tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79575345820229244712024-02-19T03:31:44.442-08:00FISHER CHRONICLESThe Life and Times of a slightly crazed Middle Aged Georgia Boy who believes in Duty, Honor, Country, Red White and Blue, PBJs on white bread, and all things Southern.George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-4181534258537958852017-09-13T17:50:00.000-07:002017-09-13T17:50:37.404-07:00A Job in Baseball (Maybe)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">My recent cover letter I submitted along with my resume of 34 years military service in the slim hopes I can get a job at Luther Williams ball park here in Macon when Baseball returns in 2017!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Dear Macon Base Ball (2 separate words intended):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">OK--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";">I'm what you might call mature---I know you guys want the
energetic young kids out of school, and hell, I don't blame you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Do you know how many people sent me a link to the jobs for
the new Ball Team? OMG....why? because I am a 100% Macon Georgia Luther
Williams Baseball loving American...with my experience comes a well-rounded
well thought out common sense oriented individual who can accomplish any task
assigned—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Some of my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">qualifications</i></b> may not be listed in
the resume, but will recap a few here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";">-My next door neighbor, Jack Gilbert, played on the Peaches
and taught all the neighborhood kids how to play ball.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";">- I saw Satchel Paige throw out the first pitch at Luther
Williams back in 1980.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";">- I got to sit in the recliners with my 4 year old son atop
the dugout back in 1998 during the Macon Braves days; I had just been notified
of being reassigned to Columbus, Ga., and thought my world ended if I had to
leave Macon. Sitting in the recliners and watching the game with my son—are you
kidding? I nearly wept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">- Fast forward to 2011, I watched my own son play High
School ball at Luther Williams and he and I both had goose bumps for two and a
half hours. I got to throw out the first pitch— a knuckleball, of course. I came to a crossroads of either weeping openly or soiling myself. Providence
took over and I did neither, thankfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">I don't care what the job pays! I will be the first one
there and the last one to leave...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Besides, Old men, Base Ball, and kids go together. Let
George Do It!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Regardless of the outcome of my resume, I am glad y'all are
here in the greatest hometown of them all—I will see you at the game!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">George L. Fisher<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Macon Boy</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Baseball Nut<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Trained Killer (Retired)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Slayer of Dragons large and small<o:p></o:p></span>George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-26747962333772434942017-08-14T13:46:00.003-07:002017-08-14T13:46:31.564-07:00Truck Stop--Bucket list check!If you ever go looking for your hearts desire, you need not look further than Lower Bibb County.<br />
I stopped at the Sardis Road truck stop yesterday afternoon.<br /> They have EVERYTHING there! <br />
It's amazing.<br />
Camouflage coats for winter, T shirts, shirts with the sleeves cut off--a quick glance around thus store and one can see that the clientele are a lot burlier than I am. They have hams for arms and no sleeve shirts probably have functionality. For someone like myself to go sleeveless would require a mullet haircut and an addiction to meth. <br /> Regardless, this place is a complete outfitter as well as having other gear to improve ones swag. Harley Davidson logo ear buds, big screen TVs, state of Georgia souvenirs that include a shot glass with a skull on it that has GA on the forehead. There was an entire wall devoted to electronic device chargers and cords, and of course if all you required was a Mountain Dew and a Slim Jim, they have that, too. They have roller food, and a trifecta chicken pizza sandwich place--all under one roof!<br />
It's amazing. <br />
How anyone could come in here just to grab a Slim Jim and drink is beyond me. Behind the glass cases there was a big selection of GPS'es and knives. <br /> It is total sensory overload. <br />
It is amazing. <br />
The only things I didn't see were slot machines and live bait, but lest I kept wandering around, I would surely have found those.<br />
People-- by people I mean the truck drivers mostly, even sign up to take showers here. No need to worry about showering in someone else's leftovers, because you can buy some flip flops to keep from getting truck driver fungus. They are located next to the shirts with the cut out sleeves. Available in two colors, black and camouflage.<br />
It's insane. It was a bucket list check for someone that has no bucket list. I almost peed a little. <br />
I tarried not, because my pizza was ready and I had to scoot home to Wifey and Satch. <br /> But Ive got news for you--those folks have it going on in lower Bibb. <br />
In a word, it's amazing.George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-12302236080583414582017-07-23T14:15:00.001-07:002017-07-23T14:15:34.807-07:00The Misadventures of Macon's favorite Hound dogItems that Satch has chewed this week:<br />
1. A pair of Sues reading glasses<br />
2. The dust pan<br />
3. A softball<br />
4. A Norelco electric razor<br />
5. The edge of the step in the foyer.<br />
6. His 2 new toys and one beef bone; chewed to a fare thee well.<br />
7. A piece of weather strip off the front door.<br />
...the new oversized tennis ball was bought today. As soon as he awakens, I'm sure it will also meet its demise. #chewingwearsabodyout<a href="https://www.facebook.com/george.l.fisher/posts/10155001895778883">https://www.facebook.com/george.l.fisher/posts/10155001895778883</a>George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-12564184234570206602017-07-23T10:31:00.002-07:002017-07-23T10:31:40.583-07:00You know how when you go to the Mexican restaurant there's the table that orders the fajitas and the waiter walks past with a sizzling smoking plate that makes the entire place smell almost as good as chicken frying? <br />
<br />
Well, kids, I will have you know that I jumped out of my normal "I'll have the number 3" and went whole enchilada (if you'll excuse my espanol) and ordered the chicken fajitas.<br />
<br />
The sizzling smoking plate that smelled up the restaurant landed at my table this evening.<br />
<br />
Wifey says every time she forces me out of my comfort zone I always remark how I enjoy it. She's right, of course.<br />
<br />
3 glasses of water and 25 napkins later and everyone in the place knew they were dealing with a renaissance man...ahem. <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/fajitasdelajorgepescado?source=feed_text&story_id=10154999089768883"><span class="_5afx"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">fajitasdelajorgepescado</span></span></a>George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-3812654874495602772017-07-23T10:28:00.004-07:002017-07-23T10:28:51.207-07:00Observations in Air Travel<br />
The flight from Denver to Atlanta had several folks from France on board. All of them were decked out on big Harley Davidson leather jackets and western hats-- um, chapeaus, if you'll pardon my French. I was amused watching them taking all that gear off and stuffing it into the overhead storage bins, all the while parlay vous fran-saying , if you'll once again pardon my French, Mesdames et Messieurs..surely they would be in dire straits upon arrival in Georgia, the hottest place on Earth....<br />
<br />
The man sitting next to me purchased what obviously was his supper. While the rest of us heathens had the Delta special, i.e. Coke and pretzels, this fellow whipped out the plastic from his money clip-- that ought to tell you something--and purchased what is referred to as an 'in flight tapas snack box'. I know this because I read the box...I don't know what Tapas is--in fact I just looked the word up and its Spanish and means 'snack' --- so a 'snack snack' box...probably established by the Delta Airlines department of redundancy department. <br />
<br />
I never heard of tapas-- best I can tell, they didn't have it until just a few years ago, but it appears that tapas is 25 individually wrapped snacks shoved into what should be a KFC 2 piece and biscuit snack. Little dried English peas, yogurt, some crackers, and some hummus (I could smell it) and some other things I didn't make out looking out of the corner of my eye because I didn't want to stare at the guy when he was having his supper, I mean, tapas.<br />
<br /> He consumed his in flight tapas snack snack box with sparkling water. <br />
<br /> Grab that and let it sink in---Sparkling water. When I hear those words it makes me think I need to be wearing a tie. <br />
<br />
I, too, had sparkling water. It's referred to as Co-Cola, hallowed be thy name. <br />
<br />
If I ever owned an airline, like if I resurrected Eastern Airlines I would call it Georges Southbound and Down Airways, and we would offer the aptly named 'Fried Yardbird Special' snack box' with either wing and breast or thigh and drumstick. For shorter flights we would give out moon pies, in whichever flavor our customers like--chocolate, vanilla, or banana. <br />
<br /> Everyone would be welcome, regardless of the language they spake---um, speak...spoke. And they could keep their money clip in their pocket. For the price of a ticket, we can dang well feed 'em and give 'em free wifi, and, I'm saving the best for last--a lemon scented moist towlette to wipe the yardbird off their hands. <br />
<br /> In the meantime, please refrain from tapasing on the backs of the seat in front of you, and have a pleasant flight.George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-4631039585575279782017-07-23T10:26:00.000-07:002017-07-23T10:26:59.983-07:00<div>
The supper menu called for a breakfast sandwich (sausage, egg and cheese) served on one of those multi-grained Bagels that Wifey likes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I made a command decision and opted for English muffins instead. </div>
<div>
