A few years back, without realizing it I became a person who no longer gave a $h1t on issues in life. I blame it on being an old retired fart who has seen much and heard too much BS in life which has no bearing on the real world. (think: Will Smith/Chris Rock fiasco). But to maintain sanity, I still cling to my shenanigans, something I never knew existed until Pop said, “No damn fool shenanigans.” – and he was serious!

I didn’t look up the word but relied on my personal expert analysis of life to understand and appreciate its meaning.

I decided it is perfectly acceptable to pull off innocent shenanigans provided:

1. No one is harmed.
2. It costs no money.
3. The action remains anonymous.
4. I can get away with it.

Let me explain examples of shenanigans over the past years.

I worked at a manufacturing plant years ago where bosses would drive around in little three-wheeled golf carts so they wouldn’t have to walk. When I found one that was parked outside a building, I would jump in it and turn it around. They would come out of the building and see it headed in the wrong direction and wondered if they parked it that way.

1. No one was harmed.  2. It was free.  3. The action remained anonymous.  4. I got away with it.

When I saw a jacket or lab coat hanging up, I would put something in the pockets. I once put a couple of dandelion flowers in one. A rock in another. I usually had loose items in my pockets such as screws, blown fuses, a short piece of wire and believe it or not, I once came across a small frog that I scooped up and placed in a coat pocket.

Again: 1, 2, 3, 4

When I was a welder, there was a crazy cowboy who insisted on using the whole table to spread his lunch on, leaving just enough room for my sandwich.

Years ago, my late brother who was a master of shenanigans, taught me how to make Nitrogen Triiodide (NI₃). For those who are unfamiliar with NI₃, it is an easy to make contact explosive from ammonia and tincture of iodine. It is a very corrosive mixture that is harmless until it dries, at which point, it is very sensitive. I made up a nice batch of it and smeared it on the latches of his lunch box. When he placed his box in the middle of the table and proceeded to open it, BANG! It left a blister on his thumb. He was totally baffled but knew I may have had something to do with it. Couldn’t prove it.

Again: 1 (well, maybe not 1) but 2, 3, and 4.

In High School, I placed the NI₃ in pencil sharpeners, under the pads of commode seats and in padlocks on lockers. I had a teacher who had a small desk bell like the one you find at hotel counters. If the class got too noisy, she would tap the bell, “ding!”, and everyone would stop talking to see what that “ding” was. I placed NI₃ under the little clapper of the bell. I believe it was the fourth period when I heard the bang followed by a strange ringing sound, followed by a long scream that went down the hallway.

2, 3, 4.

When I lived in Brazil before moving back to Texas, I used a slingshot smuggled through the mail system to me by an unscrupulous sibling. There are more tales of usage by the weapon, er. instrument than I have time to tell. But there was one time I sat on the balcony late one night and watched the people meander toward the subway. One individual was about a half a block away when I sent a marble flying down the street. Didn’t hit him, but he stopped to look where it came from. I stood in the shadows of a fourth-floor balcony. Every time he turned toward the subway, I sent another marble. This took place at least four times until he was too far.

1, 2, 3, 4.

Okay. There are many of these stories, but let’s look at others.

I have a good friend whose father was as onery as his son. His name was Orville. Once when he was using a power saw, Orville cut his thumb pretty bad and went to the doctor to have it sutured up. Afterwards he asked, “Doc, will I be able to play the piano?”

Doc said, “Well there will be dexterity issues at first, but within a few months I feel you will be able to play with no problems.”

Orville said, “That’s great Doc. I always wanted to play the piano.”

1, 2, 3, 4.

A little girl I knew who lost her first tooth, told me she placed it under her pillow, and in the morning there was a quarter! I told her that once when I was a little boy, I had a fist full of quarters that I was afraid my brother would steal when I was asleep, so I put them under my pillow. The next morning, when I woke up, I looked under my pillow and found a bunch of teeth!

1, 2, 3, 4.

My wife is currently learning English. I told her she needs to get into the habit of speaking Texan.

Examples include:

Yeah huh.  Yeah boy! Over yonder.  And it is Colder than a Well Digger’s Butt.

I told her when some kid tells her their goldfish went over the Rainbow Bridge, tell them, “No, your fish just kicked the bucket.”

