Barney Time

Since the 50th anniversary of the first Flintstone episode was 30 September, and the first Andy Griffith episode premiered 3 October, 1960, I thought that it would be a good time to dust this one off. Although I wrote this almost ten years ago, it is one of my favorites. bd

Getting older is not the same as getting old..... at least not before you turn 50. I'm here to tell you that it's iffy afterwards. I can remember when "old folks" used to predict the weather with their aches and pains. I laughed then, but it's not nearly as funny as it used to be because I'm beginning to be my own weather channel myself.

When I say Barney, who comes to mind? The answer says a lot about your age and upbringing. I asked the question of a young guy in my office. Without hesitation he said "that purple Dinosaur that the kids watch." He probably watched ol' Barney himself growing up. The purple Barney made his debut in 1987 on PBS and, as far as I know, has been there ever since.

Anyone born between the late 1950s and mid-60s would probably say "Barney Rubble, of course." Along with his wife Betty and son Bam-Bam, this Barney lived next door to Fred, Wilma and Pebbles Flintstone from the fall of 1960 till 1966. Actually, they live on in syndication and on the cartoon channel, as well as a couple of theme parks.

My generation would definitely say Barney Fife who still lives in syndication all over the world. Although he was on "The Andy Griffith Show" for only the first 5 years of the 1960-1968 series, he was certainly a key player. If you have cable, you can probably find an episode playing right now. I have friends that argue that the episodes without Barney are no good. Others say that if it is in color, just turn it off. Still other folks won't watch anything on television that is NOT color. These folks are missing more than Barney and I'm sure would name one of the other Barneys when asked the "Which Barney" question. My guess is that they would say, "The purple one."

"The Andy Griffith Show" has certainly endured the test of time. Teachers use the show in classrooms. There are even Sunday school classes that use the episodes as a basis for lessons.

Ask the Barney question to those of my mama's generation and you will probably get "Barney Google". Barney Google made his debut in 1919 in the comic section of the newspaper. I couldn't pick Barney Google out of a police line-up. Google (the search engine) tells me that Barney is still an infrequent visitor to Snuffy Smith, but how should I know. The only thing I can tell you about Barney Google is that the favorite cheer of my high school Principal was:

"Barney Google, Andy Gump, we've got Dublin up a stump, WOOOOOOA Sparkplug!"

It would be years before I knew that Spark Plug was Barney Google's horse.

The group that we should really feel sorry for is those born between 1968 (when "Andy" went into syndication) and 1987 (when the purple one made his first appearance on PBS.) These folks are very frustrated people. I suspect that a good many of the problems we have today are caused by these “in-between Barney” folks.

This is not to say that the “Purple Barney” crowd is a problem-free lot. Let’s just say I have my doubts about ANYONE who has spent a whole lot of time watching some guy dressed up in a heavily padded fuzzy purple get-up complete with dragging tail and green tummy. I can’t imagine that THAT Barney will be in (rerun) syndication 34 years after it left first-run TV, nor will any Sunday school lessons ever be based on an episode.

I am unabashedly from the “one bullet” Barney crowd. When I see Ron Howard (Opie) on TV with no hair, or Andy all wrinkled and gray, I can hardly believe that it has been so long. They have gotten so much older. Aunt Bee Floyd and Barney are long gone. They taught us so much. Of course, time hasn’t done that much to me. I could go on, but my bifocals are acting up, it’s time for my medicine and my knees tell me it is about to rain. I’ll just close for now by asking you which Barney comes to your mind?

Support what you believe in!

Unemployment is the worst it has been in my lifetime. August, 2010 data reported this last week shows it to be about 10.4% in these parts. A lot of people, businesses, churches, and other charities are really hurting.

I remember a coworker telling me more than 20 years ago about how poor he grew up. Paul said, “I was 16 years old before I knew there was an edible part of a chicken besides the back and feet.” Look around you. What is in your refrigerator, your pantry, your closet? Is it really that bad? Probably not. As Americans, we are a very blessed group of people, even in these hard times.

Mother used to tell me about the starving kinds in Africa and China to get me to eat my vegetables. I told her one time that she could send them my squash; I wasn’t hungry enough to eat squash. (I don’t recall ever saying that but once.)

I have recently written about good intentions. How many times in the last year have we said, “I should send something to that cemetery where grandpa is buried,” or “I should send something to that missionary that I heard a few months ago.” Did you mean that? Have you done it?

At the end of 2009, there were 58,000 storage units worldwide, 50,000 of which are in the US. We have more than 2.35 Billion square feet of stuff in storage (more than three times the size of Manhattan,) much of which is “climate controlled.” If this is usable stuff, why not give it to someone who can use it. (Of course, if it is junk, why are we paying to store it?)

