I’m just sitting here trying to get sleepy enough to get up at 3:30 a.m. so that I can get some work done tomorrow in time enough to pick up the kids from school.

It’s a bit harder now that I’ve gone full time. The money is better, I like the job. I am just trying to get my body used to what I guess you’d call swing shift. And it’s still a difficult thing to do after staying home for five years and pretty much making my own schedule.

Yes. This will help me sleep! This is an excellent idea!
Yes. This will help me sleep! This is an excellent idea!

So. I drudge on and listen to others complain about how they don’t want to get out of bed in the morning and how they can’t get a good nights rest. And to those folk I have to say, get. a. clue.

If you’re waking up after the sun count yourself lucky.

If you’re working a regular job 9 to 5 and have no kids, doubly so. You are living the life of Riley. My children are fantastic, don’t get me wrong. Absolutely fantastic, except when they aren’t. Then I have to love them that much more.

We all have a cross to bear, I suppose. Mine is to make some money to run this house and help raise two children the best way we know how. And we do alright (alright, alright. Those last two alrights were for you, you know who you are.)

So. Off to bed. I hope. And I’m also hoping for an hour or so of a podcast I enjoy to get me through the drive. And BOOM! Episode 19 of The Turquoise and Beef Jerky Roadshow is ready for download. And that makes me a happy camper.

Anywho, I just felt like writing a little. Just a ramble. I enjoy a good ramble. And that’s now a tag and category. So you can skip these last 328 words. Unless your into that sort of thing.



So, I’m sitting there at work doing some paperwork and an older gentleman comes up…

“Do you work here?”, he asked.

“No, sir, but what can I help you with. I’m a vendor.”

“I’ve been having trouble with my phone. It will vibrate but not ring. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.,” he says, clearly annoyed. Perhaps a little embarrassed.


I can understand this. I am somewhere in the middle of all this technology growth that we’ve had over the last few decades. I am in there where I’m old enough to have used the first Apple computers and still remember doing flow charts at school and floppy disks as big as dinner plates. (Yes, that old.) And now I sit with the power of the computers that calculated the first moonshot in my hand. People say that, but you have to have the power of the minds that made that moonshot happen, otherwise you just have a really expensive phone and bill, but that’s off track for this story.


So I check the volume first and it’s turned down. I turn that up and so as not to embarrass him further, I go into settings and have a look around and we find him a little louder, more noticeable ringtone and I ask him for his number so I can call his phone and test it out.

“It’s on the back. I can never remember my number.”

“I have dementia.”

And right there my heart sinks a little.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

“It is what it is, son,” he says. “You just deal with things and make the best of life.”

I call his phone and it rings and vibrates and he smiles. Problem fixed.

“There you go, sir.”

“My name isn’t sir, it’s George,” he says, extending his hand. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Scott,” I say as I shake his hand. “Anytime, you need help on things like this and I’m here, I’ll be glad to help.”


One of the girls that works at that Walmart came to me and and thanked me for keeping one more customer off of them while they tried to get their work done. I know they have a time of it, servicing customers and getting their daily activities completed. You have to keep the shelves full.

The story doesn’t end there.

This is the third time this has happened. The second time I thought it was déjà vu. This time I could follow the story almost repeating it word for word as it happened.

I don’t think he has dementia. I’ve discussed this with my wife and she thinks the same thing I do. He may have Alzheimer’s, and I hate that. He seems like such a nice guy. The wife reminded me that he has probably locked onto me, in his mind, as someone who will help. And I guess that makes me feel good, but I still hate it for George. I hope that I don’t leave this world not knowing where and who I am. But who knows?

Be kind to each person you meet.

One day, hopefully, you will be on the receiving end of that kindness.

The name has been changed to protect George. But I had to write this down. It has been eating at me to get out and now it has. – S


it wasn’t that they were so big or even their black soulless eyes. 

It wasn’t the pellets (although they were as big as what a good sized horse might leave behind). 

