michaeldexterhankins

FREE BIRDS

“Jess is our Yellow-Naped Amazon parrot, and he loves to join the conversation once a telephone is in sight.”

Over the last several years, my wife and I have received several offers for free dinners or lunches from different firms. Most of them were from financial companies offering a seminar in conjunction with a meal. The presentations were intended to show us how to wisely invest our retirement funds.

There’ve also been a few such free invitations from organizations offering us help in the Medicaid or Medicare areas. Our phones are bombarded daily with calls regarding this subject alone. I’ve picked up a few times and placed the receiver next to Jess’s cage just for grins.

Jess is our Yellow-Naped Amazon parrot, and he loves to join the conversation once a telephone is in sight. He’s kept telemarketers on the line for several minutes, rambling on about things seemingly important to him, although we often can’t understand his lingo.

Jess’s favorite telephone saying is, “Yea, uh huh,” having learned to precisely mimic these words after hearing us constantly utter such during conversations.

I’ve always been afraid to take any of these firms up on their seminars because of an incident that happened in Hawaii 40 years ago. We were on vacation and for whatever reason, Joleen and I decided to take up a pretty young Hawaiian gal’s free dinner, and timeshare-seminar offer. Thinking back, perhaps I was the one doing the accepting.

Approximately 20 of us were assembled in a conference room, and I actually believed the door was locked behind us after entering. There were restrooms in this room, and I’m sure that was part of their plan to keep people in. Tag-team sales representatives kept their spiel going for at least two hours with promises of food afterwards.

Over time, some attendees gave in to the high-pressure sales tactics and signed the dotted line. Joleen and I didn’t cave. We eventually got up and left with one sales agent following us to the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. We never did get to eat.

A few weeks ago, we received an invitation to a dinner from a local Havasu funeral home, Lietz-Fraze. Joleen and I used them over the years for Carly and Simon, our pets, and we were very satisfied with how they were treated.

The free dinner at Shugrue’s Restaurant was in conjunction with a seminar for final plans regarding our deaths. That wasn’t something totally new to Joleen and me, as we’d purchased burial spots in Kansas some 20 years ago, along with having a headstone made.

I was hesitant to attend at first, but at my wife’s prodding, I decided to see what could be learned that I didn’t already know. Neither Joleen nor I realized that the financial responsibility of a burial can be taken care of beforehand, without the children or grandchildren getting involved.

Host, Marie Lucinda Anderson, was most cordial, and unlike the Hawaii timeshare seminar, there was no pressure from her to sign a dotted line. Most unusual was that we were fed first, with the grilled chicken and fresh steamed vegetables most succulent. Dessert was over the top.

Also seated at our table, Mike and Janet Queyrel evidently thought the same, with it turning out they went to the same church as us, along with having similar interests. Mike was into hotrods.

Marie told a sad story about a father being murdered and the resulting trauma afterwards, especially with relatives all trying to dictate who got what, along with how the burial should be handled. Tragically, that tale involved Marie Lucinda Anderson’s own dad. During her college years, Marie decided to enter the funeral counseling field to help others not go through what she did.

The main thing I came away with from Marie’s presentation was knowing that now, while I’m still alive, I can avert any challenges to my or my wife’s last wishes, although I highly doubt my children would be the ones doing so. It would probably come in the form of meddling state lawyers.

Joleen and I decided on a plan that locks in the cost of burial even if we live another 30 years or longer. All documents are legally binding and are now safely locked in a safe. Our children or grandchildren won’t have to be involved with anything, as everything’s laid out exactly as we dictated. The free personal planning guide that Marie gave us was most useful in orchestrating things.

The seminar was most helpful in placing us on the right track in making these final plans. This decision has allowed us to be “free birds,” so to speak, and I’m glad my wife talked me into going. The only reason we may not need this paperwork is if Jesus returns first and we’re raptured out of here while still alive.

Not being ones to gamble on this happening, we made the right decision!

FORT SIMON

“Our plans were still to build a home there, even having blueprints drawn up and certified.”

My mother had a special place in Alaska where she’d often go to seek solitude from the big city. She lived in Anchorage, which could be quite noisy and chaotic. Jet airplanes took off and landed at a nearby military base, and vehicle traffic was heard throughout all hours of the day.

Having limited areas to get away from the hustle and bustle, there were a few spots in town where quietness prevailed, yet others flocked there as well. Cheney Lake used to be a good location, but young people often found the need to listen to loud music, totally ruining the tranquility.

Mom’s sanctuary was the Family Christian Center parking lot, located some 44 miles away from her home. From this parking lot, she could see Pioneer Peak in the near distance. That rugged mountain meant lots to her because when we moved to Anchorage in 1966, Mom was taken in by its rugged beauty over anything else.

She’d bring lunch with her to Palmer during weekdays, and just sit in that parking lot and pray to God while gazing at his magnificent work of art. She said that sometimes she napped. On Sundays, Mother attended church in Palmer and listened to the preaching of Pastor Peter Gallardo.