When I say 'opted', however, that really means that I had to come up with plan b, because there weren't any bagels. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's why...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Having just ascended the basement stairs, I saw Satchel surrounded by what surely must have been all the pillows from the den, gnawed to a fare thee well, their freshly gnawed contents throughout the floor. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It looked like Hells half acre.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My mouth was open. It was beyond open, it was agape. No words came out. Even my adjectives would have to wait.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Satchel Paige, my floppy eared hound dog who was given to me to ease the pain of not having my grandkids close by, had retrieved the bag of multi-grained bagels--the kind Wifey likes--from the kitchen island. The same kitchen island that is, um, er, was--beyond his nimble reach and sturdy mandible. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My inability to speak---along with the realization that Satch had just consumed and or scattered the entire bag of multi-grained bagels-- the kind Wifey likes--converged at the same time, and for the next 30 seconds I let fly with nearly all my adjectives, wiping the dust from several that haven't been used in a while.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Bagels. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everywhere. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In all shapes and pieces, chewed and unchewed, not to mention the larger bagel pieces he took and hid in the corners of the sofa and chair, like he does when hiding his bones for later. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was in full afterburner, my phrases spoken in a tongue that fast became a blue streak, but as my mouth was coming in for a landing here's what I saw...if you look close he has a bagel 'stogie' in his mouth. </div>
<div>
Get a dog, they said. It'll be fun, they said.</div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-46286883184336738962017-03-17T14:33:00.000-07:002017-03-20T08:43:29.450-07:00A GIRL TO LOOK UP TO<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cyTkTplXSTuz02QT2AZTu8z_nKXRqOF2dF6sIkPJmatWda-GxizFG1s61tAJCysH31iJmbWDOT8utwkRWY8ehP14chD-TJihuQSpwPiCFqBczdgZBa4EHpOY9vusng9EmChAuGE1lZg/s1600/LANE+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cyTkTplXSTuz02QT2AZTu8z_nKXRqOF2dF6sIkPJmatWda-GxizFG1s61tAJCysH31iJmbWDOT8utwkRWY8ehP14chD-TJihuQSpwPiCFqBczdgZBa4EHpOY9vusng9EmChAuGE1lZg/s400/LANE+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lane Elementary Class of 75- Joy Culpepper on back row, <br />
runt George front far left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
By 1975, the tallest girl at McKibben Lane Elementary was a young lady by the name of Joy Culpepper. We were all in our last year there, and like a lot of kids, all of us had spent our entire school career at Lane. It’s quite possible that Joy was the tallest girl in each grade previous, but there is no supporting data to verify that claim. As one of the kids closest to the ground, everyone was usually taller than I. I was a runt among runts, as it were.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
As girls go, she was one of the good ones. She could hold her own when it came to kickball and basketball—well, in basketball she commanded respect. Like I said, she was the tallest girl in school, which meant she was taller than most of the boys in class as well. In todays' parlance, she would be considered to have 'Playground Creds'. In those days, one’s prowess on the playground had far reaching effects that could result in an extra milk or dessert at lunch from one of your peers or the loan of a pencil or paper when caught short.</div>
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Joy Culpepper had playground creds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<br />
On occasion, she would chase me down and place me in a headlock or grab my arms and spin me around. Such was life in those halcyon days of grammar school.<br />
<br />
I recall her having announced to our class an older sister Brenda who was a participant in the Miss Georgia pageant; her older brother Lee went to Lanier High, where the greatest ROTC program in the world was located.<br />
<br />
On another occasion, Joy got up and sang in front of the entire student body—the Mac Davis song “Baby don’t get hooked on me”—and it was obvious her playground creds had transferred over to the lunchroom stage. I was amazed because how could a kid, 6 feet tall or not, have the guts to get up and sing in front of people? I was mortified! If I was so much as asked to go to the chalkboard to work a math problem, I peed a little. <br />
<br />
Well, I had a recurring thought about Joy over the years--the main thing I thought about, though was <em><strong>DID I EVER GROW UP TO BE AS TALL OR TALLER THAN JOY CULPEPPER?!?</strong></em> <br />
<br />
Why that thought stayed with me I can't explain—there were several boys in the class who were much taller than me but I always figured that was normal--perhaps it was sexist in a way to think I might at least be able to attain the height of the tallest girl in school, thereby having some modicum of self-worth.<br />
<br />
Thru the power of social media, several of the Class of 75 have become re-acquainted. Joy has a beautiful family and now lives in South Georgia. Her family looks like the family in the picture frame you buy at the store. Her kids are all tall, in fact, taller than their Mother. Her husband Stan is as tall as a Redwood as well, and a nicer man you can't find.<br />
<br />
And today, I had lunch with my lifelong friend Joy Culpepper Crawford, her husband Stan, and one of their beautiful daughters Karly. It was wonderful to reminisce and it made my heart smile.<br />
And after 42 years of wondering if I ever got at least as tall as Joy, the answer to my question was finally answered…(see the photo)</div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6LR0PthrE82kgTF4r4tDcQ5KAoJninb0UQYHMGWY2noslm4Gc43YdtLNI6KbBOZVT1tQe_nzHL4T32xatgiCBM_FASg64l8oqTIOKy2zU3YBo-B9_LlMBc0oC82e2BmSwjrK99WieBo/s1600/IMG_2959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6LR0PthrE82kgTF4r4tDcQ5KAoJninb0UQYHMGWY2noslm4Gc43YdtLNI6KbBOZVT1tQe_nzHL4T32xatgiCBM_FASg64l8oqTIOKy2zU3YBo-B9_LlMBc0oC82e2BmSwjrK99WieBo/s320/IMG_2959.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhxb6nacOxxdknZ0S5iVm1gixd1arqWJscmirEIcZMbUj9KeNkEtZ7nZyYjFYU2-UgApGAg9u58QIBNxpawqtU21iN2E6HuYWVwsg_yBwQLufOP7nWhTwx9MME1ubhWNEjmA6jf4ZZes/s1600/IMG_2961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhxb6nacOxxdknZ0S5iVm1gixd1arqWJscmirEIcZMbUj9KeNkEtZ7nZyYjFYU2-UgApGAg9u58QIBNxpawqtU21iN2E6HuYWVwsg_yBwQLufOP7nWhTwx9MME1ubhWNEjmA6jf4ZZes/s320/IMG_2961.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playground Creds, 42 years later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-24422892344809461592016-11-23T07:22:00.000-08:002016-11-29T07:23:49.575-08:00Thanksgiving EveThe cover thief laying next to me is 'breathing heavy'. <br />
When I breathe heavy she calls it snoring. <br />
<br />
She's tired because she did a days work then came home and did another 2 days work getting ready for tomorrow, where it will be utter and complete chaos.<br />
<br />
All her kids are home and that makes her heart as full as the house is tonight, which contains 7 adults, 3 kids, 5 dogs, 4 cats, and 1 beta fighting fish.<br />
<br />
There will be another dozen descend on us tomorrow, but for now she can breathe as heavy as she wants.<br />
<br />
This girl--this wife of mine--never ceases to amaze me. George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-91823510220898009912016-11-19T16:05:00.001-08:002016-11-19T16:05:29.059-08:00Creme De George
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I like Saturday because I get to hang out with my best girl,
Wifey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Today was no exception, but it wouldn't be complete had we not
incurred what started out as a routine task but quickly became an adventure- a
quest, even. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When we recently celebrated Wifeys birthday, she had a cocktail
that quickly became her favorite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">It's called an Aviation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">This particular cocktail got started ions ago, kind of went
extinct, but more recently is out of moth balls for a resurgence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Regardless, Wifey loved this drink and what Wifey wants Wifey
usually gets. It only stands to reason that we attempt to duplicate the
cocktail at home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The Aviation is comprised of gin, lemon juice, maraschino
liqueur and creme de violette, which is also a liqueur. And based on the events of today, it may be easier just to order one the next time we go to Dovetail, the restaurant where Wifey and Aviation first met.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">It is complex, if not
complicated because</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">a) it ain't beer</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">b) two of the ingredients aren't readily
available, and</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">3) my auto correct just tried to correct the word 'liqueur' to 'liquor',
which only adds to my frustrated ability to communicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Armed with my phone, Google, and wi-fi, I did the rational thing
and called the nearest adult beverage store.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><em><strong>"Yes Sir, do you folks by
chance have a couple of liqueurs I need, one is Maraschino liqueur and he other
called Creme De Violette, in order that I make my wife her favorite cocktail
and as a result she finds favor in me?"<o:p></o:p></strong></em></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The lord as my witness, this is the way my brain and the voice
inside my head asked the question to the man on the other end of the phone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In reality, it came out like this <span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">(It is important to note here that English is my second language, Southern being my first):</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">"Yessir, dew yew folks have 2 of these lick-kewrs I'm
needin'? Ones called Mary-sheen-oh cherry not the cherries but the lick-kewr
and the otherns called Kreme Dee Vie-oh- let-tay?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Out of the corner of my eye in the middle of my inquiry I had
noticed Wifey looking at me as if I had just transformed into a unicorn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I have seen this look before, and quickly surmise that she is impressed with my tenacity, persistence, and ongoing pursuit to keep her to a standard of living to which she has been long accustomed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Wrong look.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Wifeys face is red. Her eyes are tearing up, her mouth is agape
and there's no sound coming out. She is doubled over. Then she takes in a breath and starts to laugh
from the deepest place in her soul. She starts mimicking me in the same voice I
used (not the inside my brain one) and admits she may have even "peed a
little".</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">She's roaring and laughing so hard she cannot contain herself. In another moment she has me laughing, about to wet myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Well, we finally found the stuff after the fifth attempt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Liquor store #5, the Macon Beverage Outlet (who knew, right?):
"Yes Sir, we have it" the young lady said. "Maam, I said, hold
on to that bottle I will be there in half hour to pick it up- my name is George!"
