Just Flip the Dog

Sunday’s Column – A Win Is A Win

winjaw — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 23:52:03 +0000

There are certain rules that should apply when one’s significant other is away for more than, say, five days.

Namely, if the house still stands, the animals still breathe and the offspring still have all bones intact, we consider that a success. In the past, the Little Black Dress has not been quite as pleased with my view of success. Things such as the exact number of baths, if any, cleaning of rooms, and changing clothes more than once come to mind.

We will let the number of pizza nights and actual bedtimes followed pass.

But this trip was different. The Dress was just glad to be home. And it helped that we actually did eat real food and actually vacuumed and changed clothes probably helped our case. And she had clean sheets. Even I can only handle so many days of constant SONs of Thunder and assorted animals wrestling and sleeping in my bed before I go “this is gross.”

But I think the real reason we got a pass was because the LBD had quite a wonderful time serving as the chaplain for the Miss Oklahoma pageant. There was even a story about her, complete with photo, on the Religion front page of The Tulsa World. She was satisfied with the story, probably because she liked the photo. Lord help the photographer if that didn’t turn out. And so now we have a new media star in the family.

And as important is the fact she made it home with all her suitcases. Ah yes, the suitcases.

The Dress, as dear readers know, has a certain style. Hence, suitcases as suitcases simply will not do. No, the LBD’s traveling gear consists of a large zebra-print suitcase, with accompanying roller bag. Due to the vast number of outfit changes, and shoes of course, required for the week-long pageant, additional carrying bags are required. And the only thing that would suffice was my oversized case one normally uses to ship golf bags and clubs.

Let us picture this for a moment. The LBD is dressed to the nines with the appropriate traveling accessories, plus a very large golf bag carrier, and arrives at the Atlanta airport. At least the golf bag was black. To her credit, she has weighed each bag down to the gram and each fall under the dreaded 50-pound limit. This is important because otherwise they charge you an extra $90.

As an aside, remember when you could check three or four bags for free? Now, your first bag is free IF you use said airline’s credit card. Somehow they have us thinking they are doing us a favor.

Anyway, all goes well throughout the week and The Dress packs up and heads to the Tulsa airport. Unfortunately, it appears The Dress has picked up a “few things” in Tulsa. And if you said shoes, step up and claim your prize. So here she is at the airport with a very large zebra-striped bag, the accompanying zebra-print roller bag, the large black golf bag carrier and her purse.

And the large zebra-print bag weighs in at 58 pounds. Now the very nice ticket agent tries to help The Dress figure how to rearrange everything so she doesn’t hit the weight limit. This means The Dress opens up her bags in front of the entire ticket line and starts removing items while the suitcase sits on the scale. She discovered that one pair of shoes alone weighed two pounds.

Another agent comes from the bag, surveys the scene and starts to laugh. He even starts taking pictures with his camera phone. Do not give him too hard a time, because other passengers in line, in between taking their own photos and laughing, are trying to help The Dress out as well.

Eventually, if I have this right, the big zebra-print gets to 50 pounds. However, this involved using yet another “shopping” bag to put in various new shoes and of course a new purse. So now we have all the aforementioned items plus another large shopping bag. She somehow actually gets through security. However, at the gate they tell her the zebra rolling bag will have to be checked at the gate. So she pulls all her jewelry and other items out of that bag, puts the shoes in the rolling bag and yes, this is all done in front of everyone waiting to board.

Fast forward to the Atlanta airport. And let us recap to make sure we have everything at baggage claim, namely, a large zebra-print bag, an even larger golf bag carrier, a zebra rolling bag, another shopping bag and the oversized purse. The question remains, how to get said safari gear to the curbside.

Being The Dress, she is not without help for long. Stewart and Tyler, who worked in the baggage area, soon came to her rescue and got her “items” to the curb. And so we have several people from different states to thank for getting The Dress and The Shoes home safe.

