A LittleTaste of What I'm Cooking.

I know my posts have been a little inferior lately. It is because I have been preoccupied.
Here is a very rough draft of chapter one.

Most people call me Butch. I don’t know why. I don’t know who started calling me Butch. My mother named me Shannon. I don’t care for that name. I’m not a girl. I don’t like that girly name. So Butch is fine.

I’m not like Butch on the li’l rascals. I’m not that tough. I used to think I was but I’m not. My daddy says a man has to know his limitations. Boy, is he right.

My daddy works a lot. He works for Norton Drilling Company. They sponsor my football and baseball teams. He has a company pickup. It is a 1979 Chevy Silverado. I still don’t understand how it can be a 1979 model since it is still 1978. I hate riding in the bed. He has to haul Wooly Booger grease in the bed. Man, is it nasty back there.

We live in a trailer house behind my Uncle David and Aunt Lilly. We all live close to the road. Grandpa William on the other hand lives in the middle of the farm in the old homestead house. People call him Dub. Our trailer is nice but it is next to the stables. Sometimes the horses get noisy at night. It could drive a man to drinking.

Daddy was out working on a rig for three weeks. I was in the kitchen eating some raisin bran. Aunt Lilly was coming up to make sure I was up and getting ready for school. Our back porches face each other. There is a gazebo with a barbecue pit in the middle of the yard. That gazebo is pretty tall but, Aunt Lilly’s head is easily seen across it. She is very tall. But she doesn’t seem to like that. Uncle David says she is five foot thirteen inches. She poked her head in the screen door.

“Butch honey, do you have clean clothes to wear?”

“Yes ma’am. But, I need to do some laundry tonight.”

“Honey, I’ll wash you clothes tonight. Right now I just want you ready for school.”

“Don’t you think I can do it myself?”

“I know you can baby. I’ll just watch to make sure you don’t mess up.”

She doesn’t think I can do anything on my own. She thinks I’m a little kid. She walked into the kitchen. “You look very nice today Butch. And your dressed and ready early. I’m so proud of you. Bless your heart.” She has been blessing my heart in every conversation we have had since Mama left. I’m not sure how much blessing a heart can take. Daddy says she loves me like her own and I just have to live with that.

I poured my milk into Trigger’s bowl. Trigger is the best cow dog on the farm. He may well be the best one in the county. He is a red heeler. One eye is brown. The other eye is blue on one side and green on the other. You should see him work. He is my dog but he works for my Uncle David and Grandpa William. Trigger has his own ramp onto our porch. It goes down under the trailer. I tell folks he lives downstairs.

I put on my working boots and went to the stables. Uncle David was already there. He pushed up his hat and spoke, “You’re running late. Give ‘em all some sweet feed then change shoes and get on to school.” I was giving each horse a scoop of sweet feed and saw Paul getting on the bus.

My cousin Paul is in seventh grade. He’s not just cool. He’s Fonzie cool. He is also pretty smart. I wish I could say the same for his little sisters.

Aunt Lilly and the girls were running behind as usual. They ran out to the car as if that was saving any real amount of time. The problem is that Misti and Christi are so prissy that it takes them forever to get ready. They are the prissiest girls in the third grade. They may well be the prissiest girls in town. I don’t know how two farm girls can get that way but, they are.

That Oldsmobile can sure kick up some dust. One long caliche cloud followed us to the highway. Then we started making real time. I know for certain, one of these days Aunt Lilly is going to get a ticket. Driving like this is why Uncle David and Daddy call her lead foot Lilly.

It never fails. No matter how late we leave, we get to school on time. The girls go to meet their class at the back of the gym. I sit with my class at the front. Aunt Lilly goes directly to her classroom. She doesn’t stop to talk with the other teachers. She says most of them are a bunch of gossips. I believe her.

I’m sick of school these days. I’m sick of the teachers looking at me and whispering. I’m sick of them constantly asking if I’m ok. The worst one is my teacher, Mrs. Abernathy. She is always hugging and kissing on me. She is always telling me things will be ok even when nothing is wrong.