She agreed, so Wifey and I took off out the door to get what has to be the rarest and hardest to pronounce beverage in the universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">We walked in the place, and began to look around. Not having said
one word, the girl behind the counter noticed me and immediately held up
the bottle of the unpronounceable lick-kewr.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Wifey starts laughing, I start laughing. I said " How'd you
know it was me?!?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">She said <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">"You look like a George"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Wifey said " He acts like one, too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">All is well, Life is good. </span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Now if you will excuse me, I've a cocktail to make.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphLC4-duRvsptxk88nWXnhqnhknT_o8cHw6DkfskeeAaPBr2W1QW2ulo50djZiNwrAgNQx5HRmpyou3r6Dk5gtmEKKthqfF5v5fB-ALSk0ih6DXUH4C-YCL8MJJfImx-VgkHj-cdNQsM/s1600/aviation-cocktail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphLC4-duRvsptxk88nWXnhqnhknT_o8cHw6DkfskeeAaPBr2W1QW2ulo50djZiNwrAgNQx5HRmpyou3r6Dk5gtmEKKthqfF5v5fB-ALSk0ih6DXUH4C-YCL8MJJfImx-VgkHj-cdNQsM/s320/aviation-cocktail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-68655169308493665842016-11-14T08:36:00.000-08:002016-11-14T08:36:16.313-08:00Post Election ThoughtsI suspect most of us feel the same way.<br />
<br />
I'm glad its over.<br />
<br />
The fighting, the commentary from both sides, the rhetoric, the lambasting--OH, THE HUMANITY! or lack thereof. He said, she said, they said, and the propaganda machine called the Media sliced it, diced, it, spun it, shunned it, 'splained it, and turned it ALL into an ice water enema of epic proportions, pitting Us against Them, with no one knowing who THEM was, were, or are. When you added religion, race, ethnicity, social class, and whether you were left right handed, we had all the ingredients of a civil war.<br />
<br />
In short, it was a doo-doo sandwich, served without bread. Relationships suffered, friends were unfriended, as the entire ordeal played out on television, talk radio, and social media. Facebooks, Tweets, Snappychats and Instagratification Grams made me think of the Wizard of Oz-"Pay no attention to the Man behind the curtain.."<br />
<br />
It was, like my grandfather said in referring to life in general, "one continuous damn thing after another."<br />
<br />
Amazingly, on the 9th day of November, the Sun rose in the East as always. Most folks got up and went to work, kids went to school, and dogs and cats went outside to pee. Half of the Population did this with hurt feelings because their team lost, while the others celebrated their teams victory. <br />
<br />
The propaganda machine is still figuring out how to make it look that they had a firm handle on the situation the entire time, while the ghosts of Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite look down on them in disgust.<br />
<br />
Roosevelt died, MacArthur got fired, and the world kept turning. America needs to give itself a swift kick in either the gonads or ovaries, and go back to being Americans. Divide yourselves over what counts--sports teams, music preferences, brands of cars, clothing and fast food joints. Argue about long or short hair, your favorite season, and white or wheat bread. But at the end of the day you must be part of something greater than yourself, and that is to be a Free American who lives in the greatest place on Earth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-40708837064967145632016-08-31T13:20:00.000-07:002016-08-31T13:20:11.128-07:00RIP, Spanky the Wonder Dog<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">We picked him up on Christmas Eve that year. A little
black ball of fur with two black eyes. The only thing white on him were his
exposed teeth, a result of a bad underbite. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">It didn't matter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">Sue took one look and made the same sound she made when
the doctors handed her a newborn child on three separate occasions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">In ten seconds she transformed into one of those women
who carry their dogs in a purse. When she put that dog in her purse, like Rosanne
Rosannadanna said,"I thought I was gonna die.." She was, for a time, like her little dog,
insufferable. They also became inseparable.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">The little black fur ball was named Spanky shortly
thereafter, and proceeded to take over the entire family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">An honest and sincere attempt to housebreak Spanky would
prove fruitless. His motto was surely "The world is my urinal, I shall not
want..."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">We bought pee pads by the trailer truckload. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">Of course Spanky didn't dare sleep on the floor, he slept
in our queen size bed, firmly planted in between Sue and I, his 12 pounds
feeling like 125 as we fought for cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our nightly ritual back then consisted of tussling with each other, me
taunting him while he barked, then eventually jumping off the bed to go get
Sue. I left for Iraq for a year and upon my return Spank had worked his way to
my side of the bed, sleeping there nightly with his head on my pillow. My first
night back, he beat me to bed by 10 minutes then growled when I tried to move
him. Every night for two weeks after that I was awoken by his breathing in my face
as we shared a pillow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">A few years ago I had a hospital stay, and upon my return
I was greeted by the Spankster, who licked me until I was a slobbery mess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">My Mother, never a lover of animals (but they all love
her) brought Spanky french fries when she visited. He never forgot her for it
nor would forgive her for it when she showed up empty handed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">As he got older he was unable to jump on the bed or
couch, having to be picked up. We eventually gave up trying to housebreak him
or fight for the covers. It was Spankys world and we just resided in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">He had been getting sicker and weaker in the last couple of weeks,
so we knew it was time. I drove him to the vets office, him barely able to hold
his head up, but he licked my hand, then giving me an extended glance with those black eyes of
his. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">Seems like perhaps he knew. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">Not hardly a day goes by that I don't see someone's posting on social media about their beloved pet crossing the rainbow bridge. It's like a member of the family, <em>they say.</em> <o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">I held my little buddy while the Vet prepared the shot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">No pain, no suffering, <em>just like they said</em>. The humane
thing to do, not letting him suffer, <em>just like we all said</em>. 16 years for a dog
is a long time, <em>just like we all said</em>. He had a charmed good life, <em>like I said</em>,
<em>and like Sue and the kids said</em>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">You're not about to get an <em>argument from me.....</em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";"><em>But it's just a dog,</em> <em>like they said</em>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">And
here I am, just another guy whose dog was being put down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";">Man up, I said, as I held our ever faithful Spanky Doodle
Dandy, the French fry eating, cover hogging, pee wherever you want to member of
our family for the last 16 years, the tears running down my face and my heart