And for those dying to know whether I did in fact pick out the right faucets as I wrote about last week in the column on the DIY project from hell, The Dress did indeed smile, thank you very much. A big risk on that one, but a win is a win.

Boy, Scouts Have Created A Mess They Can’t Turn Back From

winjaw — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 18:21:21 +0000

Here’s Friday’s editorial I wrote for The Newnan Times-Herald regarding the whole BSA and gay scouts issue:

The Boy Scouts of America’s recent decision to allow “openly” gay Scouts into the program is a perfect example of trying to appease everyone and solving nothing.

Those of the more “politically correct” persuasion hail it as a victory of progressive thinking, yet don’t think the policy change went far enough. Those of the more “conservative” agenda see it as a disaster, and many plan to leave the more than 100-year-old organization.

“Fine,” say the “enlightened.”

“What about the whole ‘duty to God’ principle,” ask the “conservative” side.

What have we solved? Nothing. What have we created? A mess.

Recently, the BSA voted to allow openly gay Scouts into the program. They kept the ban, however, on openly gay adult leaders. And the ban, or at least denial, of those who don’t believe in some form of “higher being” still exists as well.

Let’s see how this plays out in reality. A gay Scout can complete all the requirements, model himself on the Scout Oath and Scout Law and obtain the rank of Eagle Scout. Such an achievement is rare – only about 5 percent reach that level.

Now once that gay Scout turns 18, he is out forever. He may not be an adult leader. Those who favor the recent BSA policy change say this ban also should be overturned. It makes no sense that a gay boy can go camp in the woods with other boys but is forbidden once he reaches a certain age. Those who opposed the ban change in the first place are adamant their boy will never go backpacking with a gay adult.

What we are all waiting for is the first “episode,” which will be covered by the national media ad nauseam. Namely, when the first gay Scout makes a move on another Scout during some outing. And to be fair, or when the first gay Scout gets beaten up for being gay. It will happen. It will be unfortunate. And each side will pull the old “I told you so.”

The BSA is a private organization and it has the right to make its own rules for membership. And that was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court’s 2000 decision in Boy Scouts of America v. Dale, which ruled exactly that.

Private organizations have the right to determine what their organization represents and what are the requirements for joining. Changing those rules in an effort to be all inclusive is impossible. No organization on the planet can be the be all and end all for everyone.

For example, the BSA requires the belief in a Supreme Being, which obviously varies. The organization admits Protestants, Muslims, Hindus, Catholics, Mormons and a host of other religious faiths. Yet atheists can be, and have been, banned.

So now you can be in scouting and be gay, but only until you are 18, when you can’t. And you have to believe in some higher being – whatever that is – or you’re out. And we haven’t even addressed the whole issue when the first transgender person tries to get in. As we said, it’s just a bigger mess than ever.

There is no national mandate that all boys must join the Boy Scouts. If you want to join, there are certain rules. If you don’t like them, don’t join. In an effort to appease all, the BSA has alienated more and opened itself up to even more watering down of its standards in the future.

Wise Words No. 91 (Significance)

winjaw — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 20:39:54 +0000

Keep it simple … but make it significant

Sunday’s Column – Nothing Quick About Home Projects

winjaw — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 02:46:44 +0000

Yeah, like you’ve never been there

There’s something to be said for those “quickie” do-it-yourself home projects.

Namely, there is nothing quick about them. They will cost more than just hiring a professional despite an hourly fee similar to corporate attorneys. That cost includes new tools, time and aggravation.

I digress.

I am embarrassed to say the Little Black Dress has been without hot water in her master bathroom sink for some time. It was always one of those things I was going to get around to. But since we had two sinks, she would just use mine. And then the hot water handle on my side broke as well. So something obviously had to be done. The Dress is off in Oklahoma serving as Chaplain for the Miss Oklahoma pageant, so why don’t we surprise her and get those pesky handles replaced in a jiffy.

Yeah.

