sirrom@taterhill

Hold the gum

2007-02-12T07:29:00.000-08:00

On the way to Jennie's Abe party, Mom and I stopped for a light snack. She had a chicken mandarin orange salad and I had a heart stoppin' burger. It was going down great until just before I finished. I discovered a wad of "used" chewing gum in the wrapper of my burger. I thought, "this ain't happenin'" but there it was in plain sight with teeth indentations, no less. Just before going to the management, Mom remembered she had discarded her gum before eating. She had placed it on top of a crouton package and when I picked up my burger I somehow incorporated the croouton package into my wrapper. So, I was greatly relieved and was able to finish my meal. Next time I might ask them to hold the "O" and the gum. But they wouldn't understand.

Waste not, want not

2007-02-05T18:59:00.000-08:00

Well, my waste not, want not tendencies surfaced again. We've been boxing and moving things around in preparation for some remodeling. One thing I stumbled onto was a collection of wedding sized bubble bottles - the ones with the wand for blowing bubbles as the bride and groom depart. "No need to save them", I thought, but then I reasoned, "Why not use them for shampoo!" --- which I did. I am happy to report that the lather is better than expected and the fragrance is non-existent - at least it's not malodorous/repugnant, or too feminine for my taste. So it's been a good couple of days. (Yesterday I found a penny in the parking lot @ Colton's)

2007-02-01T17:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Pat and I visited my Dad and "Miss Emma" in North Little Rock. Don't remember how it came up, but at one point Pop began singing some old songs. He sings old hymns and gospel songs regularly, night and day. Miss Emma said he sometimes wakes her up in the middle of the night and invites her to sing along. How disruptive to your sleep is that? Anyway, this one came from the 1940s and was recorded by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters and before that the composer, a guy named Al Dexter? Al had owned a bar in Texas and the lyrics were based on some real life experiences. The lyrics go something like this: "Drinkin' beer in a cabaret, was I havin' fun, But she caught me right and shot out the light and now I'm on the run. CHORUS: Oh! Lay that pistol down babe, lay that pistol down, pistol packin' Momma, lay that pistol down." Another verse went like this: Drinkin' beer in a cabaret, And dancin' with a blonde, But she came in and shot out the light, Bang! that blonde was gone... There are many verses and many numerous parodies of the original were composed. It was a favorite on the USO shows and hit the charts for a while during WWII. I am constantly amazed by Pop's memory. Not just lyrics, but all kinds of things that happened in his childhood/youth.

Touched??

2007-01-13T09:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had our Toyota van serviced. Standard lube and oil change, but there is also an annoying seat belt warning on the dashboard. At first it was intermittent and would go away when relocking the seat belt. Eventually, it began flashing every 2-3 seconds without cessation and was becoming a minor nuisance. I even wondered if the long term visual effect of a flashing light would be to burn a hole in my retina. Out with the shades, I thought. So the guys in the shop checked it out and said they couldn't get the light to come on. I remarked, "You've really got the touch!". "Or touched", he replied. So I settled up with the cashier and headed for Little Rock. I hadn't gotten out of the parking lot when the seat belt light came on again and continued flashing all the way to Little Rock. I didn't have time to return and show them the light, but will follow up on my next trip. Touched? or Got the Touch?

The First Star

2006-12-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

With the coming of the holiday season, I've been reminded of our (Practical Pat and I) first Christmas together. I was an intern at St. John's hospital in Tulsa, OK. We lived in an efficiency apartment (which suited our budget). Christmas was approaching and we didn't have a tree, wreath for the front door or any of the other trappings. Luckily, the hospital was throwing away some of the "aesthetically-deprived" trees and I snagged one. It reminded me a lot of the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Well, we did our best to decorate it with what we had, but when we finished, we decided it needed one more thing. Yep. A star for the top! So, necessity being the mother of invention, I found a discarded KFC box and cut it out in the shape of a star. Punched a hole in the center and then covered it with Reynolds Wrap. Was it symmetrical? No. Was it pretty? No. Did it reflect the lights on the tree? Barely. Did it generate any comments? No. (But they were probably being kind). Did it become a part of our tradition for many years? A resounding YES!! I would give anything to have that star again. Somewhere in the moves, or packing and repacking the ornaments, it was lost. Now all I have is a memory. But that memory shines brighter with each passing year. I guess your first star is a lot like your first love. You will never forget him or her and you will cherish it in your heart of hearts forever.