An article last December says that Americans are the most charitable people in the world, giving about $300 Billion to charities each year. But we can give in other ways. We can donate unused items, our time, and even words of encouragement

Every year at this time, one of the blogs I read encourages people to celebrate “ten days of giving” in early October. http://christianpf.com/10daygive/ It won’t be long before we are caught up in the Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years whirlwind. I’d say right about now would be a great time to give a little something that you have been meaning to give, but just haven’t. Of course, I am not advocating taking anything away from your normal giving. They need your support too. Why not take some time now to give in a new way.

Support what you believe in!

ps: Here is 101 ways to give http://www.moneyhelpforchristians.com/101-ways-to-give/

Signs along the way

I certainly don’t remember the first roadside advertisement I ever saw, but I suspect it was a barn rooftop proclaiming “See Rock City” or one of the Burma Shave sets that were along roadside across America in my youth. I specifically remember seeing:

Ma Loved Pa

Pa loved Women

Ma Caught Pa

In with 2 a swimmin’

Here lies Pa!

Burma Shave!

I’d always thought that roadside advertisements were born when the automobile came along, but they say that it goes back to Egyptian times. You probably could have convinced me that advertising flyers date back to Gutenberg’s original printing press, but there were no cars, or windshield wipers to put them under back then.


With the invention of portable signs and other, more permanent signage with changeable letters, we have moved into ever changing advertising and clever messages, especially at churches:

“Get off facebook and take out faith book”

“Go to church; don't wait for the hearse to take you”

“A bad day at work is better than a good day in hell”

“Down in the mouth? It’s time for a faith lift”

Over the years, I guess my favorite roadside advertisement has been hand printed signs and more recently, local signs on mobile lighted signs and professionally printed (but not well thought out) signs. Years ago on a road trip, my wife and I caught a couple signs of note on US 441 between Milledgeville and Eatonton GA.

Deborah took this picture, which is the one that really renewed my interest in the world of roadside signage. We didn’t buy any produce, but I would have paid a good price for the sign, if I thought I could have bought it without insulting the owner.

Deborah also took this priceless gem:







I especially like signs that need translation skills to interpret. It says, “Sweeting Quick Stop and Cafe and Short Order” At least that is what I think it says.


And then there are those that send a message that is probably not exactly what they intended. This one was in front of a business that was closed and for sale. They changed the sign a couple of weeks before the Mayoral election in Cochran, GA to indicate the owner's preference.






And then there is this one. They must have put up 100 within 25 miles of my hometown.






I am not quite sure why one would actually pay for leaks, but if you need a deal on some, I KNOW who to call.

There are countless others. I just felt the need to share these few.

Good Intentions........revisited

(August 2007)
Good intentions are pretty much worthless. Maybe I should clarify that. Good intentions without action are pretty much worthless. I have believed that for a long time, but I continue to prove it to myself.

Just a few miles north of Cochran, right on my way to work, someone planted several acres of sunflowers last year. That is not that uncommon in these parts, but they were just beautiful. They were planted in two plots on a southeastern facing slope and it was very picturesque. The blooms faced me each morning as I drove to work and seemed to look the other way when I returned home hot and tired (me, not them.)

They hit their prime about the week of July 4th. I fully intended to stop and take pictures one morning on the way to work, but I kept forgetting my camera. The morning that I finally remembered to bring it, I stopped and got out only to discover that the batteries were dead. When I finally got back with fresh batteries the following Saturday, it was too late. It was just another South Georgia field, drying up in another sweltering summer.

I had good intentions, but the results were no different than if had had no intentions at all.

I have reached the age that requires one to go to a lot of retirements and funerals. I thought of this story recently at an old friend’s retirement luncheon. He and I processed on base together as new federal employees on a nice Tuesday in 1973. On that day, he had been a father for two days and I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my life. 34+ years later, I still wonder what I need to do next. I have several years’ worth of things that I want to do “someday” but struggle with what I need to do today and tomorrow.

I have always admired men from America’s early history who seemed to be able to accomplish so much without the modern conveniences we have today. A couple of weeks ago, a friend asked me if I’d been having trouble with my computer. What she meant was that I hadn’t been using it, at least how she thought I should.

When our children were small and we got our first VCR, they couldn’t understand why they couldn’t watch their favorite program any time they wanted. It is probably a harder lesson to learn for children today. They watch movies in the back seat while they are on their way to church. I guess I never really got the fact that some things need to be done now and other things can be done at any time.

Somehow, I end up doing stuff that is convenient and not doing the important stuff. My actions don’t match my intentions. Sometimes I don’t save time to do those things that I need to do for myself, my friends or my family. My backlog of neglect is pretty extensive. I am even several years behind on my New Years resolutions.