This Man of God officiated at her graveside service, with a granite monument placed over her burial spot in Pioneer Cemetery facing Pioneer Peak. That was her wish and was only made possible via Pastor Gallardo’s help since my mother wasn’t a resident of Palmer.

Joleen and I have our own sanctuary, and it too is located out of town. Our little spot in Kingman, Arizona, is approximately 63 miles from our home in Lake Havasu City. This piece of ground is where we first wanted to build a home in the late 1990s, but unfortunately, it wasn’t for sale back then.

Taking a drive through the area in 2015, there was a realtor’s sign out front, and within hours, we snapped things up. From that point on, Joleen and I have been up there countless times to merely relax and count our blessings.

Our little Pekingese dog, Simon, loved walking the grounds while sniffing bushes and grass, marking every bit of the turf for his own. After Simon passed away in 2023, we named it Fort Simon after him.

Located in Cerbat Canyon, it’s relatively quiet even though trucks and cars on I-40 are easily seen. A sound wall will eventually eliminate the minimal amount of noise coming from this busy highway. There is a family of foxes in the vicinity, including deer on occasion, along with hawks, and of course, poisonous rattlesnakes.

Our plans were still to build a home there, even having blueprints drawn up and certified. COVID changed all that with us shifting directions, deciding to use the lot as a place of reverence more than anything else. That could still change.

While some might prefer a cabin in the woods to get away, either flying or boating to get there, all of the amenities of home are located within one mile’s distance from our tiny sanctuary. An authentic Mexican Restaurant is less than that, with Safeway and Marshalls department store about the same — all of them easily reached by walking or riding a bicycle.

I believe everyone needs a quiet place to flee life’s pressures and to seek God. Church is the preferred location, but Jesus can be found everywhere. Mother talked to him in an asphalt parking lot in Alaska overlooking a tall mountain, while Joleen and I did the same within a small canyon property we call Fort Simon.

My wife and I don’t look at things we possess as being ours — we’re merely custodians until moving on to Heaven. For those needing a bit of sanity, you’re welcome to visit our spot at 2430 Country Club Drive in Kingman. All that we ask is that you rehook the rope hook before leaving and take any trash with you.

GRIM REAPER

“Things came to a head early one morning outside a seedy bar called the Busy Body Lounge in Evansville, Indiana, when he shot and killed a member of the “Grim Reapers” Motorcycle Club during an argument.”

Many older people, at some point in their lives, question whether they made the right decisions, especially whether they’re fully secure in eternity.

Looking back at my 71 years, had I not decided to follow Jesus Christ, there’s no telling where I would’ve ended up in this life. It’s highly doubtful I’d still be alive. Where eternity is concerned, Heaven is the only direction for this cat.

Growing up a military brat, pulling up stakes and moving every 3 years, I often wondered how the friends I’d made along the way fared. Several years back, I decided to try to find out, using information some of my old pals had given me, along with news Mom’s friends had provided her.

Social media didn’t exist in the late 1980s; the only way to find what I needed to know was by letter or telephone. When Facebook came along, it expedited matters. I was successful in reconnecting with many classmates — the news I gleaned from them was mostly uplifting. There were two exceptions.

In 1972, Todd Mold unfortunately passed away not long after graduating from high school. A car he was a passenger in left the road and struck a tree. Todd died a few days later in a Massachusetts hospital. Todd and I were good friends at Reese Elementary in Texas.

Larelia Sadler Ragsdale, a classmate from Texas, was sadly killed in 1976 after being in a car accident with her husband, Roger. A drunk driver was at fault for driving in the wrong direction and hitting their vehicle.

The couple were high-school sweethearts and had been married only a few years. During a school play at Reese Elementary School in Wolfforth, Texas, Larelia played Mary, while I played Joseph. We were good pals back then.

Oftentimes, the survivor of a horrible accident is considered the fortunate one. That wasn’t the case in the accident involving Larelia and Roger. I didn’t know the whole story until just a short time ago, as something kept nagging at me to keep researching over the past 5 years to see what ultimately happened to Roger Ragsdale.

After I discovered what I had done, the information was kept under wraps, and I wondered what good it would do to openly disclose it. Some might question why I’m doing so now, yet there’s an important lesson to be learned here, especially from someone perhaps going through the same turmoil as Roger did. There’s help out there if one merely seeks it.

We often come across people who have ruined their lives through alcohol, drugs, or erratic psychological behavior. I know several. Thankfully, a few of them got on the right track and turned off their destructive paths to disaster.

Our church, Calvary Baptist, has a program called Celebrate Recovery. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people have benefited from their weekly prayer and counseling sessions.

Roger Ragsdale not only lost a precious wife on that September day in 1976, but he also lost the direction of his own life as public information dictates. Badly injured, with his face almost totally obliterated, the man spent considerable time recovering, yet the hurt went much deeper than physically.

Records show that he was arrested numerous times afterward for driving under the influence, after crashing his motorcycle into a fence and injuring a female passenger in the process. Roger Ragsdale was cited in connection with the incident and later sued by the other party.