alimento reciclado

2006-09-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

Was reading Jennie's blog and came across a post by Jackie Sue. Linked over to her blog and read about her 10 month old son and his hurling episode. Reminded me of something that happened to me many years ago. I was working for Del Monte Foods in Rochelle, IL. I had just finished my freshman year in college and was up there making big money ($1.12/hr.) working in the pea pack (Sweet peas/English peas). One night after work we got all spiffed up and headed for town. Since we had been eating the camp cook's offerings for about 2-3 weeks we were ready for some real food. Burgers, fries and cokes for the whole bunch. I was sitting in the back seat with my head out the window, taking in the cool night air and yelling at the passers-by. Wasn't paying attention to anybody or anything! Unbeknownst to me, the guy in the passenger seat up front had cleared his throat and with a mighty "patooie" spat into the night air. You can guess where it ended up. Yep. In the mouth of the guy in the back seat with his head out the window. My texture problems began that day. Second hand ground beef! Ugh! Double ugh!! I thought I would never get my mouth cleaned out. We remained friends as only two people who have shared a burger can. This is probably a little gross to post. Apologies to the weak at heart/stomach.

Up Up and Away

2006-09-07T11:55:00.000-07:00

Why is it the guy with least knowledge is always left to manage the store? Yesterday we had some chimney caps replaced (the old sheet metal ones were 26 years old). Had to rent a lift (boom with basket) to install them. Well, the sheet metal company lifted two men to the roof and one man was in the basket running the controls and passing the new caps to the installers. I was on the ground watching (and praying that none of them would fall). The caps were passed off and the man in the basket prepared to lower the boom (not in a figurative sense). Midway between the roof and the ground the rig stalled. So there I am, three men in the air, trying to make something good out of the situation. Long story, short, I fiddled and diddled with the switches until I fianlly got it running, but it wouldn't activate the hydraulics. So, I called the rental agency and they sent a man out to rescue us. Meanwhile the trapped sheetmetal workers sunbathed, told stories and contemplated their respective navels. In no time at all the renatl company repairman had us going (switched some wires around) and it all ended well. But it did emphasize the point --- the guy with least experience/skill is always left watching the store.

Canopy

2006-08-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

Just returned from visiting my father in North Little Rock. As usual, he regales us with tales of yesteryear. Don't know how we got on the subject, but he was telling about how they used to have street dances. He wasn't into dancing with the girls, but the guys used to stand around on a street corner and dance. Can't imagine what kind of moves they might have tried. Then he got onto rich girls and poor girls. He said the way you can tell them apart is by figuring out what kind of canopy they have. At first, I was puzzled, but then he explained, "A rich girl has a canopy over the bed and a poor girl has a can-o-pee under the bed." For the uninitiated, the can under the bed was called a chamber pot (by the refined) and a "slop jar" by poor folks. Just so you know, I used to use one of the confounded things. Granny (who raised me) made me kneel down by the pot and do my business every night before crawling in bed. Then, should you need to go in the night, you just rolled out of bed onto your knees, extracted the pot and bingo! Caveat #1: Always slide the pot UNDER the bed. Not a pretty picture if you tip it over in the night. Oh yes, your first chore in the morning was to empty said pot.

P.S. There used to be a corny poem about this subject. Can't remember the words exactly but it was something like: "When I was just a wee wee tot, Before I crawled up in my cot, Mom made me pee whether I could or not, My Mother." Maybe someone will remember the words. cmmjr

Whoppers

2006-07-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

Coming home from church tonight we passed Wendy's on Harrison St. "Two Whoppers for $3.50" the sign shouted. Business must be good cuz recently it was "Two for Two". The Whopper sign revived some old memories. When all five children were home, I would occasionally bring them a treat --- Whoppers!!! (the chocolate covered malted milk balls). I would bring one quart sized carton for each child. None for Practical Pat, but we were known to purloin a ball or two on the sly. There was one DREADED STIPULATION. They had to be priced at $0.88 per carton or less. Somehow, I felt like I was getting a bargin at that price. Well, we rocked along for what seemed like a lifetime, enjoying our Whoppers all the while, and then one day I realized Whoppers hadn't been $0.88 for a lifetime --- and as far as I know they have never returned to that level. What can I say? It was good while it lasted.