Our intentions are important, but good intentions are not enough. Doing the right thing, but not doing it at the right time is not really doing the right thing. Just like that field of flowers that I failed to “picture”, other opportunities to fulfill our intentions will pass their prime and eventually go away. I’m reminded of this every day when I pass that field on my way to work. The picture that I failed to take probably looks better in my memory that it ever would have printed and framed. That’s OK. Maybe I won’t miss the next one. Maybe you won’t either.

Epilogue
I wrote that three years ago, almost to the day. The owner of that field finally planted sunflowers again this year. I almost waited too late again. The week of July 4th, I finally stopped and took a couple of pictures. The field was not as full as it was the year I missed. I don't think that they were as pretty as before either. But you don't get that many second chances.

Just a few days later, a small ad was in the local shoppers guide inviting people to come see sunflowers just north of town. I thought, "a third chance? I can't miss this." So I got my camera and went to see.
Of course, it was the wrong time of day, the lighting was not right, and I should have gone a week earlier. I am so glad that I got a second, AND third chance.

I hope that this experience prods me to do a much better job of doing the right things at the right time. I know that I can't always expect multiple chances to get things right.

What do you think?

My very first open MRI

In a meeting earlier this week, a coworker indicated that she would have to leave early because of an appointment. She was going to the dentist to be prepped for a new crown. I could tell that she was none too excited about the prospect. She said that, “my medical experiences seem to always be different that everyone else’s.”

I immediately thought about my “open” MRI experience. I am not particularly well versed in all aspects of medical technology, and didn’t know anything about MRI. However, the fact that they kept stressing that the MRI would be “open” made me a little nervous. I did a little research and found out that a typical MRI was a tube, roughly half the size of a small slide at the playground at McDonald’s. This was not good news for a “big boned” guy like myself. Oh, by the way, I wouldn’t be screaming and sliding through real fast with all my friends. I’d be alone, need to lie still and going through really S-L-O-W-L-Y.

Yippee!

But they kept saying OPEN.

When I got the read-ahead package from the Imaging Center, the words were oh so reassuring. Right there in the first page it said, “New technology allows us to now get high quality images in a more open environment; and “Open MRI & CT Specialists will supply suitable clothing for your examination.” OK, maybe it will be like a full sized McDonald’s slide. Maybe I won’t get stuck in there, naked. Luckily, they scheduled this out at least three weeks so I would have adequate time to think about it, (make out my will, plan my funeral, prearrange with my “final needs specialist.”)

Finally my day came. I arrived with all my forms, insurance cards, letter from my doctor, (note to my next of kin.) I was not in the lobby but a few minutes before Ginger escorted me back to the dressing room. She gave me a nice bag that contained my “suitable clothing for my examination.” It didn’t take long to understand how relative the term, “suitable” really is. This was clearly from the “Minimal Modesty” collection of some medical supply house. They probably paid more for the wordsmithing on the brochure than for this thin, breezy toga.

As Ginger escorted me into the examining room, she explained that some people were unnerved by the gentle thumping sound of the MRI machine, and headphones were provided so I could relax and listen to soothing music during my MRI. “What kind of music do you prefer?” she asked.

I said that most any kind of light stuff would be good; smooth jazz, soft rock, classical, just about anything but country or rap.

Ginger turned me over to Bertha. Bertha assured me that this would take only 20-30 minutes. (20-30 minutes? No one had told me it would take 20-30 minutes while I had my clothes on.) She confirmed my music choices, helped me on the table, (which had been chilled just for me,) put my headphones on me and said that she would be “just behind that glass, during the entire session.”

That was the last I saw of Bertha for a LONG TIME.

I closed my eyes and began to relax to the soothing soft-rock music of the “60’s, 70’s and 80’s” as I began my slow move. In fact, I was almost asleep when Karen Carpenter morphed into Merle Haggard. Merle Haggard? My eyes flew open and I saw where my feet were headed. “Oh my word, this is like a conveyor belt in a pizza oven, except it’s a microwave.”

I felt like I was doing an up-close visual inspection of the underbelly of the Starship Enterprise. THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. Ginger, you said, “gentle thumping.” This is like Main Street on Saturday night.

I didn’t even know there was an “all Haggard, all the time station,” but ole Merle’s music was so painful, he kept my mind off the “gentle thumping” and the underbelly of the Enterprise. When Ginger and Bertha helped me off the table, I was in pretty good shape, except my jaw muscles were cramping from grinding my teeth.

Looking back, I guess it could have been worse; ole Merle could have been rapping…..

Gentle Nudges

Although it has been a couple of weeks, I still have Father’s Day on the brain. Father’s Day was never big to me growing up because I lost my father at 2 years old. It became a big deal when I had children of my own.

The week leading up to Father’s Day is when we traditionally have Bible School in Empire. I don’t think that I have missed a Bible School in my church in the last 50 years. I have gone from student to adult helper; from puppeteer to sound technician and photographer; from a barefooted kid with a crew cut and mischief in his eye to a grey-headed old guy with, well, oh never mind.