Mrs. Abernathy is the opposite of my aunt. Lilly has long blonde hair and Mrs. Abernathy has short black hair. Lilly wears dresses but my teacher wears pant suits. Lilly barely wears make up. She says she likes the little freckles on her nose. My teacher cakes on bunches of make up to cover up her freckles. The weird thing is how much they like each other. They have been best friends since kindergarten. They sit together in church. They eat lunch together too. Mrs. Abernathy’s name is Dorothy. They call each other Dot and Slats.

It is kind of funny. How so many people have nicknames. I’m Butch. Grandpa is Dub. And my aunt and teacher are Dot and Slats. There is a kid in my class with a nickname too.

His name is Ysidro. We all call him Punch. That is his nickname because that is what he likes to do. Man, he loves to fight.

Punch was in my class but his older brother Jaime was in fifth grade. Jaime was thirteen. He flunked twice. Punch always knew that Jaime would beat up anybody that beat him in a fight. So Punch thought he could say or do anything he wanted.

Daddy tells me that nobody can push people around too long. He says there is always somebody meaner than the meanest man you know. He told me this to explain some songs. Daddy and Uncle David like Jim Croce music. We sit on the porch sing and play sometimes when Daddy is home. Daddy and Uncle David play their guitars. They like Jim Croce music. Their favorites are Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Don’t Mess around with Jim.

So I knew all along that somebody would give Punch a real whippin’ one day. I just had no idea who it would be.

At lunch time we get to go play as soon as we finish eating. Today we were playing soccer. We chose teams. While we were choosing I saw punch looking across at me. I knew he was going to cover me. He started calling us names. At first the names were innocent enough. Then he called me by name, “Butch, tu ma es ……” I didn’t let him finish. You can call me what you want but leave my mama out of it. I punched him in the nose while he was still talking. I watched him fight a hundred times. He always does the same thing first. He pushes both shoulders then punches to the face. As soon as he came to push me my father’s voice rang in my head. “Back Stance!” I turned sideways. Punch moved forward but didn’t have anywhere to push me. “Push and Shoot!” My front hand flew into his throat. I held on and moved forward to grab his knee. Punch fell with a thud. “Mount him!” I jumped on to him straddling his chest. I started punching. I could not believe I was winning. Then up I flew.

Coach Stuart had grabbed me from behind. He lifted me up with one hand and I hung limp like a ragdoll. He grabbed Punch with the other hand and carried us dangling from his hands. He put us on the stairs and said, “Go to the office!”

The walk down the hall was long. I looked at Punch. His mouth and nose were bleeding. I felt sort of guilty. I tried to say I was sorry but sorry didn’t come out. All that came out was, “Don’t talk about my Mama.”

The nurse came out into the hall and pulled Punch into her office. I just kept walking to the principal’s office. When I got there a first grader was sitting on the bench ahead of me. Some parents were in with the principal and they were arguing. I knew this would take a while. I decided to have a little fun with the kid.

I asked him, “What did you do?”
He answered, “I said the S word.”
“Oh. That may merit the electric paddle. It really hurts. I cried for three days straight when he used it on me.”

The door opened. Principal Watkins walked out with his arms around a couple I do not know. They smiled and said thank you. Then he turned to the little guy and said come with me. I didn’t hear a paddle but the door opened in no time. The little fella had peed his pants. Now I feel sorry for him. Nothing is more humiliating than peeing your pants at school. The nurse came in and traded Punch for the little fella. Punch had an icepack on his face. He went in first. It did not take long. Three smacking noises came from behind the door. I knew what was in store for me. The kid who starts the fight always gets five licks. Punch had already made up Mr. Watkins’ mind. Punch came out and returned to class.

“Butch, come in here.” I walked into the office. “Have a seat.” “Why did you beat up Punch?” I told him about what punch said. He paddled me five times and sent me into the little room next to his office. It has two desks. I knew I wasn’t going back to class.

Mrs. Abernathy brought my work down. I finished it pretty quick in that quiet little room. The day lasted forever. I knew I would get spanked again by Uncle David. I was not looking forward to it.

School let out. I was going to stay for an hour after. Aunt Lilly had work to do. If you get in trouble at school, you can’t go to football practice. So I walked out to the fence that divides the playground from the Middle School practice field. Paul and the other seventh graders looked good. I hope I can run like Paul when I am in seventh grade.

