William Franklin Taylor - The Road to Texas

 William Franklin Taylor

The Road to Texas

In the book History of Leon County, Volume 1, Edith Taylor Gray provides the 'legend' of Doc Taylor. A summary of that includes certain details passed down from members of the family.  The first known and verified historical record of Doc Taylor is a record of his marriage to Elizabeth Hunt in 1879, in Hill County, Texas.

This is a summary of what appears in that book.

• Doc Taylor was born in 1855 (note a) somewhere in Tennessee (note b) on August 2, 1855. (note c.)
  
• His father was a steamboat captain. 
• The names of both mother and father are unknown.
• Doc Taylor spoke of a brother or half brother.
  
• His father perished in a riverboat explosion when he was less than 12 years old.
• Some time afterwards the mother remarried and the family lived in Forrest City, AR.
• It is not known whether the brother was born to William's step father or if he was in the care of grandparents.
• When he was 12 years old his mother died.
• When the step father remarried he chose to work for a local pharmacist for room and board.
• At age 16 a wagon train to Texas was being formed and he hired on to drive a wagon for a widow and her children.

 

  What follows is suppositions and educated possibilities about the route that William Franklin Taylor took from Arkansas to Texas, circa 1878.

The closest historical trail to Forrest City is the Chickasaw trail which passes throuth Memphis, TN passing just north of Forest City, then to Little Rock, AR, where it joins the Southwest Trail.  It is likely that a wagon train bound for Texas starting in Forest City would take this trail starting out.

The Southwest Trail enters Arkansas along County Road 166 at the Arkansas-Missouri state line, and passes through Little Rock, then follows Interstate 30 to Texarkana.

While we do not know if the wagon train's destination was Hill County, or if Doc Taylor left the wagon train before it's intended destination, we do know that Hill County is his first record of his being in Texas.

Assuming the wagon train's destination was Hill County it is unlikely that the wagon train proceeded beyond Washington Arkansas because the trails leaving Texarkana into Texas all went south to Nacogdoches. (note d.)

More reasonable was that the wagon train, if bound for Hill County, left the Southwest Trail at Washington, AR, and followed a known trail west to Fort Towson.  Crossing the Red River at Fort Towson and into Red River County, Texas.  From there he would have then followed the Texas Trail which leads into Dallas, then following Preston's Trail right into Hillssboro, Texas.  A crossing further west than Fort Towson would mean crossing the Red River closer to the Oklahoma Indian territory, even though during this time period the US military was continuing to push the Indians further west and onto reservations.

The theory of crossing at Fort Towson into Red River County seems plausible due to the fact that following his marriage to Elizabeth in 1879 they moved to Titus county by June of 1880 where the census shows a 25 year old William with his 17 year old wife, Elizabeth.  Titus county borders Red River County to the south.  It's possible that having crossed at Red River County earlier he found the area desirable and returned to the area immediately following his marriage to Elizabeth.

Notes:

• a.  On his medical license and application to practice in Leon County, Doc Taylor writes his birth year as 1854.
• b.  On his medical license and application to practice in Leon County, Doc Taylor writes that he was born in Covington, Tennessee.
• c.  In the 1900 census the census taker shows that Doc Taylor and his parents were all born in Mississippi.
• d.  The El Camino Real trail passes through Nacogdoches the proceeds westerly through Houston and Leon Counties where a branch goes north crossing FM 831 at Buffalo Creek, then crosses Wheelock Creek 2 miles east of the Taylor Cemetery, north to Buffalo then turning again southwest on through Brazos County and on to San Marcos and San Antonio.

 

 

 

 

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William Franklin Taylor (1855-1925)

 

 

 William Franklin Taylor

 William Franklin Taylor was born on August 2, 1854 or 1855 in Covington, Tennessee, depending on your source.  Some of the details of his birth are sketchy and not verified by government record and come from various sources.  One census record indicates that he was born in Mississippi. Those sources may include, but not be limited to his own handwriting, family legend, and gravestone dates.

Family legend says that he was the son of a riverboat employee, possibly the captain, but this has no other source for verification.  When William was young his father's riverboat was docked somewhere on the Mississippi River.  William and his mother, and possibly a sibling went ashore for the night.  During the night the ship boilers exploded and William's father died in the explosion.

William's mother remarried soon and the family lived in Forrest City, Arkansas, but young William and his stepfather did not have a good relationship.  William's mother died when he was about 12. Soon afterwards his stepfather refused to give him his mother's belongings. As a result William left to be on his own around the age of 15.  William worked in a Forrest City pharmacy where he worked for his room and board.  Around the age of 16 he joined a wagon train bound for Texas working as a driver for a widow and her children.  The wagon train made it's way to Texas using a route as yet undetermined and William settled in the Hillsboro area.  He worked for a rancher where he met and married the rancher's daughter, Elizabeth Jenny Hunt, on January 1, 1879.

 

Titus/Franklin County

Since Elizabeth's father, Wadsworth Thompson Hunt, thoroughly disliked William he and Elizabeth made their way to Titus County.  Titus County and Franklin County were once a single county known as Titus County.  William and Elizabeth first appear in the 1880 US Census in Titus County. However, the land purchases by William and Elizabeth are clearly in present day Franklin County.

William and Elizabeth first settled in Grey Rock, Texas purchasing 48 acres on November 25, 1887. The tract of land was north and east of the intersection of the southern access road of I-30 where County Road SE 4130 crosses.  The metes and bounds read like this: 

"The largest tract of land begins on the NB line of a survey made for T J Councill and 397 yds West of Martha Wallen's N.W. Corner, a stake for a corner. Thence W 295 yds a stake. Thence S 505 yds to the center of the Gray Rock and Sulphur Springs road, Thence East 295 yds. Thence N 505 yds to the place of beginning. Containing 35 acres, more or less."   I have learned from an older resident of Grey Rock that the Grey Rock and Sulphur Springs road is what became the I-30 Frontage road on the south side of the freeway.

The June, 1880 agriculture report lists William Franklin Taylor as farming 21 acres of land and having livestock worth $15, namely a milk cow and calf, with 12 chickens.

William and Elizabeth then purchased an additional tract of land adjoining the first on February 9, 1888. The metes and bounds appear as this:

"The small tract of land joins the above on the West and is a part of the John Humphrey's headright survey and a part of the homestead of B. L. Blake and begins on the WB line of W.F. Taylor and the East B line of B. L Blake 200 yds S of W. F. Taylor NW Corner, a sand rock for a corner. Thence N 395 1/2 yds a rock. Thence W 175 yds a sand rock for a corner. Thence S 395 1/2 yds a rock. Thence E 131 yds to the place of beginning containing 13 acres more or less making a total sum of both tracts of 48 acres, more or less."

After a bit of research I have pinpointed the property and outlined it on a Google Map:

The First Homestead

 On November 23, 1891 William and Elizabeth purchased 148 acres of land in the William McNeece survey about 6 miles to the south and situated to the southeast of present day Cypress Creek Park and on the banks of Andy's Creek (not identified on present day maps, but a historian in the Franklin County Historical Society pointed me to an old plat of the area showing the creek.)  The unnamed creek that runs from the northwest to southeast passing by Cypress Creek Park and in the northeast corner of the Wm. McNeece survey is Andy's Creek.

 

 

Leon County

 William and Elizabeth brought 3 children to Leon County;  Robert (1884-1969), Annie (1888-1973), and Maude (1891-1977), and having three more in Leon County, Fannie (1896-1972), Rosa Lee and Tegie.   In the Taylor Cemetery are headstones for Rosa Lee and Teagie, who I am told are children of William F. Taylor, but the birth mother is not quite clear.  Ancestry trees from others identify Elizabeth as their mother so I can deduce that they were both born in the years between 1896-1899.

On June 30, 1896 William and Elizabeth purchased their first tract of land In Leon County purchasing a 160 acre tract of land in the S. Pate survey north of The Bodine. (This is the property owned by Roy Lynn Taylor near the intersection of CR 284 and Pvt Rd 2230.) They sold the property in Titus County keeping a note and lien up until 1909 when he sold the note to Ida Pasquay.

On May 23, 1899 William and Elizabeth  purchased another 160 tract of land in the A. G. Rose survey, also north of The Bodine on CR 277 near Bethel Lane (just south of CR 282.).  It was likely that it was one of these two tracts where William and Elizabeth lived that their home caught fire.  Elizabeth tried to fight the fire but was unsuccessful.  She lost her life as a result of smoke inhalation several days later, on August 9, 1899.  Elizabeth is buried in the Taylor Cemetery.

On November 1, 1899 William purchased 100 acres in the Ferguson survey near Brushy (Cemetery?) Road and Wheelock Creek.

William married Mary Lee House in late January or early February of 1900.  On the 1900 Census dated 4-5 June, 1900 there appears to be 5/12 written over by a 0 in the years married column.

