Sitting here thinking about Summer.  I don’t know who thought of the four seasons.  Summer is the one that seems to get the most credit for enjoyment.  You hear folks talk about how they can’t wait until Summer gets here.  When it is ending you hear folks talking about holding on to a few more days of Summer.  At the least, trying to hold on to a few more days in the Sun.

When I was a kid Summer meant riding my bike, going to the pool, playing baseball from morning til night on some days, watching the MLB Game of the Week on NBC listening to Joe Garagiola and Tony Kubek call the game on Saturday afternoons.  With the exception of Keith Jackson and Frank Broyles, this may have been the best broadcasting team ever to slap on headphones and speak up about a game they played and enjoyed for the game’s sake and sake of the listener at home.  Not outlandish, no superfluous, not anything but the way it was.  I miss that.

At the town pool where I grew up we had a 3 foot, a 4 foot, and a 5 foot.  Near the 5 foot end of the rectangular pool was a rope that separated an exclusive section that was more of  a squatty square compared to the rest of the white painted cement pond. Beyond the rope was an incline.  The dreaded 11 foot.  Above the 11 foot was a high dive and a short dive.  Diving boards.  I climbed the high dive on many occasion and did a can opener or a lazy birdy, or a straight down, or if I was really bold and the girls were watching, I would attempt a dive.  This diving attempt usually turned into the “back-breaker”…so painful on occasion that I thought about just staying down there…but with a nod to Pat Conroy, my lungs would betray me.  I had to come up for air.

Hey at least I was cool enough/or not cool enough that the town bully never took my bike and swam it to the island of the town pond that sat next to the town pool.  While The Captain and Tennille were blaring “Shop Around” out of the pool’s mono speaker, many a bike was snatched from its kickstand and rolled to the edge of the town pond and there the town bully would swim the bike about twenty yards or so to the island near the center of the pond.  He would then prop the bike back up on its kickstand for everyone  driving up and down Bridge Street to look upon, laugh at, and know that the natural order of things was still in place.

We played baseball.  Me and Johnny Johnson, no relation, though we might as well be played together often.  And there were many others.  John and I are still in contact 40 years since we played together on the Yankees.  Of course he was on the ’79 Royals team when we won every game…and got the trophy to prove it.  That was when the winner got the trophy and the rest wished they had.  I was on the side of wished they had every other year I played baseball, which was many, and I have never once had to go to therapy to get over it.

Summer.  Watermelon, The Jackson County Fair…please get there if you can it will make you a better person, and The Brownstown Speedway.  I have made mention of it before.  We lived in Brownstown when I was kid.  We lived on Jackson Street.  The last proper street in town to the East.  Beyond a large cornfield and grass parking lot to the East was the speedway.  We did not have air-conditioning when I was a kid.  Cars going around a dirt track quarter mile was my lullaby on Summer nights.  I hope my memory stays strong.

LAST SIGHTS OF THE BERKSHIRES….

My dear wife, Carrie, and I got home on Tuesday last.  Our New England repose was complete.  I will leave you with a picture or more and a few words about them.

One thing I love about The Berkshires (we were five miles from New York (state) and twenty-seven miles from Vermont if you want some reference)  is the selection of newspapers.  Newspapers are a passion of mine.  You can’t do this anywhere else I know of.  The Northeast loves their print.

Across the way from where we stay is Jiminy Peak one the largest ski slopes in Mass.

Though I won’t show you the whole trip up and down from our place to the main road at the bottom of the hill, I will tell you that these photos don’t do them justice.  My calf muscles wince just looking at these pictures.  Look, I walked 6 miles on some fairly even ground on the campus of The University of Ramsey yesterday.  A mile up and down this is much tougher.  There was a reason I walked up and down this hill like I did:

I thought of Bart Bigham.  Bart, you would be proud of your ice cream.

We stopped in Saratoga Springs, NY on the way home.  It is actually a little North of where we stayed.  We were there for good reason.  This is the Visitors Center.

