall has been a fraction that it was in the pass thirty too forty years. Winter is when we get most of the moisture that fills our ponds and lakes.

Years back there were times when you just couldn’t keep up with the white stuff. The museum has pictures of the snow line at roof eves. Also our springs haven’t had those week/daily downpours. I remember as a kid asking mother Roz " When is it ever going to stop raining?

Our small lake is a good 19 to 20" below its average height and a good 30 to 36" inches from the high water mark. There are rocks and boulders showing at the surface where in the pass you’d speed right over them without thinking about your prop and boat bottom. So the question my learned friends is who took the water? Where did it go?

Even the ground water in our well has dropped leaving a high iron content. Some fellow, a marine scientist a few years back can up with a handle "El Nino". He claims the change of weather patterns is due to the raise and fall of surface temperatures in the Pacific Ocean, a shifting of the currents.

Then again there is man’s messing up the environment. Just breathing pollutes the atmosphere especially some of the language I’ve heard. So spring is here… a time for April showers…but once again we didn’t get one and here we are in mid May and the DNR has fire alerts out. The whole north wood is a tinderbox, poof up in smoke it could go.

I got up morning to the wonderful sound of rain on the roof. What it means is that the remaining items on the get it done BUD! list (the outside ones) will just have to wait. Time for a good book, blanket and the sofa…

The road home…
Everyone has one, the path home. It’s been trod many a time, so many that you could almost drive it blindfolded. There is a bump here, a curve there but you’ve got it cold. If you had a dollar every time you’ve been down that curvy lane you could have retired for life.

It’s just like you, the old road has needed resurfacing for a few years, a little wear is starting to show, a few chuck holes in need of repair. And just like you in your youth, the road was a 'thin' narrow path that bumped along. But now they've made it "wider" and it's well run over. But never mind, maybe you should take it a little slower. A little more care is needed to make it to your safe harbor…

Where is this all headed? Yesterday, I was driving home down our local road that is blueprinted into my memory. I was lost in thought (no, not quite talking with myself, Dave) and a herd of white tail deer decided to mate with the bumper(s) of our new car.

I did a ‘this and that’ just missing the rear end of the first deer and splitting the uprights between four other deer. In Lambeau Field it would have been good for three points, or if a Highway Patrol officer was in view thee points on my license… or if on the racetrack at Elkhart Lake it would have taken first place in a soccer mom minivan class.

Don’t ask me how I missed having to explain to our insurance guy how I messed up both ends of our new car. Once again blind luck played its part and knowledge of local terrain had nothing to do with the near miss. The only witnesses to my highly developed driving skill were four tick-infested deer and they aren’t talking.

The dock is almost in…

It’s my annual wrestling with long metal dock parts that years ago use it fit together. You tell me how in the world can iron change its size and shape? Bolt holes are suppose to remain constant and line up, but NO. I spent the last two weeks sanding, scraping the rust off the our old dock.

Then I started painting the thing a beautiful shade of light red purple. Our neighbors are just going to love this bright color. Why this quaint shade of ugly purple? I got a real deal on it.

The sales guy at the hardware store said he’d let me have it at have price! This later I found out was the same paint that’s been on their shelf for the last four years with no takers. While in the check out line the clerk told me, "No one in their right mind would want such a ‘nice’ color."

Personally, I don’t think the ducks or loons will mind trhe color nor will I for it’s nighttime for half of the day. As for my neighbors, they will be green with envy besides they are family and have known for years of my bad taste… for who in their right minds would have driven around the countryside even downtown in a customer painted bright orange Ford Torino.

After a morning’s labor I have 2 sections of 6 sections in the lake. By late August I should have the other 4 sections in, just in time to take the thing out. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to take some aspirin or maybe something heavier-duty.

This one is on me…

Every town, village and or neighborhood in large cities has one. It’s the place where everyone knows your name. For that matter each generation has had it’s own type of gathering place and it’s been called different names.

In the 17th and 18th centuries they were called Inns. With the advent of electricity and running water a new name was needed and our favorite places became known as saloons. Now many decades later the Inn Keepers have added pool tables, dart games, and one arm bandits (for amusement purposes only) and have once again changed their names from cocktail lounges to taverns.