In October of 1900 William and Mary purchased 183.5 acres in the A. Willis survey near FM 831 and CR 225.

Their first child O. K. Taylor was born on November 22, 1900. William and Mary had a total of 8 children that I could find.

William and Mary purchased many other tracts of land including tracts in the T. Peale Survey (300a.), A. Thomas Survey (150a.), J. Whitfield Survey (234a.), J.T. Cotton Survey (405a.), G&BN Survey (190a.), BBB & CR Survey (52a. the Gray homestead), R.M. Mason (80a.), and another 80 acres in the G&BN survey.  The Galveston and Brazos Navigation Company did several surveys in Leon County. It is one of these Surveys that later became the J. Bodine Survey which is still in the family today.

One tract of land in the G&BN Survey contained a cotton gin and grist mill. William purchased the mill from GW Yarborough in 1907, and it was operated by his son Robert L. Taylor. William sold the gin and mill back to GW Yarborough in 1910. However, the account by the Yarborough family below in the link below differs slightly.

 Most of the properties in Leon County purchased by WF Taylor can be found on this Google map. However, the pins only represent approximate locations as some of the property descriptions reference landmarks that are no longer in use today.  i.e. "The Jordan Place."

 

Dr. William Franklin Taylor

William Franklin Taylor became a physician because he wanted to learn why so many children died so young.  Family legend has it that it is because he wanted to learn why HIS children died so young, but I cannot find any children other than Rosa Lee and Teagie that died young.  Rosa Lee and Teagie are buried in the Taylor Cemetery in Leon County, and since W.F. Taylor was a doctor prior to coming to Leon County this must be a reference to other peoples your children, or W.F Taylor and Elizabeth had children we do not know of.  There is no doubt in my mind that William and Elizabeth may have lost other children that may be buried in unknown graves in Franklin or Titus county but I can find no evidence of such.

William actually earned his license to practice medicine two times. The first was on June 6, 1893 by appointment of the 20th Judicial Court and the Medical Board of Examiners in Clarksville, Red River County, Texas. He again earned a license to practice medicine on February 8, 1908 by standing before the Texas State Board of Medical Examiners which had just been established the previous year.  It is on this license that he writes that his birth year is 1854.  "Doc" Taylor again writes his birth year as 1854 on his Registration to Practice Medicine filed in Leon County in 1908.

Doc Taylor was a compassionate doctor. He would travel from house to house providing medical care to the residents of Leon County spending days, even weeks, with the very ill.  One notable story I found particularly interesting. I'll copy the paragraph here and you can take the credits from the link.

Cannie, in the story above refers to Cannie Jones Moore who lived from 1872 to 1953 and is buried next to her husband, Henry Watson Moore in the Parker Cemetery, Leon County, Texas.

Dr. Taylor served as the area physician and dentist until his death in 1925

  

 Credits:

Family Legend: Mrs. Winnie Taylor, Mrs. Edith Gray, Wendel Taylor

Publications:  A history of Leon County, ISBN 0-88107-050-5 (1986)

Web: www.yarboroughfamily.org, Texas Online, Texas Historical Commission, County Clerks of various counties including Hill, Bosque,Titus, Franklin, Leon, www.earthpoint.us, and many others.

This post is subject to editing. The last time this page was edited was October 22, 2023.

Copyright, 2022. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

The Battle of San Diego

The Battle Of San Diego

 

 As many of you know, our father Wendel Taylor, served in the US Navy near the end of World War II.  He had registered for the draft on his birthday, July 12, 1943 in Centerville like many young men at the time.  He then enlisted in the Navy on October 11, 1943 in Houston at the age of 18 .  

The first written record I could find was where he was received on board the USS American Legion on August 2, 1944 from Training Division 36.  So far I can find no record of Training Division 36 in 1943-1944, but can only assume that it included basic training plus some additional specialist training. His rank at the time he boarded the USS American Legion as shown on the Muster Report was S1C(SM), SV-6.  Since dad was trained as a signalman I assume that the rank is Seaman First Class (S1C) with training as a Signalman (SM).  SV-6 may refer to a code used to further identify a reservists volunteer status. SV may refer to Selective Volunteer, and the 6 for General and Specialists.

The description of the Signalman's duties on board the USS Enterprise is shown as "Stand signal watch on bridge. Identify flags. Use blinker, searchlight and semaphore. Use range finder, searchlights, signal apparatus."  (Note: Semaphore is the skill of using flags by hand for communications.)  Assuming the Navy keeps a standard throughout the service for job descriptions then I assume that dad's duty station on board the USS American Legion was on the bridge of the ship.

Dad had always told us the during his time in the service he "fought the battle of San Diego" and never left the harbor. It wasn't until after he was gone that I was able to discover more details about his time in the service, and the outcome of, The Battle of San Diego.

Most of the available records found that one might consider the ship's log are called War Diaries.  Under normal circumstances a ship's War Diary covers a period of one calendar month. During a specific exercise or battle a War Diary might be limited to that specific exercise or battle. Below are the chronological War Diaries that mention the USS American Legion, beginning with a period prior to dad being assign to the ship.  Here is an example of the USS American Legion for the month dad boarded the ship.

July, 1943, War Diary of USS Stanly shows the USS American Legion as the flagship of COMTASKUNIT 34.4.7 consisting of 5 ships, plus 5 additional escort ships. Destination Guadalcanal. (Note: The famous Battle of Guadalcanal was fought between August, 1942 and February, 1943.)

December 10, 1943 USS American Legion arrives at United Engineering Company, Alameda, California.

January 10, 1944 the USS American Legion arrives at Hunter's Point (San Francisco), California, departing on January 18th.

April 14-26, 1944 the USS American Legion participates in the training of the 81st Infantry Division on the beaches of California. 

August, 1944 the USS American Legion docked in San Diego on the 1st and 2nd.

August 2, 1944 dad is assigned to the USS American Legion. 

Underway at 1842 on the 2nd for San Pedro, California to unload ammunition.

August 4th the ship proceeded to Los Angeles Shipbuilding, San Pedro, California for general overhaul.

August 20th ship relocated to load ammunition, then proceeded to San Diego.

September, 1944.  It appears that the ship merely relocated to several different moorings in San Diego.

October, 1944 the ship conducted training exercises in Coronado Strand, San Clemente Island, and Alisa Canyon, Oceanside, California, returning to San Diego on the 30th.

November, 1944, from the 1st to the 13th in the US Naval Repair Base, San Diego getting underway on the 14-30th to conduct training exercises in San Clemente, Alisa Canyon, and setting anchor in Oceanside, California on the 30th.

December, 1944, War Diary of the USS American Legion as flagship of Task Group 13.9 Amphibious Training Group, Pacific Fleet, and training for amphibious operations for Army and Navy personnel in the area of San Diego, California.  From December 1 to December 8th, the ship conducted training exercises which involved the firing of machine guns and small deck guns (3 inches or less) towards shore targets on San Clemente Island.

January, 1945, Commander Dona J. Houle assumes command of USS American Legion on the 8th. The ship conducts landing and air support exercises around San Clemente Island returning to San Diego on the 18th.

February, 1945 USS American Legion conducts a series of exercises including landing, air support, and tactical training in the usual practice areas of Oceanside, San Clemente, and Coronado Strand, and set anchor in Santa Barbara on the 27th.

March, 1945, the USS American legion conducted a series of landing exercises from Santa Barbara, to San Clemente Island and back to San Diego. 

April, 1945, War Diary of the USS Fillmore identifies the USS American Legion as the flagship of the Training Group 13.9, Amphibious Forces, Pacific Fleet.

April 26 - May 31, 1945  the USS American Legion participates in a series of landing exercises from San Diego, to Coronado Strand, to Pyramid Cove (San Clemente Island) and back to San Diego. 

May, 1945 the USS American Legion conducted a series of training exercises in Coronado Strand, Oceanside, and San Clemente Island.

May 4-7, 1945 the USS American Legion being repaired in San Diego shipyard. 

June, 1945 the ship conducted a series of landing exercises in Coronado and San Clemente Island, returning to San Diego on the 28th.

July, 1945 USS American Legion conducts a series of landing and gunnery exercises off the coast of Coronado Strand and San Clemente Island, returning to San Diego on the 27th.

July, 1945 the ship conducts a series of training exercises in landing, surface fire, and air support in the areas of San Clemente Island and Coronado Strand, returning to San Diego on the 27th.

August, 1945 the USS American Legion is flagship of Commander Training Group, Amphibious Forces, Pacific Fleet, and conducted exercises including anti-aircraft fire, surface fire, and landing at the usual practice areas of Coronado Strand and San Diego, and spent the 22-26th in dry dock for repairs.

Note: On 15 August 1945, Japan surrenders, with the surrender documents finally signed at Tokyo Bay on the deck of the American battleship USS Missouri on 2 September 1945, ending the war.