I enlist the help of Eldest SON of Thunder. The plan is to hit the BIG DIY STORE and just replace the handles. Naturally, those handles haven’t been made in eons. And the “universal” handles that fit anything apparently only fit handles made in this universe. This becomes important later because it becomes obvious our bathroom fixtures were made by Klingons.

So we decide we will just get all new bathroom sink fixtures. As an aside gentlemen, this is a very, very dangerous idea. There is something about chrome verses bronze verses rubbed bronze verses black and so forth. And I haven’t even decided on the actual style. So I do what any self-respecting father would, ask Eldest what he thinks. This way I can always blame the decision on the offspring.

The set the SON picks out says it takes about 5-7 minutes to install. We will soon learn this refers to the aforementioned Klingon time, which uses Earth minutes as hours. We also learn it says nothing about “uninstall time.”

Anyway. We head back and start dismantling. And hit the first of many snags. One would think you would just undo a line here, a bolt there and everything would just fall down. That would be expected. That would be a no in our case. Because for the life of us we can’t unscrew the top part of the handles or faucets. So we get under the sink to find some bolt or screw that will undo everything and are met with some medieval torture device.

We see two large cooper pipes — the hot and cold — going up through the sink counter to where the handles used to be. Unfortunately, there is a large copper bar joining the two copper pipes. And there are no bolts, no screws, no nothing. It’s like the sink counter was built around the fixtures. We go so far as to remove the entire sink counter with the remaining fixtures from hell and lay it on the ground. Still can’t figure it out.

So I do what any self-respecting father would do who is not ready to teach his son words he does not need to know at his tender age. I go to bed. Yes, it’s been that long. I wake up for battle the next morning and again hit the BIG DIY STORE and pick up the biggest vise grips, channel locks and other assortments of weapons and return. And we’re pulling and yanking and banging and… nothing.

So I swallow my pride, take pictures and head back to the BIG DIY STORE.

The lady in the plumbing section is very nice. I show her the photos and she just stares and says something like “oh my.” It’s sort of like when the dentist goes “oops.” So she calls over the plumbing expert and I once again show the photos. And he’s like, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” That is never a good sign.

He finally says, “you got a Sawzall?” I do, thank God, or else this project would end up costing about as much as replacing my roof.

So we head back once again and fortunately, the Sawzall does what it’s supposed to do. Namely, cut through a total of four pipes and one screw and the Klingon plumbing fixture is freed from the bathroom sink.

So I start to go through the instructions to put together the new 5-7 minute time-limit new fixtures. Eldest glances at all the parts and says, “this is easy. I’ve got it.” Kid, don’t embarrass your dad.

We start putting everything together and then hit what we refer to as a roadblock. Basically, the sink counter has three holes — one for hot water, the faucet and one for cold. Pretty common. The uncommon part is the three holes are too close together for the new hot and cold water fixture and faucet to lay flat. Not going to work. I hate Klingon plumbers.

Those Dremel hand-held power devices are the greatest thing since sliced bread. But man can they throw some sparks because I just know I’m going to lose a finger trying to make holes wider so the stupid bases will fit. My digits remain intact. Success.

The SON is down below hooking up all the pipes and hoses and constantly complaining about how being upside down on his back on a shelf is killing him. And I’m like, “cry me a river. I want to be done before dinner.”

And the key thing we’re working on is to make sure we put the handles in the right spot because the last thing we want is to have them backwards. By that I mean the handles would be in the off position when they should be in the on position. So we tighten everything up and Eldest hits turns the water back on.

We installed the handles backwards.

Fast forward, as this column is already too long. Eldest goes back under and switches the handles. And yes, I promised to fund his doctoral studies. My side took about 1/100 as long, as we sort of knew what we were doing by this time.

The Dress will be home tomorrow. I pray the only words out of her mouth upon seeing her new fixtures is “It’s perfect.” Otherwise, I may be using that Sawzall on myself.

Sunday’s Column – Okay, It’s Better Than Ethiopian

winjaw — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 11:53:46 +0000

Time for something a little different.