Radio Gals

2006-04-14T18:25:00.000-07:00

Just what I needed at the end of a hectic day. Radio Gals. A musical at Murry's Dinner Playhouse. It's by Mark Craver and Mark Hardwick. Craver was also involved in Oil City Symphony and Smoke on the Mountain (coming to MDP later this year - highly recommended). Odd collection of folks in attendance: Dave Woodman, local TV celeb (BD and anniversary) and about 30-40 students from Drew Central HS drama class and an assortment of old geezers like me. Opened at Arkansas Rep in 1993, moved on to off Broadway. Set in Cedar Ridge, AR where a retired music teacher broadcasts as radio station WGAL. Good comedy, good choreography, good food, good fellowship, good grief!!! Check it out. One of the most entertaining parts of the evening was watching the students. On average, they drank about 4-5 non-alcoholic smoothies (for lack of a better word). Can't remember ever being that young.

The ganglion story

2006-04-06T17:17:00.000-07:00

Was recently reminded of a humorous story that happened to one of our local pharmacists. (All names must be withheld to protect the innocent and my rear.) The pharmacist had developed a wrist ganglion (a cyst arising from a joint membrane or tendon sheath) and was planning a visit to his local family practitioner. I saw him in the pharmacy before his appointment and he was showing me the cyst. I told him that the old timers didn't usually go to the doctor with ganglions, but instead, gave them a good thump with the family bible. The blow would rupture the cyst and the body would absorb the fluid. He thought I was kidding, but for real, they used to do that. So I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun to alert his doctor to what I had said. A little "heads up" we would say today. Some days later I saw the family practitioner and he told me what had happened. After examining the pharmacist and assuring him it was, indeed, a ganglion, he paused a few moments reflecting on what he might do. Finally he excused himself and left the room. Minutes later he returned. You guessed it! He had the biggest old Holy Bible (KJV of course) in his hand and asked the patient to lay his wrist on the table. To which the patient exclaimed, "What are you going to do?" By this time the family doc could hold back no longer and spilled the beans. Can't remember if it happened around April 1st, but it would have made a great April Fool's prank!

Remember the chain guard

2006-01-24T18:03:00.000-08:00

Tonight we had burgers with Chuck, Stacy, Charlie and Zach. Charlie had a new scooter which was lots of fun. He was learning how to come down the driveway and apply the brakes. Caught on real fast. Took me back in time to my first bicycle. It was second hand (what else - it was during the Big War, i.e. WWII). It was purple/maroon. Today I would call it my Morado Machine!! Had lots of fun on that bike, but I remember one trip to town that wasn't so much fun. It was in Beebe, Arkansas. I had ridden to town for a Saturday afternoon matinee. Popcorn, coke and one of the popular cowboys of the day (Lash LaRue, Johnny Mack Brown, Gene Autry, Hoppalong Cassidy and of course The King of the Cowboys, Roy Rogers). On the way home I was ripping along at a good clip, trying to outrun the bad guys, the ones in the black hats, when all of a sudden I decided to perform an evasion maneuver. I switched from the highway toward my left where there was a sidewalk. What I didn't count on was a drain tile leading to the sidewalk. This was further complicated by the fact that my right pant leg got entangled in the chain. The chain guard had been missing for a long time and I hadn't bothered to replace it. I would always roll up the pant leg on the right and it was usually no problem. On this occasion, however, the pant leg had unrolled and got caught in the sprocket. The coup de grace was that my body began leaning toward the right, just as I was crossing the drain tile. I couldn't throw my leg to the side to catch myself, so I went head over heels into the ditch. The last thing I remember was sliding off of the seat onto the frame of the bike. Saw a million stars and my voice went up into the soprano range. As luck would have it, nobody came to my rescue and I was able to finally come to and disentangle myself from the chain. Morale of the story -- don't let your boys grow up to be bikers, unless the bike has a chain guard!!