 

September, 1945 USS American Legion is assigned to Operation Magic Carpet and in San Diego Shipyard for reconfiguring and preparing to get under way. 

September 7th ship is underway to San Francisco, arriving on the 8th. 

September 11th, ship is underway to Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii.

Arrived in Pearl Harbor on the 17th.

September 20th ship is underway to Apra Harbor, Guam, Marianas.

September 30th, arrived in Apra Harbor, Guam, Marianas.

October-December, 1945.  I found no records of the USS American legion during this period.

*UPDATE* Wikipedia shows that the USS American Legion returned from Guam arriving in San Pedro on 24 October, 1945.  On 8 November, 1945 the USS American Legion departed for a second cruise to the Pacific with orders for the Philippines. After stopping at Manilla and Tacloban the ship returned to San Francisco on 12 December, 1945.  

January 1, 1946 dad is shown in the ships muster report with the rank of S2C(SM) SV-6.

March, 1946, the USS American Legion is placed on inactive duty and scheduled for de-commissioning.

The Navy Historical Center confirms dates above as the final two trans-Pacific cruises and Dad was aboard during that time. These two cruises as a part of Operation Magic Carpet would be the last cruises of the USS American Legion prior to decommissioning.

Operation Magic Carpet.  A veteran at the Pacific War Museum tipped us off to the operation that dad's ship was assigned on and after September, 1945. This operation was a full on effort to bring American troops home from overseas.  The operation officially began with the ships returning from Japan following the signing of the surrender document in Tokyo Bay.  Every available ship was quickly re-purposed to bring home over 8 million servicemen deployed around the world. The missing logs from October-December, 1945 could indicate that the USS American Legion made more than one trip to carry troops home, but I have not found the logs for those months yet.

 

So, my assumptions are, that the USS American Legion returned from active battles in the Pacific to become a flagship of the Pacific Fleet Amphibious Training Group. Every month, or several times a month, his ship would take on sailors or soldiers from other branches of the service to train them in various operations from landings to air support to surface and ship to shore gunnery.

Dad was likely utilized in not only the communication from ship to ship, but also to assist in the training of other signalmen that would be transferred to other ships destined for the Pacific theater of operations under the command of Admiral Chester Nimitz.

So The Battle of San Diego did happen. The battle was fought time and time again.  Every month from August of 1944 until commencement of Operation Magic Carpet.  Training our servicemen and preparing them to serve our country, and finally participating in the massive effort to bring the troops home.  Yes, The Battle of San Diego was real.  And the winner was all the American sailors and soldiers that benefited from their time with our dad on board the USS American Legion.

On Father's Day, 2022, a flag was flown in his honor and a plaque was placed in the Pacific War Museum honoring dad's time in the service and aboard the USS American Legion.

A series of YouTube videos by Frank Zalot, Jr. have been found online that can give you some idea of life aboard the USS American Legion during World War II.  Frank Zalot was assigned to the USS American Legion much earlier than dad and saw action prior to the ship returning stateside in December, 1943.  After the USS American Legion was assigned to the training fleet, Frank then switched from guns to signalman, and completed his service as a signalman several months after dad boarded the ship.  He includes many still photographs of the sailors on the ship, including dad.

You can view the movie and others prior to dad's assignment to the ship by going to YouTube.

 

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Marriage is Not a Two-Way Street

 February 13, 2016

It has been said that marriage is a two-way street. That each party to the union must compromise their morals, values, thoughts, opinions, or whatever, for the sake of harmony. When one party disagrees with the other it becomes necessary for one to give up what they would normally choose so that the union can be successful.

Another common expression is 50/50. Just another way of saying “I’m not gonna get my way but I’ll pretend it doesn’t matter so that my marriage stays intact, and I expect (s)he to do the same.” More recently I have heard that marriage is 100/100 referring to the effort giving to the marriage. Why give 50% when you should give 100%? Well, it’s apples and oranges, isn’t it? Just a play on words.

I have been married now for just over a month and I can tell you without hesitation that marriage is a one way street. She and I are both on the same street going the same direction and in the same vehicle. Our marriage is 0/0. It requires zero effort from either of us and there is no need for compromise.

I have been with this beautiful young lady now for just over three years, although we have known each other for more than ten. While that is far from the experience required to justify expert status in the eyes of most I am not new at the idea of marriage. I have done this before. I’m not proud of the fact that it did not work out the first time, but this time it’s looking up. Some would call me lucky. Lucky to have found someone that shares all of the same thoughts, morals, and values that I possess. It’s not luck. Luck is the reason accidental occurrences happen. I was fortunate. Fortune is the rewards for effort. I was fortunate to have found someone so aligned with me who loves me as much as I love her.

My son has already found his love so this I dedicate to my girls who have yet to tie the knot. I truly hope you never find the need to compromise, instead, find the love in your relationship as I have in mine. Marriage is not a two way street. Nor is it 50/50. It’s the best vacation you will ever take, when taken with the one you love. And to Lisa Vatani Taylor, my wife, who I love and adore, I share the rest of my life. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Copyright, 2012. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

If Deer Could Only Laugh

November 7, 2011

First, my apologies for the extreme delay in getting this version to press. It has been six months since this was started and I am just getting it finished. So, just imagine going back in time….

This past weekend was the opening day of deer season here in the great Lone Star State. And, as the dutiful son that I am I took my dad hunting, on the very property on which he was born eighty six years and five months ago. For those of you that would rather opt for the short story, we didn’t see anything. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. The big goose egg.

The weekend started a day later than anticipated due to a surprise audit on Thursday. It was uneventful but it did throw us a day later getting off. I knew that on arrival I would have a ton of water pipes broken in need of repair and needed to arrive in the morning to get a good start. One thing I could not tolerate is not having water in certain appliances in the cabin. Of course, I didn’t anticipate all of the parts necessary so we had to make a trip into Centerville for one lousy fitting. Now, I don’t know about you, but I simply cannot walk into a hardware store and purchase a fifty nine cent fitting and walk out. I just have to purchase enough that the sale justifies a credit card purchase. The new pipes would have to be insulated so we added ten dollars in insulation to the tab. Then on the way to the door I spot some deck screws that I thought would work better than nails on that step that needed fixing thanks to my best hunting buddy. And it required a torx driver instead of a typical Phillips driver so there is another eight. And because I am so unorganized I could not find my plastic pipe cutters. Another twenty. Finally after I am satisfied we would not be short any supplies we headed back to the ranch. Pipes at the well house repaired we headed up to the cabin to turn the water on. Darn…water pouring out of the wall under the sink. Out comes the sink, sheetrock, and insulation revealing not one, but two half inch cpvc pipes split. Luckily I have just enough fittings to repair those leaks, but to my dismay once the water was back on there was another just out of sight. Now we are headed into Buffalo because Centerville closes up a noon on Saturday. It took me a couple of days to realize that the day was Friday and we could have gone back into Centerville, a much closer trip.

Now that the water is repaired we headed out to the spring where I constructed dad’s deer stand several years ago. It is a four by eight stand with an eight foot ceiling and an eight step stairway going up to it. We have to replace a step right up around number seven. Simple and easily done with a couple of hours to go before we head back, watch a movie, and turn in. However, about five or six months ago I gave up my Direct TV due to economic reasons. I mean, I was seldom going up there these days and it was just not practical to keep paying for something you do not get much chance to enjoy. So, I replaced the satellite system with a DVD player, which would have worked just great had I remembered to bring some DVDs. A quick search through dad’s truck turned up two movies. Transformers and Sky High. I think another trip into Buffalo is in order.

Hunting comes early on the Taylor ranch. Most of the time that is. I give the elderly a couple of more minutes. After a good hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs (I won’t mention that we both have heart and cholesterol problems…) and bundling up following the drastic dip in temperatures overnight (it is now 44 degrees) we head out to the spring stand for our first morning of hunting. We filled the feeders up about two weeks ago and the kids hunted last weekend (one of the kids shot a doe at this very stand) and it appears that the feeder is empty, but it still had corn on the ground. So we stuck it out, for about an hour after daylight. At that point dad just couldn’t take the cold any longer. I can understand that. As you age you simply lose muscle mass, and therefore the natural body insulation that keeps you from freezing. So we left and headed back to the cabin for snacks and a nap before lunch.

As dad slept most of the afternoon I contemplated the evening hunt. I fiddled around with this and that. Fixing some things and intending to fix others. Watched those DVD’s yet again, and generally lounged around waiting on the opportunity to try my luck again out in the deer stand.

When the time finally arrived to get ready to go out I woke Dad up and mentioned something about getting ready. Well, he didn’t want to go out this evening. He just thought he would sleep the afternoon away and let me go out on my own. Well this presented a little bit of a problem since he is just now getting to that time in his life that I really do not want leave him alone. It’s not that he is dangerous or anything. I’m just starting to get a little uncomfortable with some of the little things he says and does. It just makes me think I’d rather keep an eye on him. However, against my better judgment and his edging along I finally agree to go out this evening and leave him asleep in the cabin. After all, we are in the middle of the ranch. He has no place to go and no transportation if he was so inclined. I felt the risk was minimal so I went hunting alone this evening.