There was a hand on my shoulder. It was Jaime. He spun me around and started punching. I couldn’t even get my hands up. He just kept punching. Suddenly he was on top of me. He still kept punching. Then he stopped. I heard the click of his belt scabbard unsnapping. Then I heard the familiar click of a knife locking.

SMACK! Jaime fell off to one side. There was Paul in all his pads. He hit Jaime with his helmet. “Pick on somebody your own size.” Punch ran at Paul. One swift kick between the legs bent Punch in half.

The whole seventh grade team was standing around us. I could hear Coach Espinosa holler at them as he got there. “Ten laps for all of you except Paul and Troy.” Before the team started running, one of them exclaimed, “Butch whizzed his pants!” It was true. Coach Espinosa barked to Troy, “Go get Principal Watkins. Tell the secretary to call the police.” Troy ran to the office. I stood there pants wet and bleeding from my mouth. The coach wouldn’t let us go. I started checking my teeth with my tongue.

We were going nowhere for quite some time. I knew each time the team ran by they would see my wet britches. The only reason they weren’t saying it was because of Coach Espinosa. I was sure I would never live it down.

Mr. Watkins, Aunt Lilly, Coach Espinosa, Chief Dean and some woman I never met talked to us all and talked to each other. Punch and Jaime left with the woman.

Daddy drove up with a pair of pants for me. He sent me to the truck to change. “Butch, wait in the truck for me. We are going to have a little talk.” Daddy was talking to the chief. I changed my pants. I threw my wet ones in the bed. I sat in the truck, put my head in my hands and started to cry. When Daddy got to the pick up, he didn’t try to stop me. He started driving and talked as I cried. “I’ll have to go back to the location in the morning. You and Paul are playing hookie for a couple of days. You get it out. We have all night to talk.”

Daddy is always right. A man does have to know his limitations. I think I walked right over mine.

West Texas Blues

Once upon a time, there was a rowdy bar in Juarez called the Lobby. As you might imagine, the place was completely populated by Texans. One of them was swinging from the rafters while he played his Stratocaster. Let me introduce you to a real live West Texas Legend.

My first encounter with Long John Hunter was at the Ector county fair. My parents let me play hookie on the opening day of the fair so I could help set up the booth. It was early and I was the only kid around. I was ten years old and he was playing that evening. I walked up to a radio station booth. He was sitting in the shade under the awning with the strat in his lap and a smile on his face. He motioned for me to come over. “Boy, do you know your chords?” I nodded and said, “Some.” He smiled, put my hand on the neck and said, “Show me G.” I held the chord while he strummed and riffed down in the high frets.

Echo saw him first on my college campus. I remember the looks of amazement and joy on her face. Watching somebody discover live blues is a truly fantastic experience. Long John was fantastic that night. I took some wonderful photos. I’ll publish them once I have digitized them.

Buy Long John Hunter Music.

Choice Lyrics from Ride with Me.

I think I’ll ride on into Dallas
Just get my carburetor clean
Oh yes, I’ll ride on into Dallas
Just to get my carburetor clean
‘Cause you Fort Worth women
You dirty up my gasoline

I think I’ll ride on down to Houston
To Galveston the sea shore town
Oh yes, I’ll ride on down to Houston
To Galveston the sea shore town
Or maybe stay out here in West Texas
Where the BIG LEG women can be found

I wonder if he makes Fuente Cigars

I have a reader from the Dominican Republic. He never comments. I know little about him. This makes me wonder. Could this reader be a Master? Could he be a Conocedor or a Tabaquero? Could he be one of the people who put painstaking efforts into giving me a moment of pleasure that goes up in smoke?

If you do not smoke cigars, I must explain. A fine cigar is not truly a product. It is a masterpiece. It is a special creation. It is crafted with the same type of effort a great chef puts into a special meal. It takes years to prepare. It starts as one of the worlds tiniest seeds. The preparations seem endless. Every step is considered to be of utmost importance. Many masters give much time to making a moment of my life an amazing experience.

To learn about cigars, please look at this page by master cigar maker Carlos Fuente or watch this video.

