Not Quite What I Remember

So let me start with a confession.  

I am just a big kid.  

When I was a kid, my favorite cereal in the world was Franken Berry.  (For those unaware, it is a strawberry flavored cereal with marshmallows).  It was sad that it only came out during the Halloween season.  

For the past several years, I have seen it in stores during October, and often thought about buying some to revive old taste buds.  

This year, I finally broke.  I bought some to have for dessert at night.  And the other night, I excitedly got a bowl, and sat down to enjoy my special treat.  

It was not quite what I remember.  In fact, it was nothing like I remember.  Well, okay...it was still strawberry flavor.  

The marshmallows were okay.  But the cereal itself was something on the South end of disappointing.  I suppose it was better than dog food might be (although, when I was a kid, I kind of liked a product called "Doggy Donuts).  But I digress.  

I found myself just working to finish the bowl.  

How sad.  

Something I remember as being so wonderful just wasn't all that good.  Was it that I had lower standards back then?  Did they change the formula over the years?  Or have foods become so much sweeter through the years that what was sweet back then is like cardboard now?

I hear people talking about how awesome it was when they were in high school.  Bruce Springsteen sings about "Glory Days".  I think about what it would be like to go back, knowing what I know now. Yes, there are things I would change.  I'm over 50 now, but I wouldn't go back to my teenage years for anything.  

How much time is lost, longing for what was?  How can we enjoy life if we are too busy missing what we no longer have?  

When I was a kid, I didn't have a truck payment.  I lived at home, rent free.  I didn't have electric bills, or water bills.  I didn't have to go to work every single day.  I got to sleep in on the weekends until noon if I wanted to.  Friday and Saturday nights were spent at the arcade, and riding go karts, and whatever else we felt like doing.  

Now, I get up at 4 to 6 AM, and work ten to twelve hours a day.  Friday and Saturday nights are spent at home, looking through work for the next day.  Maybe taking the evening off, and watching TV.  I can't not work because I have a huge house payment, a truck payment, electric bills, water bills, insurance bills, cable bills, etc.  I have a wife, a mother-in-law, and three dogs living in the house.  There is seldom time to just sit and do nothing.

But in the last few years, God has shown me how to be thankful for things I always saw as negatives.

I'm thankful for a huge house payment because that means I have a nice home to come home to every evening.  Some people live in a cardboard box (or worse).

I'm thankful for a huge electric bill because it means I have heat and AC, and lights.  Some people freeze in winter, and swelter in summer because they don't have electricity.

I'm thankful to "have to" get up early every morning because it means I have a job to go to.  I have spent months looking through ads, trying to make ends meet on unemployment.  And I have the physical ability to go to work every day.  How many people are suffering from a disease, and would love nothing more than to be able to work?

I choose to be thankful for what I have now.  And I choose to not wish I could have what I thought was so good.

Wherever you are, and whatever is going on in your life now, choose to be thankful.  Thankful for what you have.  (If you are reading this, you have internet and access to a computer).  And you have eyes that can see, a brain that can comprehend, and the ability to read.  

It could be so much worse.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with an almost full box of Franken Berry.

Why I Carry ALL The Time

My wife was teasing me one day a couple of years ago when I was in the kitchen with my gun on my hip.

"Do you really think you need that in here?" she asked. 

Yes.  Yes I do.

Obviously, I hope to be safer inside my own home than out somewhere at a restaurant.  But I read the news.  And I am on the internet enough to see what kind of world we are living in now.

I explained to her that if I am in the kitchen, and someone kicks in the door, my gun is on the other side of the house.  I may as well not even have one.  I have friends who say if that happened to them, they would remain calm and reason with the person.

If someone is willing to kick you door in when they know you are home, there is no reasoning to be had.  They are willing to commit a felony (they are likely armed, and that is not only breaking and entering, but armed robbery).  They are willing to do bodily harm to you.  And there are countless cases of people trying to reason with the intruder, and still winding up dead.  

The story below is of two women who were killed by men running from the police.  They were "safe" inside their homes.