1, 2, 3, 4.

There are so many shenanigans in life, that if it were not for them I would be in an Insane Asylum.

Speaking of Insane Asylums, shenanigans remind me of one of my favorite games to play when I am with several people in a crowded area. Back in December I was at my sister’s wedding and after everyone was content with good food and drink, I went to the bar where two bartenders were standing at the end talking.

I told them, “I need your help with something.” They both perked up and I told them, “Somewhere in this room is a serial killer. Who is it?” Right away they scanned the crowd and within 5 seconds, they both pointed to a man in a striped shirt. “It’s him.” they said in unison. Before I could find him in the crowd, they said, “He hasn’t been to the bar yet.”

So, if any of you are a serial killer, be sure and get a drink at the bar. That is how I do it.

Thank God for shenanigans and serial killers.

 

At my age, I find the Nolte siblings are unusual, and some would say, wonderful people. With the incredible life MotherDear had, you would think that alone was enough. But when you take time to think about Pop, it becomes even more apparent.

To understand both of our parents, you have to look at the life that made them that way. Both were born in 1919 and their early years were during the Depression. And to better understand the Depression, look at their lives.

Neither of them were lazy, and I learned during the depression everything had value. When Pop passed away, I found coffee cans in his shop with worthless pieces of copper and brass in them. I felt guilty tossing them out and found myself saying out loud, “Sorry Pop. These are worthless.” This also explains the time when Isaiah had accompanied Pop to Iowa. During the trip Isaiah threw a fistful of worthless pennies out the window and Pop blew up. It was also the reason he used both sides of the adding machine paper.

The first thing he ever bought himself, at 18, with his own money, was a heavy wool coat. It makes me a bit ashamed for the money I waste on trivial things I think I have to have.

I learned to spit on the bait from Pop, also money doesn’t grow on trees. I learned that eating vegetables will grow hair on my belly. I believe that was an untruth. I was also warned to avoid any damn-fool shenanigans.

On trips to Iowa, I learned that his family grew potatoes which were used to feed the family during the lean years. Potatoes can be used to make flour which can be used to make bread. I also learned he walked to and from school every day in two feet of snow. He failed to mentioned he lived across the street from the school house. I also learned that Pop’s patience shortened when Mom’s hearing aid went out. It was at that time, the Iowa trip suddenly turned toward home.

Pop taught me how to change the oil on a car and how to change a tire. There was also an interesting time with him on a trip through Santa Fe, New Mexico, when we stopped at an intersection that had several nuns waiting to cross the street. I distinctly remembering him say under his breath, “Go ahead, Sisters.” as he gave them time to cross. To this day, I have given people, not just nuns, but old people time for what they have to do, just because of his simple comment.

Be mindful what you say around kids.

Thinking of long trips with the family, I remember peeing in the bean pot in back of the station wagon as we traveled down the road. I wonder why I didn’t think of that in my later years, unless knowing my daughter would die from a ruptured bladder before using the bean pot, whereas my sons would drink as much water as possible, just so they could.

I learned if we misbehaved, we had to listen to Lawrence Welk which also reminds me of us getting Pop his slippers; I do remember seeing him with his once a week glass of coke and Lord Calvert, shaking it in a stirring motion.

I learned to watch the weather, specifically rotating clouds. He had his Tornado Alarm and we were to head to the cellar if it went off. “You won’t have time to grab anything, just run.” After that, during stormy weather, I did my daily business in the bathroom quickly in case the alarm went off.

But take time to evaluate what all he accomplished in life. It was his first trip to Iowa that started the Iowa family reunions. There was a century old feud in the Nolte Family. Since the Noltes are bull-headed, (up North anyway) there were families that just did not interact with the others, and yet none remembered what the feud was about. It was Pop who brought them all together again.

When Pop was in his early 40’s, he decided to move the family to Nevada to start a ranch. Mom called it Happy Acres. Some say it was a mistake, none-the-less Pop pulled it off. I personally never could have done that, even with just four kids.

And you cannot forget him building a house in his 70’s.

I used his tools often and he chewed my butt out often for not putting them back. There was one-time, years later I told him, “Pop, every time I turn around, you’ve moved your tools again!” He and MotherDear both laughed.