Also, read this fantastic poetry on spiritualism and smoking by Ralph Erskine.

I don’t know who you are amigo. If you do make cigars, thank you. Thank you for making life more amazing.

Steve Sporre

Becoming who God wants you to be is never easy. It is harder for some than others. Some folks must overcome great obstacles. Some folks are faced with the impossible. Those are the folks that have to rely on God the most. When the Beasts are too mighty to slay, the warrior depends on help.

Facing one’s own sin is tough. Defeating it is tougher. But armed with faith a little boy can down a mighty giant. He doesn’t rely on his own power. He doesn’t have to.

I enjoy the Christian testimonies of folks who had to come from behind. Often these stories are rough. But, that makes them special.

Steve Sporre has been reading my blog since the third post. This is good because it turned me on to his blog early. He has recently recorded his testimony in the book Into the Mirror. This book is not yet published. It is available as a blog at http://stevesporre.blogspot.com.

I must warn you that this story is rough. It is often ugly. Steve uses the appropriate obscene language to describe his thoughts being an addict in treatment. If you can’t handle that language, then his story is not for you. If a few words that you would normally hear in the real world are not a deterrent, then I highly endorse reading Steve’s story before some editor ruins it prior to print.

Steve blesses the lives of all kinds of folks. He definitely blesses the lives of bloggers.

I’ll end this post the way he ends all of his.

God is good.

Carpe Diem

Over the past few months I frequently see that folks will take some time off from blogging. We have to take care of the things in our lives that are more important. I have also seen folks reevaluate their lives and blog about it. I was really disappointed when Stacy from Not a Desperate Housewife pretty much quit. But I totally understand why she did.

Blogging can take up a lot of time. I eat up copious portions of my own time just reading and commenting. It is easy to do. You folks are interesting. Comment threads can be a lot of fun. I really don’t invest a bunch of time in posting but commenting can kill a day fast.

I say all of this in the context wanting to make the most of my life. Today’s sermon got under my skin. It was over being productive with our lives. My days are spent. Completely spent. They are spent making money and spending it. They are spent taking care of the family. They are spent taking care of business. They are spent in front of this monitor too. I have to look at the time God gives me and evaluate my own performance. I have to judge how worthwhile my activities are.

I think I am a poor steward of my talents and my time. I am not happy with what I have accomplished. I don’t love what I do. I don’t think God does either. So, I have made some decisions. Today is a day of repentance. Today I have changed my mind.

I have decided to spend more time on what really matters and feel better at the end of each day. This will affect my Job, my days off and my blogging.

I am more determined now to work my way out of my job. I want to work toward two things. I will own a business and I will write children’s novels. If those two things are related, great. If they aren’t, great.


I will become involved in ministry. I am going to correspond with folks in other countries. Some need the Gospel. Some need encouragement and discipleship. Some need me.


I will change my blogging habits. Some folks are too longwinded. So I may just look at some post and say, “No.” I may give up on the legal blogs altogether except for STACLU. I only want to read the stuff that encourages me. I will become even more of a drive by commenter. I have sucked up too much space on comment threads for too long. Sorry Clew, this means I can’t be your comment stalker anymore.

So, excuse me. I have some planning to do. I've been playing by ear too long.

Jump to Your Own Conclusions

I work with a young lady named Roxxanne. Yes, she spells it like that. She is from a neighboring state that will remain unnamed to protect the competent. We had the following conversation last night.

Roxxanne: “BWH, you’re old.”

BWH: “Roxxanne, I’m 11 years older than you.”

Roxxanne: “Oh my……..You’re as old as my mom!”

Anticipation

Today we made a change in Tiger’s treatment. He is now being cared for by one of the countries top Psychiatrists. For the first time, Tiger’s doctor has a plan for medication that makes sense.

Not every doctor shares what they are doing with us. I think it is because so many doctors don’t really have a plan. This guy has a plan and is good at dealing with contingencies.

I am a little exited and a little anxious. I really feel like there will be some improvement. I’m glad to get this doctor on our team. Nothing like a seasoned veteran to ease the fear of the unknown.

Instabandit

Well I have to tell you about my day in court.