Illegal drugs eventually came into play, with Ragsdale arrested for not only using them but also selling them to undercover investigators. Things came to a head early one morning outside a seedy bar called the Busy Body Lounge in Evansville, Indiana, when he shot and killed a member of the “Grim Reapers” Motorcycle Club during an argument.

Roger went to prison because of this, most likely the same prison Jack Aper should’ve been in. Aper is the man responsible for driving while intoxicated and recklessly crashing into Ragsdale’s car in 1977.

Newspaper records show that the prosecution wanted Aper behind bars, but articles also have him playing golf and bowling by 1978. If he was incarcerated, it was very minimal or not at all. Jack Aper lived to 84 after retiring in Florida.

I never met Roger Ragsdale, but I’ve come across several people just like him, men and women who lost control of their lives because of some underlying physical calamity, addiction, or mental problem. Unless they ask Jesus Christ to intercede, their caustic actions can destroy not only themselves but also friends, family, and loved ones in the process.

Some of these folks I knew were habitual users of alcohol and drugs, yet after they ditched their pride and sincerely asked for God’s help, a few of their lives changed for the better. Unfortunately, not all took that same route.

I’m not singling out Roger Ragsdale for his faults. We’ve all come short of God’s glory — me included. If he hadn’t already done so, before taking his last breath and meeting the Grim Reaper on May 8, 2004, at only 51 years of age, hopefully, Roger Ragsdale reached out to God.

Somewhere along the way after that terrible accident, a friend or concerned acquaintance needed to take this wounded man by the hand and lead him to scripture, showing that help was available to release him from his earthly torture. The ending to this story will only be known when I reach Heaven.

“Do not be afraid, for I am with you; do not be discouraged because I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10.

EVERYDAY HOUSEWIFE

“Not any of my male friends that I’m aware of are concerned about wrinkles.”

Singer and songwriter Glen Campbell had a hit tune in 1968 called “Dreams of the Everyday Housewife.” I was only 14 at the time, thus, this song and its lyrics meant little to me.

A couple of teenage girls I knew back then, undoubtedly, could relate Glen Campbell’s words to their mothers. I suppose they now do the same with their own lives. The first stanza has a powerful meaning, with the complete song a thought-provoker.

“She looks in the mirror and stares at wrinkles that weren’t there yesterday. And thinks of the young man that she almost married. What would he think if he now saw her this way?”

My mom, in comparison to the song, wasn’t an everyday housewife, although she probably desired to be such. Along with being a helpmate to Dad and a mother to my brother and me, she worked a full-time job to help make ends meet.

Housekeeping was added to this equation as well, although Jim and I helped out in this department. Despite both parents working, life wasn’t so bad for us boys. We had a tad more freedom than some kids, with them often being away.

I still recall my folks having to use Household Finance to obtain a loan, with the interest rate near 30%. That made it virtually impossible to pay this debt off, yet they somehow succeeded. Dad warned my brother and me about the pitfalls of borrowing money and told us to avoid doing so in our lives if we could.

In later years, my father mentioned that business loans were somewhat different, as long as the business owner was personally protected from litigation by placing things under a corporation. I’ve always remembered that advice — seeing it come into play several times with family and friends.

Housewife is considered a demeaning term by some left-leaning women’s rights advocates, portraying the term to mean an uneducated woman relegated to serving her husband and children with no interest in a career. I see their analysis as offensive. Stay-at-home moms should be celebrated just as much as those entering the workplace, perhaps even more.

Changing directions just a smidgen, senior citizens are constantly bombarded by commercials on television trying to hawk some type of wrinkle-erasing cream. It seems as if they’re directed at us anyway.

One such advertisement shows a daughter applying a cream under her aged father’s eyes. Before and after photos show a difference, yet small and barely readable printing at the bottom of the infomercial dictates that the result is not long-lasting.

Not any of my male friends that I’m aware of are concerned about wrinkles. Some women, on the other hand, are a different story. My mother used something called Oil of Olay. This company is now called Olay, and the product originated in South Africa. While there’s some mystique about the name, the main ingredient is simplistic lanolin. I get a dose of that every day when I wash my hands and face with soap.

Living in Arizona is hard on the skin, and one only has to look around to see the damage. I try to use skin protectants along with wearing hats to protect the sensitive scalp. Having burned my head in Hawaii years ago, I’ve never made that mistake again.

My wife always comments about a new wrinkle here or a new wrinkle there. I never see them unless she points things out. That unpreventable aging goes with a portion of the marriage vows saying, “For better or for worse.”

Looking at another set of lyrics from Glen Campbell’s song, “The photograph album she took from the closet and slowly turns the page. And picks up the crumbling flower, the first one he gave her, now withering with age.”

When a couple ties the knot, I highly doubt they’re looking down the road wondering how their mate is going to look in 50 years. That shouldn’t even enter their minds. Had that been the case, Joleen should’ve visualized a train wreck in me.

My looks have significantly changed for the worse, yet my persona remains not much different than when we married in 1977. She fared much better where aging is concerned, and her sense of humor or outlook on the future hasn’t suffered at all. Most of us geriatrics fit that bill. Our minds don’t seem to age at all, unlike our bodies.