Springs are about town and you are encouraged to drink your fill.

These things are pretty cool…literally!

Then it was concert time.

Natasha Bedingfield and OAR opened for Train.

Carrie and I were sitting in our seats before OAR started to play. I had not heard them before. I told Carrie I didn’t even know what an OAR looked like?  They were easy to listen to.  They sounded very good.

Train…always sounds good.

Their stage looked like a big jukebox.  The Saratoga Performing Arts Center, or SPAC to those up there, is a great outdoor venue nestled in woods like nothing I have ever seen before.  I never tire of listening to live music.

As I type these words on the back porch in Southern Indiana, the blue sky and the clear air and the unusually cool temps remind me of …if only I had some more papers to read.  Yes, I am greedy.  So instead of reading, I write in an effort to…speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

Last night I partook of a lobster roll.  I made it myself.  I have eaten lobster rolls in Rye, NH and Boston and near Salisbury Beach, Mass.   Those are the most notable ones.  Last night I decided to give it a lash on my own.  Well, my dear wife, Carrie, did raise a recipe that we followed to some degree.  Really it is about 3 things for me:  a good roll, good lobster, and plenty of butter.  I am not a fan of salt for sure.  I did appreciate a few grains on the cooked lobster meat.

There is a great store in Pittsfield, Mass not far from where we are staying.  It is like a Harris Teeter, if any are familiar with one of those.  It might be a scale of two better.  Regardless, we don’t have stores like this back home.  Market 32 by Price Chopper is the name of the store.  It was a Price Chopper that that got a face lift and offers more unique foods than the normal Price Chopper.  The seafood selection is great.  The cheese selection is obscene.  The vegetables and fruits are plenty.  There is also a deli that offers so many unique cakes and pies and desserts that they probably had to get a mop out and wipe the drool that escaped my mouth thanks to overactive taste buds.  Market 32 is the store.

The lobster is fresh.  That is a key.  The bread I used is a New England Roll.  The butter we used was from Maine.

Fresh tail and claw meat.

Such a proficient slicer the camera can’t keep up with my lightning fast motion.  Either that or a camera is not made to follow a knife moving that slow?

The butter…not the whole stick…is applied liberally to the pan toasting the bun and to the lobster pan as well.

When properly toasted and warmed…you have:

And now it is time, as Tim Mullins would say, to GET IT!

Speaking of getting it.  On a visit to Old Forge in Lanesborough, I got it again.  No, not a lobster roll.  The Wild Mushroom Ravioli that I have made mention in previous posting here.

It is exquisite.

I bet this stuff is too.  Most will not believe that I let this pass…but it was fun taking a picture of.

Two nights ago Carrie and I channeled our inner acrylic painter selves.  It is a good thing I did not think about Edward Hopper while I was doing this or I would have frozen up.  It worked out great.  Our teacher, Michelle, did a wonderful job.  The fact that you can reasonably make out what I was trying to paint is nothing short of a miracle.  My flowers?  Well they probably grow in Australia somewhere.  Carrie’s flowers…they are beautiful.  I was the only one in the class of about twenty to put a bird in their painting.  Either way, it worked out.  We had a good time and something that was a blank canvas is something we can take home and talk about for years to come.  20 bucks can rarely, if ever, offer more than that.

Pardon me know as I go eat a piece of sausage pizza and contemplate Picasso.

Speaking the artistic rights.

Danny Johnson

Herman Melville wrote Moby Dick and Billy Budd and many other classic tales.  Of course, Moby Dick is the masterpiece he is most noted for.  “Call me Ishmael.”

Today my dear wife, Carrie, and I visited a former home of Melville’s in Pittsfield, Mass.  The place is called Arrowhead.  Why Arrowhead?  When he was plowing up some of the 160 acres that went along with the property he found many Native American artifacts.  Most notably, he found arrowheads.  A house was named in 1850 and thus holds that name still today thanks in large part to the name Moby Dick.

