Creative Endeavors, The Home of

May 21, 2012

Sweet Dreams

dallas wreck

3 million people – no one at home – Dallas Texas

It is always nice to get out on the road.  Different sights, new places, strange new smells, and most of all, rest.  Sweet rest.  The bed in the bus sleeps well, it is a good bed and I do not separate from it each day because it is not warm, or it is uncomfortable, or any other negative reason.

I get up and leave it, because I know it is just too heavy to carry on my back all day long.  So, at some point, I get up and I get dressed and I leave it there.

Now we are dry camping this week, that means for the uninitiated, we are not hooked up to electricity, water or any of the common things one expects or takes for granted in life.  We are also because of the heat running our generator constantly, which is not cheap nor is it convenient.  It is always in the background and it can get somewhat noisy.

But it is a necessary evil and at the same time, a comfort of sorts.  Knowing first hand from experience, how uncomfortable the hot Texas sun can be, I would rather shell out the coin to stay cool.

When you lie down for the night, the generator hums its’ not so silent song, and lulls you to sleep.  Throw in the constant cycling and humming of the air conditioning unit, and that makes a good mix for the sandman to arrive.

Usually in short order it is sweet surrender, sleep, arrives right on time, just when you need it.

Another thing that I enjoy is good sleep and nice dreams, none of the “happy dreams of my youth” which were of course, pleasant nocturnal adventures.  At home, it is much different, my bed at home presents me with a lot of disturbed sleep, nightmares and the such.  A good nights’ sleep is not all that common at home, but here, for some strange reason, it is common place.

A strange mystery of life.

If you desire to hit a home run in the sleep department, throw in a little gentle rain, pitter-pattering on the steel roof of the coach and you are in a land of peace and enchantment a head-rush of content.

That’s today Boys & Girls …. Sitting here, drinking a cup of coffee, just a tad bit west of the San Jacinto River and not a whole lot on my plate for the day.  A little bit drunk on life and high on summertime.

Doesn’t get any better than this.


April 26, 2012

Driveway Queen

Filed under: Blogging,Bus Life,buses,humor,Life,Oklahoma,Recent,Silver Eagle Coach — ldsrr91 @ 4:56 AM
Tom Turner, our reader on the left-coast of America wanted some bus porn, so here is a little to whet his whistle.
Groom Texas is the site of the cross, largest cross on the North American Continent, or so it is said.

I wake up and my pillow is full of slobber, man, I hate that!  Forming a mental picture of my head on this pillow and my tongue hanging outside my mouth, sort of like those old blood hounds in the movie, Cool Hand Luke, and it just strikes me as revolting.

Deftly reaching up with my left hand, I wipe my face in a masculine manner (meaning with a bare hand because I do not have a handkerchief handy) and quickly look around (to see if anyone observes me doing this repulsive thing I have unconsciously done) and I quickly sit up in bed.  What is it that triggers a dream such as this?  Where you are prone to consume your own pillow.

Only in the mind of man, does something as bizarre as this occur.

Reaching out as if I almost in a state of disbelief, I touch the pillow and it is soaked to the bone as my grandmother used to exclaim.  What about the dream?  I am thinking hard, and I remember some people, a plate full of honey-covered brisket (if there is such a thing?) and vaguely, some off-color conversation, a handful of good-looking beautiful, robust, round shaped women.

I am mystified, “a plate full of honey-covered brisket?”

Coming from a long line of finger lickin’ chicken eaters kind of people (Donnie, don’t let the dawg get into them bones!), honey soaked brisket seems awfully foreign to me.  Meat and tators in our neck of the woods, flies in the butter, no brisket anything in this part of “Ameri-Kuh” as George Dubya used to say.

Same with touch football games and well manicured lawns, why I dream of these things, truly escapes me at the moment. I live in Oklahoma, where a large percentage of the population actually believes that wrestling on television is real, and in the southeastern corner of the state, the idea of gun control is to “hold it with both hands Earl.”  Where your first born child has three names … Billy Raye Littler.  Where people generally say, “Whadya mean you got a bus?  Did-ja mean a reel bus?  You mean like one of them Greyhound things, Oakridge Boys star buses, one of them?  Well, I’ll be.”

So you can readily understand why dreams of idyllic New England and front yards full of leaves of many colors, touch football just do not resonate with my country soul. Sweaters tied loosely around the neck and women with names like Buffy and Tiffany just do not register, nor induce slobber.

The absolute worst dream I ever had was the first night I spent in my Eagle in Alabama.  Our bus has an overhead mirrored ceiling that runs the entire length of the coach.  The first night I ever slept in it was in a rest area in Good Hope, Alabama (just a tad north of Birmingham) where I woke up abruptly and looked up for a moment “and actually thought I was being attacked by a naked skydiver!”