The past three-day weekend gave me a chance to try out a few dishes. First was the necessity of getting another smoker. I say another because, well, I’ve been through a few.

So I rocked in a couple of Boston Butts and some pork loins. Dry rub only, thank you very much. And unlike most, I usually use mesquite wood chips for my smoke. I guess it’s the Oklahoma roots in me.

Another night it was lamb curry. We are still playing with that one simply because we keep trying different curry seasonings. You’d think curry was curry. But curry is like tomatoes, there are so many different varieties after a while you just say, “I want a red one.”

Anyway, that got me looking back over some favorite recipes. Which in turn just made me dang hungry. For those who follow this column, you know that the Little Black Dress and I believe the kitchen is the heart of the home. It’s where we create with the SONs of Thunder. Where we dance. We cook.

Over the years we’ve tried out various recipes on friends. Because of their willingness to serve as food tasters, we always name the dish after them. And in our latest book, The Little Black Dress and the SONs of Thunder – Recipes on Life and Food, we also include the story of how we came up with the dish, followed by the actual recipe.

So here’s “The Warren’s ‘Okay This Is Better Than Ethiopian Food’ Rosemary and Crab Chicken.”

Kelly Warren has been one of the Little Black Dress’s dearest friends for ages. In fact, they met in the woods, but that’s another story. The LBD and I went to see Kelly get hitched to Jeff in New York, and it was at that time Kelly gave me “suggestions” on what type of wedding ring The Dress would like. Amazing how women stick together.

Anyway, Jeff and Kelly came down to our wedding and we all planned for them to come down after we got settled. Well, they finally made it and wanted to go have Ethiopian food. For some reason, I don’t see the connection between “food” and “Ethiopia” so I convinced The Dress to convince Kelly and Jeff to come to our house for dinner instead.

Now, knowing I had to beat these New Yorkers’ ideas of “great Ethiopian food,” I spent about six hours digging through every cookbook I have. With a hint from that book and an idea from another and so on, this is what we came up with. It must have worked, nothing was left.

Rosemary and Crab Chicken

4 chicken breasts, boneless, skinless and pounded to ¼-inch thickness

———

2 eggs

———

1 cup bread crumbs

———

½ cup of rosemary leaves

———

1 small can of crab, get it fresh if you can

———

1 tomato, diced

Pound the chicken breasts between some saran wrap and a meat tenderizer or some such thing until they are one-quarter inch thick. Pound from the inside and work your way out by pushing it.

Mix the eggs up in a bowl. Dredge the chicken in the eggs then let the excess drip off. Put the bread crumbs in a dinner plate. Sprinkle the chicken with the rosemary leaves and then place them one at a time in the bread crumbs. You want to completely cover the chicken with the crumbs.

Do that with each one and set aside. Get a large skillet and put a teaspoon or so of vegetable oil in and turn on to medium high heat. Put each of the breasts in and cook about 4 minutes on each side. Don’t let them dry out, if that happens, add a little more vegetable oil.

After they are done, put each one on a dinner plate, or whatever you are serving on. Take the crab and put some on top of each breast. (You can heat the crab up in a little butter beforehand if you want). Follow that with the diced tomatoes.

Hope you enjoy.

Wise Words No. 90 (Dying For Something)

winjaw — Wed, 29 May 2013 17:50:05 +0000

If you don’t have anything in your life worth dying for, then you have nothing worth living for.

Sunday’s Column – Thinking of Beau

winjaw — Mon, 27 May 2013 18:28:57 +0000

At last count, we have three dogs, two cats, two gerbils and a ball python at our abode. I did not get to “pick” any of them.

I don’t have my own pet. My last one died many, many years ago. I don’t know why I’ve been thinking of him this week, but I have. Anyway, here’s an old column I wrote about him decades ago:

I named him Beaumont, although I often called him Beau — but never Bo.

He was a total surprise when he suddenly showed up at my door. I could easily hold him in my hand. He seemed to weigh nothing at all.

