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I was making my way home several years ago down Hufsmith Road and was about to round the deep corner before you get to Mama Goodsons old café site. I was traveling east on the inside corner, when I noticed a cow in the pasture to my right. She was on her front knees rocking back and forth like she was about to try and leap into the air. I then noticed her rear legs were nowhere to be seen and she appeared to have both back legs amputated. I thought to myself how cruel somebody must be to take off her back legs and leave her in the pasture to fend for herself. I then realized this cow was in serious trouble. She had already worked up a great deal of saliva in her mouth, which is a good indication of stress on a cow.
I stopped the car and dodged a few cars, whose occupants were of course wondering what kind of foolishness I was up to, as I made my way over to the fence.
I could tell this poor cow was in great need of help as her rear legs had both become victim of a small sinkhole and were obviously dangling in thin air several feet below the earth.
I knew the family living in the house, so I made my way to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Foley. As I got back to my car the cow finally freed herself, but she had peeled the hide off the front of her back legs.   
It seems a pipeline had been buried on their property several years ago and the ground had sunk around the pipe. This cow had torn her legs on the buried line when she fell into the hole. I went ahead and drove up to their home and reported the problem for which they were thankful.  
Mr. and Mrs. Foley once occupied the property known to me as the Old Mahaffey Place. I don't know if this is factual, but local history tells me Mr. Mahaffey was the first postal carrier here in our area from many, many years ago. The post office at Hufsmith used to deliver the first mail to this entire area. Now, once again I want to say this is local story only, but I am told Hufsmith used to deliver mail to Tomball, Rosehill, Cypress, Klein and Spring and a part of the Oklahoma community. The nice thing about local history is it can get all jumbled up to make the story more exciting and there are only a few people who can really verify the truthfulness of the story, so with each and every retelling of the same story the truth gets stretched more and more.
As I was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Foley my Grandma Osgood and Aunt Agnes Williams came to mind and Mrs. Foley and I both had a good laugh.
Grandma and Aunt Aggie were two soul mates. During their later years in life they attached themselves to each other like bread and butter. Grandma was a shorthaired lady with white hair and Aunt Aggie had long dark hair. Aunt Aggie drove a car and grandma didn't. Aunt Aggie lived alone after Uncle Percy died and grandma didn't like living alone when grandpa died. Grandma fished and I never saw Aunt Aggie fish. Aunt Aggie made a big garden every year and I don't remember grandma's gardens as being very big.  Two women of opposite ideas and lives, but so closely knit they were inseparable. Where one lady went, so went the other.
Several years ago Mrs. Foley was outside one day when she saw this black and white Ford car driving aimlessly around in her cow pasture. Now there's nothing strange about a car in the pasture, but in this case there was no gate to give access to the field. It seems Aunt Aggie missed the stop sign from Zion Road to Hufsmith and they flew through the ditch and tore down part of the fence, landing unhurt, but stunned in Mr. and Mrs. Foleys cow pasture. These two women were well in their late sixties, early seventies at this point of life and a traumatic jolt of jumping a ditch left them dazed and disoriented.
As Mrs. Foley went into the field to flag this strange car down, she realized these two ladies were somewhat out of sorts. Mrs. Foley asked them if they were ok and they seemed undaunted in their task at hand which was to get to Willing Workers at Church, "could you please show us the exit gate"?
Mrs. Foley tried to help them, but they insisted they were running late and simply needed to get out of this pasture so they could get about their church work, not realizing the car could be damaged or they could be hurt and not even realize it.
Off into the sunset drove Aunt Aggie with Grandma Osgood in the passenger seat, never to look back again. Two friends in life who shared many memories and many laughs, probably barely realizing the potential seriousness of their accident. More worried about their church work than themselves.
Many years ago these two friends passed away. Aunt Aggie first, then grandma had a stroke less than three weeks later.


- Clifford

Ok, I know this is a dated story and yes, I'm cheating today and re-hashing something old, but like I always say, we all eat the same kind of foods at different times, so why not re-read an old story once in a while.