Barber Surgeons live on

2006-01-20T16:55:00.000-08:00

Had an uncommon experience in the midst of a common experience. The common experience, a haircut. Yes, I still go to a barber shop. Don't go to sylists/hair salons/ etc. I've been going to a barber since before I can remember. I even remember seeing "baby's first lock of hair" in my baby book some years ago. But to the matter at hand --- I had gone for my usual trim this past week. There were a few customers ahead of me so I settled in with the paper. As I was waiting, one of the barbers received a phone call. I could only hear his end of the conversation. It seemed routine at first with a few pleasantries exchanged, but as it went on, his voice became more agitated and shrill and at one point he exclaimed, "I'm very busy now. You'll have to call back later!" Silence for several seconds (seemed like minutes). Then again - louder - "I'm very busy. You're going to have to call back later. I have customers in the chair." And with that, he hung up. As luck would have it, he finished the customer in the chair and guess whose turn it was?? Yep, yours truly. I didn't think a lot about it at first, but after he put the paper tape around my neck and covered me with the sheet, I began to hope his mood had not been pathologically altered. The clippers went smoothly, although it seemed a little closer than usual. (My wife said later, "You've been peeled, and 'gapped' to boot." ) For those of you who don't frequent barber shops, the next thing is the trimming of the eyebrows, nose and ears and finally the shaving of the back of the neck with a straight edge razor. Yep, just like in the cowboy movies. The eyebrows went well and no problems with the nose. (By the way, the older you get, they spend more time trimming the hair in and on your ears, nose and eyebrows than the top of your head --- funny how that works.) However, when he put the pointed scissors in my ear to trim the external ear canal, he gouged me a couple of times. Remembering my childhood instructions, I didn't flinch, complain or utter obscenities. Next he lathered up some shaving cream and applied it to my ears. The trick is to shave around the ears and the back of the neck without cutting the customer. You guessed it. He failed. I knew I was in trouble when he got out his styptic pencil. This is an astringent used to stop the bleeding from small cuts and nicks. Stings like the devil, I might add. After I got painted with the styptic pencil, I looked like some guy with chicken pox or insect bites who had been recently medicated. I can't print all of what Miss Pat said about my haircut when I got home. Oh yes, the title of the post, BARBER SURGEON, is in reference to the fact that barbers used to do surgery. It was one stop shopping for dental, surgical and hair problems.) It is said that the blood stained bandages were hung out on a pole to dry. As an advertisement, someone decided to create a candy cane sign with alternating red and white stripes and a bowl on top (the bowl to hold leeches and blood, back when bloodletting was in vogue). This was said to simulate the bandages hanging on the pole. Maybe I've been guilty of a little poetic license, but the above account is pretty near the truth. Cross my heart. Actually I was crossing my legs before I got out of that barber chair. P.S. Can't mention the name of the shop. I'd be sued to glory. cmmjr

With my luck ...

2005-12-13T14:58:00.000-08:00

My father-in-law, Merrill Marshall has less than his share of luck. When he was in the dairy business, he was trying to qualify for "Grade A" and had almost completed building his herd when an electrical storm hit. The cows were all clustered under a huge tree. Unfortunately, a lightening bolt hit the tree and killed all but one of the cows. Well, he slowly recovered and again was nearing the Grade A designation when a load of contaminated bulk feed was delivered to his barn. Somehow, a large quanity of ammonium nitrate got mixed in with the feed and the cows started dropping like flies - literally. His persistence paid off and he was finally able to go from selling to the cheese factory to Grade A. The other day during the course of a conversation, he made the remark, "With my luck, if it was raining soup, I'd have a fork!!" Knowing what I know about his past, I would have to agree.

Nova Scotia revisited

2005-10-29T16:39:00.000-07:00

More vacation stories. A few years ago we went to Halifax, Nova Scotia where I attended a radiology meeting. The entire family came along. Getting there was a challenge - tight connection at O'Hare but breathlessly made the flight to Bar Harbor, Maine. Crossed the Bay of Fundy by boat to Nova Scotia. Rented a van and drove to Halifax. Peggy's Cove was breathtaking. Since this was an "economy vacation" we stayed at TUNS (Technical University of Nova Scotia). All seven of us were in dorm rooms with a public shower. Sounds crazy, but one of our chief forms of entertainment was solitaire. We had several decks of cards and would play for hours. One of the funniest incidents took place in the cafeteria. A maintenance man was there every morning for breakfast. One of his favorite expressions was, "Well, cut my legs off and call me shorty!" David, armed with his best Arkansas accent asked the waitress, "Maa'm, could I have some jellllllllllllly?" She looked a little puzzled and then responded, "Did you mean jaaaahm?" in her very Canadian accent. Well, there were laughs all around. Simple stuff, but memorable.

