A Poem for that guy that keeps throwing Busch Light cans up and down our road, the tires in our creek, the cigarette butts in our flowers… and to all the other horrible trash poopers in the world.  This ode’s for you.
(……Or….. things I wish I didn’t have to see which are staining our landscapes forever.)

You throw your garbage right out of your car,
It goes on our grass.  That’s not up to par.

Tis your land, its my land, and your baby’s land too.
Every piece you toss out, hits all three of us, dude.

Just who do you think will take all this away?
The farmers? Your minions? Perhaps Tina Fey?

Do you sing at the ball games, “What we proudly do hail?”
Then why does that garbage, from your window sail?

Please quit while you can.  The planet’s our friend.
But with buddy’s like you, it surely will end.

Okay, Maya Angelou I am NOT….  forgive me for trashing this literary device.

Some of you may have seen these boxes, from time to time, and asked “Well, what the heck is a WABCO Box?”  A quick internet search would quickly tell you they are areas “Where All Beasts Cry Openly”…. and wouldn’t that be a great thing?  But in fact, as with much of the information on the internet, you have to take it with a grain of salt.

But I’m here to tell you that it is really a RABCO Station. (Hence, the lock on the front!)  As it turns out, Elmer Fudd was on the Founding Executive Board of RABCO, and when he placed the order with the metal shop, for construction of the boxes…….well….. you see what happened…..

Since that time, the original company has “leaked” meanings for the acronym all over the place, to avoid further embarrassment.  (Where All Badness Ceases Operating;  Why Apples Beat Crusty Oranges; Where All Beings Can Obey; and on and on….)  So no.  These are in fact, truly RABCO boxes.

Way to go Elmwa.  Weawwy good job pwacing that phone caww.

Time has a way of recycling memories.  Things, that you haven’t thought about for years, will come to the surface out of nowhere.  This happens to me all the time.

I walked in the Camden, Ohio Black Walnut Festival Parade this weekend.  I finally just took a look at my images.  Well, howdy, howdy, howdy.  Low and behold.  Who did I see THIS time?  None other than the “Imperial Margarine Man”! Yesssssirrreeeee.   “Flavor so good, it’s fit for a King!”  I hadn’t thought about that dude for years!  And, some people may think those commercials were far fetched, but this sort of thing happened to me quite frequently when I’d eat Imperial Margarine.  Yes, I’d get a slice of Wonder Bread from the breadbox, just after fixing a tall glass of Ovaltine.  Then, I would get out the tub of Imperial, slather the Wonder Bread with that glorious wonder spread, take a bite…. and……..Dah-da-da-daaaaaah!  And on pops the big ol’ crown. Well, that was almost as much fun as eating the buttered bread!  Oleo-ed bread, to be succinct.  I liked the Margarine Man.

I miss others from that time too.  The Frito Bandito.  Marge, with her little bowl of Palmolive.  Those choosy mothers, choosing their Jiff.  And that little whacky Hawaiian Punch guy, to name just a few.

There was so much great stuff on just three little channels…… even the in-betweens.  Fit for a King…. or in most cases, a Queen!

Today, I got nothing.  Good for nothing.

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle. -Albert Einstein

It’s all relative.

Noah Webster was born on October 16, 1758.

In 1806, Webster published his first dictionary, BUT, a year later, Webster began compiling an expanded and fully comprehensive dictionary, An American Dictionary of the English Language…. which took the dude twenty-seven years to complete.

Now here’s dedicated guy for you…. To evaluate the etymology of words, Webster learned twenty-six languages.  Yes.  2-6… which included Old English (Anglo-Saxon), German, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, French, Hebrew, Arabic, and Sanskrit.

Webster hoped to standardize American speech, since Americans in different parts of the country used different languages. They also spelled, pronounced, and used English words differently. Apparently, I still do. English is my second language after all.

Pictured above is not his home in West Hartford, Connecticut.  Although, that is where he was born.   This place is in Camden, Ohio, about 4 miles from where I live.  Again, I only know 2 languages…. English being my second.  I speak both in this area.  Definitively.

My Mom always used to have a few sayings.  One was: “Now….. don’t wear out your welcome.”   Another, she used a lot was:  “If the good lord would just give me sign.”