This past year has been a good one for me. Many of my personal dreams and ideas are coming to pass and I must say I look forward to the new year with a new fervor and delight. I know that regardless of the everyday occurrences in one's life, the overall outcome is still gonna be alright. I'm secure in my faith and beliefs in God and in him I place all my trust, well, sort of, well, almost anyway, unless one decides to tempt fate and do something stupid.  I just hope my stupid days in life are over.

I had enough of those times as a young boy, but I have had a new chill run up my neck a couple of weeks ago that made me re-think my moves and habits up at the ranch.
Now I need to preface this story with a fact. For those of you who do not know me, I am pretty straight laced in my lifestyle, so I can tell you this story with a straight face and a clear mind.

The family ranch is located in Independence, which is north of Brenham about twelve miles. We are in Washington County and our property backs up to a creek named Yegua Creek, which is the spillway for Lake Somerville. (Yegua is pronounced Yeah Wall for all of you folks who can't speak Texan. Another confusing issue is Kuykendahl, pronounced Kur Ken Dial for those of you new to our area) The land is really isolated and has boundaries surrounded by several thousand acres on all sides that are inhabited by less than ten or so people. There is no though traffic and only one way in and one way out. During hard rains we can actually get flooded in, as the water rushes over the road. We are in a fairly remote area for these parts.

About the second week of November, on a cool, crisp afternoon, I was leaving the ranch just about sunset. As I drove down the one lane road approaching our gate, my mind was in a numbed state because I had just finished a couple of hours of relaxation while doing my chores.

Now I know that statement is a bit contradictory. You may ask how can I relax while working? For me, personally, working with my cattle or just messing around outside is relaxing. It can be blazing hot or freezing cold, but if I am away from my desk at work, the pressures of life seem to flow away while I am busting my body doing manual labor. Now all you people who work outside all day probably do think I'm a bit crazy feeling that way, but it's true. I enjoy the manual labor even though it's hard work. My mind is free and all I need to worry about is making sure I don't get myself tangled up in tractor parts or barbed wire and make sure one of my cows doesn't knock me down and hurt me.

Anyway, I finally made it to the gate and got out to lock it. After closing the gate and placing the padlock, I turned to walk back to my truck and I happened to take one last view of the land ahead, as a movement caught my eye in the brush.

"What is that," I thought and my mind immediately said "oh, it's just an old coyote".

I again surveyed the animal and said to myself "wait, a coyote doesn't slink though the grass like that!" Wow, look at the size of that creature! Look at its tail! That sucker has got to be at least seven or eight feet long! That's, that's, that's a cougar!"

And as suddenly as my mind grasped hold of what I was seeing it had already slipped into the next clump of bushes and I did not see it again. 

The animal was a beautiful, extremely dark coated animal, almost black in color and it was in a stalking mode. I don't know if it was approaching a rabbit, squirrel, bird or what, but the cat I saw was an honest to goodness mountain lion or cougar, if you will!

As I drove away in somewhat disbelief I was a bit taken back by what I had just seen. I was reluctant to share this with anybody as I know they would think I am crazy!
After a week or so I got up the nerve to talk to a hog hunter in the area named Zeke. When I mentioned this to Zeke he went to cussin' and sputterin' about wanten' to wrap that cat around the local biologist's neck!

It seems Zeke has seen this cat for several years, but the local authorities have told him that cougars are no longer in this area. I think Zeke is pleased that two of us have now seen this cat.

I'm still secure in my personal faith but this sighting has made me re-think those quiet walks through the woods. I think I may start carrying some added protection. A faith-booster if you will…