Vacations revisited

2005-10-27T17:27:00.000-07:00

Julie suggested I revisit some old vacation stories. One of the top 10 took place at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis. Chuck, Lori and David shared a room and Julie and Jennie stayed with Pat and me. Julie and Jennie were about 6-7 y/o at the time. We shared a double. Since the beds weren't queen or king-sized, we decided it would be more comfortable if Pat and I split up and slept with either Julie or Jennie. Pat chose Jennie and I chose Julie. My last instructions to Julie were, "If I begin snoring in the night or crowding you, just kick me." Well, everything went well the first part of the night, but about 1 A.M. I awakened from a very deep REM sleep with a huge wave of nausea, deep visceral pain and profuse sweating. Julie had done as I suggested, viz. kick me. The most unfortunate thing for me, is that her kick could not have been more perfectly aimed and delivered to the "bidness"/business. To say it was a memorable night is a gross understatement. Not pleasant, but memorable.

Table for Seven

2005-10-13T08:41:00.000-07:00

A few years ago the McClains were on "holiday"/vacation @ Hilton Head. One evening all seven of us loaded into the van (we were driving over to SC in those days) and headed out for dinner/supper. Seeing a promising building with fancy facade, we sent David in to inquire about a table for seven. He returned a few minutes later with one of those "looks" on his face. How were we to know that Adelphia is not an upscale restaurnant, but a cable TV (Nation's fifth largest??) franchise? Why was it funnier to the rest of us than David? The reason that story is on my mind is that we're going there again soon. We will miss Chuck, Stacy, Charlie and Zach, but J is coming this year and we'll have loads of fun.

Jes

2005-09-23T13:35:00.000-07:00

Don't remember how this got started, but we now play a game with my grandsons, Charlie and Zach, that goes like this. When you are asked a question, you substitute "jes" for "yes". They are quick to remind you, "No, you got to say "yes", Papa. Sometimes they can be totally preoccupied - "zoned-out" - and you can say "jes" out of the blue, and they will immediately pounce on it. "No, you got to say "yes". I guess that is how we multi-task. We do one thing at a subliminal or subconscious level and one or two others at a conscious level. Amazing thing, that brain of ours.

Friends

2005-09-22T09:07:00.000-07:00

Came across an email forwarded to me by David McClain in 2001. I especially liked these: "If I live to be a hundred, I want to be 100 minus one day, so I never have to live without you." Winnie the Pooh. And also, "A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words." Anonymous. Finally, "Animals are such great friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticism." George Eliot

Bye Bye Birdie

2005-09-21T19:46:00.000-07:00

Odd thing. In the last week we've had TWO hummingbirds flying around in our garage. Even tho the overhead doors are wide open, they continue to hover above the doors in their parked positions. I found the first one on the floor near the back door. It was motionless and I thought it was dead, but when I picked it up by its wing, it revived and flew back above the doors. The next morning I again found it by the back door. This time it wasn't moving and couldn't be revived. I can only assume it ran out of food and water. They consume massive amounts of calories and there was no food or water in the garage. Today I spotted another one; again circling above the doors and making an eerie, almost bat-like sound. This mixed with the beating of the wings created a weird audible. Instead of letting it come to an unfortunate demise like his "cousin", I decided to take action. I found an old fishing net which was about 2 feet in diameter. I missed the bird the first few passes but was finally successful in catching him. Since his wings were caught in the net he didn't struggle too much. I released him in the front yard and felt I had qualified for the Be Kind to Animals award - at least this one time. Still don't know why they're attracted to our garage. It goes without saying there are no flowers in there and no fruity odors that I can detect. Maybe it's an avian version of suicide bombing or a death wish of some sort. Would be interested in knowing if anyone else has had such an experience. Later.

Oh Boy Oberto!!

2005-09-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

My wife, Practical Pat, brought home a treat today. It was a new product, Oberto Beef Jerky Crisps. Advertised as "high in protein" with 13 grams per 30 g serving. They are made by Oberto Sausage Company in Seattle, WA. That gave me a little pause - remember the old saying, "There are two things you don't want to see made - legislation and sausage". But guess what else hails from Seattle? You got it - STARBUCKS!!! So I thought I'd give them a try. First of all, there were only about 6 or 7 chips in the whole bag. Is it cost effective to package something that small? Well, they weren't the freshest thing I've ever eaten (but I eat year old hard tacks, so what's the big deal?) but I kept munching nonetheless. Scary thing happened. I almost didn't notice the hygroscopic packet in the bottom of the bag. It was about the size of the chips and by tactile perception alone (I was feeling, not looking at what I was eating) it seemed like just another chip. Luckily, I saw the striking difference in color just before cramming it in my mouth. It was labeled O2-Zero. Do Not Eat with a "Thou shalt not" international symbol (circle with a 2 to 8 diagonal). I quickly withdrew the "chip" and was saved another disgusting food experience.