I’ll just skip all the nonsense about not seeing anything yet again. Suffice it to say that this evening’s hunt was uneventful. It was when I returned back to the cabin that things got interesting. Dad was no where to be found. It’s not like he could be hiding in the cabin, there’s only two rooms. A quick scan outside did not reveal his whereabouts either. But, I need to strip down out of these hunting clothes so I can perform a thorough search. Luckily just as I open the door to exit the cabin to start my search there he is, on his way back from the neighbors. I say neighbor. It is my cousin, his nephew’s new place.

Well, that is the last time he gets left alone, even for a moment. I’ll just chalk it up to lessons learned.

As morning arrived we were up early with a hearty breakfast eaten. We headed out to the ‘far’ deer stand and arrived just in time to see the sun crest on the horizon. A little late in the scheme of hunting, but considering the age of my current hunting partner it was just in time. We got settled in quickly and patiently waited for that monster buck with the atypical rack with the drop tines. Just then I hear it…

Tap, tap, tap… Now as some of you know, I am just a little hard of hearing. Ok, a LOT hard of hearing. Even with hearing aids it is sometimes difficult for me to distinguish near sounds from far away sounds. There it is again. Tap, tap, tap… Wait a second, I thought to myself. That is rhythmic tapping. Almost as if tapping to music. I look around and sure enough there is dad tapping out the Navy song on the butt stock of his rifle.

Shhh! I can remember when he was doing that to me. Again, I have become my dad.

So with the tapping subdued I am back to listening and scanning the tree line for the subtle hint of a deer looking out into the clearing as if to see if it is safe. Then out of the corner of my eye I see movement. As I slowly turn my head to the right I see dad raising his gun and easing it out of the window. Scanning the trees I look anxiously for his target but see nothing. As he moves his gun left and right I then realize he was using his gun scope to scan the clearing. Argh. Use the binoculars, dad.

Now that I have his gun back inside the stand he lays it across his lap and get comfortable. Now, I don’t know about you but to me comfortable is the gun in the gun rack and me leaned back in a recliner taking it easy. No wonder he is beat after only an hour in the stand. I don’t think I could sit ‘at attention’ with a gun in my lap for several hours. And, for safety sake you really have to be completely alert if you are going to have a gun in your lap all the time. It’s just a safety thing. Relax dad. Put your gun in the rack and relax.

After being in the stand now for about fifteen minutes, I’m getting just a little bit on edge. Dad is moving around like a teenager and seems to me making enough noise to run the deer off from even the neighbor’s deer stand. Now he is whistling. Not really whistling like those prisoners of war that built that bridge over the River Kwai or anything, but the sort of silent whistling like snare drum imitations. Shh!

Finally I hear it. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

I sort of ignore it for a minute or two. Two whole minutes. Complete silence. It is the quietest that he has been since we arrived. Now he’s quiet. But I figure the damage has already been done. It is time to go. I don’t think he actually came he to go hunting anyway. This is his home. He was born here and some day he will return here for his last trip. He’s earned the right to lead the way and decide how long we hunt and when we go visit with his sister. We pack it in for the day and spend the rest surveying the area just looking around the countryside.

It comes time to head back home. Neither one of us brought enough medicine to last more than the four days we have now been here. So we pack it up to head back home being especially careful to drain all the water pipes in the cabin to hopefully prevent a repeat of this years water pipe fiasco.

Those of you that know me, know well enough that I do fib on occasion. Not often mind you, but today I pulled one over on you. We did see something. On day three we saw a family of hogs pass by on the way to who knows where. And on day four, as we were approaching the exit gate on our way home, there it was. A nice doe waving at us as if to say “Thanks for playing. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?”

If only deer could laugh. It sure would have made hunting a lot easier this year.

Copyright, 2012. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

The Stepford Parents…NOT!

March 29, 2011

If you remember my last installment I touched on how terminology has changed over the recent years. Men have encroached on the once female dominated career as stewardess and have championed the new phrase ‘Flight Attendants.’ I also touched on the occupation of ‘maid,’ which has since been dubbed ‘housekeeper’ or ‘domestic engineer.’  I have now learned that the ‘baby boomers’ are completely responsible for these changes. I know this because I have started a search for an appropriate nursing home for my Mother and have come to find out that nursing homes are now called ‘Senior Assisted Living Centers.’

The reason I have come to this conclusion and blamed the baby boomers is all because nursing homes are no longer nursing homes. They actually are assisted living centers. I look at it like this. A child has at least some responsibility to help care for their aging parents. The activity of doing this is ‘assisted living.’ Years ago children actually did care for their parents until they were no longer capable of providing appropriate care, at which time the parent then acquired the appropriate nursing care from a nursing home. Today, however, many of the baby boomers shirk this responsibility and send their parents off early to some facility that does not necessarily provide actual nursing duties, but they provide some much lower level of care. Generally, assisted living. All this is due to the baby boomers. Whether it is laziness or irresponsibility, it is the fault of a majority of the baby boomers refusal to provide even a modicum of care for their parents. Or maybe the baby boomers are simply victims of an era. I don't know. I just don't understand.

I certainly hope I have instilled in my son the values necessary for him to desire to help me out as I grow old, but recognize when I am no longer in need of assistance and am really in need of nursing. A parent couldn’t be any prouder of his child than I am of mine, but I hope I have the mental facilities to be even prouder still should he choose the route that my siblings and I have taken with our own parents.

I once said that I would never write about my parents. I have already made myself into a liar with a previous entry so I may as well jump completely off the cliff and say my ten Hail Mary’s. After all, my therapist has told me that writing is good for me. It helps me to relax and calm my nerves.

Many of you are already aware that my parents are well into their eighties now and require round the clock supervision. I hesitate to call it care because there is little that you need to do for them. Most of the time the level of care provided is simply supervision to keep them from hurting themselves, or each other. Dad is unable to drive now and simply up there in age with reflexes on the slow side, and dementia has crept up on him and often overwhelms him at times during the day. He will never admit it, though. Mom, on the other hand, is in stage five (out of seven) of Alzheimer’s disease and unable to cook or do most anything that requires even the simplest cognitive skills. Although she recognizes me and my sisters as familiar faces, she is unaware of our names or relationship to her. Dad has always been called Grandpa and as a result mom has taken the belief that he is her grandpa. After all, we have always called him grandpa from the day his first grandchild was born. In fact, I believe it was mother that started that.

You may find that this article bounces around just a little too much to be a chronological order of events. That is mainly due to my taking so long to produce this installment. I have taken several selected events from different times over the last three months to bring this to you and did not keep notes on a single page, rather, I have a pile of scraps composed of anything from bar napkins to cash register receipts with notes hastily scribbled thereon. So, if I forget to apologize later on for the seemingly haphazard ramblings that appear to bounce around like a ball on a pinball machine, I do so now. (Does the current generation even know what a pin ball machine is?) Ok, for you younger tykes out there: like a group of pixels in a pong game.

One of my many chores around the homestead is cooking. Not something I really care to do, but nevertheless it is something that I was taught to do. Not only did I learn by my dear mother but also by my years in the Boy Scouts. Three meals a day, seven days a week I cook, then clean. Not completely mind you. I do leave something for mother to clean. After all, she has done so for so many years I don’t think it would go over well to simply tell her she no longer needs to help clean the kitchen. She probably wouldn’t remember it for the time it would take her to go sit in the living room anyway. It does give her some purpose. At least that’s my justification for ‘allowing’ her to help clean up. Every evening I take most everything out of the cabinet and place the items in the dishwasher. Mom’s idea of washing dishes now is rinsing them off with water and drying with a paper towel. Nuff said.

I have learned that I need to fill their plates and even cut things up into bite size pieces when I place the meal on the table. Dad’s idea of cutting up meat, for example, is to place the bottom of the fork on top of the meat as if he were holding it down from floating away, then drawing the knife all the way across it from side to side in an attempt to cut it into with a single slice of the knife. Maybe if I were Bobby Flay, but I cannot hold a candle to his exquisite cooking skills. Dad will never get any meat prepared by me cut with one draw of a knife, and his attempts to do so often results in catastrophic events at the table. Either food or drink ends up in places it was not meant. Of course, there are times where this method actually does result in nicely cut items. Bread, for example. Dad must have some kind of bread at each meal. And no matter how hard I try that bread will always end up on his plate buttered with honey on it. It is sort of like potatoes in that respect. No matter what kind of potatoes I put on his plate those potatoes will always end up mashed with a fork into mashed potatoes.