- Clifford

I am living proof that wisdom comes with age. The older I get, the more wisdom I exude with each day that passes. My greatest wisdom is related to marriage and therefore, I need to expound this wisdom to the younger generation of men. It is my duty to pass this wisdom along to make marriages better for the men of the world! Young men, hear my words of wisdom and heed them, well! There are a few rules you must learn to live by in order to keep peace in the household.
Rule # 1. Never assist the woman in your life by carrying crystal plates, cups or other fine chinaware that is considered an heirloom, or that may be expensive. I don't care how strong or manly you may be, these items are always subject to jump off of tables or out of your arms without notice. If your wife asks you to move these items, simply act like you are gagging real bad or go into a coughing fit. You can fake a bad hand, broken leg or even a strained back, but never lay a hand on these items.
Rule #2. Never offer to carry any kind of food or baked products that are being used for special celebrations such as weddings, anniversaries or showers. Recently I’ve held true to my beliefs on this and was saved by my insistence to not carry a wedding shower cake. My wife and I had gone to a local bakery to pick up this cake for my niece's shower that was being held at our home. The cake was a three tiered cake and it was in a box, but I told my wife that it would be best if I do not touch it, knowing full well that the worst could happen if I touched the thing. My wife carefully carried the box from the store and it was my job to drive her and the cake home while it rested gingerly on her lap in our car. We made it home just fine and the cake was carefully placed on the serving table for consumption the next day. The cake was covered and there it sat during the night awaiting the event the next day. I was instructed to leave our house during the shower (Rule #3. Always leave the house during showers!) and I gracefully obeyed the demands to vacate the house early. While I was away and as my wife and some of the other ladies opened the box to begin preparations, to their awe, shock and dismay THE CAKE HAD FALLEN OVER AND WAS SMASHED AGAINST THE SIDE OF THE BOX! This of course is a major disaster to any group of women. If it were a group of men we would have simply passed out forks to all the guys and eaten right out of the box in assembly line fashion, but for the lady folk this was really, really bad. There was only one hour before the shower and they scrambled back to the store and found a quick replacement. Not as pretty and not as well prepared as the first one, but at least they had a cake to take pictures with, even though it was a replacement cake.
Rule # 4. Act shocked and dismayed even if you really don't care what happened to their cake. Always sympathize with them.
And now that I am passing down my wisdom to the younger men, here is one last bit of advice on another subject. Always check your fly. Twice now in the past few months I have caught myself coming into work with a feeling of air about myself, only to find out I had failed to zip up. But last week, I had a different problem. I went to the hospital to visit my friend Buddy and as I walked across the parking lot this same feeling of air came about me. I immediately checked my fly only to find it securely in place. As I continued up the elevator and down the hall to his room I knew there was a problem so I quickly reached down once again to check things out, when I found I had busted my pants between the legs. I went in to his room anyhow and there was his wife Carolyn and other family members. Carolyn politely asked me to have a seat but I politely refused and remained standing with my body slightly turned away from them as I visited. Oh well, it wasn't the first time and I guess it won't be the last time these things happen. Life goes on.

- Clifford

Yes, I know someone is going to tell me they have heard this story before, but my family has been fighting the various sick bugs that have been floating around and I'm just plain tuckered out. I just don't feel like writing a new story this week. It always feels good to confess one's shortcomings, so I guess numerous confessions ought to bring me up a notch or two with my maker. Therefore, I am re-running this story entitled Confessions of an Altar Boy.
I wonder how many families have spent Thanksgiving dinners learning old dark secrets held by the men in their families?
You know the type of stories I am referring too, don't you? Johnny used to smoke cigarettes in the barn or Dan used to slip out at night through the window to ride his bicycle into town.
I can still remember how smart I thought I was, when I would climb in the big cedar tree down at the pond to smoke a cigarette. It was several years later that I found out my dad knew all along I was sneaking down there to smoke! I was shocked that he was so smart! I thought I had outwitted my parents numerous times, only to find out later in life that my parents weren't as old fashioned as I thought they were.
Well, this is one of those stories of confessions. My mom has heard it before so I'm good to go on this one – then again she probably already knows I wasn't always the sweet little boy she thought I was.
While growing up in the Tomball Lutheran School, we took daily confirmation classes in the seventh and eight grades. Part of the right of passage was to become a candle lighter for our Sunday morning services.
Of course when we would enter the sanctuary of the church we were in full robes and gave an appearance of being a cut above the normal antics of young boy's. The truth of the matter is we were acting like devils in the back room before service began and, as I have always said, God gave boy's hair to cover the growing horns.
One of the first small things we always wanted to do was taste a communion wafer. It was to our great surprise one day we found a whole box of these things under a cabinet in the same room we kept our robes. I can't remember who found the wafers, but I still remember indulging myself in the first taste of a piece of cardboard like substance that melted in your mouth into a distinct glob of yuk.
We soon acquired a taste for these things and for several days we would enter the back room of the church on our way to our confirmation classes and get our daily dose of wafer.
I don't know if they had anything to do with a rash of constipation, but I do recall after a week or so the wafers were eventually moved. I guess one of the ladies noticed the disappearance and hid them from our sight. It's a good thing the wine was kept elsewhere!
On better days we learned the value of fire. Of course one of our duties was to make sure the wicks on our candle lighters were always fresh and in order. Regardless if they  really needed a new wick or not, we would practice and practice lighting the wick and putting them out. We soon learned the longer the wick the bigger the flame and the flame soon put off soot. We also discovered the idea of running the wicks at high speed and writing on the ceiling of the room with the black soot emitting from the wick.
Now before you start wondering why there wasn't an adult in the room, you need to understand all of this went on a few minutes before the service actually started. The pastor of the church would be in the room with us, but he would then move to another room and we were left alone. It was assumed we would behave since we were in church, but somebody forgot we were still boys. Robe or no robe we still had a lot of mischief up our sleeve and our sleeves were real long while we were in those robes!
More next week as I continue the Confessions of an Altar Boy.
- Clifford