Olfactory Challenge

2005-08-26T18:22:00.000-07:00

Tonight I decided to figure out what was stinking around our house. Checked the garage - nothing. Walked around the house - nothing, until I approached the back door. There, lying against the house beneath a boxwood shrub was a badly decomposed animal. Couldn't tell what it was upon cursory examination. It was grossly distended, denuded of fur except for its head and tail and covered with maggots. It was an olfactory challenge of the first order. Gag. No more food stories. I found a large scoop shovel and gingerly removed it from the flower bed. The alternating stripes on the tail suggested it was "old brother coon". I didn't give him a "proper" burial, unless dumping him at the edge of the woods would qualify. Man, it's fun living in the country. Reminded me a little of the Great Outdoors - John Candy, et. al.

Trivia: From Far Side Calendar 2000: Mrs. Fyodor Vassilyev was quite prolific. She had 16 sets of twins, 7 sets of triplets, 4 sets of quadruplets, 69 in all and "none of them write", she laments.

NUTS R'US

2005-08-25T10:22:00.000-07:00

I thought I had exhausted my food stories, but was reminded by my son, Chuck, of another one. My brother-in-law, Kenny Marshall was getting married in Mena, Arkansas. My wife and children had left early for Wilhelmina sp? Lodge where they were having the rehearsal dinner. I stayed behind in Batesville to finish my day's work. After work I headed out asap and was making good time. Around Little Rock, however, I began to get hungry. I decided a treat was in store. I pulled into McCain Mall and went straight to Morrow's Nuts. There were so many yummy choices, but I settled on mixed nuts - a LARGE bag at that. Must have been at least a pound. As I was driving out of the parking lot I spotted THE ARCHES and decided a burger, fries and large coke would be a nice "side". Now I was ready. Between Little Rock and Mena I consumed the entire accumulation of foodstuffs! Burger, fries and the large bag of nuts. I was really feeling good! Happy as a pig in the sunshine. But --- that all changed. About the time I got to the lodge, I began feeling bloated and my stomach began growling like crazy (borborygmi). The familiar nausea, sweating and urgency, experienced during other excesses, reared its ugly head. Needless to say, I missed the rehearsal dinner. I was in no condition to be sociable. I was barely able to make the wedding the following day, and I wasn't even the groom!!

FUDGE NO MAS

2005-08-23T16:34:00.000-07:00

Don't know if that's even a proper phrase, but No mas was uttered by a middleweight fighter (can't remember the name) when he was unable to answer the bell in a championship fight. Nada mas might be more correct, but that's what he said. I think it means no more, nothing else, etc. Well, the reason I want no more fudge is because I made myself very sick on fudge topping. As you can tell from previous posts, I tend to overdo it when it comes to food. Especially items I like. About 10 years ago I had taken a call from the hospital. While passing through the kitchen on the way back to bed I was struck by an enormous hunger pang. Remedy. Look in the fridge. Not too promising at first, but then I spotted a large bowl of fudge topping. It was a large Pyrex bowl and there was at least 3-4 inches remaining in the bottom. I grabbed a large serving spoon and helped myself. Not bad. I started toward the bedroom, but a strong force of some sort pulled me back to the fridge. This time I got a bowl and filled it about half full. By the time I finished the bowl, I had reached a state of mind that pushed me onward and upward. The feeding frenzy had begun. No muses, no weird sounds or other distractions - just a big bowl of topping begging to be eaten. There was no turning back. I sat down with a spoon and in a matter of minutes devoured the entire bowl!! The rest of the story is more painful to recount. About 30 minutes after I returned to bed, I was awakened by an intense urge to get to the john. At about the same time I began having intense leg cramps. They were so intense that my heels were drawn up to my buttocks. The pain accompanying the cramps caused me to break out in a sweat. So there I was - sweating, cramping, stomach rolling with peristaltic waves and needing to be someplace really bad, and unable to stand because of hamstring spasms. I did the only thing I could - I rolled out of bed onto the floor and CRAWLED to the bathroom. I was there a long time. Why did I do it? "Why can't you do things in moderation?" I wondered, etc. etc. I really did learn my lesson and it is FUDGE NO MAS - FUDGE NO MAS - FUDGE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMASSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