Just recently, I read a story about a couple in New York who’ve been married for 80 years. Anthony and Gloria Aquaro are both over 100 years old and still live together in a home owned by their grandson.

Before and after photos of the couple are as expected, with time molding them into relatively healthy centenarians. Tony Aquaro had words of advice for keeping two people together for so long: “In a marriage, you can’t be a big boss. You have to respect each other’s wishes!” He went on to say that finding and keeping a good wife is the key to longevity.

Gloria mentioned that they did have disagreements, yet those arguments didn’t take precedence over their love and respect for one another. “Just never stop loving each other. I still love him as much as I did when we first met!”

Gloria Aquaro went on to explain that they were high school sweethearts and that she came to know Tony at a baseball game he was a player in. After winning the game, Tony asked for a kiss and was turned down. Despite this, it was love at first sight for both.

I can visualize Anthony Aquaro, in a croaky voice, singing the ending lines to Glen Campbell’s song and truly meaning every word of it. This stanza especially fits with many older men and women throughout the world.

“Oh, such are the dreams of the everyday housewife, you see everywhere, any time of the day. An everyday housewife who gave up the good life for me.”

Tony died in 2024 at the age of 103. Gloria resides in an assisted living facility.

EARLY BIRD

“I told this story to several friends saying that the deli wouldn’t be open much longer, as its owner had evidently lost their drive, or fire, as I sometimes call it.”

As a young child, I often heard this phrase — “The early bird catches the worm.” My parents were ardent believers in this message as they were always up by five, although I don’t recall seeing them holding worms. It took a few years for me to learn precisely what this saying meant.

The ‘early bird’ statement originally came from a book of proverbs written in 1605, by author, historian, topographer, and herald, William Camden. William’s reference to this proverb was intended to dictate, that those folks having the most drive and initiative, generally go the farthest in life.

Extremely wise, William Camden died a wealthy man indicating that he’d definitely caught the financial worm along with literary and philosophy worms.

My father, during his business life, would unlock the door to his automotive parts store to people even before the business officially opened. He’d even stay late after closing hours, or drive back to the store if a shop called him at home. Within a few years, word-of-mouth advertising, along with this steadfastness towards customer service paid off dearly.

Here in Lake Havasu City, without mentioning any business names, I’ve come across the same service that my dad offered. A trailer hitch and welding shop located between Industrial and West Acoma in the Easy Street complex — bent over backward for me when I needed a last-minute adjustment on my hitch. I’ve sent them many customers since.

A car and truck dealership team stayed after hours to finalize paperwork on our new Jeep. They didn’t have to, because I mentioned to the salesman and finance manager that we’d come back early the following day. These two employees wouldn’t hear of such. Because of their sacrifice and commitment to their jobs, Joleen and I are now repeat customers.

Located on Swanson Boulevard, an Italian restaurant is always able to accommodate our unusual requests, such as allowing for both red sauce and white sauce on a pizza. They even go so far as to stick the leftover pieces in a box for us after we’re finished eating.

That might not seem like much, but when you’re sitting at a small table with a large box in hand it’s a big deal. We’re repeat customers there as well.

A Lake Havasu City towing service went out of their way, driving to Kingman to retrieve our truck, while two other companies wanted my complete personal history before even making a decision.

Easily over 100 degrees that July day, hot enough to make a camel sweat, we were able to ride safely back home in his wrecker with our little dog securely tucked in Joleen’s lap — although company insurance regulations allegedly discourage such. That act of kindness on the driver’s part netted him a $100 tip.

At one time on the south end of town, located close to where my wife and I live, was an Italian deli or sub shop. I patronized it many mornings for their biscuits and gravy or breakfast burritos, although they didn’t open until 8 AM which is a bit late for breakfast in my book. The employee would write down my order, and it was usually ten minutes before the take-home food was ready.

This was no problem because I could wait in my vehicle and listen to music. Their grub was good so it was well worth hanging around for. Initially, they were enthusiastic about my patronage, yet that seemed to wane over time.

One morning, I walked up to the outside counter to place an order, with the employee telling me that they wouldn’t be open for another five minutes. He was busy chitchatting with a woman standing outside the service window. I found that unusual because it would’ve taken the guy 15 seconds at the most to simply write down — cheese and egg burrito — or just remember it for that matter.

Being on a tight schedule, rather than sit and wait to order, I elected to head out of town to Kingman. Five minutes later I was wheeling through a popular fast-food restaurant on Swanson to get my food. I never went back to this Maricopa Avenue deli because a new convenience store opened up closer to my house, offering fresh breakfast burritos along with biscuits and gravy starting at 6 AM.

I told this story to several friends while informing them that the deli wouldn’t be open much longer, as its owner had evidently lost their drive, or fire, as I often call it. They needed to open earlier for the construction crowd, especially in this town.

One of these pals of mine disputed my analysis, saying that the establishment was doing a booming business, with them not needing my single order that day just to remain in operation. It was clear that he didn’t get the message.

“You’re exaggerating things because you were mad!” is how he ended the conversation. Ultimately, I turned out to be right, with this eatery closing less than 6 months later.