This is part two of a story I started last week named Confessions of an Altar Boy. I hope you had an opportunity to read last weeks article but in case you missed it I need to re-cap. I am describing actual events during my days as an altar boy in my childhood church.
Boys and lighter fluid are a dangerous mix.  Our duties were designed to bring honor and dignity to the church service, but if the congregation only knew the number of little devils that were lighting their candles, they would have probably passed out.
We used lighter fluid to assist our efforts in lighting the wick on our candle lighters. These were the tools used to actually light the candles before our church service. They had a long wax candle that could be controlled by a slide on the tool. I'm sure there is some religious name for these things, but I know you have seen them. They have a wick on one end and a bell shaped cone on the opposite side to extinguish the candles.
One day while using the fluid, we found that lighter fluid burned fairly cool. Now I know fire is always hot, but some fluids burn hotter than others and lighter fluid burns cool.
We soon learned we could drop a little fluid on the floor in one spot and light the terrazzo floor, but not cause burn marks. It was really cool too! A small blue flame burning from concrete was very amazing to us guys. As time passed we learned the art of writing our names in lighter fluid. Talk about having your name in lights! As time passed our little flames grew to bigger and bigger flames, almost to the point of getting out of hand.
If we thought somebody was coming to check on us we would quickly stomp out the fires with our feet. If the puddle of burning lighter fluid was deep enough, you could slap your foot on the flames and cause the fluid to splash.
This splashing would create little fire droplets all across the room. It was really neat to see the series of little drops of fire. Occasionally we would have to slap the fire out with our hands if it hit the walls.
An odd thing occurred while stomping out one of the flames. We soon learned that the UN-burned lighter fluid would stick to the bottom of our Sunday shoes and we actually had a burning foot that really didn't burn. Our antics went from burning shoes to soaking our hand in lighter fluid and lighting our hand like the guys in the movies. We called ourselves stuntmen. Sword fighting with burning fingers was a good pastime.
I know a lot of my readers are wondering who in the world could have done such things. I'll never tell. Just remember, many of the male readers of this article can relate. I will simply say many of these guys are now holding different positions in different areas of the country. Some of them are Church Elders, a couple of Ministers, past sunday school superintendents and a vast array of job duties.
I can only imagine how many people in our congregation sat through church thinking they smelled singed hair. I guess they thought it was the candles that the sweet little angel altar boys had provided for them.
If only they really knew! I guess now they do!


