Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how challenging times like these call for us to go back to the source of our inner strength, character and core values; board games. Yahtzee comes to mind. Something special happens when a family gathers around the kitchen table with a cupful of dice and a cupful of hot chocolate. The struggle of achieving four of a kind and the sheer joy of beating your sister to pay her back for “ratting” you out when you ditched that day in high school is family bonding at its best. There was a time long before Al Gore invented XBox and PacMan when board games brought together family units and built America’s social fabric of capitalism and wealth creation. The first step toward our economic recovery is getting back to the basics and I’ve got dibs on the little car for my game piece in the Monopoly game. Physical evidence of board games goes back over three thousand years. Folks were playing checkers... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about birthday “kaka” and a bowl of extra long Chinese noodles. The word “cake” is from the ancient Viking word “kaka,” a sweetened patty made with flour and honey. Our fancy birthday cakes have come a long way since a piece of kaka in Norseland. Bakery shelves now offer a carnival parade of birthday cakes complete with icing artwork, miniature plastic people, ornamental toys, edible decorations and personal messages. I’m not sure that the Viking, Eric the Red, would even recognize a kaka if he saw one today. Chinese folks celebrate birthdays with bowls of extra long noodles rather than kaka. The long noodles symbolize best wishes for a long life, but they don’t blend well with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Old fashioned American made birthday kaka wins the gold. It is curious how most of our special days and holidays are linked to food. Thanksgiving without a turkey would be like... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how I take my septic tank for granted. For most of my life I enjoyed “city” water and “city” sewer systems. I paid some vague quasi-governmental board a monthly honorarium and in return a magical occurrence happened each time I turned on a faucet or flushed. I don’t know where any of the water came from or where it all went, but it always worked. It is much more amazing than a Las Vegas magician making just one elephant or just one jet plane disappear. I’m talking about the ultimate disappearance act! Forget those famous illusionists and expensive singers. They should just put a commode up on the stage and flush it! Standing ovation! I have never actually met a sanitary engineer, but it is nice to know they are somewhere out there with their magic wands! Just think. New York City has about 8.2 million people and even if they all only use the bathroom 2.5 times a... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about the greatest invention in the entire history of civilization; the Chihuahua. Some might argue that the invention of the wheel, the internet or Mary Kay cosmetics deserves the acclaimed honor, but I am fully prepared to prove that nothing tops the invention of that cute rodent-like dog. I do admit that I did give some consideration to electricity, but deemed it unworthy because it has always been there. Ben F. just had to figure out how to lasso it with a kite …no big deal. It took about 15,000 years or so to invent the Chihuahua. Cavepersons started the Chihuahua project when packs of gray wolves would sneak around the front cave yard for leftover meat or table scraps. The wild wolves were afraid of the prehistoric humans, but some of them gradually learned that if they didn’t run so far away from the cave people they would be first in line for the food. Since wolves live in packs like... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how we all become “tourons” whenever we travel out of our local zones. “Touron” is a word coined by my trolley-driving friend to describe tourists who exhibit “moronic” behavior. Local natives welcoming Christopher Columbus to the West Indies might have also used that same word to describe him if it was available at the time. Chris must have been a sight for sore eyes even if he wasn’t driving a humongous diesel RV and towing a color-matched Toyota behind him. Like many modern day tourons he dressed funny and had a big floating Winnebago. Tourons have been in existence since the very first time an adventurous caveman gathered up his cave family and vacationed in the mountains or at the beach. Certainly tourons must have been the first people to wear spray-painted shirts, eat oysters or build a collection of salt and pepper shakers. Tourons visiting in my county eat fudge and ask... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how very lucky I am that I have to pack up and haul my trash to a dump outlet down on highway 321. In my rural community we have no curb service or curbs and you’ll never hear the cartoon jingles of an ice cream truck. The postal service does deliver mail, but requires an official government four-wheel drive jeep. I have to purchase my newspapers at the store and trick or treaters never come calling on Halloween night. I have no garage, Walmart is 25 miles away down a country road and a bear cub left its calling card on my deck table last week… I live in a little log cabin in a place called Utopia. Many visitors flock down here for a week or so, rent a cabin down the holler a ways, hop in the hot tub, grill some shish-ka-bobs and then head back to beautifully landscaped subdivisions with tailored yards, trees and kids. They step outside to get their morning newspapers and bathe themselves... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about the last time I used a hot knife to scrape off a rumpledump that was securely attached to my skull. “Rumpledump” is a home-made word I created to avoid using the distasteful official name of a dreaded and nasty critter known by a name that rhymes with “ick.” Rumpledumps come in various sizes and styles, but all of them share a common interest in feeding on my blood. I hate that when that happens. I generally love all creatures large and small, but consider rumpledumps and its relatives as key members of my own unofficial Axis of Evil. Any critter that desires my blood as the major part of its diet is not on my gift list. Rumpledumps have a nasty group of relatives. The family tree includes other spiders and scorpions. I don’t care how tasty their potato salad is…I’ll take a pass on that family reunion. Rumpledumps cannot jump or fly and are slow creepy crawlers.... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about my grocery store coupons…a lifetime first experience. I hear every day now that our economy is “Issue #1” and I’m getting my brain thoroughly washed on that topic. Just when I think that television news can’t possibly get any worse CNN’s Lou Dobbs dredges up some new terrible jobs or trade crisis that will lead to the downfall of life as we used to know it. Instead of those depressing fear-mongering pundits on TV we need more folks like economic advisor and optimist Senator Phil Gramm who recently advised, “Don’t Worry….Be Happy.” I’m beginning to believe there is merit in that old adage, “Ignorance is Bliss.” Well, drastic economic times call for drastic economic measures so I actually pocketed my grocery store coupons this week and reviewed my itemized grocery store receipt. At my wife’s request I purchased a gallon of fat-free milk even... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how Michael Phelps reminded me that the “small stuff is the big stuff.” He won a potfull of gold medals and one of them by the length of a fingernail or just one hundredth of a second! The tiniest measured difference in any Olympic event usually separates gold from silver and bronze. Whether a special hi-tech fabric in a swimming suit or the length of a fingernail at the finish line Olympians understand that the small stuff is the big stuff. Even though the rest of us are not being timed and many of us only know how to dog paddle; the same rule applies to the human “race.” It’s the little things that really make a big difference. I remember the story of that man who was walking along a seashore covered with thousands of dying starfish that had been washed ashore. As he picked one up and threw it back into the ocean a stranger watching him said, “You can’t possibly make a difference... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how “lack of preparation” sometimes works out best. Some of my fondest memories were born out of poor preparation. I’m not suggesting that the Boy Scouts change their motto to “Never Be Prepared” and certainly lack of preparation is not the solution to every problem. Consider the always well prepared chipmunk. A few years ago a scientist captured a chipmunk scurrying about in the forest. The scientist counted the grass seeds in the cheeks of the little feller and they totaled 1,134. He had a giant mouthful of preparation. Chipmunks gather and then stash the seeds for those cold winter days when a helping of grass seeds is the only prescription for wintertime chipmunk blues. Survival mandates the chipmunk to prepare. As with the chipmunk, preparation is also a survival necessity for at least two of our major life activities; renewing your driver’s license and going fishing.... (more...)