Now that … that … was a scary dream, but I digress, we are talking about this dream, sorry

In my latest dream, Big Jim lites up a cigarette and everyone in the waiting room at the tireshop is horrified, this must be a terrible thing, but I fail to see where it would induce slobber on the pillow.  Now if it were a beautifully painted up Detroit or Big Cam 600 Cummings, with chrome plated rocker covers and un-rusted exhaust pipes, steam cleaned and shining brightly, that would be a different story altogether.  Fresh paint on the body of the beast, new Armor-all on all the hoses, no grease … Ah, the dreams of man.  This would be enough to induce slobber or at best, provide that deer in the headlight look on most men.

Unfortunately most dreams are not of that pleasant nature.

Not that long ago, the wife, in the middle of the night, shook me awake rather violently.  I was, to say the least, rather startled and I might add, a bit confused.  I did not smell smoke, I did not hear the thunder, the wind was not howling, nor did I see any lightning.  In other words, all around me seemed, despite her apparent sense of urgency, rather normal for four in the morning.

I said to her, “What?  What?

What in the name of GOD ALMIGHTY is wrong woman!”

She said to me, “I have a dream.  We are in Wikiup, Arizona, in our bus, you drive off and leave me there!  Why do you do that?”  I sigh, a sigh I have learned to do almost habitually over the years, and I say to her, “This?  For this I am shook into a rather strange version of reality at this time of the morning?  You had a dream and I left you in Arizona?”

She looks at me, very much relieved and says, “Yes, yes that is it.  You drive off and leave me!”

At that point in time, I slowly lower my head onto my pillow (which has not been slobbered on here lately) and I mutter under my breath just loud enough to be heard, “go back to sleep woman, I will drive back and pick you up.”

“Life isn’t about how you survive the storm, but how you dance in the rain…”

You can travel east and west, but in the end, well, y’know the rest, dontcha?

(As my friend Bernice would put it … Life Is Good)



January 16, 2012

The Apple Parable

Something about the apple, the proverbial forbidden fruit.

This morning I am reading about some guy in Colorado who invited a woman he met online to his home.  
Everything seemed to be going just fine and then pow, the girlfriend shows up!  
This of course is not good for either love or money.  So he rushes across the room and picks up the telephone to call the police and report the online visitor as a burglar in his home.

Police on the other hand were not amused, they charged him with making a false reporting to authorities.

No word yet on what the girlfriend was to do about it.

A 24 year old in Austria has used a European law to compel Facebook to send him a record of all the personal data it had on him.  He received a CD with “1,222 pages information” including chats and “pokes” dating back to 2008.  Remember that, the next time you are chatting on Facebook.

I cannot help it, but I am really amused by this commercial.

Yesterday’s segment of 60 Minutes had a piece about a kid who finished grades six thru 12 in just one year, was a freshman in college, and hoped to have his PHD by age 14.  All of it with good old book learning, no computers.

Computers and kids have come a long ways.  Now what about a kid who never had access to a computer, a poor inner city youth or underprivileged kid.  What about them?  You are what you learn, if all you know is how to be a gang-banger the odd’s are pretty good that is all that you will ever be.

When I am in town, I look at the huge concrete monolith at the High School and the stands built for the parental fans.  A monument to football, a blood sport of the young.  It makes me wonder, how many computers could have been bought and disturbed with that kind of money?

How many kids could have learned from the experience and gone on to become a doctor, chemist, engineer.

How we could as a society surely could have benefited from the tax dollars spent this way instead of the other.  Instead of seeing the world as a competition (football) you see it as a world that needs some tweaking (engineer).

What is left after high school football … Not much.

But on the other hand, if you are into learning, I mean really into it, then the entire world changes for you.  No longer a jail of ignorance, and endless five day weeks at some dead in job.  But an open door, that knowledge will unlock, and then you find all you have to do is lean on it, and it will swing wide open.

Here is one or two more, and then I will leave you to your discretions this morning.

A Massachusetts couple called 911 after getting lost in an apple orchard while picking apples.  They had not noticed that the evening was waning and the sun was going down, soon they found themselves in total darkness and could not locate their car.

Having no other choice available to them, they utilized their cellphones to inform the local authorities of their rather dire predicament and the police called the owner of the orchard.

He drove out into the apple orchard to collect the poor lost souls and at that time, one of them inquired of the farmer, “So how many rescues a year?”

The old farmer looked at them a little puzzled and then replied, “Well, in eighty-five years of business, none.”

Kind of like the guy I met last year in Nevada.

He pointed at the cowbell hanging on the back bumper of my bus and said, “What’s that?” and I looked at him and said, “It is a cowbell.”

He then again says.  “What is it used for?”

Finding all this really hard to believe I say, “You tie it around the neck of a cow who wanders and gets out quite a lot.  If she goes down in the creek you can hear her because when she grazes the bell rings.”

He then looks at me and says …. “How do you ring it?”

I asked him, “What do you do for a living anyway?”

He said … “I am a Lawyer, why?”

That is Monday, just 4.5 miles souith of Route Sixty-Six on the Old El Reno Trail.


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