breaking into a million pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style";"><em><strong>Just like they said</strong></em>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3roG1xBjWKfIPmSiX1gO6Sm1hL1QLdrBhiT6AoUxC4W1lvITF_nUysR5EP7DCvKJE-T3xWQyn7GIIxpKi95CQHm-k-XO297tCNeyOR77sTlkEtv16MPKTwAzV94zvFL7HFWqyKmGeUkg/s1600/spank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3roG1xBjWKfIPmSiX1gO6Sm1hL1QLdrBhiT6AoUxC4W1lvITF_nUysR5EP7DCvKJE-T3xWQyn7GIIxpKi95CQHm-k-XO297tCNeyOR77sTlkEtv16MPKTwAzV94zvFL7HFWqyKmGeUkg/s1600/spank.jpg" /></a></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-50460382574696257692016-08-22T18:02:00.000-07:002016-11-14T08:01:41.554-08:00Skittles or Shi**les?<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">Dear Skittle People;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">Just purchased a bag of AMERICA MIX Skittles because when this boy tastes the rainbow, by God it's going to be a Red,White,and Blue American rainbow---which brings me to the issue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">The American mix is red white blue and lighter blue; specifically, the lighter blue skittle in question is 'Yumberry'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">Well, folks, I've got news for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">If incorporated with a handful of other skittles, it taints the others; if taken by itself, it must be taken the same way one would take medicine-- in short, there is nothing 'Yum' about this skittle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;">I would suggest renaming it to dingleberry or even polecat pissberry, because it is nasty. Let's dance with who brought us, ok? Please ixnay on the isspay. I have to go take a pull off my listerine bottle now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 23px;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody";"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 31px;">George Fisher</span></span><br />
Skittle Eater<br />
<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 31px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 31px;">P.S. Bet you thought I was going to say the light blue one was a shi**le, didn't you?</span></span></span>George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-29044326146142334892016-04-01T06:18:00.000-07:002016-04-01T06:18:06.455-07:00<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_56fe73db424833254678730">
Baseball is my sport ---others; I shall not want.<br />
It costeth me extra to sit near green pastures; to observe 60 feet 6 inches: the announcer leadeth me to stand and sing during the 7th inning stretch. <br />
Baseball restoreth my soul: it leadeth me down the paths of righteousness for the Braves sake.<br />
<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><div class="text_exposed_show">
Yea, though I CHOP through the valley of the shadow of 10 dollar parking, I will fear no evil: for my ball cap is with me; thy hot dog and mustard they comfort me.<br />
Thou preparest a folding table before me in the presence of the other team fans: thou annointest my red solo cup in Yuengling; mine and my friends cup runneth over.<br />
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of the post season; and I will dwell in the home of the Braves forever<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EwamG0IODRAdfResl6lnAGWcK26RgHsbCoJpSSPZWPN562jC4egukU3Gq-haqowZuglA8VoQsXyEixTZVqvxDTPwvNZbLtS0YjRWFIIiVwUCZyf0JYP6AOd89WEUzVAd1ML7jMfjmfI/s1600/Atlanta_Braves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EwamG0IODRAdfResl6lnAGWcK26RgHsbCoJpSSPZWPN562jC4egukU3Gq-haqowZuglA8VoQsXyEixTZVqvxDTPwvNZbLtS0YjRWFIIiVwUCZyf0JYP6AOd89WEUzVAd1ML7jMfjmfI/s320/Atlanta_Braves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
</div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-35647707106828722702016-03-07T13:25:00.003-08:002016-03-07T13:25:28.104-08:00National Cereal Day!
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgJOfwCpGDsSRZSIWOvYY0CyKhnQDTChkgwowErSjFZJjSu8ny65fVx47QkH_HXygQL4YOj2R0pmHA6gryJgA9mhrYdxRzDSR1fBfdDXLhHJJhL8Ckdk1ORvvlmZyG6DqCSiC4RGnfi8/s1600/cereals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgJOfwCpGDsSRZSIWOvYY0CyKhnQDTChkgwowErSjFZJjSu8ny65fVx47QkH_HXygQL4YOj2R0pmHA6gryJgA9mhrYdxRzDSR1fBfdDXLhHJJhL8Ckdk1ORvvlmZyG6DqCSiC4RGnfi8/s320/cereals.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Its National Cereal Day, and the weather
is Beautiful outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Coincidence? Hardly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Cereal is a big reason why I have made
it this far. It’s not the biggest, but it’s in the top 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It has provided comfort more times than I
could count, but if you used the National debt as a baseline then you’re close.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The Kellogg brothers were among the
first to make cereal, because they were health conscious, which was a bit
outside the box (pun intended) way back in those days. They certainly could not
have envisioned what those Corn Flakes were going to do to the planet. It even
out performs sliced bread.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">OK, there are those cereals that are
healthy for you. I will not address those in this forum, save for one that
makes my list, and that’s because Doc Evans said that’s what I needed to eat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So, without any further delay, pass the
milk and lets break down the top 10 list of Georges Vitamin fortified ‘go to’
favorites, shall we?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">10. Fiber One. Doc said eat it, so I do.
They have improved it since I began eating it and it really isn’t that bad for
cardboard. My colon likes it, though, and that’s what counts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">9. Cheerios. I used to add sugar, but
because I’m older and mature, just eat them without sugar. It is the grown up
thing to do. I will add banana if I want to impress Wifey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">8. Honey Nut Cheerios. For when I want
sugar on my Cheerios. It is Kid healthy, meaning you don’t feel so guilty for
giving them Froot Loops or Cap’n Crunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">7. Frosted Flakes. I can pay homage to
the brothers Kellogg and live a little with sweetened corn flakes. Besides, Theyre
Great! I got a 3d Phil Niekro Baseball card in them once. Add banana to feign
healthy eating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">6. Honeycomb. It’s not small, no, no,
no. Big big box, and a big big bite. It’s so 1970s. I would have to rank Alpha
Bits the same. Same cereal, different shape. Can’t fool me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">5. Apple Jacks. A is for Apple, J is for
Jawage likes some cinnamon toasty Apple Jacks. Sometimes you’d get a real
crunchy one where the sugar and cinnamon stuff made like a stone. Delish! And
one of the few cereals you can pour the settled parts in the bowl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">4. Super Sugar Crisp (Sugar Smacks). Our
High School band was named after Sugar Bear. Be true to your school, just like
you would to your cereal. And not unlike asparagus, it made your pee smell.
That AND usually a good prize in the box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">3. Cocoa/Fruity Pebbles. Cocoa Krispies
make the milk Chocolate, and the Fruity ones are well, fruity. The box is
entirely too small.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">2. Froot Loops. Open the box, and smell.
Toucan sam is right, follow your nose. Love me some loops of froot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">1. Cap’n Crunch. Oh Captain, my
Captain--If I were in charge, he’d had been promoted to Admiral long ago. Other
than roof of mouth requirements, this is my main go to----<o:p></o:p></span><br />
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-58886929048947631922015-12-07T13:17:00.000-08:002015-12-07T13:17:01.403-08:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A recent post on our Scotty Fan Club page of friend Carey Barfield meeting an
original member of the AVG (Frank Losonsky) reminded me of a story involving
Carey and us three boys from a millennium ago. I would like to share it with
you…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Background
and Preface: The Robert Scott Fan Club, having begun in late 1974, has been
taken from its hallowed halls of McKibben Lane Elementary School and relocated
into Miller A Junior High School in the heart of Macon, Ga., a mere four blocks
from the boyhood home of one Robert L. Scott, Jr. The boys have been
“discovered” by the Junior High Newspaper, which ultimately leads them to the
Sunday edition of the Macon Telegraph and News, whose pixelated coverage of us
was in ‘living color’----But on this day, Thursday, October 14<sup>th</sup>,
1976, Gerald Ford was President; Elvis had been to Macon just two months
previous, and unbeknownst to the boys, Scotty was in town….</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There was one time that I won’t ever forget.