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Two Florida residents, a mother and daughter, were brutally murdered inside their home during a chance encounter with four armed and wanted men after they wound up at the home during a crime spree and police chase.

These men were on the run after robbing a pawn shop, and became trapped inside the residential development they happened upon during the chase. Abandoning their vehicle, they burst inside the home of 51-year-old Deborah Royal, and her mother 72-year-old Patricia Moran.

As police were setting up a perimeter around the home they believed the men went into, a vehicle came right through the garage door. Police fired at the vehicle before it quickly crashed.

Before the men tried to get away by ramming the garage door, they brutally murdered the two women inside their home. The women were simply inside their own home, and had no warning as to what was about to happen.

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Having a gun, and NOT having it on you is no help.  The link below is of a video where a man and two friends are killed in a home invasion at 7:30 AM.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaBMV2BfwBc

You can watch the video from an MSNBC news story.  I WARN YOU -- it is graphic.  

The homeowner had suffered break in burglaries, and had installed hidden cameras inside his home.  

While he visits with his friends, a man comes to the back door, pointing a gun at him.  Once inside, he hits the homeowner with the gun, and beats him while he is on the ground.  The women are tied up while the thugs rummage through the home.  

The homeowner owned a gun.  But it was in the bedroom.  He owned a CHL, and didn't feel a need to carry at home.  

With the homeowner's own gun from the bedroom, one of the intruders shoots all three victims in the head.  (He missed one of the women, but they are all three shot again by the first gunman).   

These things happen.  If you own a gun, please keep it on you, even at home.  There are bad people everywhere.  

Don't be another victim.

Break-In

This was what I came home to on Tuesday afternoon.

Letting the dogs out through the bedroom door, I saw someone had

renovated one side of our French Doors leading to the dining room.

I found a rock in the dog bed in the far end of the living room, thirty

feet away.

So they had entered my backyard through my gate, which now has a
lock, and thrown a baseball-sized rock through the door, intending to

get inside.

Thankfully, our dogs kept them from actually entering the house. But
as I was standing outside, I wasn’t aware of that fact. As far as I knew,
they were still inside. So I had to go back inside to make sure it was safe.
Also, thankfully, my wife was having dinner with friends, and my
daughter was not home from work yet. I hate to think what would have
happened if they had come home and found a burglary in progress.

As I walked through the house, (armed), I was preparing myself for a
potential encounter. Would there be more than one? Would they have
knives, or guns? If they managed to catch me coming around a corner,
and went for my gun, would I be able to keep control, and/or fight one
or two possibly armed assailants?
 

These are the thoughts going through my head as I walked through the house.

After my adrenaline settled, and I realized they hadn't actually made it inside,
I began to calm down. That's when the anger set in.

I'm sure it was some young kid who needed a little money for his habit, or
whatever. To that unfortunate, misguided soul, I just want to say:

"Keep your lazy, punk butt off my property and go get a job."
 

I'm afraid if they had been in the house when I came in, my instinct would
have been to shoot, and then ask who they were, and what they were doing in
my home.

I was talking to a neighbor, asking if he had seen anything, since he is frequently
home during the day. He hadn't, but as we were talking, a deputy Sheriff who
lives a few houses down was driving by. I waved him down, and he got out and
took a look at the damage.

"Call NRHPD," he said. "They have a crime scene, and can help you out."

Excellent. So I call NRH, and explained what happened.

"Do you need an officer to come out, or do you just want to file a phone report?"

"I'd like an officer to come out in case 'someone' is walking around," I said.

I wanted them to know I was taking this seriously.

"Well, we have some major incidents going on, so it will be awhile, but we'll
send an officer by when we can."

"No problem," I said.

I wondered what kind of major incidents North Richland Hills would have on
a Tuesday evening. An hour and a half later, they called back, and took a phone
report. Looking on the website today, I don't see anything about my report, or the
house on the street behind us, that was apparently entered. I'm not sure what they
had stolen, but it doesn't show up on the NRH website.