Mom and Dad also have very different tastes when it comes to meals. I have never been one to do a lot of cooking and therefore my repertoire of menu items is very limited. I really have to think and plan meals, and in doing so I will select a meal a week that I enjoy for my self. When I place the meal in front of them I usually get some reaction out of one or the other. Last week I tried Chicken Cordon Bleu. Dad took one look at it and said “What’s this?” and Mom ate it right up with no question. On another occasion I prepared fajitas with red and green bell peppers, and onions, and a few other spices. Topped it off with a four cheese Mexican shredded cheese topping. It was really good. Mom took one look at it and said “What’s this?” and Dad ate it right up, no questions.

As I mentioned earlier, Dad is no longer able to drive on the road. He has been driving down to the highway to get his newspaper or collect the mail (see previous entry, something about assimilation) but I had been doing that for him now for about the last month. When I returned from a recent weekend furlough I sat through an hour of him telling me about the local kids and how they must not have anything else to do and go around knocking over or damaging mail boxes. I went down to the road to see what could be done about repairing it. Sure enough, the mail box pole was cocked over in an unruly tilt to one side, and the box itself was canted back on the pole. Looking up and down the road I could see no other mailboxes damaged in such a manner. I guess maybe the neighbors had already repaired their boxes. I asked my sister about dad driving to get the mail and sure enough, she confirmed that Dad had driven down there the last two days to get his paper. Well that’s enough on that subject.

Today Mom decided that she wanted to leave for home (we really are not sure where that is…) and loaded up a box full of her belongings and carried it to the front door. Actually this is a daily event, but that is another story altogether. I was in my room at the time and was not witness to this. She and Dad had a few words that were just not quite loud enough for me to understand and then the door opens. (I have an alarm system on the doors of the house so I am alerted when either leaves the house.) I was answering email or something at the time and did not jump right up to investigate the door opening but did notice it had gotten strangely quiet in the house. You know, when you have kids in the house playing and suddenly things get quiet? You know something is really wrong when it gets quiet. Well I was right. By the time I made it out the door and to the garage they had that box loaded up and dad was behind the wheel just about to put the truck in gear. I offered to drive so Dad got out of the driver’s seat and handed me his keys (note this!) and proceeded to get in the back seat. I asked Mom where she wanted to go but she really could not say. She simply referred me to Dad, who also had no clue where Mom wanted to go. Eventually she decided that it was not necessary to go anywhere and they both returned to the house. Remember the keys?

I really dislike all this Daylight Savings Time and the government’s idea of saving energy by making it stay light later in the day. Old people tend to want to stay on a schedule. Wake up at a certain time; take naps at certain times; eat at certain times; whatever. A month ago it was easy. Dinner was at 5:00 to 5:30 and quite soon afterwards it was dark enough to trigger the sleep sensor in them. Now, however, while we have to still eat at 5:00 to 5:30 it remains light for far too long after dinner is complete. As you are aware as you age your memory begins to falter. Well, with so much light remaining (10 minutes should do it, really.) they have more than enough time available to forget that they have already had dinner. So, tonight while writing I begin to smell something. That in itself does not alarm me but I did make it a point to step into the kitchen in the next few minutes to see on what they are snacking. As I approach I can see three rolls on a plate being carried on a hot pad by Dad. If the rolls were not slightly blackened it would not have made such an impact on me, but the smell simply did not match with what I saw on the plate. Its one of these mind things. You see something but another sense just does not agree with your sense of sight and as a result you sort of get mental vertigo. As it turns out those rolls were prepared in the microwave. Now I can tell you with relative certainty how long it takes for a microwave to brown rolls. It’s not a pleasant smell.

I said earlier that I would apologize and I do. Again I have rambled on about nothing and spent too much  literary real estate in doing so. There are so many events that take place that is worthy of the written word but much of it is private and not meant to be shared with those not close to the immediate family. I wish I had started writing about my parents years ago, not for your enjoyment mind you, but for my own memories. I know that some day I will lose those memories as they have and I will then regret not having written memories of these days. The one thing I am sure of is this: I will forever cherish being able to spend this time with my parents in this era of their life. Having regrets of not being close to them while they were alive is something I could not live with when I am nearing the end of mine.

Copyright, 2011. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

Coming Out Of The Closet

February, 2011

They say that the first time is just an experiment. Anything more than that is a habit, an addiction, or a label. I suppose, then, that I am beyond the experiment phase… or should I say ‘we.’

It’s been several years since we have been on a real vacation so I felt we were due. Oh, we’ve been on trips where I have to drive to a destination, and we may have stayed there for several days or even a week. Then I would have to drive back. That’s not really a vacation. It is more like work away from home. I hate driving. Most of the time I am faced with what many would call an adventure. To me it is Hell. I hate driving. This trip would again be a real vacation where we would fly to our destination.  Have a great time, then fly home.

Our last real vacation was to Jamaica. A real neat island in the Caribbean and just a stones throw from Cuba. We couldn’t see Cuba from where we were on the island because we were on the Southwest side of the island at a place called Grand Lido Negril and Cuba was North of the island. Of course, that was then, and now it has changed hands (the resort, not the island) and at the time of this writing it is owned by the Breezes organization. I did a short write up for the family after we returned which can be found at http://www.lrim.com/vacation

Anyway, once we arrived at the resort we were promptly asked if we wanted a unit on the family side or on the ‘clothing optional’ side. Jackie and I looked at each other and as if we read each other’s mind we simultaneously said ‘clothing optional!’ And thus it began.

This year we wanted to again go to the Caribbean. First of all it was just beautiful there, but mainly because it was January and only a fool lies out on the beach in San Francisco in January. So the Caribbean it would be. Now to select which island we would visit. We really didn’t want to go back to Jamaica even though I am a creature of habit. I would have been quite comfortable back in Jamaica but I realized I needed to continue to broaden my horizons some but mostly I wanted to take Jackie to a different destination. Otherwise she might develop my ‘old man’ habits.

When I started to search for a destination I remembered the time we had in Jamaica and wondered if I could find a place that would compete with our past experience there. After many hours searching I decided on St. Martin. I remember seeing a segment on National Geographic channel about the 10 most dangerous airports of the world, and St. Martin was like number six. (I dare not mention this to Jackie.) And although the airport was a mild attraction for me it was the beach at Orient Bay that convinced me that we would go there for this vacation.

The resort there was a fair size resort. We didn’t want to go to a real small resort. The bigger the better, we thought. And it wasn’t an all-inclusive resort as was the resort on Jamaica, but there were benefits that outweighed the negative of not being an all-inclusive. And this resort (Club Orient) carried the name of the beach so we felt it would be the best there. As you remember, the accommodations we secured on Jamaica were on a clothing optional beach. As it turns out, the entire Club Orient was clothing optional. Not only was the beach clothing optional, but you could dine, shop, take a stroll, or just lay out anywhere on the resort without a stitch on. It was amazing!

We were quite excited to once again be going on a real vacation, but slightly ill prepared for the airlines, the airport security, the parking lot, the TSA, and all the other alphabet soup of initials of whatever government agency would try to make our trip miserable. We encountered them on every leg of the trip.

I am usually not the frugal person but this year I had to act the part due to the economy. Even we are struggling this year and I suppose an explanation is in order. You see, I have been accumulating frequent flyer miles with Continental. Well, it might have been frequent many years ago and not so much lately. Back in the ‘90s I did have occasion to make numerous business trips and had the forethought to join Continental’s frequent flyer program. In flying for business I was able to accumulate about 90,000 frequent flyer miles. Just enough to fly to Europe first class, it seems. But then, what would a trip to Europe be traveling alone? Anyway, I opted to use the frequent flyer miles for our trip to St. Martin. Total out of pocket cost? $170 in taxes. Total cost in aggravation? About the same as if we had driven!

Although Continental does not offer the most direct routes when requesting to fly free I was able to secure the most direct route possible. You see… Continental only services St. Martin through Newark. So, we had to fly about four hours North to catch a plane to fly about five hours South. We left Houston in 40 degree weather to travel to 14 degree weather just to change planes to travel to 74 degree weather. Quite confusing.

When the list of flights was on the screen I had to scan about 4 pages passing up the flights that connected through Chicago then Newark, or Dallas to Denver to Newark, or Fayetteville to Charlotte to Newark, or Atlanta to Newark, finally arriving on the last page to discover the Houston to Newark to St. Martin flight. The only other alternative was to fly from Houston to Panama on Continental then from Panama to St Martin on one of their ‘code share’ airlines. ‘Code share’ always scares the bejeebees out of me. Well, I had never been to New York and the Newark airport was just across the river. So, I decided to select a flight that would stay overnight in Newark and give us enough time to see a Broadway show on the way.