The early bird catches the worm still rings true, and new business owners should take heed of the powerful statement behind it. Those six words just might be the key to a successful business endeavor or a failure.

I’m sure the proverb originator, William Hayden, would wholeheartedly agree. It definitely worked for the better in his life!

NO BAD DAYS!

“It was fun being a part of them if only temporarily.”

When I think of “Rat Pack” — I immediately flash back to Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Dean Martin. Those 3 well-known entertainers made up this famous group for its last few years, although before then, at least 11 others were part of the team, which included, Erol Flynn, Elizabeth Taylor, Mickey Rooney, and Lena Horne.

On March 18, my wife and I attended ‘Havasu Night Out’ as Captain and Co-Captain of our Neighborhood Watch group. After checking in we were presented envelopes with a table location based on the street where we lived. Unable to clearly see the number, Joleen and I were taken by an usher to table #1. It was only after being seated and having our food brought to us that I noticed we were supposed to be at table #7.

Soon after, those folks officially assigned to this location started showing up. After explaining our situation to them, one Amberjack Bay participant jokingly said that we had permission to stay. I mentioned that if all 8 chairs were needed, we’d move. By this time, I’d finished my BBQ sandwich and lemonade and could’ve easily done so. The group was a hoot, and I’m glad our mistake wasn’t fixed.

Lake Havasu City Councilmember, David Diaz, and his wife Trudy were part of the Amberjack team. As I always do in an attempt to remember names, a unique saying for them was quickly created — “The Amberjack Rat Pack.” I use this term respectfully as all members of this group were most gracious and friendly. It was fun being a part of them if only temporarily.

Our table turned out to be a lucky one where raffle drawings were concerned. Two out of seven wins with nearly a third isn’t bad. One of Joleen’s tickets was very close only being off by a few numbers. Of course, close only counts in horseshoes.

When Police Chief Troy Stirling asked attendees what the official Lake Havasu City Police Department slogan was, Councilman David Diaz answered, “No Bad Days.” David should’ve won the LHCPD commemorative coin for the most creative answer out of all.

We learned a lot that evening, with Animal Control Officer Seth Kemp saying that the department picked up 400 animals last year, with 70% of them returned to owners. That’s quite unbelievable to me. The amazing part is, how could responsible pet owners lose that many pets other than through carelessness alone.

Officer Robert Draper brought along his recently acquired K-9 German Shepherd named, “Echo.” Surprisingly enough, the narcotics-sniffing canine came all the way from Germany. Undoubtedly, Officer Draper had to learn some German to give his dog orders with “Achtung!” being one.

Our table was rather close to the speaker’s podium, with me sitting there and quietly chuckling. I visualized Echo detecting the Tylenol in my pants pocket and suddenly making a run for it. That tells you how much I know about these highly trained animals. For my bad back’s sake, I always carry a couple of Advil or Tylenol pills for emergency reasons, and they’ve come in handy numerous times.

Next to Echo, the coolest thing at this presentation in my opinion was Corporal Kevin Levine’s drone. As far as I know, it has no name, at least not yet, although a naming contest would be fun. This drone was quite large compared to mine and I’m sure has a lot more bells and whistles.

Corporal Levine said that he can fly rock steady in 30 MPH gusts. I’m sure his machine is a lot more expensive than my DJI Mavic. I’ve tried to use it in light winds with disastrous results.

Perhaps the most helpful information coming forth out of the whole night came from police dispatcher, Haley Monteith. Haley said that if you have to call 911, always remember the five W’s which are: where, when, who, what, and why. Out of all, the most important is where.

Neighborhood Watch Coordinator, Diane Seifert, is to be commended for putting together an excellent Havasu Night Out, in conjunction with Lake Havasu City Police Department and LHCPD Cadets. Joleen and I look forward to attending next year when perhaps I’ll actually get to fly their fancy drone.

I’m wondering if it can do a Loop-De-Loop? That tricky maneuver is what put mine into a state of disrepair, although it was no fault of the device. At 71 — my hand and eye coordination aren’t exactly the same as they used to be.

I truly wish that the motto for our police department was, “No Bad Days.” Unfortunately, although we live in paradise compared to other locales, that popular slogan seen on the back of vehicle windows is only reserved for residents of Heaven.

WEED THIS

“Most fellows don’t like to follow instructions — preferring to figure things out on their own by looking at pictures.”

Like many guys, I’m not one to read and then follow instructions. A 1963 elementary school report card that my Mom kept and then passed on to me, shows 4th grade teacher Mrs. Hagan penned the following negative information in the comments section, “Michael does not follow directions.”

Most fellows don’t like to follow instructions — preferring to figure things out on their own by looking at pictures. Our caveman ancestors did exactly the same finding it much simpler than reading.

I recently purchased a motorized weed sprayer from Amazon and it came without instructions — along with missing several 5/16 inch nuts. Taking the large shipping box apart, I placed it flat on the garage floor, and was able to successfully put things together going by picture alone.