There were more than 20 adults that were involved this year with some aspect of Bible School. TWENTY! I couldn’t help but think about what impact that week would have on the children. We had a dog mascot; one night we had a roman soldier, a super hero maintenance man and pizza delivery guy. Oh yes, we also had “water woman.” More than a dozen gave of their time to cook, do crafts, and lead in group games. All of these people had other things to do, but came to make a difference. I also thought about the fact that a lot of parents, some of which I didn’t even know, were entrusting the lives and minds of their precious little ones to us. What a responsibility! Were we up to it? Was I up to it? I wasn’t teaching, but I was there, trying to help in some small way.

When I was growing up in this church, there were many people who looked after me, influenced me, and nurtured me. Bible school was small, and led by a handful of moms like mine. When I became a teenager, Bible school was less important to me. Even with good upbringing, I had become a troubled youth. I don’t remember a lot about that time, but one man stands out as a voice of encouragement to me. He was not a Sunday school teacher or a minister. He didn’t sing or lead the choir. He was an old railroad man with a red face and rough hands. His name was Kanah Belflower.

Mr. Kanah was not always there. His job took him away a lot. Like a lot of other men that farmed, and such, he missed a lot of Wednesday night services. In fact, he was not there every Sunday night. But Sunday mornings after church, he’d always find me and ask what was going on in my life. He didn’t miss much, but he never mentioned my somewhat long and unkempt hair, or my clothes.

“Hey, boy, don’t you have some new wheels on your car?” or “Wasn’t that a new girl I saw you with last Sunday? She sure was pretty!”

When I answer that she was pretty, but had dumped me on Monday, he’d respond with something like, “Oh she’s just immature. She probably wasn’t your type anyway. When you find the right one, you’ll know.”

I am sure that the man I knew from church was quite different from the man his children knew. He was not responsible for me. He didn’t have to do anything, but he did. I can’t think of anything that he did that was openly intended to influence me. I was just a wayward teenager that most adults avoided or admonished. He gently nudged me along in the right direction and expressed interest in my life like no other.

As I saw those kids in Bible school, I wondered, who is their old railroad man? Who is gently nudging them in the right direction? Do they see me as one who cares about their well being, or am I just a white-headed, grumpy old man with a sore back and a bad attitude?

I always look forward to Bible school, but I don’t have to wait till next year for Bible school, or Father’s Day to do something. I can encourage, I can nudge, and I can overlook a lot and give a word of encouragement or at least a smile. You can too. Mr. Kanah would like that.

I am not dead yet

For over a year I wrote with great regularity but in November 2008, I stopped. OK, maybe it wasn’t a whole year. Well, maybe not that regular either. I wish I had a really good excuse for quitting. How about, “someone stole the period from my keyboard and I just can’t write without adequate punctuation.” Or maybe, “Preparing for retirement and actually retiring just took too much out of me.” The fact is, I never quit making notes to myself, never quit laughing at the world around me, but I never got around to writing the whole stories down, and I completely failed to share any of them.

This is not my first time falling off the writer’s wagon. There is always the possibility that it won’t be my last either. It has always amazed me how hard it is to develop good habits and how fragile those good habits really are. Eating right, exercising, reading and writing daily; these are so hard to get going and so easy to lay aside. On the other hand, that 9 PM bowl of ice cream, while relaxing in your recliner and watching the Braves seems so natural (and habit forming.)

At least some of my friends have asked me if my computer was broken. It is not broken, merely neglected. I really want to get back to writing things, so I am going to make a commitment to post at least once a week. I want to include all of the dozen years, or so, worth of stuff I have written too. So I intend to write my new stuff and mix in the old that doesn’t seem stale. Hopefully, it will all be fresh enough for public consumption.

When I began talking about needing to get back to putting things on paper, my sweet bride went and got her journal and shared two quotes with me:

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” Aristotle

And, “Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.” Churchill

The first quote is motivating to me. The second quote makes me wonder what she is thinking about my new plans. She says that she read the second quote to me just because it was the next one in her journal. We’ll see.

In a writer’s conference this spring, I heard Lauretta Hannon say, “write now, worry later.” I will try to put that into practice. I do have stories. In the coming week and months, I’ll tell you about Bible School, Father’s day, and an old railroad man; the tale of the dancing undertaker (I have pictures); why my brother’s recliner hurts his back; how Chicken Road got its name; Only halfway home but broken and OUT, subtitled: is 50 too old for a pastor to play softball; and many more.

This is the last time I will send this out by email (unless someone asks.) That way, I won’t be cluttering your inbox. If you are interested, you can find this at http://chickenroadwisdom.blogspot.com/ I intend to leave the comments on unless they get out of hand.
Bill