As much as I would have liked to seen Driving Miss Daisy with James Earl Jones, it appears that some actors actually want a night off and his night would be the night we would be there. Oh well, saving $200 seemed a frugal thing to do. Instead we went to a comedy club. Caroline’s Comedy Club touted itself to be the premier comedy club in New York and even though the talent that night was unknown to me I thought a comedy club would be fun. I suppose it was, if you are 20. I am more of the Bill Cosby fun kind of person. Today’s comedy is apparently filled with not only profanity, but disgusting situational comedy. Even Eddie Murphy was mild compared to this comedienne. She had one of those single name names. Like Beyonce, or Madonna, but I cannot remember her name at the moment. Maybe later. She was a black comedienne. I don’t know off hand if that had any affect on the audience composition but Jackie and I appeared to be one of only four white couples there. We did feel just a little out of place but no one seemed to pay us any mind. I wish James Earl Jones wanted off on Monday instead of Sunday.

Everyone raves about New York for some reason. I found it just horrible. It’s not even portrayed accurately in movies. Take downtown Houston, for example, and narrow the streets by half, reducing the lane widths by half, and multiply the number of cars by 4 and the number of taxicabs by 10, and you will just about have New York. Well, I can say that I have now seen New York. I need a tee shirt now. One that says ‘I survived New York,’ or ‘I went to New York, rode a taxi, saw a show, and all I got was this lousy tee shirt.’ I was glad to be leaving Newark. I finally got to see the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, and Manhattan as we were climbing out and turning South for St. Martin.

The St. Martin airport is situated on the beach. And I mean on the beach. From the surf there is maybe 50 feet of sand, then a very narrow two lane road, then the fence at the end of the runway. The aircraft approach so low over the beach that photographs can be taken of people on the beach showing aircraft lower than the tops of their heads! It just seems that way, of course. It’s all done with mirrors I bet. But, a main attraction there is to hang onto the fence as an airliner is departing. Or at least attempt to hang onto the fence. Those that are unsuccessful end up in the surf.

I had originally planned for a 4 day trip and had all the arrangements worked out based on that but eventually changed it to a 5 day trip. As a result the only thing that did not get changed was the day that the resort would pick us up at the airport. So, we rented a car there at the airport instead of waiting on renting one at the resort. After all, it’s an island. You can’t get lost…

Halfway from the airport to the resort we could see the traffic backed up at least 2 miles going up the mountain so we opted on taking the route clockwise around the island instead of the recommended counter clockwise route. What difference would it make? We wanted to see the entire island anyway. Now was as good a time as any to go through Marigot instead of Phillipsburg. Needless to say, the roads on St. Martin island are less than perfect. In fact, they appeared to be about half as wide as the roads we left behind in New York, and in a state of repair of those found in most ‘second’ world countries. Despite having spent the majority of my life within the confines of the U. S. we would eventually arrive at Club Orient safely and with about 4 hours of light remaining for the day.

The room was ready and the first of my surprises for Jackie was waiting for us. After about 9 hours of travel time from Houston to Newark to St. Martin, and another hour on unfamiliar roads, I knew a massage would be just the thing for us both. Was I ever right! It was just the thing that we both needed to get loosened up after that flight. Immediately following there was a wine and cheese get together for everyone at the resort. We had to at least look relaxed for that even if it would be our first encounter with a clothing optional event other than a beach.

By now you are saying ‘what is all this baloney about ‘clothing optional? What you are describing is a nudist resort, isn’t it?’ Well, like so many other things today terminology changes. Stewardess’ are now Flight Attendants, Maids are Domestic Engineers, and nudists are now naturists. It is a Naturist resort. Regardless of its label no one paid attention to our ‘less than perfect’ bodies and we had a great time.

First thing the next morning we had to make a run to the resorts general store for a few things. Coffee, breakfast rolls, a few staples, and some sun tan lotion! Then it was the beach. I was content to simply lay on the beach listening to the surf relaxing in an attempt to simply forget about the rest of the world for a few days. Of course, I did have a plan and I had to try and keep on track. I really wanted Jackie to try scuba diving and the locals on the beach had a ‘Intro to SCUBA’ program where they took someone out in just about 15 feed of water and taught them just enough to breath under water for about 20 minutes. You could only go with an instructor but that is about all that was needed. I was certified back in ’97 but since Jackie had never before been diving she would have to be accompanied by the instructor. So we made it to the dive shop and were fitted with wet suits and gear and proceeded to board a boat that would take us on a 5 minute trip out to Green Key, and island within the confines of Orient Bay. However, being January, even in the Caribbean the wave action tossed the boat around pretty good. (And those that know me are already starting to laugh.) I was doing just fine until the crew discovered a sailboarder had taken a spill in the bay and was in need of assistance. We stopped to render aid to the fallen surfer, picking up his gear and taking him aboard to deliver him back to the shore. Well, the 60 seconds or so that we stopped to get him on board was enough to render me completely disabled due to seasickness. Once the boat was ashore to deliver the sailboarder I had to excuse myself from the remainder of the dive. Jackie would go ahead with the dive and return with a less than excited look about her. She wasn’t really impressed. Oh well, this surprise didn’t go over so well. Maybe the next will work out better.

The next day found us back on the beach with liberal amounts of sun tan lotion to protect those areas that have not seen the sun since I was 3. This day would be one of total relaxation and no surprises. The water sports center of the resort offered free snorkeling gear and Jackie found that she preferred that over scuba, so she took a stroll down and obtained the gear, returning by way of snorkeling. It was probably five or six hundred yards from our lounge chairs to the water sports center so the walk down and the snorkeling back actually took an hour or so. During this time I was supposed to be timing myself so that neither front nor back faced the sun for more that 15 minutes at a time. Although I thought I was doing ok, I soon discovered that there are parts of the body that was just not meant for tanning. At least not mine. Jackie finally made it back from the water sports center with her gear and a huge starfish that she found on the way back. We lounged for a while longer and had a few drinks from the convenient bar and grill that was a mere twenty steps or so from our chosen spot on the beach. Our drinks of choice were virgin daiquiris or margaritas. The fruity drinks were just the thing for the beach. As the evening drew near Jackie needed to return the snorkeling gear to the water sports center prior to closing and she wanted to snorkel back so I gave her about a half hour head start, watching her snorkel down the beach, and then followed a bit later. I managed to reach the water sports center just as she was exiting the water. I had thought to bring her a towel and a visor to shade from the sun a bit. It was just about time to think about returning to our room to get ready for dinner. Well, getting ready for dinner was simply taking a quick shower to get all the sand out of your hair. It’s not like you had to decide what to wear…

The restaurant was fabulous. Although it was an open air restaurant the moderate Caribbean temperatures kept it a comfortable 75 degrees even at night and even with nothing on at all. There was entertainment every night and the food was excellent. But, since we were not in an all-inclusive resort the meals were charged to our room and the prices on the menu was all in Euros and not dollars. So, that 10 € meal actually cost us $13. Just something we had to keep in mind, although I was not pinching pennies on this trip since I saved about $1300 on the flights. Some day Jackie is going to get me to dance with her. Not this trip.

We awakened the next morning to a startling discovery. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise at all. After all, who goes to a beach destination and does not expect a little sun burn? But I have to tell you, that snorkeling five or six hundred yards really allow the sun to do just exactly what the sun does. And it did it so well! Jackie looked like a white Valentines day cookie with red icing on the back side. I had to get my glasses out to read the fine print but there it was just as plain as day. SPF-3. Jackie picked it out. Well, after locating some SPF-30 for the bulk of our now tender bodies we went on that futile search for some SPF-500 for those even more tender areas. Back to the beach I say. I have not yet forgotten about my world.

The next surprise was more of a ‘she wouldn’t expect this of me’ type of activity instead of a typical surprise. We set out once again in the car to the other side of the island to locate a narrow road which led up the tallest mountain on the island. Standing 424 meters (1,391 feet) Pic Paradis is the highest point of the island and offers some fantastic views. Along the road there was the occasional ‘lookout point’ where we had to stop and take a few photos at each. The road was in rather poor condition and I later learned that it doubled as a hiking trail. I think most all roads on the island doubled as hiking trails. In fact, they were likely primarily hiking trails and used as roads as a secondary function.

We also made a few of the shops along the main roads in Phillipsburg and the cruise line docks, as well as a casino. We thought we would give the Flamingo Casino a try as it had the most recognizable name. Jackie is not much of a gambler so we didn’t stay long. Just long enough for her to win $9 and me to lose $20. The Flamingo Casino in St. Martin is simply not the impressive Flamingo Hotel and Casino of Las Vegas fame.

We stopped by the Marigot Fire Station on the way through. (Jackie insisted.) We were fortunate enough to get there on a day they had chosen to do some rappelling training. I got a good look at the equipment and the one thing I have to say is that those complainers in the Montgomery Fire Department have absolutely nothing to complain about!