This was only accomplished after driving to Ace Hardware to purchase the missing pieces. Thankfully, that store is a little more than a mile away. During any summer projects, I’ve been known to make 4 trips there in one day alone. Oftentimes, it’s not for parts — as they have an ice cream novelty cooler as you enter the front door.

I ran calculations through my brain on how much weed preemergent is required for 31 gallons of water. One gallon came out as more than enough liquid. Making a 20-mile roundtrip to Tractor Supply for the product, I was all set until I decided to read tiny instructions barely legible on the gallon jug. Turns out I needed 184 ounces of juice, and of course, a gallon is only 128 ounces.

Back to the store I went, trading in this jug for a two-and-a-half gallon version, along with handing the cashier another $75.32. My wife suggested that I read the sprayer instructions on how to “dial in” the flow control before doing any spraying. I started to do so before becoming confused and giving up.

Attaching this towable spraying apparatus to the trailer receiver behind our Jeep, a switch was flipped on allowing the precious liquid to begin flowing. Having calculated in my head that 32 1/2 gallons of the mixture would easily cover 13,000 square feet of ground, I began driving circles, gradually moving towards the heart or center of this property. With 3/4 of the job complete, no more juice was hitting the ground.

With this taking place in Kingman, and my not wanting to go back before the job was complete, I decided to use up the leftover gallon of weed killer. It was mixed with another 20 gallons of water making for a total of 52 1/2 gallons of preemergent. Driving a bit faster this time there was barely any left in the tank when finished.

Once we were back home in Havasu, I took time to carefully scrutinize the mixture control instructions for my sprayer, finding that it was set way too high. Turns out I was putting down twice the weed killer recommended by the manufacturer.

With my wife giving me grief after hearing this regarding wasted money, in the back of my mind, I was okay with the mistake if you can even call it that. In the male way of viewing these simple miscalculations, more is always better.

More food, more drink, more horsepower, more solar panels, etc., are prime examples. I didn’t tell Joleen that I generally use the same formula when adding soap to our washing machine. When Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup is added to a glass of milk I go strictly by color alone. My wife doesn’t understand this madness because it’s a male trait although I could be wrong!

DR. HANKINS

“While he was in elementary school, Steve Jobs collaborated with a friend, printing off flyer sheets saying that the following Friday was “Bring a Pet to Class Day.”

I’ve always been one to have fun and still get my work done. This principle of mine goes back to the earliest years. Class clown wasn’t to my liking, as other boys generally took on that uncelebrated role. Those students often got in trouble for their antics, especially if a teacher didn’t have the slightest sense of humor.

I always chose behind-the-scenes pranks or comedic acts, such as secretly placing Greenie Stik-M-Caps on the bottom of desk chair legs. Those green paper dots were designed to make toy guns go “Pop” whenever the trigger was pulled. The caps contained red phosphorous, potassium chlorate, and sometimes sulfur.

Greenie Stik-M-Caps stuck on the leg of a chair after a student plopped down made the cap explode, never failing to have the whole class laughing, except for maybe one oddball classmate. Those caps were absolutely harmless other than leaving tiny black marks on linoleum tile floors.

Eventually, snitched on by a typical Judy Hensler, I spent an hour after school—working under the close supervision of our school custodian—scrubbing those marks off. The amount of “elbow grease” used was well worth it. My selfless act turned a normally boring day into just the opposite.

For those wondering what a typical Judy Hensler is, Judy was a fictitious character on the popular television show, “Leave it to Beaver.” A classmate of Beaver, the ponytailed girl constantly ratted him out to the teacher, Mrs. Landers. The stereotypical name of Judy has since been replaced with Karen as being problematic females.

After 40 successful years of working for a living, using the same school guidelines to make things fun, my tasks were always completed with no lapse in time or quality. For the most part, supervisors were okay with things unless safety protocol was breached.

I was smart enough to know when not to cross the line, as were “most” others. On occasion, someone would do something stupid, but I was never part of their blunders. My pranks were always well planned out so that no inherent danger or harm to coworkers was involved.

The list of pranks is way too long to list, yet one innocent joke was to place a dollop of shaving cream on the receiver of our office secretary’s telephone before she came to work.

That harmless prank worked to perfection, and to this day, Susan still doesn’t know who punked her. For those wondering what happened afterward, the woman couldn’t hear with shaving cream in her ear. The thick cream made for a temporary earplug.

The main culprit in this prank wasn’t me. This act was mostly performed by my supervisor at the time, Keith Steiner. My job was to simply call the woman after she arrived that morning. I was told that she took the ruse in good spirit.

Smart people and athletes are known to be pranksters, with Abraham Lincoln, Steve Jobs, Steve Wozniak, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Leonardo Da Vinci, Ben Franklin, Samuel Clemens, Virginia Woolf, Willie Harper, John F. Kennedy, Eli Manning, Marie Curie, and even Thomas Edison — all known for their wicked sense of humor.

While in elementary school, Steve Jobs collaborated with a friend, printing off flyer sheets proclaiming that the following Friday was “Bring a Pet to Class Day.” These sheets were then passed out to students at the end of school.