It was my junior year in college, and suddenly I had a major responsibility before me. He was of mixed race. Yet over the years I learned that made him unique.

The timing could not have been worse — I had a major Russian history exam the next morning. I called my professor at home and simply said, “my girlfriend just gave me a dog.”

His reply, to his credit, was “so when do you want to reschedule your exam?”

Yep, I was now the proud owner of a German Shepherd-Border Collie mix. That first night was memorable. I always wanted a dog that would sleep at the foot of the bed so I put little Beau there. I awoke in the middle of the night with him straddling me and peeing all over me.

He never slept in my bed again.

But I loved him fiercely. He went to classes with me, we walked miles in the woods together. He bit me once because I wouldn’t stop on one particular trail. He finally ran a few yards ahead of me, jumped a log and attacked something. When I got there I found a big snake he had just killed. He proudly carried that scar on his nose from that day forward.

We traveled the country together: Virginia, Oklahoma, Georgia, Washington, D.C., and Alaska. He never ran, he hopped. And he loved to chase rats, even when there weren’t any. “Go get the rat, Beau,” the LOBD or I would say, and laugh as he hopped around looking for them.

We aged together. A few years ago, the Little Black Dress, who was the daughter of a veterinarian, brought up the absurd idea of getting him “fixed.” I took it personally. I mean this was my dog. In the end, she convinced me solely because her dad told me he would live longer.

Of course, I was told he would never raise his leg again — ha, till the end he continued to do just that. My dog was still a stud.

The Alaska winters became harder and harder for him. And once again The Dress stepped in to deal with the issues I simply couldn’t. She constantly reminds me that one girlfriend gave me the dog, another commissioned a huge painting of him — which takes a prominent space in every house we live in and is the first thing unpacked and put up — while she is the one who took care of him.

When it got to the point where he couldn’t walk up the stairs, I knew it was time. So I decided a Viking funeral would be the only way. I’d put him on a little raft, set him adrift on our favorite fly fishing stream, light it on fire and watch the tide take him out.

Once again The Dress, after talking with her dad, stepped in. She gently informed me it probably would not be as romantic and heroic as I thought. And so she made the arrangements.

Friends came over loaded down with wine. Beau, my then one-year-old, first-born Son of Thunder and I went for a final romp. The vet came over to our house. I put him down on his favorite blanket and played his favorite song — “Too Many Rivers To Cross” by the reggae band UB40.

I held him in my arms while the vet injected him first with a muscle relaxant. When the song reached the perfect spot, I nodded, the vet gave him another injection. Beau looked at me, I believe with a knowing but understanding look, and then he died.

He was my best friend. I’ve kept his collar and still carry a picture of him in my wallet. I’m fortunate in having other best friends now — The Dress especially and my two Sons of Thunder. They have filled a huge gap. I’m lucky.

One day I’ll get another dog, although it might be a while. I still miss Beau; plus The Dress said there was no way she was going to potty train three babies at once.

Wise Words No. 89 (Being Afraid)

winjaw — Wed, 22 May 2013 17:59:05 +0000

“Bran thought about it. ‘Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?’
‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ his father told him.”

- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Triumph and Tragedy – An Editorial

winjaw — Mon, 20 May 2013 21:24:54 +0000

May 18, 2013 was one of the most triumph days for girls sports in our community. It was also one of the most tragic for sports in general. Following is the editorial i wrote about that day:

How do we explain Saturday?

It will be a day Coweta County long remembers, one of celebration and mourning.

A day of great triumph for girls’ high school sports. A day of great tragedy for high school sports in general.

The Northgate Lady Vikings soccer team won the state championship. Tyler Henson, a junior at The Heritage School and All-State team football player, died in a single-car accident, hours beforehand.

At times the English language fails. Bittersweet seems grossly inadequate in describing the incredible highs and lows of that day – May 18, 2013. And it is brutally hard to try and offer the appropriate accolades and condolences that will forever mark that day.

While the Lady Vikings were warming up for the biggest game of their lives, rescuers were pulling 17-year-old Tyler’s body from his crushed car.