I thank God for Police and Fire personnel. They are all heroes to me. But when I
\see NRH Police, able to radar to catch speeders every single afternoon; and
consistently see people pulled over all over our area, it's hard for me to understand
why they couldn't spare one officer fifteen minutes to come make a citizen feel like
we actually matter. Maybe they were really busy that evening.

At any rate, I've taken the day off to get my back door replaced. I've also put a lock

on my gate. I'm working on getting my wife her CHL. I will also show her how to
use the guns I have until we get one for her.

On a side note, this all cause me to get back in touch with a friend from years past.
He does construction work on homes, and has been a wonderful help any time I've
needed work done. He showed up this morning, and in two hours, had my old double
French doors removed, and the new on put in. He does excellent work, and is priced
better than anyone else I've found.

It's good to have friends.

After the initial anger subsided, I was truly thankful. Yes, it costs some money
to repair the damage. But no one was hurt, including my dogs. Nothing was
taken (from us). And when I think of my wife walking in on someone, I'm very
thankful it was only a broken door.

Thank you God. Once again, your mercy and grace surround us.

RC Cola and Memories

I used to tell people I was born fifty years later than I should have been.

I miss the days when we would play outside without worrying about locking our doors.

I miss the days when a grown man could hug a child without worrying that people were thinking he was some kind of pervert.

I miss the days when being a bad kid at school meant you talked in class, chewed gum, or (heaven-forbid) copied off another student.

Lately, I have realized that I am so very thankful to be living in the time we are living. So many wonderful things that make me thankful.

Air-conditioning. Medication. And diet sodas that don't taste diet.

I love the Diet Dr. Pepper ads. "Tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper."

Than what? A fistful of dirt? Perhaps.

The newest rage, started by Dr. Pepper is the "10" movement. As I write this, I'm finishing off an RC Cola 10.

The last time I had an RC was probably as a teenager. I say that because as I drink it, memories flood my mind.

I can vividly remember sitting at the breakfast table of Nana and Daddad's home in Leisure World in Mesa Arizona, looking out the window at the Superstition Mountains in the distance.

It amazes me that I can smell something, or taste something, and so clearly remember something from more than thirty years ago. Then I have a hard time remembering where I set my keys ten minutes before.

There are so many wonderful memories from back then. Listening to Nana tell such incredible stories from their travels...sleeping in the second bedroom on the rollaway beds, reading the Snoopy books. I still remember the ones where Snoopy was imitating Lucy by rolling his ears into the shape of her hair, and mimicking her angry movements.

I remember the beautiful sound the little clock in the front hallway made when it chimed on the quarter hours, and the song it played every hour. I remember the pocket door on the hall bath. I had never seen one before that, and thought it was about the coolest thing ever.

I remember walking to the community center, and putting twenty-five cents in the gumball machine to get Kix cereal out to feed the Koi.

I remember the train set in the garage, and how cool his setup was. I remember the family houses he had lovingly constructed out of balsa wood.

Thinking of Nana and Daddad, I also have vivid memories of the house they had in El Paso, although the images come back in smaller pieces.

But I remember sitting in the little bar area eating cereal for breakfast, or cold cuts for lunch. I remember it was off the kitchen, which was separated from the rest of the house by folding accordion doors.

I remember the orange carpet in the front bedroom and the dark red tile in the kitchen and back den. I remember the rock wall in the backyard, and how cool it all looked to me. I remember playing with the white plastic thunderbird cars on the wooden footrests in the living room.

I remember the hazelnut coffee in the morning, and how wonderful it smelled. As an adult, I smelled that, and the memories came rushing back. It was only then that I learned it was hazelnut.

How can it be that so many vivid memories survived for so many years?

I believe it was because of the people that were my Nana and Daddad.

I only got to see them once a year or so. But it was my favorite place in the whole world.

It took growing older to realize people make the home, not the furnishings. And it makes me realize what wonderful people Nana and Daddad truly were.

I know that if I live to be a hundred, I will never stop missing them, and the beautiful memories they gave me.