A Time To Remember
A Loose Connection
One day several years ago, a couple of friends and I watched a 57 Ford come alive. It sat at the side of the road, no ignition keys in it and the doors were locked. The owner had apparently left it behind for some reason. The first inkling that something was amiss became evident when the horn began tooting and within a moment or two blaring loudly. The windshield wipers began working about the same time the headlights came on, along with the hazard lights blinking wildly. Smoke could be seen rising from under the hood and then the motor started.
To make a long story short we managed to raise the hood and disconnect a battery cable, silencing the Ford. The smoke slowly diminished and soon quit altogether. Closer examination revealed a short or loose connection in the ragged wiring harness.
Loose connections of course are not uncommon and can occur in every aspect of life relying on electricity to make them function and often catastrophic results occur. Perhaps a loose connection is incorrect when it pertains to a human, but I like the term especially since it involves me.
A long time ago when I was but a small lad I soon discovered we were dirt poor. This doesn’t mean we were destitute, just dirt poor. Summer meant no shoes except for attending church on Sundays and going to town on Saturdays. To face each day on the farm, I and my brothers were clothed in overalls, often patched at the knees and seat. The shirts were usually hand made by Mother from cotton feed sacks. I have to admit some of those sacks were quite colorful, but faded quickly when washed a few times. This is not to say we did not have better clothing when appearing in public. New overalls or jeans and store bought shirts hung in the closet.
As the years past we prospered some and by the time I started highschool, my twin brother and I sported two pair of Levis and two flannel store bought shirts each, but the shoes were not right for me and I decided I wanted a pair of black western Justin boots. I hired out one evening to help dismantle a carnival and the next morning purchased the boots and walked eighteen miles home. I was proud.
The years past, I married, raised a family, retired after nearly thirty years with the Missouri Department of Conservation at age 59 and still not aware of a loose connection.
During those years leading up to my retirement and with my wife and I working I began buying western boots, Stetson hats and shirts and beloved jeans. I never gave much thought to my desire to obtain those things until a short time ago when walking out of a mall with two newly purchased shirts.
I looked at my wife and said, “I am a sick man.”
“What do you mean?’ she asked.
“I now own seventy shirts for going places and about thirty for wearing around the house. I have fifteen Stetsons, eighteen pairs of boots, not counting the every day boots and more coats than I care to admit to. I have a loose connection. Let it be known from this day forward, I will not buy another shirt for a year!”
I could just as easily said that since I didn’t have much growing up, or I admire beautiful shirts, or they were on sale and justified the excess of things that I have, but I decided not to and faced my excessive behavior. I have a loose connection. I shudder to think that perhaps it could be genetic and I may have passed it on to my children or grandchildren. I wonder are some of them buying boxes of shoes, armloads of shirts, blouses or jeans. I decided to share some of my clothing with others. Nevertheless I am at peace now enjoying my shirts and all the rest and have come to terms with my loose connection. It is really quite humane this condition, especially since I have become aware of the defect and a year from now, who knows I may be out there again, buying more shirts, Stetsons and boots and loving every minute of it. adios
A Loose Connection
One day several years ago, a couple of friends and I watched a 57 Ford come alive. It sat at the side of the road, no ignition keys in it and the doors were locked. The owner had apparently left it behind for some reason. The first inkling that something was amiss became evident when the horn began tooting and within a moment or two blaring loudly. The windshield wipers began working about the same time the headlights came on, along with the hazard lights blinking wildly. Smoke could be seen rising from under the hood and then the motor started.
To make a long story short we managed to raise the hood and disconnect a battery cable, silencing the Ford. The smoke slowly diminished and soon quit altogether. Closer examination revealed a short or loose connection in the ragged wiring harness.
Loose connections of course are not uncommon and can occur in every aspect of life relying on electricity to make them function and often catastrophic results occur. Perhaps a loose connection is incorrect when it pertains to a human, but I like the term especially since it involves me.
A long time ago when I was but a small lad I soon discovered we were dirt poor. This doesn’t mean we were destitute, just dirt poor. Summer meant no shoes except for attending church on Sundays and going to town on Saturdays. To face each day on the farm, I and my brothers were clothed in overalls, often patched at the knees and seat. The shirts were usually hand made by Mother from cotton feed sacks. I have to admit some of those sacks were quite colorful, but faded quickly when washed a few times. This is not to say we did not have better clothing when appearing in public. New overalls or jeans and store bought shirts hung in the closet.
As the years past we prospered some and by the time I started highschool, my twin brother and I sported two pair of Levis and two flannel store bought shirts each, but the shoes were not right for me and I decided I wanted a pair of black western Justin boots. I hired out one evening to help dismantle a carnival and the next morning purchased the boots and walked eighteen miles home. I was proud.
The years past, I married, raised a family, retired after nearly thirty years with the Missouri Department of Conservation at age 59 and still not aware of a loose connection.
During those years leading up to my retirement and with my wife and I working I began buying western boots, Stetson hats and shirts and beloved jeans. I never gave much thought to my desire to obtain those things until a short time ago when walking out of a mall with two newly purchased shirts.
I looked at my wife and said, “I am a sick man.”
“What do you mean?’ she asked.
“I now own seventy shirts for going places and about thirty for wearing around the house. I have fifteen Stetsons, eighteen pairs of boots, not counting the every day boots and more coats than I care to admit to. I have a loose connection. Let it be known from this day forward, I will not buy another shirt for a year!”
I could just as easily said that since I didn’t have much growing up, or I admire beautiful shirts, or they were on sale and justified the excess of things that I have, but I decided not to and faced my excessive behavior. I have a loose connection. I shudder to think that perhaps it could be genetic and I may have passed it on to my children or grandchildren. I wonder are some of them buying boxes of shoes, armloads of shirts, blouses or jeans. I decided to share some of my clothing with others. Nevertheless I am at peace now enjoying my shirts and all the rest and have come to terms with my loose connection. It is really quite humane this condition, especially since I have become aware of the defect and a year from now, who knows I may be out there again, buying more shirts, Stetsons and boots and loving every minute of it. adios
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