To quote the opening sentence in M. Scott Peck’s internationally acclaimed book, The Road Less Traveled, ‘Life is hard.’ It is also, at times like these, unfair.

We have a state championship. We have lost a very talented multi-sport athlete.

To the Lady Vikings, we offer heartfelt congratulations, with lots of exclamation points. We are reminded of what Hannah Murray, cocaptain of the Vikings, wrote her teammates prior to their defeating McIntosh earlier this week to make it to Saturday’s game: ‘It’s your time, it’s my time, it’s our time.’ Ladies – it is indeed your time. We salute you.

To the family and friends of Tyler: On behalf of the owners and staff of The Newnan Times-Herald, we can only offer our tears, sorrow and prayers. May you be surrounded in God’s love in this time of grief.

‘For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ Romans 8:38

Sunday’s Column – We Can’t Please Everyone

winjaw — Sun, 19 May 2013 23:49:42 +0000

I recently had quite a pleasant email exchange with a spry and delightful young 81-year-old.

At first, she was not happy and let me and former reporter and columnist Alex McRae know it.

As Miss “J” said to Alex, with a copy to me, “I heard from a reliable source that you will no longer have regular columns in the Times-Herald, just “guest columns.” Consequently, when my subscription expires May 16, 2013, I will not now or ever be a subscriber again. The only reason I EVER subscribed was because I loved and looked forward to your column most every day. When it began to appear just on Sunday, I was more than a little disappointed. Now, if what I hear is true, I have had it with this rag.”

The start of a beautiful relationship. And so I had to respond. And here it is in part:

“I have worked with Alex since I have been here and consider him a great reporter and even better columnist.

“Alex has decided to retire. He will be missed. But he’s an old fart who constantly complains about his creaking knees and having to walk up the stairs. And when it was suggested he use the elevator, he starts ranting about how many people die in two-story elevator accidents and the thing is too slow anyway and somehow Obama is involved.

“I will miss giving him the myriad of prescriptions he has to take every day and constantly forgets. We do get worried at times when he starts talking to the newspaper or wanders off. He does not know, but we put a monitoring bracelet on him. He thinks it’s a new watch.

“Alex will continue to write his Sunday column, which he has done since I’ve been here and I understand started about the time Moses got the Ten Commandments.

“I’m glad you enjoy the rag. It is very good for windows. You can also wrap fish, roll it up and train your dog, cover you bird cage or use it to protect your floors when you paint. If you have no pets and hate to paint, you can also make a cool hat.

“Things are changing. Give us a chance.”

Things went better after that.

And speaking of things, things are changing here at your newspaper.

Starting Wednesday, we will launch a redesign of the newspaper. Don’t panic. Change, especially in this case, is good.

The staff has worked long and hard to create a new look that is more eye-catching and easier to read. Consider it a fresh coat of paint.

We are making other changes as well based on the recent reader survey that more than 450 participated in. We don’t pretend to have all the answers or know what you, our readers, want. And that’s why we did the survey. We can guess or we can rely on you.

And no, not everyone is going to like everything we do. We are going to get rid of the stock page. The vast majority of readers said they don’t even look at it. The same goes for the TV guide, although that will be down the road. Again, a huge majority said they have never looked at it, and with the online TV guides available now, we can’t even offer everything anyway. Instead, we will be offering a prime time lineup for all the days of the week. That change will occur in a few weeks.

We are going to focus more attention on local entertainment and feature stories on businesses and local residents — far and away what most readers want more of. And we are going to continue to tweak and pinch and ponder and rework the newspaper as we move forward. Change is an ever changing thing, and we will continue to work as hard as possible to provide you with the best newspaper we can.

As to Miss J, turns out she likes my columns too. So she’s promised to continue getting the Sunday paper at least to read Alex’s and my columns. Although she wants a bigger type size.

So do I. But bigger type size means less news, sports and features. Like I said, we can’t please everyone on every thing.