A man named Billy Adams was running for Congress one time, and somehow talked
General Scott into making a speech for him at a fundraiser. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A fellow schoolmate and friend, Carey
Barfield, informed us that his Dad was going and that it was a political
fundraiser costing a whopping fifty American samolians to attend. After Guerry
and Dave picked me up off of the floor, our joy and hopes of getting to see the
General vanished as quickly as they had appeared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We still had an outside chance to see him at
one of our houses or maybe receive a phone call, but if he was going to be in
Macon scrubbing toilets, the Robert L. Scott Fan Club needed to be there too! I
mean, we were bonafied and fully credentialed. It was in the Macon paper, for
crying out loud! Why Billy Adams “people” had not gotten in contact with us
would remain a mystery forever. Did they not know that where Scotty goest, so
goest the Fan Club?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Well, we all went home that afternoon mighty
disappointed, knowing <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>good and well had
we even the time to scour the entire neighborhood, there wasn’t $150 worth of
Coca-Cola bottles under the porch, let alone yards to mow, to come up with that
kind of scratch. None of us were having a Birthday, and Christmas was nowhere
in sight. And while report cards were known to earn some spending money,
straight A’s wouldn’t have netted that kind of money; as for me, I had better
chances of being struck by lightning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Back to Carey Barfield, a Great American
Patriot. Carey had stood by most of that day at Central-Miller A Jr. High,
watching as well as listening to our lament (my lament equated to whining). It
was he who had told us of the General coming to town but he naturally assumed
we would be there at the fundraiser. Like Carey said, “You guys are connected, where
goest Scotty so goest you guys.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Well, he must have felt bad about our
situation because as I understood it from Guerry later he went to his dad and
asked if there was a way to come up with some tickets. I never did find out
what Carey’s dad did for a living, and we sure hope he hadn’t shelled out 50
bucks a ticket for us to attend, but as fate had done several times before,
Guerry would soon be calling me that afternoon (Guerry was always the one who
got the call) and told me what had transpired with Carey and his dads
assistance. Carey had called Guerry and said he had tickets for all of us! By
unanimous vote, Carey Barfield was immediately awarded a lifetime membership
into the R.L.S.F.C.A.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">One little logistical problem was
Transportation. At 14, we didn’t have learners’ licenses nor did we ride
bicycles. We were in Junior High. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I was charged with coordinating transportation.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In my case, as in every other instance there
was an emergency transportation requirement, it meant calling my granddad, “BIG”
George. The man I was so appropriately named after. He was Big George, and I was
Little George. He was always ready, willing, and able to carry us boys anywhere
we needed to go. Although blind in one eye, nobody ever loved driving more than
he did. The ongoing joke in the family was that the only thing he liked more
than driving was attending funerals, so naturally when he got to drive to attend
a funeral, he was beside himself. His car during most of my childhood was a 1962
Plymouth Valiant, which must have had 300,000 miles on it when he bought it,
and I’m certain he put that many more on it. He taught us grandkids how to
drive in that car, which had a push-button transmission. Riding with him, even
if just to the store and back, was a life altering experience that would make a
Christian out of the most destitute. But when you need transportation, beggars can’t
be choosers, so one had to assume risk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And so it came to pass that by 6:30 that
evening, 4 ‘almost learners permit’ teenagers and Big George went to their
first political fundraiser with the help of fate Carey and Mr. Barfield, his
dad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We saw General Scott at the reception before
the event started, and once he began his speech acknowledged our presence, calling
us by name and having us stand up in front of a packed Grand Opera House, (the
venue that previously premiered “God is my Co-Pilot”). All the “old folks” at
the fundraiser politely applauded patted us on the backs and told us what find
young men we were. What a night! They also has a special showing of “God is my
co-pilot’, which was a lot better than having to stay up and watch it on late
night cable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I really don’t remember much after that.
Billy Adams lost his bid for Congress during the election, and our heads were
spinning for days afterwards. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was how our
friend CAREY BARFIELD saved the day!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-bDcu39tevZpFzhQvYmaLCgHTJgC_xku5JusDn6-KF3DJQNm7ewUQ1RJ8uNxUTmXJBmh1nNkqPITGYc9ZtOYkyb0I8wmayb5hMlfaUtoRQD_ZKqauyMzxqhnhTcrBqPvWKnNLq0b2bU/s1600/IMG_1447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-bDcu39tevZpFzhQvYmaLCgHTJgC_xku5JusDn6-KF3DJQNm7ewUQ1RJ8uNxUTmXJBmh1nNkqPITGYc9ZtOYkyb0I8wmayb5hMlfaUtoRQD_ZKqauyMzxqhnhTcrBqPvWKnNLq0b2bU/s320/IMG_1447.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-5933654917557232942014-12-03T11:11:00.000-08:002014-12-17T09:25:38.186-08:00Happy Birthday to my Grandma, Rennie Amanda Tucker Fisher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhnKPvjVAceLXSnK8lJMSiNiwuwAgc0i9Dylb_dagplJc01Ltj9i0FQ0ob-12cRehbfjMBbToLbuZj5isKzUMwjgR1aunUFF59gxRsC4hRYz7hwna2-AnUfIgJBs4CIrf4vj4vN22khY/s1600/1526378_10151909619168883_1621384421_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhnKPvjVAceLXSnK8lJMSiNiwuwAgc0i9Dylb_dagplJc01Ltj9i0FQ0ob-12cRehbfjMBbToLbuZj5isKzUMwjgR1aunUFF59gxRsC4hRYz7hwna2-AnUfIgJBs4CIrf4vj4vN22khY/s1600/1526378_10151909619168883_1621384421_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Once upon a time, way back on December
3rd, 1904, in the small hamlet of Funston, a community just a stones throw from
Moultrie, Georgia,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Reverend Ansel P.
Tucker, pastor of Bridge Creek Baptist Church, awaited the birth of his seventh of eight children. His Wife -Mary Josephine (Sellers), sometime during this day delivered the new daughter by traditional means--at home. She would be named Rennie Amanda.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Rennie Amanda Tucker grew up, raised in a fine southern Baptist home, and one day while on the streets of Moultrie, walked by a man (she had never seen before) who loudly proclaimed to the other fellows he was standing with, "I'm going to marry that girl one day.." She immediately thought him crazy (He was, but that's another story). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It just so happened that the crazy mans prediction was spot on. Rennie Amanda and this crazy man (his name was George
) got married, and just a couple of years later gave birth to a son. The son grew up, got married, and his wife bore him three kids, one of whom would be named "George". <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He was referred to as "Little George" so as to
distinguish himself from his Grandfather. Little George was
born premature, and spent some time in an incubator. Rennie, the new
Grandmother, held vigil outside the maternity ward there at the hospital in
Albany, Georgia, and one day another lady, peering into the nursery, commented
within earshot of new Grandmother Rennie that the one little baby looked like a "wet rat"---an accurate description if the truth be told--and while there are no witnesses to what transpired immediately afterwards, the Fisher family
legend has recorded this incident as possibly the only time in her entire life that new Grandmother Rennie may
have forgotten she was a preachers daughter and a fine Southern Christian lady. Her Son later said <em>"That's <span style="background-color: white;">as</span> close as I ever came to seeing My Momma whip <span style="background-color: white;">someone's </span>ass!"</em></span><br />
<em></em> </div>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Little George absolutely worshipped his new
Grandmother Rennie, who by now was just called "Grandma"...Little
George spent nearly every weekend of his young life at her house, loving every
minute of his time there. Upon seeing his parents
car pull into the driveway to take him back home, he would cry. He sooned learned, however, that when he
became too sick to go to school, he
would be sent usually to two places--the doctor’s office and his
Grandmas--so George was sick----a lot. His parents KNEW, as little George did, that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he would get well faster at Grandmas house. There was something in the water. On one occasion, Little George contracted the mumps and each time his jaws began to hurt he would
run into his Grandmas arms so she could hug the pain away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It worked. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So did the fried chicken she made him,
and the pound cakes, where he was allowed to lick the spoon--because he was a
wormy little kid who would have lived off of bread and milk if left to his own
devices, and wormy little kids should naturally be allowed to lick the spoon—unless,
of course, they were sick from the measles, and Grandma just “happened” to show
up with an entire bowlful of batter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As time passed, Little George
stopped being a sickly little runt, and became a ‘mostly’ normal young man. He
still visited his Grandmas house often, and even took his dates there before
taking them home to meet his own parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Eventually, his Grandma passed away. Little
George, by now not so little anymore, felt as though his best friend in the world had
died. In fact, she had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">George eventually came to understand that precious memories, like that song goes, linger. One day George would get married
and have a little girl. He would give her his Grandmas’ middle name, Amanda. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">George still thinks about his Grandma twice a day. When he is awake and when he is asleep. He thinks about her so much
that even TODAY, her BIRTHDAY, won’t be much different than yesterday or
tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 538.2pt center 558.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">George
is even a grandparent himself, even though everyone knows he isn’t nearly old enough for that type of
job. He hopes to be just half as good a Grandpa as he had a Grandma. He thinks his
Grandma would be pleased to know that he learned from the best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-36395295217767627392014-11-07T07:56:00.000-08:002014-11-07T07:56:15.216-08:00THE PICTURE........