I studied a great deal of American Literature in classes taught by my dear friend Dr. Millard Dunn.  Today I thought of Millard as I was in a place where two of the biggies of the Anti-Transcendentalist camp hung out and chewed the fat and talked writing.  I was one goose-bump and later as we ate a late lunch, I told Carrie I could hear Dr. Dunn talking about Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne as clear as a bell in my mind.

In this barn, built around 1780, Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Scarlet Letter) discussed the issues of the day.  I was amazed.

The place  is now headquarters to the gift shop and central meeting spot that begins the tour of Arrowhead.  Did I say I was in awe of the place?

We were not allowed to take pictures inside the house.

My dear Carrie and I tried to get a picture of ourselves with a place called Mt. Greylock in the background.  More about Mt. Greylock in a minute.

This was Herman Melville’s home from 1850 until 1863 when his family returned to New York City.  In this house he wrote Moby Dick and many other stories.

Melville was inspired by Mt. Greylock.  This picture of Mt. Greylock, taken from the front porch of his house is similar to the view that Melville had from his study where he did his work.  Looking at this mountain, he saw a whale in his mind.  Then, he wrote about that whale.

Of course Moby Dick has been told in cinematic form on multiple occasions.  One of the most popular renditions of this story to make the silver screen is the 1956 version starring Gregory Peck as Captain Ahab.

This whaling boat below is one of the models used in filming some of the action shots going after Moby DIck.  If you are familiar with this, you recognize from left to right:  Captain Ahab, Stub, Queequeg, Tashtego, and first mate Starbuck.  This was a marvelous piece.

This was a great stop….even for a fan of the Transcendentalist over the Anti-Transcendentalists.  I prefer the essays and poems of Emerson and Thoreau over the allegories and traditional works of antagonists and protagonists…though I give a strong nod to the multiple layers of conflict, be they internal or external, that Herman Melville brilliantly exposes in Moby Dick.  Decisions ultimately must be made.

Visiting Arrowhead was an internal conflict resolved.  And has given me yet another chance to…speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

This past weekend  my dear wife, Carrie, and I spent a couple nights close to two Great Lakes.  Lake Erie was…you could throw a rock in it…in Geneva By The Lake, Ohio.  That is the name of the place.  I found it via the internet.  In fact I found both of our lake locations via the internet.  Search engines can do some very good things.

Geneva By The Lake, Ohio is as throw back as I have ever seen in a place.  I consider myself relatively well traveled.  I have been so so fortunate to visit many places.  This was another gem of a spot that has a personality and charm so unto itself.  The people are nice.  They are friendly.  They are forward in a good way.  They were enjoying a warm day where many months of the year they are covered in snow.  No one we met was there to have a bad time.

We stopped along the way to take this one of Lake Ontario.

This is the office we checked into at GOTL.  There was a phone on the counter and the instruction was to call the number.  The proprietor lives across the street.

I have no doubt that this place was just as charming in 1936 as it is 2017.  Either way, it has been here a long time and I am thankful someone had the good sense to keep it around.

DWYER made this combo…all in one kitchen.  Stove. Oven. Cutting board.  Fridge.  Sink.  It is all here.  There was a couch sitting next to a tv.  You couldn’t sit on the couch and watch the tv, mind you.  There was enough room for me to unfold a bag chair and watch the tv for a short while.

This old relic was awesome.

The sign on this putt putt course said it was the oldest putt putt course to feature continuous play in the land.  It has not missed a season of golf in over 70 years.

When we left Lake Erie we went journey farther East.  We drove three country highways instead of taking the New York Thruway in toward Buffalo and around NE to Hilton, New York where we spent the next night, Saturday.   We enjoyed our drive as we drove through little towns, including Brocton, New York where we ate a fine late lunch.  I had a club sandwich and Carrie had a bbq chicken salad. This drive allowed us to look at the towns and wave at a few of their people.  We looked at their schools and we looked at their churches.  A trip to the Northeast will show you an appreciation for two things in these towns: flowers and the American Flag.  Their flowers are celebrated because these folks lived through the winter and I think flowers remind these folks of life.  The flag they appreciate because their heritage fought red coats to be able to fly it in the first place.