- Clifford

I was thinking about my cousin Wayne the other day and it made me think about his dad. Wayne's wife recently retired and I guess he is about to move into another realm of life. I will have to watch how he handles having his wife around him all day long and see how he reacts to the probable long list of honey do's and harass… ahhh…the new full time togetherness .Just kidding! Congratulations to the two of you for the long love relationship and retirement!
Wayne's dad was of course my uncle. His first name was Freddie and to me all my life he was Uncle Freddie. Unfortunately Uncle Freddie passed away many years ago, but I still remember a story that I wrote about him several years ago.
Uncle Freddie, to me, was always a quiet man. I don't recall ever hearing him holler and I really don't ever recall him getting in too much of a hurry about much of anything, well at least until a few years ago!
I saw him, first hand, do two things that really showed me how much of a hurry he could get into! Uncle Freddie worked for a local funeral home.
Now I would really like to mention the name of this establishment, but I haven't talked to anyone over there and they may not want my type of comments mentioned in the paper. Knowing the family, I think they would all laugh, but I know comments about funerals and funeral homes are sometimes taken the wrong way, when a person is in bereavement.
Uncle Freddie was one of the persons responsible for assisting people with parking, amongst other duties. Many times I have driven by the funeral home and have observed these gentleman, all in proper suit and tie, directing traffic. Rain or shine, cold or heat they have stood for long periods of time working with all sorts of drivers. They stand vigilant at their job. A somber face, proper attire and a pleasant helpful attitude.
Some days, when I have driven by, each man seems lost in his own thoughts. They appear to be trying to reserve energy and not break into a sweat on hot days.  
On one of those hot days several summers ago, I broke the silence of Uncle Freddie's day in a very unusual way.
I enjoy messing with honeybees. I've never had a real hive before, but I have enjoyed taking bees out of trees and bushes. The hives I've tried didn't last too long and simply flew away.
One day I received a phone call from a friend of mine who said he saw a swarm of bees in front of the then Church’s Fried Chicken Place here in town. (It's now Popeye's) It was near my lunchtime, so I decided to leave the office and investigate.
I stopped in and talked to the manager who explained to me several of his customers were already in a panic and he would be real glad to have me remove the bees for him. As I investigated the hive, they were real deep into his shrubbery in front of his store and I explained to him I would have to cut out parts of his shrubs in order to remove the bees undisturbed. He gave his approval and I went to work.
After a few cuts with my hand saw I was able to retrieve the swarm tightly encased on one of the limbs. I cut the limb and placed the swarm, limb and all, into a cardboard box I had in the back of my truck.
At the time I retrieved this hive, I had no place to keep them and I thought of Uncle Freddie. I knew he had an empty hive next to his garden. I needed to talk to him right away and I knew he was working at the parking lot of the funeral home.
As I approached the lot there was Uncle Freddie in his usual somber stance passing away the moments in deep thought and concentration between cars coming in for the next funeral.
As I approached his area he began to approach my truck. I began to roll down my window to talk to him when he suddenly noticed the swarm of bees frantically flying around in the bed of my truck.
His forehead wrinkled, his eyes got big as his lips began to pulsate in and out when he said "good God boy, what you got in the back of that truck!" I began to laugh, as I had never seen Uncle Freddie show such emotion. I began to realize just how amazed a guy could really be! I mean face it! Here you are minding your own business at the parking lot of a funeral home, when this nut drives up to you with a load of angry honey bees flying around in an open cardboard box! I don't know what kind of reaction I expected from him, but I did get a kick out of his facial expressions.
I delivered the bees to his house, but after several months they decided to leave. I guess they made a beeline out of the county for fear of another truck ride in a cardboard box.
More on Uncle Freddie next week.