Back in 2006 when I returned from Iraq, I was fortunate enough to have a life defining moment in the Life of George captured not only for my Family, but quite possibly for the ages. I will preface it all by saying it has nothing to do with me in the grand scheme, but as it happens for once in my life I happened to be in the right place at the right time. IT.....the photograph...got splattered all over creation, and since 2006 has even had some recurrences through social media, most recently this past Sunday morning while chilling with Wifey. The Veterans Site on Facebook posted the picture and next thing you know there are 75,000 likes, 7,968 shares, and 1,709 comments.<br />
<br />
The picture is referred to as "Amanda's butt picture" at our house, because, well, as you can see, there it is....meanwhile, son Joe and my little Lyndsay obscured by the full moon.<br />
<br />
In ten years, the picture has taken a life of its own, with many assuming that is the "Wife and Kids", that the Soldier got in trouble, punished, etc., which isn't the case. A small percentage of the comments were negative, citing lack of discipline, breaking the "rules", and all of that. The truth is that my Wife tried harnessing the kids, but it was not to be. They stormed the bastille. IT was nothing more than kids missing their Daddy. It was spontaneous, it happened, and when I take my last breath that's what I am going to see.<br />
<br />
I go back to my journal entry from May, 2006:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PwVdSV020LG_w2xYfqaVq02-S3zipOk-1D7WkJqxdJcEXHPYaOyMpt3COa-rRU9Lr1zObZTAiUTcrLBriFvisEeQFSlQluYgTPpGvZ_5i3SckPzYbGShVT4dcB4Z4x33FDa9pZhlIkk/s1600/HomecomingBigFile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PwVdSV020LG_w2xYfqaVq02-S3zipOk-1D7WkJqxdJcEXHPYaOyMpt3COa-rRU9Lr1zObZTAiUTcrLBriFvisEeQFSlQluYgTPpGvZ_5i3SckPzYbGShVT4dcB4Z4x33FDa9pZhlIkk/s1600/HomecomingBigFile.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ4ofGzmj9iW0G367iDz7ZrZESaPZChXy8KVD_vNlOoW05W62uxoQiN1KU2PZkRaUMyExJolBqDkTlPvSDFLTa2XpnLNyNlmLs7FzjvCcbQEFO1NX86xoJD6kpJjio_hOL2Uu-XsD2lc/s1600/fisher2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ4ofGzmj9iW0G367iDz7ZrZESaPZChXy8KVD_vNlOoW05W62uxoQiN1KU2PZkRaUMyExJolBqDkTlPvSDFLTa2XpnLNyNlmLs7FzjvCcbQEFO1NX86xoJD6kpJjio_hOL2Uu-XsD2lc/s1600/fisher2.jpg" height="320" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JZqhT2QUe3f0fFKrjKDjsixxGDDJBv9-ekSLYDYI_OcQVFkDVWz-Onel8SfBFpPT0X3YNl210-jfh_NbGWB7xNsCKtzIDu28zcu1zruaw85-SBFNl8DR62mpoGZo7EtYChp886lnvT4/s1600/homecoming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JZqhT2QUe3f0fFKrjKDjsixxGDDJBv9-ekSLYDYI_OcQVFkDVWz-Onel8SfBFpPT0X3YNl210-jfh_NbGWB7xNsCKtzIDu28zcu1zruaw85-SBFNl8DR62mpoGZo7EtYChp886lnvT4/s1600/homecoming.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
What ACTUALLY happened—At the conclusion of the Generals’ comments—<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he said “That’s all I have…”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
At precisely that moment, these three kids— all of whom belong to me—BOLTED
from the confines of the throng of families and distinguished guests, as if
they had been shot out of a cannon.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
In a flash I could see all three—eyes wide open, with grins on their faces
as big as mine—hauling ass toward me—Joe, followed by Lyndsay, followed by
Amanda…I attempted to wave them off but in that fraction of a second I had to
decide what was more important—wave them off or prepare for the impending train
wreck. Their combined weight exceeded mine by a good hundred pounds and had I
not braced myself accordingly, I may have been a casualty right there on the
parade field.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I heard someone in the rank behind me say “Here they come” and that’s when I
got it full blast—-WHUMP….WHUMP……WHUMP….as each of my kids plowed into me-Joe
having launched himself in the air a good eight feet prior….<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I had my arms full of Fisher kids, and all we could do was cry…<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I may have even told them to go back into the stands until the Army song was
finished..IT was all a blur and If I had only one word to describe it:<br />
Indescribable.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Long Story a tad longer—The news media saw my little heathens break ranks
and followed suit, the end result of which--- the defining moment of my
career-- captured in pictures and splattered on the front pages of several
newspapers—even in my Grandfathers hometown of Moultrie, Georgia.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The family and I all drove home, where the neighbors had hung a “WELCOME
HOME GEORGE” banner across the front porch and the front yard was festooned
with 145 American Flags—my cup runneth over.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The next afternoon I was lying on my back deck in the hammock looking at the
bluest sky I ever saw, contrasted by the wonderful green grass and trees of
Middle Georgia. This was unreal. I must have died and went to heaven—-and If I
only had one word to describe how it felt: Indescribable.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I glanced down at my watch and noticed I still had it set 9 hours
ahead—Iraqi time.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I pulled the stem out and reset my watch. In the background I could hear Sue
knocking around in the kitchen preparing supper. I felt my eyelids getting
heavy and drifted off to sleep.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I was home.<o:p></o:p><br />
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-34133215316063675272014-10-24T05:18:00.002-07:002014-10-24T05:18:28.020-07:00NO RIFLEMAN??? BARBARIANS!!<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_544a430e4a8123f56925473">
Dear AMC;<br /> I like your network. A lot. It is saved to my 'favorites'....for what its worth, AMC is a big part of my weekends-- here's why:<br /> 1) awake NLT 0700<br /> 2) take a whiz<br /> 3) go downstairs and get coffee started<br /> 4) tune in to AMC in HD<br /><span> 5) ease into my morning with back to back episodes of "The Rifleman" (pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>) starring Chuck Connors....<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /><br /> Imagine my chagrin when I tuned in this morning and Children of the Corn was on... Chagrin in this context is interchangeable with profanity. Thus, I completed steps 1-4, and as a result of my incompleteness, I am not content. It is of little wonder that while shopping with Wifey later on this day I got a buggy with a bad wheel. I also dropped the sauerkraut (having brats for supper) in the driveway when unloading the car. I am incomplete, AMC, and I have you to thank for it. You and those damn kids in the corn.<br /> George Fisher</span></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-52534992493297444262014-09-19T09:57:00.002-07:002014-09-19T09:57:33.785-07:00THE POTTAMUS IS SEVEN!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear Pottamus Rex;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">ARE YOU SEVEN YEARS OLD! Holy Cow!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have had a great
year, pal…you have graduated from Kindergarten to First Grade! You’re having
difficulty with lunch, though, and I don't blame you seeing as how your Momma
keeps filling your lunch box with wheat bread, carrots and stuff --I mean,
seriously? There's a time and place for that kind of food, but it’s not in the
school lunch box. You can tell Mom that's in the Bible—(Deuteronomy).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the biggest thing that happened since last year? Oh my,
you have a SISTER! More on that in a second…..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You and I still have that “issue”….Mom and Grandma still
think something is wrong with both of us when it comes time to leave. They both
thought by this time you and I would have gotten a grip on ourselves and manned
up. It hasn't happened. As for me, it's not likely going to, either. I hope it
does for you, though, because it may be a bit hard to explain to your friends
when your 18 years old, HA HA! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seven Years old, Rex...Time is flying, buddy—it makes this
old man think too much, and that's why a lot of the time I call you Joe, so
forgive me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you're the Pottamus Rex.
I even called your sister “Winnie” the other day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You have been the best Brother to ‘Miss Priss’ (Georgia
Rose)—the grown-ups didn't know exactly how you would take to her, but you have
done great, and we are very proud of you! You don't notice but every time you
walk in the room Priss will not take her eyes off of you---just remember to
help look out for her and show her the way---you two are the only kids in the
house, and you can't expect Mom and Dad to show her how it's supposed to be
done---they are too old and have forgotten what it's like to be a kid. It’s what
happens when you are a Parent. When you are a Grandparent, it changes back.
