NO RIFLEMAN??? BARBARIANS!!

Dear AMC;
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:
1) awake NLT 0700
2) take a whiz
3) go downstairs and get coffee started
4) tune in to AMC in HD
5) ease into my morning with back to back episodes of "The Rifleman" (pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow,pow) starring Chuck Connors.......

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.
George Fisher

THE POTTAMUS IS SEVEN!

Dear Pottamus Rex;

 ARE YOU SEVEN YEARS OLD! Holy Cow!

 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).

But the biggest thing that happened since last year? Oh my, you have a SISTER! More on that in a second…..

 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!

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.  I know you're the Pottamus Rex. I even called your sister “Winnie” the other day.

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---

 1)  Eliminate  bureaucracy---Ask Grandma and George first.

2)  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.

3)  She calls me George. Not anything else.

 

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.

George

Our way of life…compliments of those who didn’t make it back-

I have spent many Memorial Days attending remembrance ceremonies over the years.

I think it is important.

I have also spent many Memorial Days enjoying what we call the American way of life-cooking out, swimming, and enjoying time with family.

I think that is important, too.

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.

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.”

REMEMBER–Memorial Day is about those that paid the ultimate price, those that didn’t make it back.

 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.

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.

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.

CUTESY CUTS AND CLIPS

Forgive me, for I have sinned.

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.
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.

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.
Unisex is a metrosexual term that means  "I don't give a damn who cuts my hair as long as we can be cutesy."

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 "OK" on the flat screen TVs, though no one in the place appeared to be watching them.
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.

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. (Pause while we all wretch).

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.

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.
I hate myself for getting in a predicament not getting to my real tonsorial parlor--(but the fish were biting last weekend).

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.

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 ( bear with me I need a cleansing breath) he placed the kid IN HIS LAP while the kid got cutesyfied.

So help me, and with The Lord as my witness, my skin crawled.

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.

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.

We are going to hell in a cutesy handbag.

The Best "Pottamus Says" Ever!

(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.....


Dad: Chris, these clothes need to be put up in your drawers like I showed you..

Chris: But I can't do it without you!

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..

Chris: I have no idea how that makes any sense-- I'M only six years old!...

(Dad walks away trying not to injure himself laughing)

Ovaltine. Now more than ever.

Dear Hershey's;
Bottom line: Hershey's is America!  I love it and always will, just like my country and my wife and kids.

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.
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.
All that to say this: Ovaltine is kicking your butt.
With all due respect to Mr. H--I am,
Sincerely yours,
George Fisher

GRANDMA IS A SISSY!

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.

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?

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.
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.
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.