I’m sure I am making this sound as if St. Martin is a real third world country. Not at all. In fact, we saw the one thing that I have never seen in the states other than on T.V. A Segway. You know, one of those two wheeled personal transportation devices where the wheels are side by side and you stand on it. I’ve never seen how one operates other than on that T.V. show Royal Pains. Anyway, we both did a double take when we say that. We were driving at the time and nearly needed that extra insurance coverage I wisely opted for at the car rental agency.

We returned taking the same route as on the way down here, but the return trip did not include an overnight layover. We left St. Martin at 1:00 in the afternoon and arrived in Houston just after midnight. It was some trip but I would do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I have already begun to search for our next vacation. The first criteria? A clothing optional beach!

So it appears that we are now beyond the experimental stage. We have started looking for places in Texas to visit on short mini trips. We found many places we could go, the most famous of those being Hippy Hollow right nearby in Austin. And we have discovered that there are discounts to member of certain organizations. So, now we are card carrying members of the Naturist Society. No longer are we closet nudists. We are naturists and we found a great way to have a great time on vacations. Things are looking up.

 Copyright, 2011. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

The First Annual Restaurant Review

December 2, 2010

So, immediately you say, “a restaurant review? You?” I’m entitled. I may not be the foremost authority on food, preparation, or presentation, but I know what I like. I know when the food tastes good. I know when I am pleased with the service. What else is there?

So we (yes, today I have a partner on my travels) start out, making sure we have everything necessary. And even though I always tend to forget something (see previous article) we hastily load up and start out on our journey. And a journey it shall be. You see, I decided to review a rather unknown restaurant just a little farther from the house than your typical evening dinner out. We decide to make it a two or three day trip and spend the first night at my sister’s house in Canyon City, about three hours away. We begin by making the first gas station so that we need not be bothered by fuel on this first leg of the trip, which was rather uneventful. About halfway there we did pass the exit to Kyle, and remembering my prior experiences in Kyle we decided to avoid that exit. We arrive at my sister’s with plenty of daylight remaining and ample time for socializing. After a modest amount of exploration around the area, and wanting to get an early start the next morning we head to bed plenty early. And just so that we would have something to write about my sister’s house decided to contribute some material of its own. They have a rather large grandfather clock situated just outside the bedroom door where we were to sleep and every fifteen minutes it decided to let loose with a melody that lasted about fourteen minutes (or so it seemed) at a volume which did not disturb me, due to my failing hearing, but kept Jackie up all night. It seemed the logical solution would be to close the door, which we did, but then revealed the next of our disturbing events. The alarm system control panel was set to glow constantly. And it was bright! So, either we tolerated the light or the sound. I was quite happy with either but Jackie never could make up her mind and simply never got any sleep all night. I guess draping a dry wash cloth over the alarm panel was just too easy of a solution..

We got an early start the next morning as expected and stopped off at the local donut shop for a cup of java and something to settle our stomachs for the long trip ahead of us.  I decided for a cinnamon roll and a dozen holes and Jackie requested a hot dog kolache without the pastry part of it. Just a hot dog? Who eats just a hot dog for breakfast?

En route to our destination, somewhere beyond Sonora or so, but not yet to Fort Stockton we came upon an area where all you could see on the horizon was windmills. Not the Holland style windmills nor the water well type of structure, but those new electric generating windmills. In this part of the country there are multiple plateaus situated above valleys, or even flat areas, and the plateaus are simply lined with these tall white electric generating windmills. It rather reminded me of all the aborigines lined up on the ridges in the movie Quigley Down Under. For as far as you could see there were windmills. From the south horizon to the west, and continuing on to the north, nothing but windmills. Now I realize where all those propeller blades you see passing through town are headed. I remember wondering why I never see any of the pedestals on trucks headed this way. Maybe they are manufactured elsewhere and thus do not pass through my neck of the woods.

Additionally we began seeing more than just hills and high plateaus. We were now seeing small mountains in the distant. Mountains that would soon grow to epic heights to those of us that have spent our lives in east Texas, but still referred to as hills by those in Colorado, Montana, and others. As we traveled into those mountains I could feel my truck struggling to get up and around those hills. In fact, it seemed that even though we were going downhill it struggled. I doubt that it was the thinning air as fuel injected engines are not supposed to be affected by altitude changes. After setting up the GPS I could see that even though it looked like we were often travelling downhill we were, in fact, steadily increasing in altitude. It actually sickened me slightly, but then, a lot of things do. It was almost like being in the fun house at the carnival.

I knew we were getting to West Texas when we started seeing towns that have been mentioned in John Wayne movies. El Dorado, Blanco, Ozona, Sweetwater, and several others. It took all I could to keep from taking a side trips to each one just to be the standard tourist.

We arrived at our destination of Sierra Blanca, Texas at about four in the afternoon. I would have thought for sure that we would be simply wasted after the long day on the road but we actually felt pretty good, so we decided to explore just a little. Ok, by now you have come to realize that this really isn’t about a restaurant review, haven’t you? We did have another reason for making this trip out west. Jackie had purchased some property out this way some years back and this would be my first trip out here. Of course, it was mule deer season and breaking out the 270 for a deer or the 204 for a predator of some sort was not out of the question. From the hotel where we were staying for the night to the property turned out to be about 60 miles. She didn’t mention that. Of course, I found out that a trip to the grocery store in these parts is in excess of 70 miles one way most of the time. We arrived in the area of the property shortly before sunset only to discover that the fall rains had washed out not only one, but two areas of the road just before her property. Not wanting to deal with it all this evening we decided to abandon the property viewing for the evening and head into town for a bite to eat before turning in.

We decided on one of the only two places in town to eat, La Familia Restaurant and Gift Shop. Well the gift shop portion of the place was already closed so we sat down at a table near the register. The only other occupied table was just next to where we sat. We were promptly greeted by a young Hispanic female. Jackie ordered a fajita enchilada while I decided on the Mexican Plate so that I would have a sampling of several things. The young lady took our order then visited the next table, presumably to check on their drinks or whatever. The waitress handed one of the customers at the table something that looked like a check, but instead of the couple heading to the register to pay they passed it right up and headed into the kitchen to prepare our order. Turns out it was the cooks sitting at the next table. Jackie’s order was ready a couple of minutes prior to mine and sat on the counter under the heat lamps for those minutes. I was seated to where I could watch the cook at the grill prepare my meal. On several occasions she took a squeeze bottle of what looked like oil and squirted it not only on the grill itself, but also on absolutely everything she cooked. But, I was open minded and willing to reserve any comments until I had tried it, which finally did come.

Jackie proceeded to unwrap her enchilada to find nothing but fajita meat wrapped in a corn tortilla. No rice or beans. She had to request hot sauce (we did not get any chips & salsa) and sour cream to dress it up some. The sour cream came in a small package which actually made us feel a little better as the cleanliness of the place was rather short of the local gas station restrooms. My meal consisted of a Chile rellenos, two cheese enchiladas, taco, rice, and beans. The taco meat had no real seasoning in it at all so it was not much more than lettuce and tomato in a crunchy shell with some chewy something on the side. Having tolerated the taco I moved on to the chile rellenos. Now, all the chili rellenos I have had in the past was filled with seasoned hamburger meat or something. This one came to me flat leaving my to wonder what was waiting for me inside. As it turned out it had no filling in it at all. My chile rellenos was simply a fried pepper. Next was the cheese enchiladas. How could someone mess up a cheese enchilada? Cold is one way, and cold it was. As it turns out the beans and rice was the best thing found at La Familia Restaurant and Gift Shop. See? It is a restaurant review after all.

The next morning we headed out to the property with sufficient help to get all the way to the property. The local ‘guide’ that accompanied us seemed well enough equipped to handle most any situation but even he had to manually fill in a ditch or two just to get to the property. Then he decides to drive off into a huge ditch and get completely stuck so that I had to break out my chains to get him free. It was about that point that we decided to simply walk the remainder of the way and avoid any further chance of losing our transportation completely.

Many times, when walking around on my property, I dream about a variety of things. This particular property reminded me of the many John Wayne movies I have seen over the years. One specific one, in fact. McClintock! One certain passage in that movie applied to this property. As I recall it goes something like this… “This land hates the plow. Serves pretty good for cattle. But you just can’t make it go on the Mesa verde.” I really believe this about Jackie’s property. Even the mesquite has better sense than to try to survive there. Tumbleweed is obviously formed when bushes intentionally chew themselves off at the ground to free themselves so that the wind might blow it to another county. There was not much there but rock. Lots of rock, limestone, talc (or whatever talc is made from) and sand. There was sand everywhere. On everything. In everything. Around everything. There was sand in the air. So much so, that you could not see more than a mile or so. It didn’t appear as a widespread sand storm, but then, I have never seen a sandstorm short of the movies.

We did see several herds of pronghorn antelope, but no deer, although we saw evidence of both in abundance. Being a week into deer season explains why they are keeping a low profile.