On that day, teachers had to deal with dogs chasing cats, with many students participating in the unscheduled event. This prank was planned to perfection, especially on having the notices given out as students left for the afternoon. There was no chance at that point for any Karen’s or Judys to step in and ruin things.

Years ago, on a commercial building lot my wife and I owned in the London Bridge Shopping Center, I had a sizable professional banner made that read – “Coming Soon – Oliver Garden.” The sign was highly visible from Highway 95 and the parking lot road alongside it. The word Oliver was intentionally used in place of Olive to avoid any possible lawsuits.

That message had people talking, as pretty much everyone in town wanted an Olive Garden, and some now believed they were going to get one. After several weeks, I took that banner down and put up another that read “Buy Loco!” Folks were more confused than ever, not knowing what to think here.

After a year passed, I borrowed another saying from the Lake Havasu Tourism Bureau – “Play Like You Mean It!” This sign came down numerous times, either by the wind or protestors, yet never by me. Some folks took a dislike to the phrase back then, taking out their frustration on my banner.

I’m proud to be associated with those famous pranksters mentioned earlier, if only by having a keen sense of humor like theirs. There was a time when I wanted to be like someone else, yet that thought no longer enters my mind.

I thoroughly enjoy being me because that’s what God intends. Everyone should be happy with who they are, although spiritual growth inside of us is always good. Psalm 139:14

On a parting note, if laughter truly is the best medicine, shouldn’t those folks making people laugh have Dr. in front of their names?

TOAB

“There’s nothing more insulting in my book than having to watch advertisements for certain feminine products, or even worse, hemorrhoid relief.”

Initially, I didn’t know how to safely approach this subject, as most certainly, only my farming relatives, friends, and acquaintances would view a certain statement contained within as being non-offensive.

Those people not raised on farms or ranches, nor around cows and bulls, undoubtedly, would see the wisdom from such an unusual expression as being totally vulgar. After thinking things over for several days, I decided to cut to the chase, realizing that more despicable statements, at least to me, are now heard daily on television commercials.

There’s nothing more insulting in my book than having to watch advertisements for certain feminine products, or even worse, hemorrhoid relief. Why do they have to go into such detail and always seemingly pop up when I’m eating? If the remote is close at hand, our TV quickly goes off.

It was in 1975 when I first visited Kansas with my girlfriend, now my spouse. Joleen’s uncles and aunts were farmers, with her cousins helping perform the necessary chores. One evening, we were visiting with Joleen’s cousin and his wife, Melvin and Debbie Mills.

The conversation quickly turned to trucks which is quite common amongst farmers everywhere. When I mentioned that my father used a small Ford Courier pickup to run parts for his automotive part’s store, Melvin, in a matter-of-fact voice responded, “Those pickups are worthless as tits on a bull around here!” From this point on, out of respect to those easily offended, I’ll use my recently created acronym, TOAB.

I’d never heard Melvin’s statement before, and it caused me to chuckle at first — then think about what he just said, and chuckle even louder. It was just a normal figure of speech to Melvin and not one to garner laughs.

Farmers do have a vocabulary of their own, with me once hearing Joleen’s Uncle Lee mention something about, “Milo.” I thought he was referring to a hired hand. Turned out that Milo is a grain or sorghum grown as feed for cattle.

Since that time now 50 years ago, I probably hear TOAB at least once a year during some conversations, always with male counterparts and never female. I’d relate hearing this to my junior high shop teacher abruptly using the term “bastard file.”

That got the class’s attention like right now, with most of us believing he was mad at a certain metal file held in his hand. The instructor went on to explain that’s the normal name for it and has been for over 200 years.

Students got a good laugh out of this, and I’m sure our instructor had that in mind. Had I used this crude-sounding term around my mother, she would’ve immediately made me wash my mouth out with soap.

Deciding to do a bit of research on TOAB, I first came across the statement in the March 12, 1896, “Kansas Farmer” newspaper. That wasn’t unexpected. From the year 2000 on, there are many newspapers throughout the country having printed it in one way or the other, with the majority being editorials.

Some products this worthless TOAB namesake applies to are: banana slicers, banana holders, pet rocks, air in a can, diet water, DVD rewinder, shoe umbrella, mechanical pet petter, and my favorite, a fake gun.

For a short time, I labeled one of those crazy looking Tesla pickups as being worthless as TOAB, but I have now changed my mind. I see them pulling heavy boats around Lake Havasu City on an almost daily basis.

Melvin Mills claimed that my dad’s little Ford Courier would be worthless on a farm because of its limited weight-carrying capability. Joleen’s younger cousin, Randy Mills, having visited our city three years ago, went even further after having spotted one of the overly lifted diesel pickups driving around town all decked out with chrome and lights.

“What a waste of a perfectly good truck. That feller made it worthless as TOAB.”

How could I argue with Randy, as he was perfectly correct in his analysis!

POETIC LICENSE

“Trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge.”

I’m sure most everyone has watched television shows or Hollywood movies where court scenes play out. As a witness rambles on and on about what they seemingly know about a specific case, an attorney suddenly blurts out for the judge to hear, “I object, your honor…. this is merely hearsay!”