When we got to Hilton, New York we found a treasure and some very nice folks at Braddock Point Lighthouse.

A bed and breakfast at a lighthouse?  Yes, there is such a thing.  It is a functioning lighthouse recognized by the laws of the land.  It is also a B&B of remarkable quality, given its location, its history, but more importantly its owners Don and Nandy.

They spend the Summers in this great place and go back to Florida in the Winter.  From what I have heard about the snow in these parts, I do not blame them.  These were gracious hosts and I appreciate all of their efforts in making our stay a comfortable and memorable one.

When we drove up to the place we found this.

A little closer we found this:

On the other side of the lighthouse it looks like this:

It looks out on Lake Ontario.

This is a view from the top of the lighthouse.  It was a great experience to tour this and I thank Don for all of his knowledge and insight and his ability to tell a good story.

One wonderful thing about this place is that you get sunsets…and you get sunrises…

We were so blessed to have weather that allowed us to take in these sights.

We also were fortunate to meet a kind gentleman from Utica -way whom we found to have many shared interests with.  We talked travel, education, sports, and music.  It was great fun and he knew how to take pictures and where to shoot some great shots as well.

Our breakfast was served on a table and chairs that were actually a wedding Dowry from the old country.  The family needed to part with it and it found a great home. (Breakfast was great by the way.)

And I found another place to remember where I can speak the rights.

On a sad note…Carl did not make the trip.  Carrie thought I packed Carl….and I thought Carrie grabbed Carl.  Either way, Carl is back home and I hope he is not too put off.

Danny Johnson

I can hear Alice Cooper singing it now…”School’s Out for Summer!”

I suppose that is true for most around these parts.  Most Indiana schools are finished with their 2016-2017 school year, for sure.  My school year will be over too this week.  Until I come back for a few days later this month to help facilitate some testing business.  There is another test.  There is always another test.  There is always another test ordered by folks who don’t take tests.  Oh, Lord have mercy, don’t get me started.

We graduated a class of over 150 at North Harrison High School where I serve as a school counselor.  The students in this year’s class was an impressive bunch.  For the most part they were very polite all year long.  That is not always an easy thing to do.  They got that down.  I will be looking forward to seeing what they do in the future.  There is a great deal of potential there.  Optimism.  That is a quality of each graduating class.  In addition to potential, I would say this class has “promise” as well.  Good luck to them all.

I was asked today what the summer held for me moving forward.  I can report that my dear wife, Carrie, and I will be making our annual, well, 4th annual trip to the Northeast to take in the sights and sounds and newspaper reading and eating at the Olde Forge and just plaing hanging out in a place called The Berkshires in western Massachusetts.  I have learned to spell that state with no problem.  It took nearly fifty years.  There will be a lobster roll to be found and eaten.  There will be a big hill to walk down and walk back up trying to offset too many lobster rolls.  It is a good trade-off.

Carrie and I will be going to a concert at SPAC.  That would be Saratoga Performing Arts Center.  It is a nice outdoor music venue  in a BEAUTIFUL place with trees and more trees.  That would be Saratoga Springs, New York.  The place with the horse track.  Carrie and I are going to see Train there.  We saw Train there two years ago.  They always put on a good show.

In addition to relaxing and listening to Train, I plan to do some writing there also.  I hope to write more speaktherights.com posts and place a few pictures on these pages to give a few reports.  We’ll see how that turns out.  I am also going to be writing some other things, trying to organize some thoughts about a larger project.  I don’t know if it will get off the ground or not.  Some days I know it will.  Other days I want to look at it and run the other way.  That is the nature of the material I suppose.  Writing can be a great thing.  It can also be a not so great thing.  Either way, the creative process is a good thing.  Keeping the brain moving and pushing it is a good thing.

I will be so glad when it is time to put college football predictions on these pages on Thursday evenings again.  Bring on Football Season.