Anyhow, Rex, I am counting on you to show her and explain to her as time goes
by the rules---<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eliminate<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bureaucracy---Ask Grandma and George first.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try to eat your
supper, but if you don't, it's ok. There's always cereal, and Mom and Dad
aren't about to let you go to bed hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She calls me
George. Not anything else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jd-Nc76Xj_gVC1eVUB7CpOaoXbyvFCnmD57hdmf9m5m-_f7W5xphCcNYW3-Gy2v7c7lq95wvy_HmRROtkJm5ahpp7aL1VVtS1kXHxe1U8P8nA15MlUQbbn6hY4U4cfpz2msktbZItRk/s1600/10502001_10152287182513883_9203876738320616164_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jd-Nc76Xj_gVC1eVUB7CpOaoXbyvFCnmD57hdmf9m5m-_f7W5xphCcNYW3-Gy2v7c7lq95wvy_HmRROtkJm5ahpp7aL1VVtS1kXHxe1U8P8nA15MlUQbbn6hY4U4cfpz2msktbZItRk/s1600/10502001_10152287182513883_9203876738320616164_n.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy Birthday, Reximus. I love you to the moon and back. I
still have your note that says “George is my best Frend”. Here’s hoping that my
best “frend” has the best Birthday ever. You sure make every day the best for
me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">George</span></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-33698396841575586822014-05-22T13:20:00.001-07:002014-05-22T13:22:49.334-07:00Our way of life…compliments of those who didn’t make it back-<p dir="ltr"></p>
<p dir="ltr">I have spent many Memorial Days attending remembrance ceremonies over the years.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I think it is important.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have also spent many Memorial Days enjoying what we call the American way of life-cooking out, swimming, and enjoying time with family.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I think that is important, too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some others may disagree with me, but I think there is no better way to honor our Fallen Comrades than by enjoying Memorial Day by all those things–cookouts, ball games, recreational activities, and being with family— Why? Even if you take advantage of that Memorial Day sale–whatever the day encompasses, as long as we understand HOW we got here–by the  blood of Americans, past and present–and as long as we are acutely aware that if we are to preserve our way of life–then not only must we remember but we must be prepared.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In today’s time, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and Independence Day are virtually the same–and now more than ever our nation tips its cap to our Military everyday. You can’t go out to eat, walk into a store, or even pump gas in a uniform without someone thanking you.  It is extremely humbling and for me almost embarrassing because I’m nobody. Then you realize it’s not about you as much as it is the uniform and what you represent. My normal response besides “Thank You” is that “I’m just glad they allowed me the privilege to serve.”</p>
<p dir="ltr">REMEMBER–Memorial Day is about those that paid the ultimate price, those that didn’t make it back.</p>
<p dir="ltr"> We MUST remember–not just on Memorial Day, but EVERY day we wake up as Americans–and then we can enjoy our way of life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Speaking of the American way of life, on Monday, May 26th, I will be honorary team captain for the Atlanta Braves/Boston Red Sox game at Turner Field. My “duty” is to take the lineup card to the umpire. To say I’m excited for the opportunity is a gross understatement. I love baseball and the Atlanta Braves.   My good friend, fellow Soldier, and Chaplain, Captain Leslie Nelson, offered my name. She knows I am a baseball fanatic. She is a wonderful Chaplain and brings great comfort to our Soldiers–she also helps us to remember.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So, on Memorial Day 2014, with my family in tow, we will enjoy our American way of life. It will be a great day, but I will remember it came at a high price — some of whom I studied, some I heard about, some I knew and hundreds of thousands who I never heard of but still garner the same respect. I will remember that I am only a representative to all the others, and that when someone thanks me they are thanking ALL who serve and have served…and I will thank God that I am an American.</p>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-21163236725958766522014-05-01T17:14:00.001-07:002014-06-25T18:44:24.538-07:00CUTESY CUTS AND CLIPS<p dir="ltr">Forgive me, for I have sinned. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I couldn't get to my regular Barber. She closes at 5. She's the best in the business, but I got my butt in a bind and my window of opportunity for a haircut came down to this afternoon. <br>
I realize in 3 weeks I will require another haircut and I promise to tip my REAL barber (she's the best in the business) even more due to the fact I had to forsake her loyalty. I feel like I cheated on her. Her shop is a red, white, and By-God blue barber shop. Her Uncle Billy passed and she's carrying on his legacy and starting one of her own. A haircut in a real barber shop is almost like going to church. She's the best in the business, and when she uses a combination of buzzing clippers, straight razor, hot lather, and that tingly green "man smell" on the back of my gourd, you walk out of there born again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Alas, and woe be unto my head, this is one of those themed franchises, you know, one of those  cutesy places. Unisex, they call it. I didn't know what unisex meant, I thought it had something to do with those late night infomercials, but it means boys, girls, kids, old people--everyone but dogs-- can get a "clip" here. <br>
Unisex is a metrosexual term that means  <i>"I don't give a damn who cuts my hair as long as we can be </i><i>cutesy</i><i>." </i></p>
<p dir="ltr">It smells more beauty parlor-ish than barber shop. It looks like a place where one might purchase some electronics. The cutesy stadium seats, the shelf of hair care products named after some herbal plant or some character from Greek mythology do not impress me. I will give them an "<u>OK</u>" on the flat screen TVs, though no one in the place appeared to be watching them.<br>
There isn't a Field and Stream or Georgia Sportsman within 10 miles of here. It's cutesy every dang thing, and had I a large ripe lemon my butt would have sucked it. In fact, typing the word "cutesy" begins the process.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The pictures on the wall are smiling young people who look like they need a haircut---and I bet my hat and ass both someone in one of the chairs back in the cutting area are using scissors that most everyone else uses to trim unsightly nostril hair. (<i>Pause</i><i> </i><i>while</i><i> </i><i>we</i><i> </i><i>all</i><i> </i><i>wretch</i>).</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had to sign in, like they do at the doctors offices. Unreal. I haven't smelled talcum or heard one pump of a barber chair handle or a pop of a towel.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's all wrong, it's against the laws of nature, and when its all over I'm gonna go home and shower the cutesy off of me and become a man again.<br>
I hate myself for getting in a predicament not getting to my real tonsorial parlor--(<i>but the fish were biting last weekend</i>). </p>
<p dir="ltr">I got the hairs cut. Looks like I'm going to live, but it came with a price. No talcum, no green "man smell" on the back of your head to make it tingle, just a weird beauty parlor smell and a bunch of unisex gum smacking nose hair trimmers.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As I was checking out, a dad was bringing his little boy in--he introduced his timid child to the haircutter girl as "this is Miss_____ , and she's a friend....." He then sat down in the chair, and ( <i>bear</i><i> </i><i>with</i><i> </i><i>me</i><i> </i><i>I</i><i> </i><i>need</i><i> </i><i>a</i><i> </i><i>cleansing</i><i> </i><i>breath</i>) he placed the kid IN HIS LAP while the kid got cutesyfied.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So help me, and with The Lord as my witness, my skin crawled.</p>
<p dir="ltr">John Wayne, Joe Fisher, or Pottamus Rex never ever sat in anyone's lap at a barber shop. I guess its acceptable in cutesy unisex hair emporiums.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I paid my bill post haste and skedaddled, wondering how things have gotten to this point. No talcum, no green stuff on the back of your head to make it tingle, just a weird smell and a bunch of unisex gum smacking nose hair trimmers.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We are going to hell in a cutesy handbag.</p>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-13529748764583779492014-04-14T17:06:00.000-07:002014-04-14T17:11:10.765-07:00The Best "Pottamus Says" Ever!<br />
(Note: The Pottamus Rex' real name is Christopher--Dad calls him Christopher or Chris--Let's listen in on their morning conversation in regards to the policing of The Pottamus bedroom.....<br />
<br />
<br />
Dad: Chris, these clothes need to be put up in your drawers like I showed you..<br />
<br />
Chris: But I can't do it without you!<br />
<br />
Dad: Yes you can -- you're a big boy and you need to be responsible for your own clothes and set the example for your sister of how to be responsible..<br />
<br />
Chris: I have no idea how that makes any sense-- I'M only six years old!...<br />
<br />
(Dad walks away trying not to injure himself laughing)<br />
<br />
<br />George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-2199780341219969832014-03-30T16:18:00.000-07:002014-03-30T16:20:21.690-07:00Ovaltine. Now more than ever.Dear Hershey's;<br />
Bottom line: Hershey's is America! I love it and always will, just like my country and my wife and kids.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal. The Hershey syrup is great for everything you use it for EXCEPT making chocolate milk. Better to hear it from someone who loves you. You can certainly sweeten up your milk, you can make beige or tan milk, but quite honestly trying to make chocolate milk ain't happening. If you want to put a warning label on the bottle and say NOTICE: IN CASE OF NATURAL DISASTER OR EMERGENCY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT THIS PRODUCT CAN BE USED TO SIMULATE CHOCOLATE MILK-DRINK IN A DARK ROOM AND HOLD YOUR NOSE.<br />
Look, guys- the syrup bottle is in the fridge, I get it...we use on ice cream and lots of other things, but the reality is that I ran out of Ovaltine and went to plan b. It made me sad, not unlike the time I tried to make a banana sandwich when I was in Iraq- one gets excited at the mere thought of it, only to have their 'over expectations' plummet to the lowest depths of depression. It will flat out make you cry is what it'll do. It'll also make you cuss.<br />
All that to say this: Ovaltine is kicking your butt.<br />
With all due respect to Mr. H--I am,<br />
Sincerely yours,<br />
George Fisher<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qthLx5A7wdYw5TO7dIftPiUHhVpPPCpY1adu1nzPzuqwFg8oDf37WLIzFfEUf2mErsGTw6HVFV5Ulcd6_GZt0sXueir4BF7bKF4KYjG19XH60G_88HCpHuYgD-OtKAxnQG44NeHiHR4/s1600/hershey+chocolates+syrup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qthLx5A7wdYw5TO7dIftPiUHhVpPPCpY1adu1nzPzuqwFg8oDf37WLIzFfEUf2mErsGTw6HVFV5Ulcd6_GZt0sXueir4BF7bKF4KYjG19XH60G_88HCpHuYgD-OtKAxnQG44NeHiHR4/s1600/hershey+chocolates+syrup.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-87412668675243921162014-03-10T09:29:00.001-07:002014-03-11T01:19:09.706-07:00GRANDMA IS A SISSY!<br>It is no big secret that my grandson, the Pottamus Rex, owns a huge chunk of my heart. It is also well known that he and I have, in the past, had "issues" when it comes time to say goodbye. As tough as I have been, and try to be, the older I have gotten the bigger creampuff I have become. I have fought it as hard as I possibly can, but most of the time the end result is snot bubbles. It's a far cry from clawing at the casket grieving wailing carry me off in a straight jacket stuff, I mean Lord have mercy, but it's still in the sentimental old fart can I have a popsicle or maybe a Large Chocolate milkshake to make it better range-in other words, its manageable. I have learned to embrace the fact I don't like it when any of my kids, and now grandkids, have to leave.