If this fictitious TV judge rules that the lawyer is correct, “Objection sustained!” is immediately heard from the bench. One of my favorite such shows is “Perry Mason.” I still watch the reruns, especially loving the comedic interaction between Perry Mason and Los Angeles City Attorney, Hamilton Burger.

If hearsay was allowed in court, can you imagine the case outcome? All a witness would have to do is interject a bit of “poetic license” on their testimony to make things appear as if it happened instead of using proven facts. A case could suddenly turn into “Days of Our Lives” with both sides resorting to storytelling.

There seem to be two venues where this sometimes holds true — the 6:00 news and history books. I’ll stick to history books as my main point here because history is my favorite subject, and one where poetic license runs free like a raging river.

Before continuing on, for those not knowing what the term, poetic license, means, according to Miss Purdy, my artificial intelligence (AI) helpmate, it’s the freedom to depart from the facts of a matter or from the conventional rules of language when speaking or writing to create an effect.

In layman’s terms, where history is concerned, “Anything goes as long as it seems believable to the masses!”

Hollywood uses poetic license more than anyone. My wife and I watched “Field of Missing Shoes” the other evening. It’s a movie about a group of mostly teenage Virginia Military Academy students being used as soldiers during the American Civil War.

At the beginning of this historical film, the five words “Based Upon A True Story” slowly rolls across the screen. To some viewers, “based upon” automatically means everything in this movie is factual when, in fact, it’s not. Some things, such as romantic scenes, were undoubtedly added to give the film more viewing pleasure as I like to call it. Regardless, it was an excellent movie.

History books as a whole don’t have these five words anywhere in them. Readers are taught, especially elementary school students, that the contents inside are all real. I had no problem with that growing up, yet now I’m seeing this information attacked by activist groups using different truths or unadulterated hearsay to back up their changes.

It’s almost guaranteed that if I told someone a story about a 12-inch fish I caught in 1900, with that story being repeated over the years by 12 different people, now 125 years later, that fish story wouldn’t be close to the same.

Let’s take things back even further, with me telling it 600 years ago, with 125 different storytellers repeating it. That 12-inch fish would now grow even larger — perhaps being over 30 feet long.

Much of our history is based on passed-down stories, folklore, rumors, fables, and the like, with written documentation to back things up not always available. Christopher Columbus is a prime example. I was taught in grade school that he was a good man.

Some of his crew are known to have been filled with evil, based upon written records, yet trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge. Much of this erroneous information against Christopher Columbus has been thoroughly debunked based upon Columbus’s own writings.

Saying that Christopher Columbus is guilty of atrocious acts because of what a few members of his crew possibly did is no different than holding President Joe Biden responsible for his son, Hunter Biden, and this younger man’s numerous illegal activities.

Mount McKinley, in Alaska, has been named that since 1895, as records prove. In 2015, President Barack Hussein Obama used hearsay in changing it to Denali, claiming that Denali is what the Alaskan Indians had originally called the mountain.

Obama’s statement is called spinning the truth, and even worse things, outside of Washington D.C. circles by those having done the research. Stories or folklore passed down via word of mouth have been proven countless times to be remarkably inaccurate.

Archived newspapers from the late 1800s, along with other documented records, show that Mt. McKinley was called “Bulshaia” by Alaska Natives and Russians way before 1895. It’s right there in black and white.

The Dena’ina Athabaskan Indians didn’t start phonetically recording their language until the 1970s. Denali would not have been one of their words five centuries ago, as their communication was strictly an oral language at that point, including simple drawings.

New Age historians are slyly trying to use the terms folklore or hearsay to substantiate their viewpoint here. That falls perfectly in line with my fish story example.

A good example of passed-down hearsay in Lake Havasu City is the rumor that an Olive Garden restaurant is coming to town. I’ve heard that story repeated over the years from many different people. Some of them still swear that their information came from reliable sources, with these people continuing to believe their own message.

It’s been some 30 years now, and no ground has been broken. In another 100 years, some citizens will erroneously report that Olive Garden was once located on Swanson Boulevard, yet has closed after being forced to by city leaders, with a good many future residents buying into this fable.

One of my favorite songs by the music group, Moody Blues, is “Knights in White Satin.” At the end of this popular 1970s song is a mind-provoking poem. In the poem, Late Lament, written by Graeme Edge, three ending lines sum up best how I now look at the truth, especially where certain manuscripts, books, movies, and television news channels are concerned.

“Red is grey and yellow white.

But we decide which is right.

And which is an illusion.”

That poem definitely applies to history books. The only book that I’ve found to tell the absolute truth, without reservation, is the Holy Bible.

If Christopher Columbus or any of my childhood heroes are guilty of atrocities against Indigenous people, as some now claim, all they need to have done afterward is ask Jesus for forgiveness, and those sins were washed away.

It’ll make no difference what history Professor Ima Knowitall or Dr. P.C. Leftist have to say about them in future history books, including me, or anyone else for that matter.

God is the ultimate and final judge here, with folklore, poetic license, and hearsay not admittable as evidence in His court of Absolute Truth!

John 17:17