Later in the month there are a few more concerts to see.  On July 1st I will be going to my last Moody Blues concert.  I have my reasons.  I will share them later this month with a last Moody Blues retrospective post.  That too is the kind of writing that can be great and not so great all in one.  I understand it.  That, I know, is a good thing.  Otherwise I would be in a great deal of trouble.

I know I have mentioned Dr. Millard Dunn on these pages before.  I need to get in touch with him.  We have some unfinished business to take care of.  He told me via email the last time we transmitted that he had something he wanted me to read…something he wrote I assume.  I hope to get in touch with him soon.

I think I will get my Alice Cooper CD off the shelf, yes, I do have one, and play that song tonight.  Well, I am working tomorrow but I can get ready to cue Alice Cooper.

Speaking the Rights…

Danny Johnson

It is 2017.  So much is going on right now that reminds me of years that end in 7.

1967….this was the year The Moody Blues delivered their landmark album Days of Future Passed  that featured the songs Tuesday Afternoon and Nights in White Satin.  Classic Rock and Roll.  We’ll get back to this.

1977…this was the year I was in the 4th grade and still keep going back to as the year the Brownstown Braves had so much fun playing football.  I mentioned all this in the last post.  Still it stands out so so so much.

1987…our oldest son Jarrett was born.  Uh…if my math is correct that will make him 30 this year.  Why does he still seem so much younger than that to his mother and me?  My grandfather, Herbert D. Johnson, died that year.  He was 66.  Lung cancer.  He smoked one Lucky Strike after another.   Did not prove to be so lucky

1997…the year my dear friend Malcolm Todd “Corner King” Lincoln passed.  I am still scratching  my head at this.  Is that why I have lost so much hair.  No…that is not it.  If it was, I would have been completely bald a very long time ago.

2007…my dear wife, Carrie’s grandfather, Rubert Hawkins died.  I still miss the old cuss.  We had a great many laughs together.

2017…last Sunday I went to a concert in Louisville’s YUM Center.  Roger Waters.  The creative genius behind Pink Floyd…they say.  Well, I saw Pink Floyd sans Roger Waters in, of course, 1987, and I enjoyed the show.  Roger, however, if not the genius, provides the angst that the remaining members of Pink Floyd just didn’t bring to the stage.  It was amazing.  Roger Waters is a powerful presence.  I knew he would be.  But it was more than I expected. He was very political in his show.  I did not agree with all that I heard and saw.  I did agree with some of what I heard and saw…and enjoyed it.

This show was a spectacle unlike anything I have ever seen before.  I really enjoyed it.

On July 1, 2017 I will attend a Moody Blues concert and it will be the last one I make it to.  I have decided this is it.  They are going to play Days of Future Passed in its entirety in the second set of the show 50 years later.  Their first show of the tour is June 3rd.  I first saw The Moodies in 1986 and I thought they were old. I was 18.  They were all 40 or more back then.  I am 49.  Enough said.  It is time.  I hate it.  I bought Days  of Future Passed when I was 15 and it was 16.  I fell in love with it.  None of my friends cared about it.  I was on my own with my music.  I didn’t care.  It carried me above all that.

An old friend on TV….

I was mashing through the channels on Memorial Day.  I tuned into WHAS 11’s Great Day Live.  There was a commercial playing.  I went back to reading the paper.  When they came out of commercial they featured…for a few minutes…an old friend who passed away in 2009.

Tim  Krekel and I made music together.

He tore that very guitar up on a guitar solo on a song I wrote.  I am honored.

GOLF NEWS

As is the custom on Memorial Day weekend, the 4th of July, and Labor Day weekend, I am invited to participate in a friendly golf outing led by the Nolot patriarch, Jim Nolot, pictured above.  We always have a great time.  Less than a week earlier, Jim had 4 stents put in to support his heart.  He did not hit the driver…but he did hit other shots and putted…and was like Minnie Pearl…just proud to be there.  I was proud to be there too.

The first tee.

Waiting for the 9th fairway to clear so we can hit our tee shots.