HARD TACK MANIA

2005-08-20T12:03:00.000-07:00

Almost done with the food stories. This one gags me when I think on it. Not trying to be gross - just relating a story from days gone by. I was young and stupid at the time. It took place at Arkansas State JC where I was on basketball scholarship. In those days, it was not a totally free ride. During the off season, we worked at odd jobs around campus. On this particular occasion we were cleaning the concession stand as the first game of the season was near at hand. I was given the job of cleaning the popcorn popper. It was a large machine, like the ones in movie theaters. I had cleaned the kettle, windows and "floor" of the popcorn bin. The final thing was to clean a drawer below the bin which contained the unpopped kernels (hardtacks). There must have been an entire season's worth of hardtacks in the bin. It was a mixture of unpopped kernels, partially-popped kernels and some small completely popped pieces which had fallen through the holes in the floor. I will never know what possessed me to sample the hard tacks. In those days I was always hungry, even at the completion of a meal so I "ran on hungry". The first bite wasn't bad, so I tried another, and another and another ... Knowing what I now know, it was insane to do what I did. The kernels, popping oil, etc. had lain there since the last season, incubating all the while. Why I didn't come down with some dreaded disease I will never know.

P.S. Heard a good quote on Writer's Almanac (Garrison Keillor): "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is the fear of the unknown." Howard Phillip Lovecraft ( 1890-1937)

Ice cream surfeit

2005-08-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

For Robert: This story only points up my propensity for overdoing things when it comes to eating. Why can I not learn to eat in moderation? It happened one summer in Calico Rock, Arkansas. I had spent a long day of reading x-rays and was ready for the 50 mile drive home. Since I had an hour's drive before supper/dinner, I decided a snack to tide me over would be appropriate. Accordingly, I stopped at the local dairy bar for an ice cream cone. "Make that a double", I said. Man, it was cold - and good! By the time I reached the outskirts of Mt. View, the cone was only a dim memory. I spotted the Good Old Days (another ice cream place) and decided one more wouldn't matter. "Make that a double", I said. Mt. View is a small town, but I devoured the second cone while driving across town. On the outskirts of town, there is another "dairy bar". Should I, or shouldn't I?? My reasoning, clouded by a rising blood sugar, was no deterrent, so I went for #3. It went down about as fast as the first two. Now I was on an ice cream binge like never before. Like a true "creamaholic" I began wondering where the next dairy bar was located. Fortunately, it was in Locust Grove - about 25 minutes away. I got another double and consumed it before reaching the Batesville city limits. By now I was starting to feel really full. Dreading the lecture I would get upon arriving home, I threw all caution to the wind and hit the Batesville Dairy Queen on the fly. My double at DQ was my last, although I did pass Tommy's King Burger, another burgers and shakes joint, on the final drive home. Needless to say, I was so full of ice cream I was nauseated. Surfeited in the true sense of the word. I don't remember much about my punishment. It was more like, "Why are you not hungry?" And when I told Miss Pat what I had done, she just rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. Sorry for the lengthy post. Almost out of food stories. cmmjr

EAGLE BRAND MILK

2005-08-16T16:53:00.000-07:00

FOR SARAH: My paternal grandmother raised me. We were living in Beebe, Arkansas at the time. One of her most scrumptious pies was lemon icebox. She always kept Eagle Brand condensed milk on hand for the pies. I had a serious case of "sweet tooth" when I was about 9 years old. One day I hit upon a plan. I would punch a hole in the can with an icepick (sounds dangerous as I think back on it) and then suck the sweet nectar until I had my fill. I would then return the can to the pantry. This went on for a few days, but finally, I was "busted". Granny went to the pantry to fetch some EB and found an empty can. At this point I had to fetch a willow switch. You know the rest - corporal punishment was still "in". But now, the rest of the story ... About ten years ago I got to reminiscing on those days and developed an insatiable desire for some EB. My mind was absolutely consumed with the thought of EB milk. I was working in Mt. View, Arkansas, about 35 miles from Batesville. I stopped in a local supermarket, headed straight to the condensed milk section, and picked up a can of EB. I could hardly wait to punch a hole in the can and get on with it!! Since I was finished working for the day, I headed back to Batesville, sucking on the can as I went. It was just as rich and sweet as I had remembered!! But, unlike when I was a child, the sweetness soon became overpowering and I began to get nauseated and diaphoretic. Even tho the AC was "cranked" I was sweating like crazy! My blood sugar was probably off the scale. As I got closer to Batesville, the blood sugar must have dropped. I stopped sweating and the nausea resolved. I don't remember admitting to my wife what I had done, but learned a lesson that day I will not soon forget.