<br>
<br>With the addition of Ms Georgia Rose Mallory, our family has expanded by two feet (I stole that from someplace)---Georgia is fast establishing herself as a force of nature much like her older brother, the Pottamus. This is evidenced by the actions of my Wifey, aka Grandma, who just spent the week with the new papoose, reveling in all that is little baby girls. She has oooo'd and ahhhh'd no less than 876 times and used the word "Precious" even more. It has left me wondering just what in the heck happened to the girl I married because this ain't her. I have never seen this much jello in my life, to include my hospital stay of two years past. Is she gushing? Does the Pope wear a pointy hat and red shoes?
<br>
<br> Well, to conclude the visit, Wifey and the Booger, AKA Amanda, did like I USED to do, and pulled a "George" yesterday when it was time to say goodbye--Yes Sir, I saw it with my own eyes. Seems my two tuff gals messed up their mascara just a tad. These are the exact same two that roll their eyes when the Pottamus Rex and I parted ways. I could have said something smart allecky , but I knew better-Lord knows I have been there a time or two just in the past couple weeks. They were both entitled. I was just glad they weren't at each other's throats after a week. You never know with my crew.
<br> It doesn't get any easier, but perhaps because of the new baby, The Pottamus and I are taking it to a different level. Just maybe we have turned a corner. We both grow older this year, so maybe, just maybe, we are tightening up the shot group. While the Women were carrying on, the Pottamus Rex hugged me, and then lowered his head, walking off to go back inside. He stopped and turned back around. Unable to speak, and with tears in his eyes, he tipped his cap to me. Unable to speak myself, my own eyes overflowing, I returned with my cap.
<br>Driving away, I handed Wifey a Kleenex, almost feeling sorry for her not being able to tuff it out like the Pottamus and Me. Guess I have to show her the way.<br>George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957534582022924471.post-28835421607709603362014-03-04T17:14:00.001-08:002014-03-04T17:15:55.390-08:00Georgia Invades South Carolina<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR-TMYh4X3AhHiyP1IpELybTPA9zaP29bWunQePZ_m9IHE00sBsFMpnLKdqpUuuKoI9r33ZY1itavP7m5cJ_TlH5lxlOmBGaPY0uBG2ePF99-z-syszZ0s5AbVx350zeKAI03etSPJnY/s640/blogger-image-2006332155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR-TMYh4X3AhHiyP1IpELybTPA9zaP29bWunQePZ_m9IHE00sBsFMpnLKdqpUuuKoI9r33ZY1itavP7m5cJ_TlH5lxlOmBGaPY0uBG2ePF99-z-syszZ0s5AbVx350zeKAI03etSPJnY/s640/blogger-image-2006332155.jpg"></a></div><br><br>Dear Georgia Rose--<br>Welcome to Earth! Specifically, the United States of America! To be more precise, The Southeastern United States. Born in south Carolina, named Georgia, there is no way you cannot "Represent" when Elvis sings The American Trilogy--just saying. You're a triple threat already-Yay!<br><br>As it came to pass, I had just finished my 2 Yoo-Hoo (That’s a drink-you're going to love them!) <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">lunch on Friday</a> only to have your Grandma and Momma call me to tell me that you were arriving soon-- I drove like a bat out of you know where (well, you don't, actually, but you will hear me say this in a couple of years) to Macon (that’s in the middle of the state you were named for, and it will be your second home) dodging cars, cussing drivers (I will teach you, don't worry), and going as fast as I legally could (Your Great-Great George taught me to drive) so that I could get home to pick up your Grandma and Aunt Winnie ( really named Lyndsay when we are mad at her)--it seemed like it took forever but as it turned out we got there in plenty of time--see, there's this thing called ANXIETY that we all had trying to get to the hospital--and inasmuch as its four hours driving time from where we were to where you were arriving, quite honestly, all the pork skins in the world (this is a snack that goes great with Yoo-Hoo) couldn’t relieve our anxiety.<br><br>Do you know, young lady, what anxiety does? <br><br>Well, besides making you drive fast, talk obnoxiously loud, and call everyone of your mobile phone contacts ( Aunt Winnie says "hollah!")-- it made us realize God was in control, laughing hysterically at us as we ran around like idiots. In the case of your Uncle Joe, he called every ten minutes non-stop for 19 and 2/3rds hours. First Grandma, then Me, Then Aunt Winz, then repeated the process. I thanked him profusely for the wakeup call at 0330 hours on Saturday). You don’t know this but every family has a crazy Uncle in it. Joe is yours.<br><br>The anxiety continued while we worried about how Momma and you were doing when the birthing baby process ("I don’t know nothing 'bout birthing no babies") ; but I was fortunate enough to observe all this firsthand while your brother and I held vigil (that means waiting with no good magazines to read) in the waiting room --the excitement, the worry, the stress, the laughter, and finally you arrived! Grandma sent a picture to Aunt Winnies phone, then a few minutes later burst through the doors proclaiming for the entire city of Beaufort and nearby Ladys Island to hear, "PRECIOUS!"... <br><br>So, now you are here and have taken your place in the family--another "spitfire of a girl", if you will allow me to quote John Wayne (and you will)--and you now join the ranks of the other ladies in the family--I won't explain any more of this because I'm not qualified, but just know that Momma and the other ladies will ensure that number 1, you are Southern girl, and #2, you won't take any guff (there's another word to use but you will learn that later) off of any man. Speaking of Men, there are two of them you should be aware of--one is your Daddy, and the other one is the Pottamus Rex. You will know Daddy because he is the one strutting all around like a peacock. He is quite proud of you and with good reason. The Pottamus will be the one picking your pacifier up off the floor and poking it back in your mouth. He is also a force of nature but more on that later. If you need anything , they will be there in a nanosecond, and even faster if your Momma has anything to do with it. <br><br>Perhaps you were named after a State, a University, a Song, or maybe even a crazy old man who thinks YOU, along with your Big Brother, are the cats pajamas. Regardless, thanks for showing up and putting a smile on our face that only a mortician can remove. We all took a vote and decided you're a keeper.<br><br>Hope you enjoy living, laughing, and loving as much as we do. Don’t worry about a thing, Me and Grandma got your back.<br><br>Love,<br>George<br><br>P.S. I apologize for Grandma in advance. She wasn’t like this when I married her. I know, I know. I'm rolling my eyes, too. But its HER world, and we just live in it.<br></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "></span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">George Fisherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11198883810677149241noreply@blogger.com0