Glenn Reynolds showed up 15minutes late. The judge looked at me and said, “This man has been wearing that hat for 12 years and he has the receipt. I don’t know what you teach in tennesee, but here you have to buy a hat to own it.”

Reynolds left the court and drove quickly to Sonny Bryan’s Smokehouse. He ordered a pulled pork sandwich. They brought him a pound of brisket on a bun. He devoured several of these before realizing we would catch him eating real barbecue. He left quickly and stiffed the waiter.

Not wanting to leave Texas without a hat, Reynolds visited Western Warehouse. He pulled out a patch with an image of a lightening stricken oil derrick. He declared that it was a radio tower on the patch and told them to sew it onto a black Resistol. He donned the size 10 and adjourned to the dressing room with a pair of jeans.

That was the last we have seen of the infamous Instabandit. There were rumors of a man fitting this description driving a gremlin loaded with brisket down Interstate 30 toward Little Rock.

I must admit that I have enjoyed pulled pork sandwiches. But, a fella has to know what he is getting into. Every educated Texan knows pork is tennessean for Road Kill. That has been the code name for road kill since a group of Tennesseans came to Texas wearing porkskin hats. This was last time in recorded history that tennesseans did anything useful. Don’t get me wrong I love the Tennesseans that live here now. They eat Beef.

To all offended Tennesseans other than Glenn Reynolds, the insults hurled in this tale were in direct response to the BBQ Blasphemy of Glenn Reynolds. In no way shape or form does the man in the big white hat hold any malice toward Tennesseans other than the Evil Glenn. BigWhiteHat loves Tennesseans and will eat gladly eat delicious road kill with them at any time.

Dustin' Off

My last post was kind of a downer. I started reading the comments and wondered why are these folks trying to console me. I read back over the post. I didn’t mean for it to be a poor me piece. But, I guess it was. Thank you all for caring.

I have to set some stuff straight. Autism is tough. It is tough on parents. It is tougher on Autisitcs. I get impatient. I get frustrated. But my struggle doesn’t even compare to Tiger’s. Autism is tough on him.

Autism is tough but it aint the end of the world. Autism does not equal doom. It doesn’t even have to be bad. It does have to be different.

Some parents with autistic children fall into the doldrums. Their despair is more crippling than the autism. They frequently grasp at straws. They give credence to treatments and diets that are just plain ridiculous. They like to lay blame. They like to blame medications, doctors, or even the environment.

No matter why, Tiger is autistic. That is his struggle. I have prayed that God Almighty would take this cup from him. God said no. So that being the case, I’m going to call His Providence and Grace sufficient to handle the struggle. Tiger is good with that. I’m the one with the problem.

The hard thing about waiting is my own impatience. My weakness gives me the fits. I have asked God Almighty for strength, mettle, patience and perseverance. So far he has been telling me yes. The troubles of my past prepared me for this. The troubles I have now prepare me for my future.

I am not the sharpest tool in the shed. But, I think I might get that way. With every scorch of the torch, with every pound of the hammer, with every stroke of the file God makes me stronger, more tempered, and sharper. I have no doubt that I am being conditioned.

When I was young, I was a fighter. My Sinsei, put me through grueling conditioning. It was more intense than what some other fighters endured. It was why I could take more of a beating. It is why I did not get tired.

So I ask you all to forgive my whimpering. I lost my focus. I quit thinking about the prize. I was engaging in Stinkin’ Thinkin’. I have been thrown. Excuse me while I dust off a bit.

I put the hat back on. I have counted my blessings. I know things will get better. I know things will get better than better. Things will be outstanding.

Waiting

Patience is difficult thing to me. It seems I have no choice though. Some things are beyond my control. It is pretty silly to worry about things beyond my control. So I wait.

I wait for the day that I will actually hear this boy say what he wants. I wait for the day when he will actually say what he means. I wait for the day when he will actually say how he feels. I wait for the day that he will say anything at all.

Some things are worth the wait. I’m pretty sure this will be one of them. I see the gears turning in his mind. I know that there are terribly interesting things going on in there. I want to know him better.

Things have been tough for us lately. He has been hurting himself. He has been hurting the ones he loves. He can’t tell us why. Maybe God will use this to motivate him to speak.