V8/Coffee

2005-08-15T11:56:00.000-07:00

Under the category of "You shouldn't admit this": This morning as I was preparing breakfast, I used my coffee cup for V8 juice to down my A.M. meds. (One less glass to wash or load in the dishwasher). Drank about half of it and then went about the rest of breakfast preparations. Came back a little later and without thinking filled the cup with freshly brewed coffee. Allowed the obligatory cooling and then took a swig. Yikes. Knew it had a funny "twang" but it took me a few seconds to realize what I'd done. You got it - old Scottish waste not-want not kicked in. I actually drank the stuff!! And as I refilled it with coffee for a warm-up it diluted the V8 to the point it was not even objectionable. It's tough having grown up under parents and grandparents who lived through the Depression and inculcated in their offspring that waste not-want not mantra.

SHIVER

2005-08-12T23:01:00.000-07:00

Julie asked for the SHIVER story. Several years ago we decided on a summer treat at TCBY. We loaded into the van and headed for town. One of the featured items was a new and improved SHIVER. It sounded so appealing on a hot summer evening. I took the orders (no small task - always a lot of confusion and noise) and then pushed the button to place our order. "May I help you", came the friendly voice from inside. "Yes, I'd like yadda, yadda, yadda ... and oh yes, a shiver (I pronounced it shy ver)" "What's that, Sir?" she asked. "A shy ver", I replied. "I don't know what you're saying, Sir". " A SHY VER, and then I spelled it out very slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to someone who didn't speak the language - S-H-I-V-E-R - SHY VER!!!! After a longer than usual pause I was directed to "pull to the first window, Sir." I found out later it is pronounced SHIVER as in trembling on a cold winter day. To her credit the girl at the window was very cordial, and after seeing the customer face to face, probably understood why he couldn't get it right. I would like to have been a fly on the wall after we drove away. No doubt there was uncontrollable laughter. Sometimes we think we're right and the other person is too dense to understand. In this case I was the dunce.

Minty Fresh

2005-08-12T16:08:00.000-07:00

Jason. For you. About 20 years ago the McClains attended the wedding of Melanie Lowery in Searcy, Arkansas. The reception was held at the Lowery's beautiful home on Country Club Drive. We knew very few people at the reception and therefore gravitated to a quiet out of the way room and visited among ourselves. I noticed a crystal bowl filled with "mints" and decided to help myself. In typical fashion, I grabbed a handful and threw them down like peanuts. (In polite company I would have nibbled on one mint for about 5 minutes.) The taste was rather strong and pungent, but I decided it was some exotic flavor enjoyed only by the rich and/or initiated. The longer I chewed, the larger the bolus became, so much so that I could barely contain it all. I finally decided that anything tasting that bad/badly? couldn't be good for me and discreetly disposed of it. I later learned: 1.The "mints" were room deodorizers 2. Almost the entire McClain Clan, unbeknownst to each other, had sampled the "mints". Must be in the genes. Look before you leap and check for rocks before you logroll down the hill come to mind. "Things are seldom what they seem. Skim milk masquerades as cream." Gilbert and Sullivan

Zach's BD

2004-11-06T07:43:00.000-08:00

Jennie is showing me how to create a blog. At this point in time, I understand how it works. Tomorrow, all bets are off. Happy BD Zach!!!!

Evelyn

2004-11-06T07:40:00.000-08:00

This is my mother, Verla Evelyn Bland McClain. She died when I was 11 y/o. She was a sweet lady. I missed having her when I was growing up.

Mountain top property overlooking White River.

2004-11-06T07:15:00.000-08:00

This picture was made by my friend, Billy Cox, during a visit to our mountain top property near Mt. Olive access between Melbourne and Sylamore. It overlooks the White River.