Not wanting to be left alone out on the ‘mesa verde’ we decided to leave once our guide’s truck was freed. There was no communications available at all. Cell service was non existent and if we were to get stuck ourselves we would be sort of on our own unless the amateur radio that I had brought along could raise someone local. We decided to go on into El Paso for the remainder of the day just for sightseeing.

There is not much in El Paso, and if it were not for Fort Bliss we would not have been at all entertained the entire afternoon. As it was we ended up in New Mexico for lunch just to say we had been there this trip.

We started back early the next morning and was over 100 miles into our trip before we found anything open to get breakfast or even a cup of morning coffee. We drove all the way back not even stopping at my sister’s. It took an entire day for me to recover from this trip and we both decided that the next trip out we are going to fly. I think we would rather enjoy the pat down by the TSA instead of the intolerable 700+ miles in the pickup.

Copyright, 2010. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.

Persistence is Futile. But I want to Assimilate!

November 20, 2010

Some time ago, I don’t mean years, or months, or even weeks; about 10 days ago Dad stopped receiving his newspaper. I won’t mention which because they undoubtedly have much more money to put towards legal fees than do I. The day I discovered this I had just returned from a weekend off from my duties. You see, I happily moved in with my parents when it became obvious that they had become unable to properly care for themselves. I spend weeks at a time there with the occasional weekend or week off to go home to… visit. I have three sisters who gladly relieve me at least two and sometimes three weekends a month, and again at least a full week or ten days a month. I didn’t completely move in. I sort of live out of a suitcase and occupy the same old room that I lived in some forty years ago growing up. Moving on, I returned home to learn that dad had not received his daily newspaper for the last three days, so a call to the circulation department was in order. Now, this particular newspaper is not of the local variety. Although we live in a rural area and the nearest town has a publication of sorts, it is not a daily paper. Dad therefore relies on the paper from the great metropolis that is about forty miles distant, but delivers daily. Well, we both thought.

My call to the papers main switchboard was answered by a rather male sounding voice, which in itself, was a surprise. I don’t know why. I suppose it may be because it has been many years since I was actually out in the workforce and exposed to what normal really is. I shouldn’t be all that surprised, after all, I do have access to the internet and am not completely cut off from the trends affecting our country. In any event the pleasant young man transferred my call to the circulation department whereupon I spent several minutes monitoring my own circulation while I listened to that recorded voice, “All customer service agents are presently assisting other customers. Please continue to hold and someone will be right with you.” Finally after what seemed like hours I hear a different recording. Progress.. “We are experiencing a high volume of calls. Please use our automated system. If you experienced difficulties receiving your newspaper, press 1.” *Beep* “If you did not receive your newspaper today, press 1.” *Beep* “Please enter your ten digit telephone number, starting with the area code, followed by the pound sign.” *Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep**Beep*

And after all that… “Please hold for a customer service representative.” To my surprise, a person then answered the phone right away. I guess all that was just a way to kill some time while an agent became available to talk to me. It didn’t really seem to do anything because the agent then had me dictate all that information to her again. I hate that. Why make us wear out our telephone keypads pushing in all those digits when they are going to ask anyway? These new phone are not made by Western Electric any more. They wear out faster than batteries in kids toy now days. But after all that I got a pleasant “Thank you, we will take care of this right away.” That’s it? Seemed easy enough, once I got to talk to a real person. I was happy, or so I thought.

Day two. Dad makes his usual early morning sojourn down to the highway to check the mail….and his newspaper; which of course, was not there. Another day and again I have to watch him return to the house empty handed. Besides from that I patiently sit and listen to the events of the trip. About the neighbor’s cattle and how the cows leave their young unattended (like the hawks are gonna swoop down and carry them off,) about how little they have to eat, and then analyze the trash he picked up in the ditch to bring home. Its trash, Dad, let’s put it in the trash. Well, to this day that trash is still on his desk. He is still wondering exactly what it is and why someone would throw it away. “We are experiencing heavy call volume and all customer service agents are assisting other customers. Please continue to hold or to use our automated system. For English please press 1.” All I want is for Dad to have his newspaper. That way, when he returns he will quietly sit and read his newspaper during breakfast. “Yes sir. I’ll send a message to the carrier and we will get this cleared up right away.”

Day three. Dad makes his usual early morning sojourn down to the highway to check the mail….and his newspaper; which of course, was not there. Another day and again I have to watch him return to the house empty handed. Besides from that I patiently sit and listen to the events of the trip. About the neighbor’s cattle and how the cows leave their young unattended, about how little they have to eat, and then analyze the trash he picked up in the ditch to bring home. Its trash, Dad, let’s put it in the trash. “We are experiencing heavy call volume and all customer service agents are assisting other customers. Please continue to hold or to use our automated system. For English please press 1.” Is there an option if I want to speak to a supervisor? I leave my phone number for the carrier to call. I have hopes of a newspaper by Thursday…

Day four. Dad makes his usual early morning sojourn down to the highway to check the mail….and his newspaper; which of course, was not there. Another day and again I have to watch him return to the house empty handed. Besides from that I patiently sit and listen to the events of the trip. About the neighbor’s cattle and how the cows leave their young unattended, about how little they have to eat, and then analyze the trash he picked up in the ditch to bring home. Its trash, Dad, let’s put it in the trash. “We are experiencing heavy call volume and all customer service agents are assisting other customers. Please continue to hold or to use our automated system. For English please press 1.” Any chance I can talk to a supervisor? “Please hold.” Finally, someone that will give me the attention that this is due. I have hopes. “Sir, my supervisor is unable to take the call at the moment but I gave her your phone number. She is really good about returning phone calls. You should hear from her today."

Day five. Dad makes his usual early morning sojourn down to the highway to check the mail….and his newspaper; which of course, was not there. Another day and again I have to watch him return to the house empty handed. Besides from that I patiently sit and listen to the events of the trip. About the neighbor’s cattle and how the cows leave their young unattended, how little they have to eat, and then analyze the trash he picked up in the ditch to bring home. Its trash, Dad, let’s put it in the trash. “We are experiencing heavy call volume and all customer service agents are assisting other customers. Please continue to hold or to use our automated system. For English please press 1.” By now you are wondering why I am wasting time with this antiquated communications system called the telephone. Why not simply get on the internet, look up the papers site, click on the ‘Contact Us’ link and be done with this nonsense of daily talks to the customer service recordings? You know? I fool around with designing pages such as this. I mean, after all, I have been in the hospitality business for longer than I care to admit, and I have contact us pages for customers to communicate with me. So, I recognize a well planned contact us page. So I did use their contact form on about day two. That day all went as planned. “I didn’t get a newspaper. Circulation was no help. Can you help me get a newspaper?” No worries, right. The next day I fill out the same form and I got a little long winded about how I had called circulation, then sent in the contact us form, explained that I was not all that hard to find, and listed the previous ‘case number’ provided in the email confirmation sent to me to acknowledge receipt of the previous days form. “Your form contains too many characters. Please edit your text and limit the number of characters used to 150.” What? 150 characters? How can you legitimately complain about anything in 150 characters? So that day’s complaint was about how the form did not allow enough room to adequately complain.

Day six. It is now Saturday. Dad makes his usual early morning sojourn down to the highway to check the mail….and his newspaper; which of course, was not there. Another day and again I have to watch him return to the house empty handed. Besides from that I patiently sit and listen to the events of the trip. About the neighbor’s cattle and how the cows leave their young unattended, about how little they have to eat, and then analyze the trash he picked up in the ditch to bring home. Its trash, Dad, let’s put it in the trash. “We are experiencing heavy call volume and all customer service agents are assisting other customers. Please continue to hold or to use our automated system. For English please press 1.” By now I had learned the keystroke sequence and entered them in without even listening to the recordings, and I get a live person. “Mr. Taylor, has anyone called you back yet?” Oh, yes, of course. But I was just calling to say thank you….NOT. Not only has no one called me back, but I still do not have a newspaper! So, I ask the customer service rep (I really don’t know why they call it customer service if they cannot provide any service) for the carrier’s mother’s name so that I can call her to see if I can get a newspaper by Sunday. I never got to speak to a supervisor that day and the call ended quite soon afterwards.

Later, and not very much later I receive a call from a nice sounding lady. “Mom?”, I ask. Well, no, but it was the local distributor. She was quite pleasant and explained that the carrier was indeed delivering a paper to what they thought was the correct address, and after a long conversation about how to recognize the correct location to deliver our paper I get a promise, and a phone number.

Well, things are looking up. I have a real local phone number to contact the actual local distributor in the event I do not receive a paper tomorrow. I really think that if we don’t get a paper the distributor will actually bring it out herself.  Wishful thinking. Tomorrow is another day and I think if I hear one more time about how little the neighbors cows have to eat I’m gonna feed them cows a newspaper distributor.


Copyright, 2010. All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced without advanced written authorization from both the author and Google.