It was hard to visualize both of these, when I was a kid.  What did Mom mean, wear out my welcome?  Did it mean I should wear this welcome thing only while I was indoors?  Never wear it out and about? Or did she mean, like worn out.  Tattered. Tired. Crusty. Ratty. Scruffy. Ragged…. THAT kind of worn out.  And the sign thing.  What kind of sign was she in the market for?  And, why didn’t she just go buy one?  Like a No Parking sign?  Or a For Sale sign?  No Trespassing; Beware of Dog; Two-Hour Parking Only…. WHAT?”

Then, today….I got both answers all at once!   I saw the SIGN!  The “Welcome” was clearly ALL worn out….  NOW, I know what Mom meant…..  Now, I see.

We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry.   – E. B. White

Leaf 1: Hey ya’ Buddy.  Ya’ been here long?
Leaf 2:  No. I just dropped today.
Leaf 1:  Yeah.  I fell 2 days ago, and I still can’t get up.
Leaf 2: Hmmm.
Leaf 1:  So, are you a Maple?
Leaf 2:  Wha???  Do I LOOK Canadian to you?  For crying out loud, I’m an Oak.  Born and bread.  Generations of us not falling far from the tree.
Leaf 1:  Oh.  I see.  Uhhhh, you look like a Maple….not an Oak.
Leaf 2:  I’m an Oak.
Leaf 1: Not an Oak.
Leaf 2:  I’m an Oak.
Leaf 1: Not an Oak.
Leaves: Oak.  Not an Oak. Oak.  Not an Oak. Oak.  Not an Oak. Oak.  Not an Oak. Oak.  Not an Oak.
Leaf 1:  Alright, alright.  Enough already.  We’ll just say Okey Dokey, you’re an Oak.
Leaf 2: That’s right.
Leaf 1:  Hey, I bet if you liked Country Music, you’d listen to the Oakridge Boys.
Leaf 2:  Funny.
Leaf 1:  Well, if you were a talk show host on a very still day you’d be……
Oak-rah Wind-free….. Ha, ha….arggghhhhh.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…..you get it?  Oak-rah?
Leaf 2:  Now it is time for you to shut up.
Leaf 1:  Hey, I bet your favorite vegetable is Okra. (Oh my gosh, I’m hurting myself over here….ha,ha,ha…)
…. I got another…. Oh my gosh… hey… when you run out of money, are you Br-OAK?  (AHHHhhhha, ha, ha, ha….)

Leaf 2:  And if I liked movies, my favorite would be “Gone With The Wind”  right now.

(——–Deafening Silence———-)

Leaf 1: ………Uhhhhhhhh….  Are you upset with me?  Because if so, I can go over here and hang out with the Chinese Elms.
Leaf 2: Sayōnara
Leaf 1:  That’s Japanese, not Chinese…. Oak-boy!  Oak-man!  Oak-A-Rooney…  Oakley…. Oak-ster… Ahhhaaaaaa, ha, ha…..

Leaf 2:  It’s going to be a long damn winter.

When I was a kid, things seemed a lot slower, and somehow, smaller, simpler.  As a child, your immediate world was all there really was. But it is a bit of a contradiction, isn’t it?  For while life was more concentrated and immediate, in many ways it was monumental and enormous.  Traveling to places took so much longer.  Things we’d only heard of, were far, far away.  Christmas was a  WHOLE dang week away!

We didn’t have video games.  We had to think up our own games.  It was a huge deal to run ALL the way around our block.  But we’d do it 3 or 4 times in a row.  We’d have races.  The block itself was 1/2 mile all the way around.  Two kids would hover at the “Start” line, standing back to back.  On your mark.  Get set. GO!  One of us would take off running around the block in one direction…. the other kid in the opposite direction.   Oh, that was a fun way to race.  As you passed the person on the backside of the block, you’d pick up speed and try to gauge if you were more than halfway.  Whoever lost would always say:  “Best of three.  Let’s go.”

My Dad has a “whistle” call for us kids (all seven of us).  He’d whistle into his hands, and we knew we better skidaddle home for dinner.  After we ate everything on our plates, we could go back out and play.  Play.    But we knew we had better be back home when the streetlights came on….

There were a lot of things I liked about being seven years old.

Physical strength can never permanently withstand the impact of spiritual force. – Franklin D. Roosevelt

Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. – Mohandes Ghandi