- Clifford

"Art, Art, where are you Art? Art, come in here right now! Art, are you listening to me? Where are you Art?"
The sounds of Marylyn. I can still hear them ringing in my ears after all these years.
Art and Marylyn Cummings have been family friends for many, many years. Art and I went to high school together and after a few years, we settled into the same church.
After my wife and I were married, we joined a church known as Grace Tabernacle here in Tomball. Art and Marylyn were married and joined the same church. We both have daughters about the same age.
Art and Marylyn used to live in a mobile home parked behind the church.  As time passed, our families grew close and we began to tease each other about the ways in which each of us treated our spouses. Art and Marylyn took the brunt of most jokes, because we accused Art of being hen pecked.
Marylyn had a way of calling out to Art from inside the house. Her voice would hit nasal octaves, which could be heard reverberating between the church building and metal walls of the house for hundreds of yards away. Regardless of where Art was on the church property, he would always promptly respond with his typical, "yes honey" and then go off and do whatever he wanted to do in the first place. Most of us men respond with the same answer. We always tell our wives what they want to hear, but do it our own way anyhow.
Marylyn was one to always be involved in a good joke. She could dish them out but she could take them as well.  One night a joke was played that went real bad.
A work day was being held at the church. As with most of us, we are happy to help when we can. I had been at the church for several hours and was soon ready to leave. I had no desire to go announce to everyone I was leaving, because I knew I would get picked on for being the first one to leave, so I simply left! I didn't tell a soul I was leaving.
As I drove up my driveway, my wife came running out the door screaming at me to get back up to the church because Marylyn called and said the church house was on fire! As I turned to run back to my car, I told her to call the fire department.
I had been a volunteer fireman for several years and I knew the drill as I was making my way back to town. A call would go in to the dispatcher at the police department and a siren would sound off at Bill Snyder's house on East Main. I knew if I drove with my window down, I would be able to hear the alarm as it was being rung and would need to watch out for the trucks as they pulled out of the station. The closer I got to town, the more and more my ears strained to hear the sounds of the alarms. 
As I began approaching the church house from Main, I strained to see the smoke. I really anticipated seeing black smoke billowing from all angles of the church, when a little voice inside my head told me to hold back and not rush to the scene without a moment of caution. I turned one block early and circled the church house from a one block distance. I soon saw the fire truck parked in front of the church, but the hoses were dry and still laying on the truck. The sirens were not on and I failed to see anybody scurrying around in much of a hurry.
That small voice started telling me somebody was pulling my leg. After circling the block a couple of times, I soon garnered the courage to drive into the lot. As I got out of my car, I realized a prank that was attempting to be pulled on me had turned real sour.
What really occurred, was that Marylyn had called my home attempting to force me to rush back to the church since I left work day without telling anyone. What she failed to tell my wife was, this was in fact a joke, so when I got home and my wife told me the church was on fire, I immediately told her to call the fire department! My wife then started calling other church members and soon everybody in church was panicking thinking the church was burning down.
For once, I was innocent and this prank turned bad by causing the volunteer firemen to come out and creating a lot of potential problems.
Art and Marylyn have moved and the church has changed names.  Life goes on, but my memories of Art and Marylyn will be forever.



- Clifford

During my growing up years here in the Tomball area, I was privileged to be under many fine educators. I was always the class angel and all of my teachers had been told time and time again by my parents and all of our adult family friends how calm I was and how I never caused anybody any trouble. I was simply a sweet, little, timid boy who never caused trouble, never played practical jokes on anybody and never got into any trouble at all. (Precious Lord, I ask you to forgive me right now for lying……).
In time I will share many stories of happiness and sadness about my teachers, but for this article, I wish to relate a story about the oldest teacher I knew, Mr. Herbert Buescher. Now don't misunderstand me when I say he was the oldest teacher I knew. It's no disrespect to a fine man, it's simply fact! Mr. Buescher did turn one century old before he left this earth. Yes, that’s a one with two zeros behind it!
I have a memory of Mr. Buescher I will never forget and a respect for his stern, tender education he provided me. I really cannot remember a particular lesson in the classroom, but I do remember a lesson of life he taught me while on the playground at Tomball Lutheran School.
During the late fifties and early sixties we participated in a program called recess. I don't know if recess is still called recess today, or if it's some politically correct statement like "opportunity to participate in social activities" or "social skill development," but for us it was recess.
I was always a well behaved young man. I was always orderly and never disruptive in class. During recess I was always the quiet child sitting on the side of the playground under the shade tree, studying my English or math. (If you believe this please call me, I have a bridge in the desert for sale!)
One day during recess, teacher Buescher had gathered all of us little crumb crunchers around him, as he was attempting to put some order to the chaos of our softball game. He was standing in the middle of our group and I was holding the softball. For no reason whatsoever, I threw the ball straight into the air while standing in the middle of this crowd, not thinking of the fact what goes up, must come down! Well, it came down all right! It came down on the side of the head of teacher Buescher.
The ball grazed the side of his head and knocked his glasses lopsided. My initial reaction was to laugh at the humorous way teacher Buescher looked when his glasses were sitting on the end of his nose and crooked across his eyes, but my laughter immediately turned to one of those childhood fears of "Uh Oh, I messed up and I'm in big trouble!"
I froze in my spot expecting teacher Buescher to soon advance toward me and take me to the woodshed, but he didn't.
Teacher Buescher simply turned toward me with a long silent, stern stare. He pointed his index finger at me and, even though he was standing several feet away, I felt as if his finger was reaching into my very soul. The power of his stare and the strength of his pointed finger struck a fear in me only felt before when my dad would give me a spanking! I was cooked! I was a goner I thought!
Through the glasses on the end of his nose and the sternness in his voice, teacher Buescher had to speak only once.
He pointed and said, "Don't you ever do that to anyone again!"
The impact of his words brought embarrassment to my being. His voice and the correction in front of my many friends on the playground did more to grab my attention than any spanking could have ever accomplished. His words have been with me all my life. He didn't get mad, he didn't scream, he didn't lose his self control. He simply accomplished, with his words, a lesson learned and remembered for all my life and to this day I have never thrown another ball randomly into the air.