But over the years one thing has remained the same, the folks sitting on bar stools. There is always one person who breaks eardrums with a voice that can shatter dishes at ten paces. Then there is the tavern’s Edward R. Morrow who knows all, tells all. You want to know who’s doing what, where and when? Most of the time you don’t need to ask. The latest NEWS in given freely by the local Mr. Morrow almost before you walk through the door.

Then there is the mouse guy quietly sitting in the corner eyeing everyone wishing he were Robert Redford away from all of this. Another is fast asleep in a corner taking a 10 minute break. There are the dozens of prince and princesses that make their grand entrance walk through the swinging doors. The cast of life is endless.

Of course Friday and Saturday nights the places are packed and you need a number to get in. So, what’s the attraction with a smoke filled, ear splitting loud place? It’s a break from our little world of reality, where you try to put it to them before they can put it to you, let’s have another, bottoms up!
You look at your watch, it's 10:30 pm, how'd it get so Late.

Spring décor…

It’s butt hustling Spring time, get the windfall in a burn piles, stain this paint that. Each year its gets harder and the honey do list grows in length. I’ve counted the hours just getting a winter haze off the windows… you can make that’s days just to get our little place shaped up for our four weeks of summer.

It almost doesn’t seem worth it. However, on a warm summer eve with 30 folks on our deck each socializing and the grill under full fire it take the sting out of this entire elbow grease thing.

Late week I went to the library after miss-turning the TV. For some reason the TV just happened to be tuned into the Home and Garden Channel. I had left it on the Brewers game the night before, hummmm. So this guy was doing this and that to his outside living area adding a lot of rustics. It got me looking at our outside living area and the lack of pazzazz, however we have a pile of rustics behind of shed.

Later, I was in town in the library. I happened onto a home magazine with huge outdoor projects to beautify any home. So why not I asked myself and
I stopped at our garden center and talked to a landscaper. We talked about a little redo. He took notes than called me at home with the bottom line cost.

I think I’ll stick with our pink flamingos and plastic frogs, you know the natural look.

Birch Hill… 5/3

It’s called that for a very good reason. First it’s a hill; second there were thousands of birches standing tall against the north winds that blow off Lake Superior. Due to several reasons, which I will not go into, most of the birch trees have died off. This is one Mother Nature shouldn’t point it’s finger at mankind. We are told it’s a natural cycle.

Birch Hill is in between Hurley and Ashand Wisconsin on Highway 2. There is a thing call road daze where you can drive from miles and the road and surrounds all start blending together. Well, Birch Hill and its wide views are enough to snap you back to reality. We were up that way last week and it truly is a joy driving on US 2.

It not quite as shocking as the boring flat drive on state highway 180 in Arizona on which your eyes are suddenly blown away with the site of the Grand Canyon.
But US 2, Birch Hill and Chequamegon Bay with the distant Apostle Islands always bring a smile to our faces. It’s almost as nice as visiting a fudge shop.

Hold that ladder! 5/1

You can count on me. I’ll climb up there and fix it. No problem! " Look you two just hold the ladder." It will take only seconds. So without a worry up the ladder up for a quick repair, then seconds later flat as a pancake. I actually bounced off the hard deck after completing a front swan with a ¾ twist.

The judges give me a 5.5 on form and it read 9.2 on the Richter scale. This event happened several years back with two eye witnesses. They were a big help picking up the pieces and laughing about my secondary bounce.

Actually it was my own stupidity. I could have waited for profession assistance in the form of my brothers rather than my two golfing budding who would doing anything to gain an advantage out on the course.

It taken two years to recover from the fall but now I am ready to wax them.
I was just over at one of their summer homes on request checking out how the place made it throught the winter (a little bit better than myeslf).

I did notice that Fred's gutters were loaded with leaves and needed attention.
I think it’s my turn to hold the ladder for one good turn deserves another.

Places you shouldn’t have been….

Cruising on the Hindenberg into Lakehurst New Jersey.

Having breakfast at the Top of the World September 11th.

Winning free tickets on the maid voyage of the Titanic.

Opening a margin account and going long on Wall Street in1929.

Camping out with your family the night before at Mt St. Helen’s State Park.

Taking that long awaited trip to Paris on TWA flight 800 July 17, 1996.

Let’s just say that we are happy where we are and with what we have...
However, each of you have been somewhere where shouldn't heve been.
We all want to hear about about it in the comment box below, that is if you have the brass enough to fuss up!