When he was young, he built a crystal radio that has stayed within the family, and now that I am an old retired fossil, I will rewire it and get it working again.

Time passes and we continue. It is comforting to me to reminisce about our life with these two incredible people. Luckily, I remember the good times and fortunately have forgotten any hurtful times.

There is so much more to say about both of these amazing people, but I have to stop somewhere. I will do so with a joke I heard Pop tell many times.

The farmer asked the horse if it wanted more oats. The horse raised its tail up and said, “a-phew!”

 

… thanks to two incredible people.

I think once a year all the siblings should get together somewhere secluded and reminisce about our parents. Pick a time when the phones are turned off and wine/beer/whiskies are cracked open, with plenty of our favorite food.

And if we throw Alan into the mix, he would provide plenty of jocularity.

Often, I will sit with drink and an occasional cigar if the weather is conducive and think about Mom and Pop. I will either end up laughing (or at least smiling) or with the tears people have when they dwell on things dear to the heart.

Mom and I have talked a lot about what comes after this life, and she and I both agreed, the thing we worried most about was leaving things undone. Even in her last months, she had talked about writing another book knowing full well she would not.

I was afraid after she left this life I would forget the sound of her laugh. Not so. I sat thinking yesterday about the time I had breakfast with her and asked her what kind of jelly she wanted on her toast. She said, “Oh, whatever I have in the refrigerator, Hon.” So, I took out what she had in the refrigerator and placed it on the table in front of her.  ….  All 10 jars. I can hear her laughing as I type this. She looked at them a few minutes more, then started laughing again. This was Mom’s humor.

And I think of all her jokes I heard over and over. What made them funny was watching Mom laugh after telling them. Her joke about the three old ladies. … “I’ll be up there after I see who is at the door.”

The guy who moved to the mountain in seclusion and was invited to a party by his neighbor. … “What should I wear? It doesn’t matter, it will just be the two of us.”

And the story about Grandmother Bullard being called an Old Stinkpot by some cute little girl playing on the sidewalk.

And every time I was there, she always asked if I had seen Decoration Day with James Garner. “Yes, MotherDear. I saw it twice with you.”  *sigh*

And though I am not a lover of poetry, I always took the time to listen her recite her favorite poem about trees. Afterwards, always a satisfied look on her face.

And something that always makes me smile was her choice of wine. She always had chillable red wine in the refrigerator. Sitting with her, I would ask, “MotherDear, would you like some wine?”

And she would reply, “Yes, I think I will have some (pause) Chardonnay.” Then she would have a satisfying smile. I would get her little Brazil cup with the toucan on it and pour her red chillable and take it to her.

She and I loved the cheap little cherry pies from Walmart at 50¢ each. I always picked up a good assortment of flavors, and after splitting one with her, (with ice cream on top), we would decide we needed to split one more.

As we get well into our later years, many people start to lose their Faith. This is not unusual. Once when we sat outside, she confided to me that she was losing hers. I reminded her of the time she was riding in the car and witnessed the miracle of the Dancing Sun. Her eyes lit up and said, “I saw it three times!” And I told her it was a gift from the Holy Mother for her creating the website about Međugorje. It was what she needed to hear.

Each of us have so much more we can share, as Mom has affected each of us in different ways. But as I typed this, it was revealed to me that we put too much into having a perfect life. Mom did not have a perfect life, but what she had, she loved. And I realized that Mom had not just a life of love, but a long life of love.

Her view of life is what made her a success. Later, I will talk about Pop.

 

 

I was born and raised in a small Texas town where I lived for 50 years before Fate sent me places I didn’t know existed; starting out with the nasty and vile Afghanistan and ended up in the sensual country of Brazil.

I sat outside the other day with whiskey and cigar thinking of the countries I visited. Everywhere I went I stayed in 3-5 star hotels for security reasons, most of the time. There were places that just did not have those top hotels, in which I stayed in shipping containers at $300 a night (Juba, South Sudan) or tents (Kandahar). I never took public transportation until Moscow. I always rode in my personal vehicle, taxi or armored-up SUV, one driven by a man with only one eye who drove at speeds that made my sphincter clamp shut, (Karshi, Uzbekistan). Taxi drivers can do that also at times, especially in a country where they drive on the opposite side of the road. Your first thoughts are, We are in the wrong lane! We are going to die!!