Raising Tiger is like casting my line on the water. I do it over and over again with no results. The only key is to keep casting until something bites. So I cast and I reel in my hope over and over again.

The first music I ever bought was “Hard Promises” from Tom Petty. Some of the lyrics ring in my brain.

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part.

One day my boy will speak to me. He has overcome so much so far. I can only expect him to keep going. That is what he does.

Admiration

I don’t have time for a heartfelt post right now. I don’t have time for good humor either. So I would like to introduce you to an author/philosopher whom I greatly admire. Natan Sharansky is a cut above the other authors of our time.

I hope you will enjoy these articles:

• The View from the Gulag
• Peace Will Only Come After Freedom and Democracy

And think about reading these titles:

• The Case for Democracy
• Fear No Evil

Blog War

I can no longer sit idly by and let Glenn Reynolds run roughshod all over the ‘sphere. I was ok until he filed a writ of hateus corpus demanding custody of my Stetson. Now this means war! I have since joined the Alliance of Free Blogs. Frank J. is now my attorney.

We have recently been granted a change in jurisdiction to Dallas County Texas. Let’s see how Prof. Reynolds likes coming to court down here.

Some stuff just disappears.

Echotig wants a treadmill. I think we need that and some weights for squats. I have come to a shocking revelation about my physique. My waistline is getting tighter but my seat is getting looser.

I can feel the bagginess. I am suffering early onset posterior depletion. For me this is worse than the spare tire. To get rid of gut a fella can lose weight. But when the hiney disappears, what is a fella to do? I mean come on. I aint even 40 yet.

I think I'm going to go get that treadmill. And I'll pick up some suspenders while I'm out.

Jeff and Self Improvement.

My buddy Jeff has recently been on a self improvement kick. He wanted me to see how I could improve my appearance. Thanks Jeff.

He has taken this seriously. He has been getting into shape. The impetus of motivation was preparing for a recent Louisville parade. Doesn’t he look…..Festive?

Hmmm. What to do about these MeMes?

Some time ago, Jeff relieved me of all meme obligations. Lately both Rebecca and Shannon have tagged me. I have decided to exercise my meme immunity. Yet I really like Rebecca and Shannon so I want to do something.

Here is my idea. I will list a few meme type things, tag no one and call it all good.

First this was the meme that Jeff thought was too much.

Now let us move on to a few things about the little fella in the big white hat:

Yes, I do have a Texas flag hanging over my headboard.

It is a Stetson Ruidoso. The Straw hat (above) is a Morcon.

I listen to many kinds of music. Rush was my favorite band growing up.

I have not had a favorite color in years.

The best TV show ever was “Have Gun Will Travel”

I haven’t read fiction in years.

The cut of steak depends on the steak house. I always order Medium Rare.

Chicken Fajitas are not really Fajitas. “Fajitas” means skirt steak.

The most beautiful sight I ever saw was my Wife in a denim dress.

The sunset you see from the highway between Odessa and Andrews Texas is the crowning glory of God’s green Earth.

I have read everything known to be written by Shakespeare, Twain and Kipling.

I use the New American Standard far more than other versions of the Bible.

The only Blog I read every day without fail is Think Sink.

Help Wanted

I am putting some posts together on the condition of our language. I need to find some younger than 17 bloggers who do a good job. Please leave links or URLs in comments.

This year aint so good so far.

Lost.


No Flying Tortillas today.


Now my only hope is a team I detest. Today I'm a Longhorn fan. I probably won't be tomorrow but, I am today.

Resolved

I thought for a while about this. I came up with laundry list of objectives that I could call resolutions. Some of them were even clever. But they just weren’t right.

Today the preacher quit preaching and went to meddling. He really put me through the ringer. He made me think. Even more, he made me resolve.

Resolved: By January 1, 2007, I will be a better man than I am today.

I know that sounds like a platitude. I know that is broad and nonspecific. I made it that way deliberately. You see I don’t know the specifics. I don’t know what this year has in store for me. However, I do know how I plan to deal with it.

I really don’t think anything short of a fundamental change in my character will do. I’m expected to be more than who I am. God expects it and so do I.