Good times.

Speaking a great many rights…

Danny Johnson

The primary objective of yesterday’s visit to Blevins Memorial Stadium on the Brownstown Central High School campus was to get a former coach and a former player together one last time on the field and at the stadium where my Dad, Larry Johnson, was the head coach, and my friend, Barry Hall, was a guard and linebacker wearing jersey #71.  This past fall Barry was named one of the 50 Greatest BCHS Brave Football Players in school history.  I still remember watching him play.  He was fearless.  He was quick.  He was spring loaded.  He loved what we used to call “The Romance” of the game.  The physical contact that of knocking someone else silly was called romance back then.  Barry is currently coaching football for BCHS and I have no doubt he does a great job.  I hope they win every game…except the one against the boys in Blue and White.

On May 30th, I am told that is the date, they will tear down Blevins Stadium as we know it.  Brownstown Central is expanding the track to 8 lanes and they are putting in a synthetic turf field.  The stadium has to go to make room.  I can tell you I will miss it.

This season will mark 40 years since Dad and Barry were on the field together as player and coach.  And while there is still an air of that dynamic between them when they are together, as it should be I suppose, they are so glad to of been able to hang on to each other all these years on.  Believe me, I know what I am talking about.  Take a look for yourself.

They talked about games.

They shared stories about people they remembered.

They chatted privately.  We were like flies on a wall inside the confines of the place.  We could have been in Columbus for all they cared at times.

They talked about stuff.

They shared memories.  They didn’t talk about how many games they won or lost or why much either.  It always comes down to relationships in this life.  That is the most important thing.  Sure Dad and Barry enjoyed a nice amount of success together.  But that is not what inspired Barry to ask my Dad to sing at his Dad’s funeral.  Wins and losses are not the reason Barry helped load a truck and move some of our stuff for us when we moved to Harrison County in 1979.  Games are not the reason that once in a while I look at my phone and there is a message from Barry Hall out of the blue to let me know he is thinking of me….that he loves me…and to tell my Dad the same.

Being a football coach’s son means you have to share your Dad with many people…many other young men.  Though I can’t in earnest recall a time I wished Dad would have stopped talking so much about one of his players, I have no doubt it must have gone through my mind once in a while.  But I don’t remember that.  What I do remember are memories of how great it was to have grown up in a town for the first eleven years of my life with so many people there to look after me.  I was a known little fella.  I have no doubt I was a pain now and again myself.  That’s life.  And for me, it has been a wonderful time thanks in part to guys like Barry Hall, Jim Brown, Gil Speer, Nuts Goss, I could on and on.

We had to leave Brownstown in 1979.  The school board there decided they did not want my Dad to be the head football coach  anymore.  He had spent 12 years coaching at BCHS, nine of them as the head coach.  It did not take Dad long to find employment two counties to the south at North Harrison High School, the same place I have been a school counselor going on two years now.

At North Harrison we were now playing against Brownstown.  That was odd.  In fact in 1984, on this very field where I had played pee-wee football, I was on a North Harrison team that beat Brownstown Central 59 to 0…the worst defeat ever to this day on this field.   Ironically, in 1975 my Dad’s Brownstown Central team beat Paoli 76 to 0.  That was and still is the largest shutout victory margin in school history.  The 2015 BCHS team tied that mark against Clarksville.  Good for them.

This was Blevins Stadium in 2014.  I was glad to be there that night.

This was Blevins Stadium yesterday.  I was even more delighted to be back one last time to the place as we know it on this afternoon.  I kicked some extra points and field goals in high school.  Meant to be, I think, on the field I grew up on as a child I also kicked my first point …for the other team in 1984.

Thanks to my dear wife, Carrie, for being there and taking pictures like only she can.  She too enjoys the time we get to reminisce and share good time and one another’s company.

Whatever they were looking for, I think they found it.

I know I did.

I will file this experience like I have so many others.  I will reach for it now and again when I need it  and be so glad we took a few hours out of an afternoon to make a few memories that will live forever.  I believe that.