It wasn’t even the flapping of their ears or the thumping of their gigantic feet. 

I was out of giant carrots. 

And they were looking at me. 



it has been quite some time since I wrote here. I just haven’t had the urge.  

We’re in the mountains of NC this weekend and I’ve gotten the exploration itch back. 

Maybe I’ll break out the laptop tonight and write a bit. 


A Most Memorable Towel Day

I had to go to Urgent Care this morning. It seems that I had an abscess in a sensitive area  (yes, that’s a nice way to put it) and it had to be taken care of. Abscesses can form when a hair root becomes infected and develops into a small abscess. This is what happened to me, and I was getting to the point where I couldn’t walk. I am as stubborn as any other male on the planet, I was going to wait until Tuesday when the doctors office was open in town and take care of it then. I’m glad I didn’t.

ImageSome serious stuff was about to go down…

The physicians assistant came in and said his hellos. He’s a really nice fella (and he has warm hands) and was extremely  knowledgeable. Politeness and knowing the job are two things I look for in my medical personnel, the warm hands were a bonus. He did his assessment of the situation and went about describing what had to be done and told me that if I had waited until Tuesday that he would have sent me to the hospital. Out of all that I heard the words numb, cut, and hospital.


“You’re going to feel a pinch and then a little sting.” –  T. Hill, PA

Let’s speak for a moment about the meaning of words and the way you use them. Some words don’t even exist, yet people insist on using them. Irregardless is one such word. It’s ask not axe. Supposedly it’s supposably, but it isn’t. (h/t Matthew Cox) Pinch is a word that most anyone can use and most times use it correctly. So the reason I brought you here is a little sting.

Yellow jackets have a little sting. That little sting can cause a huge problem for someone like me who is allergic to their sting. Hornets have a little stinger but hit like a softball being thrown straight at you at short range. The little sting that T. Hill, PA was describing was a nice way to put the fact that my lower half was about to be subjected to ritual torture.

I saw fire, I saw stars, I saw the Monolith from 2001. I saw the back of my own skull from the inside and for a moment I was one with all things and understood the answer 42. That’s right. I found the question. I just as quickly forgot it.

That, for me, was my little sting. The whole “how much pain are you in on a level from one to ten?” question is one of the most out of whack things asked by medical professionals. My ten may be your five, and vice versa. Today was a twenty. It felt like what a buddy of mine in the army described when he was trying to verbalize what being shot felt like. I’ve been shot at, never hit. I am glad not to be in that club that requires the former qualification after today.

But I have been through worse pain.

So here I sit, gingerly. I never once have had the opportunity to use the word gingerly when describing myself. To all things a season and for all things a reason, I suppose.

I have some lovely relief in the form of narcotics sitting here on my desk. I don’t like pain pills. I don’t like feeling out of control of my actions the least little bit. Today, I will accept the feeling gladly.

The packing comes out Tuesday. This feels like a death sentence. Maybe, just maybe I will hit a thirty. While it’s a record on the pain scale, I don’t look forward to it.

My wife is a Physical Therapy Assistant. She also happens to be certified in wound care. She volunteered to “take care of that” with a smile.

It was the gleam in her eye that worries me.


This was my Towel Day and I have to say that I have had better. Tonight and tomorrow, as I do every year, I will reread the first book, Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy. I suppose it’s a Geek thing. But that’s where I’ll be, sipping on a jar of morphine.

I’ve decided that just exploring and posting photos I’ve taken won’t do anymore. To at least post once a week I am going to have to put a little more of me into my writings on here. I hope that this wasn’t TMI. – Seegars

I suck at blogging.

No. Don’t. Just don’t try to make me feel better about not doing what I set out to do. 

I know it’s all my fault and I really don’t have any excuse. I just get lazy. I forget about this blog although some of the things I have written here are some of my most proud moments online. I need to start scheduling myself to sit down and write once a week about something, anything. 

Okay. I’ll see y’all when I remember to come back here and write again.