When I traveled to the US Consulate in Lagos, Nigeria, I had to take a boat ride across the river with armed military riding on the back for protection. It was there I had to pay for my hotel room with the local currency, as using a credit card was unsafe.

I worked with people at all levels. Ambassadors, local policemen, various militias, and people who I never knew who they were or what they did. These were people who I was told to give them anything they wanted. I had a chance to shake hands with an American President, which I politely declined. I was told to show up for a group photograph with the Secretary of State, but deftly slipped away. Yet the ones I found most enjoyable to be around were the maintenance people. My type of good people.

And now I sit in a small town in Texas (The Greatest Country on Earth), about thirty miles from the Gulf coast. It is the old historic town of Victoria. We bought a house and are still in the process of setting up, and still have boxes of items from the past to unpack. As I write this, I am thinking how my mother would have done all sorts of research on the town before we moved here.

I’ve not lived in a small town since 2007, fourteen years, so it will be an interesting change of life. I have a large backyard that greeted me with plenty of foliage to deal with. I had to purchase a lawnmower, which has changed over the years, as they are no longer lightweight, but now require sweat and muscle to push. I thought over the decade, they would have used lighter metal. Another surprising thing I found, many no longer require an oil change.

The yard has fungus – mushrooms which I dug up and tossed. Whoever had this yard before must have loved doing that crap. It is a fast-growing lawn. The yard also has a scurry of squirrels that run free, reminding me the damn monkeys in Ethiopia. At first they were Oh so cute, until they destroyed the flowers. We will see what happens with these critters. They also remind me of the battles Pop had with the raccoons in his yard eating the bird feed.

Every place I lived in the past years, I could not make many changes to the house, but now I can drill holes wherever I want, and hang art anywhere I want. Install lighting, move switches and place furniture. This year I will change the electrical service to the house as what I have now is not legal. I am so looking forward to working on it that I already purchased the new electrical panel! Plus, there is a small workshop in the back which I will set up with complete power. The shop is too small, but in the future I may add to it.

We chose the small town to avoid the chaos in larger cities, and this town is perfect for us. When I step out of the house, the first thing I notice is the fresh air. And here the weather is much warmer. I told many people that when I retire, I want to live in a warmer climate. I have worked too many places in sub-freezing weather. I have yet to experience the Summer here, but I can do the heat and humidity. It will never be the heat of Afghanistan or Dibouti. As I am writing this, it is 75° outside and 15° in Lubbock Texas. Tomorrow it will be a “cold” 49° here.

One thing I was not expecting was how friendly people are in a small town. I am not a conversationist like my dad was, but when I am in a store, I now greet clerks and cashiers with a kind word. Many times as I enter or leave a store, I will pass by others in the parking lot and many will greet me.  No idea who they are, but it makes me feel good about people and enjoy passing the friendliness to others.

BUT, when I am in my neighborhood, I do my best to avoid the neighbors, because I don’t want to get pulled in a conversation. Case in point: There is an old woman who lives across the street. She walks with a walker in her driveway while surrounded by cats. In the first few days of our arrival, I got out of the vehicle and heard her yell, “Hellooooo.” just like my Mother used to do when she was calling to see who was in the house. I ignored her hoping she would think I didn’t hear her because I was walking really fast to get into the house.  Then a few days later, it happened again, and I had to at least acknowledge her. So, I looked at her as she was hollering and she was waving like the beauty contestants at a parade. I just smiled at her as she yelled, “Sorry I haven’t been over to see you yet.”

I thought, Oh my…

This woman came from the time when the neighbors would welcome new families to the neighborhood with a pie. This made me shutter wondering if others would try the shenanigan. For the first month, I would peek out the windows when someone is walking by, fearing they would want to drop by. So far, my fears have been unfounded. But I still get startled when the doorbell rings.

But we are okay and very content with our life. We are planning to be here at least 5 years, and after that …. we will see. In the meantime, we will continue kicking butt and enjoying any adventure we encounter as long as they don’t ring the doorbell.

 

After my mother passed on, my sister found a VCR tape that I made with the kids when they were little. Dani took one of them and added effects to it.

Enjoy

The Sale of a Fine Truck