My gym bag from the late 70s.   A mesh BC football shirt circa 1977.  It doesn’t fit anymore. My 1977 2nd place Punt Pass and Kick Trophy from a fall day on the same field. My BC Football Alumni visor.  I am the only player that played against BC ever to get one of these and probably the last.  But in 2011 my name was called out over the PA before the game with the rest of the players and coaches being recognized, including my Dad, in attendance.

I am so thankful to be able to live this and share it.

Speaking the last day at the Stadium Rights…

Danny Johnson

It was 95 degrees today in Amherst, New Hampshire.  So said weather.com.  I got confirmation of the heat via email from a friend there.  I keep Amherst as one of my weather spots on my weather page.  The other three are Holly Ridge, North Carolina, Ramsey, Indiana, and Chicago.  I keep up with Amherst, Holly Ridge, and Ramsey because they are significant to both heart and skin.  Chicago is still there from the trip my dear wife, Carrie, and I made in February and I have not changed it.  I think a trip to Jackson, Mississippi is on the horizon in July….so perhaps I will put Jackson on there.

I am on the porch as I write these words.  It is very humid.  I just did 42 minutes on the elliptical a little while ago.  I was in the cool of an air conditioned basement.  It was nice.  I worked up a sweat in the basement and now I am sitting here sweating for no other reason than sitting here and moving my fingers.  I doubt it was this humid in New Hampshire.  I am sure it wasn’t.  I say that because I look forward to a trip there so I can breathe better.  I was not made to live in the Ohio Valley.  I live here anyway.   I enjoy trips to places where I can breathe better.  Colorado comes to mind.  I have said it before.  I will say it again.  In Colorado, the two times I have been there, my lungs felt air in places I didn’t know I had lungs.  It was amazing.  It was also weirdo.  The elevation can make a feller feel kind of funny.

When Carrie and I go to the Berkshires in June we stay a place that has nice air and plenty of great newspapers.  I drink too much coffee and read newspapers for a couple hours of the morning.  Boston Herald, Boston Globe, The Daily News, The New York Post, The New York Times, The Albany Union, The Berkshire Eagle…Carrie and I were in a photo in The Berkshire Eagle once while we were visiting the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Mass.

31

Thirty-one years ago today I graduated from high school.  1986.  Seems like longer than that at times.  I was asked what I miss about high school.  I miss some of my teachers.  I had some great ones.  I miss seeing my cronies on a regular basis. It was great then.  Doubt it would be as great now.  I miss playing football with my pals.  I miss playing music in a cassette player.  I miss seeing The Moody Blues in concert for $14.50. I miss cheaper gas prices.  Check out the prices in 1986.  We was having us a gas war of some kind. I miss the days when we were at odds with the Russians instead of playing political footsie with them.  Don’t get me started.  I miss President Reagan.  Who in their right, sane, normal, nonsensical, separation of church and state mind would not?

Fortunately when I look at the younger set I see more wisdom from them than I do the group that has no business trying to lead.  They couldn’t get along in 60s and now it has just gotten worse as time has gone on.  We are victims of the residuals of the protesters on both sides from 50 years ago.   Let’s hope this nightmare doesn’t last long.  Have you heard and seen some of the kids in the 30-something set talk and act lately.  They have some sense about them.  They are subject to terrible examples and they want something better.  I hope I live long enough to celebrate with them on a grand scale.  What we are doing to this country now won’t work out nicely.  It does not take a orange peeler to figure that out.

Did I say don’t get me started?

Oh well.  Just one man trying to…

Speak the Rights.

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I just finished a clandestine mission.  Unbeknownst to her, when Mom gets home is less than an hour she will find her Mother’s Day present on the counter and ready to make a single cup of coffee.

My Mother, Tressie Johnson, would never buy a Keurig machine.  One of those machines that makes a single cup of coffee without one needing to fire up the coffee pot full blast.