- Clifford

Somewhere in the Bible there is something written that states "your sins shall find you out". Now I know that I may have butchered this up somewhat and I also know that it wouldn't take two minutes to look the scripture up, but then I wouldn't have been able to fill up this paragraph with words. The truth of the matter is that I have started this story without the foggiest idea of where I'm headed. I kind of know what I would like to say, but I'm just not sure if it will come out all right so I'm just buying time for my mind to catch up with my typing fingers. (Scary thought huh!)
I know a lot of people who have gone on vacation or out of town and they forget to act like decent human beings and they get into trouble. They think if they go to Vegas that everything stays in Vegas, but you can rest assured if you happen to bump into your next door neighbor then everything you did in Vegas will get home before you do! Now somebody is already wondering how in the world Clifford is going to tie Vegas and The Bible into one story…well, I'm not..but kind of.
My wife and I went out of town during the Fourth of July many years ago. We are celebrating 29 years in business and to the best of my recollection we have never, ever closed the doors of our operation during a normal business day for a vacation. We have always kept the doors open with employees on staff. The problem with this however, is as a business owner you always worry about your staff back home and have to continuously mix business and pleasure. We decided this time to "shut 'er down" and we did! We closed the doors at 5 p.m. on July 3rd and were gone until the following Monday morning. We sent everybody home for time off.
We went to Colorado Springs, Colo. Nothing special. Just wanted to get away and see the mountains and smell the mountain air. We had a very, very nice trip and came back very happy and relaxed.
As I was sitting in a local IHOP on Saturday morning, we had commented to the waitress that we were from Texas. Actually my wife had made a comment, formally reserved for Yankees, which lead to the Texas issue. My wife was looking for something on the menu and she said "we're not from here and down in Texas our menus are different". I laughed inside at her comment as my thoughts told me the waitress probably could care less how things are done in Texas. That kind of talk used to gripe the snot out of me back in the day, when northern folk were moving into Texas trying to tell us how things were done up north! Who cares! But anyhow, the waitress took it well and as we were leaving she said "you guy's have a good trip back to Texas"
As she turned to walk away a man next to us kept turning around and looking at me. After about three times he finally got up his nerve and spoke up and said "what part of Texas are ya'll from?" I smiled and I said "well, we come from the south part of Texas, north of Houston. I actually live in a community called Hufsmith but we are near a place called Tomball."  "Tomball", he said. "I know it well!" "You do", I exclaimed. "Yep, I live in Lubbock and I work for BJ Services. I have been to your town many times!"
So there you go. How did I tie all of this together, well, The Bible says your sins will find you out. An incident in a very far away place reminds me that somebody always knows somebody else and everybody is always watching you. Whether it be God or Man, Human or maybe an Angel, but our sins will always find us out. We all better behave. We are being watched.

- Clifford