A few time over the years I have heard my Mother mention an affinity for a machine like this.   It was time to get her one so she can easily come into contact with coffee, or hot chocolate, or hot tea whenever her heart desires.  That is the idea.  Not to mention my Dad will get his enjoyment out of it too when he states like only he can that he wants to cup of coffee.

So…Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s out there.

I am fortunate that I have had a mother who has taken good care of me over the years.  Even when I was a pain in the butt, she would not remind me that I was one.  I may be one today, given how Carrie and I made a slight rearrangement of her kitchen to accommodate the new coffee machine.  But, I doubt I will hear about it.  Mom and Dad will appreciate it and I think they will truly like it too…eventually.  That will not change the fact that we came in under the cloak of night…no…make that a sun-shiny warm morning while they were not around and made the change.  When we are gone for the day and Mom and Dad are to their private speaks, they may shake their heads at our actions…but certainly not our intentions.  It’s the thought that counts!  Man has that sentiment gotten me out a jam or two over the years!  Some things simply never change.  Thank God for that.

Mother’s Day should be changed.  There really should be Mother’s Week!  That because our mother’s, or at least the ones of us fortunate to know the love of their mother’s first hand know what this means to us.  I also know I am fortunate in the regard that I do know my mother loves me.  There are many out there, God bless them, that never had that knowledge or warmth or the ability to recall and remember so many good times with their mothers.  I feel for them.  I have had that.

And my Mom just showed up.  Gotta go.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Mike Hunsucker was my friend.  That was it.  We worked in close proximity.  I as a school counselor and English teacher.  He was a school bus driver and custodian.  He did great work.  I hope he thought I did at least good work.

Today I sent his wife, Bonnie, a text message.  I asked how she was doing.  I told her Carrie, my dear wife, and I miss seeing her.  She replied in part with the following:

“Been thinking about you both and all you did when Mike got worse. How you brought dinner up to us on Derby Day and spent time with us…one of Mike’s last good days.”

It took a calendar to reiterate my suspicions as I write this on the evening of May 3, 2017. Three years ago today was that Derby Day Carrie and I spent with Mike and Bonnie.  Did we ever have fun.  We laughed and talked good sense to one another.  But that was all Mike and I ever did.  We had fun.  I couldn’t drive a bus and he couldn’t teach English.  We didn’t care.

At Mike’s funeral two weeks after Derby Day, I was fortunate enough to get up and hold forth about our friendship, our faith in God, our families, our extended families, and what he meant to me.  Mike was not a great conversationalist.  He usually did most of the listening while I did most of the talking.  He wanted it that way.  But when he spoke…it was like E.F. Hutton was in the building.

One time on a field trip, I know I have told this story here before, we visited a college with a group of seniors.  The kids were taken care of with leaders from the school on their long and informative tour.  I asked Mike if he wanted to hear a good story?  I proceeded to tell him about some of the roadblocks I encountered on the way to finishing my college education.  He sat wide-eyed and never moved.  He told me he appreciated that I felt like I could share with him.  How could I not?  He was Mike!

One of the things I said at Mike’s funeral is that there is a frame around each of our lives.  None of the frames are completely straight and narrow.  There are imperfections.  There might be a burn mark or two.  There might be a narrow place.  Some parts may look immaculate.  All the features matter.  Mine frame includes a nice spot reserved for Mike and Bonnie Hunsucker.  Mike was 58 when he died.  To me, he will be that forever young I spoke of in a post or two back.

Lord knows I miss him.  I truly do.  I asked Carrie today how three years can seem so long about some things and so short about others.

The last conversation I had with Mike is planted firmly and clearly in my framework.  He barely had any strength.  He raised his head up and looked at me and said two words.  The first was “Kids..” as in a question…”(How are the) Kids (at school)?”  He paused and looked up at me again and said “Thanks”.  That was thanks for being my friend.  I thanked him and told him I loved him.   That was a great way to end things.  I am so fortunate.

But I am still sad.  I will be for as long as I can remember how this happened.

Taking us on a field trip.  He took us everywhere.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson