Hobo Jungle
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tramp, I can't spot it... 
Jon, I think I hear it, but can't tell if it's a squeak or a clink....??
Jon, I think I hear it, but can't tell if it's a squeak or a clink....??
Re: Hobo Jungle
God bless the beverage cart!
Pete, It's a color change.
Pete, your wonderful train lanterns are lit for the Eve. Of all us hobos, your generosity is unparalleled. And the light (my favorite is the B&M) is so much about Christmas for me now, lit every year. Thank you, my friend. Somehow I see Hev in the flame. I lift my glass for our departed hobo.
Not lit but here it is:
Pete, It's a color change.
Pete, your wonderful train lanterns are lit for the Eve. Of all us hobos, your generosity is unparalleled. And the light (my favorite is the B&M) is so much about Christmas for me now, lit every year. Thank you, my friend. Somehow I see Hev in the flame. I lift my glass for our departed hobo.
Not lit but here it is:
Last edited by Tramp on Wed Dec 24, 2014 4:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
Re: Hobo Jungle
To all,
Think I said this before but have a
Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, Winter Solstice or what ever you like.
Think I said this before but have a
Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, Winter Solstice or what ever you like.
roger
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tramp,
Color change? Are the lights all white?
The only difference I can easily see is this one has three heads.
Happy holiday to you and everyone.
Color change? Are the lights all white?
The only difference I can easily see is this one has three heads.
Happy holiday to you and everyone.
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Re: Hobo Jungle
I just heard a cheerful "Anything from the trolley? Anything from the trolley Dear?"
A Happy Christmas and a New Year full of success, friends, family, and cheer to you all as I lift a wee drap in your honour!
...and now that the trolley has gone, I'm listening for the squeaky wheel of the cart.
A Happy Christmas and a New Year full of success, friends, family, and cheer to you all as I lift a wee drap in your honour!
...and now that the trolley has gone, I'm listening for the squeaky wheel of the cart.
Re: Hobo Jungle
Because the occasion deserve it!
check the first screen, not me obviously.
it was few years ago in a day like today
check the first screen, not me obviously.
it was few years ago in a day like today
Re: Hobo Jungle
Andre! Merry Christmas! (Man, who's that dirtbag on the computer behind you?? 
)
Merry Christmas to all you hobos from the metropolis... the town... um, the hamlet... of Orangeville, from me and the redhead and the three urchins.
Just so Sarge wasn't drinking alone, I took a lousy shot at a selfie... (with thanks to the hobo who bought me the beautiful cobalt glass)
But I wanted to also raise a toast to a hobo who's gone on down the line, a dear friend and a brother who loved the Pennsy.
What's shakin', man?
)Merry Christmas to all you hobos from the metropolis... the town... um, the hamlet... of Orangeville, from me and the redhead and the three urchins.
Just so Sarge wasn't drinking alone, I took a lousy shot at a selfie... (with thanks to the hobo who bought me the beautiful cobalt glass)
But I wanted to also raise a toast to a hobo who's gone on down the line, a dear friend and a brother who loved the Pennsy.
What's shakin', man?
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tonight, maybe due to the mix of pain-meds and scotch, I find myself recalling friends long departed. Something about this holiday brings out the melancholy in me.
A few years ago the patriarch of a family of friends of mine passed away. Deep working-class people, ones uncomfortable standing in front of a crowd, the oldest son called and asked me to say a few words at their dad's funeral service.
I'd worked with their dad, George (Ed), for a number of summers during high-school and through college. The only guy that taught me more about life and honor was my father. George was a veteran...29th Infantry Division. He'd gone in on Omaha and made it across France and Germany, then came home, married, raised a family, lived well into his eighties. He lived every day like it was his last, but with humility and decency.
So I sat down and wrote a few words, then delivered to his family and the seventy or eighty folks who turned up the day we took George up the hill. The passing of a generation...my one and only eulogy:
"Good morning, everyone.
When I was a kid, my father had a house built over in Winchester Park on the south side of Westminster. It’s right down over the hill, here. We’d been living up on the end of Green Street in a place that my parents had rented, after moving here from Eldersburg the year before. My father worked just outside of Washington…why he chose to live so far from his work I never really understood. I think he just really liked this town and the people that live here.
My father used to refer to himself as the Old Man, and that came to be the way I thought about him, not out of disrespect, it just fit his demeanor. He was a mechanical engineer by training, and spent most of his career overseeing bridge construction projects for the State. If you’ve ever driven over the American Legion Bridge outside DC, you’ve seen his work. He and his friends were the kind of guys that if you asked them “Hey, what time is it?”, they’d sit you down and explain how to build a clock. Suffice it to say, he took as much interest in the construction of that house as anything he’d ever built in his life.
Every Saturday, and occasionally late on a weekday afternoon, we’d ride out there to see what was going on, what progress had been made, and the Old Man would check to make sure things were going according to plan. While he was doing whatever it was he did, I can remember running all over the place, jumping over the brick piles and mounds of top-soil, kicking around scraps of lumber, and stomping through the mason’s sand pile (which I’m sure the mason really appreciated). I remember picking up hundreds of these round metal punchouts from the electrical boxes, about the size of a quarter, thinking that if I could just get myself to a soda machine, I was going to drink ‘til I burst.
The Old Man hired Luther Brothers to build that house for him…he’d heard he was one of the best builders in the county. It turned out that Mr. Brothers was just as particular about things as my father. They bought all of the material that went into the project from Smith & Reifsnider, who was located down on Main Street at the time. It said a lot about that company, that they could work with these two guys and keep them happy. Sometimes when we were out there, Mr. Beard from Reifsnider’s would stop by to see how things were going, and I remember he would always take a minute to talk to me if he saw me hanging around. If I was really lucky, one of their delivery trucks would come by and drop something off, deliver some lumber, windows, whatever…that was always pretty exciting, and those delivery men were every bit as nice as Mr. Beard.
After the house was built and we’d moved in, we would still make occasional trips into town to Reifsnider’s. When the Old Man decided to finish the basement and build a screened porch on the back of the house, he got all of the material there. I remember standing in those long lines with him on Saturday mornings, placing the order, than going out to the warehouse with our ticket to pick up our stuff. You could shoot half the day in there if you were lucky, and, regardless of what the Old Man said, for a twelve year old kid, that was pretty great.
The years went by, and soon I was getting to the end of high school. A few weeks before graduation the Old Man asked what I was planning to do that summer, and I said I didn’t know, but that I’d probably get a job and try to make some money. For some reason he found this to be uproariously funny, as my organized work experience was minimal, and my reputation for laying around the house legendary. However, when his chortling subsided, he told me that whatever I did, to work as hard as possible, and to always be sure I gave a full day’s effort for a day’s pay. That was the best advice he ever gave me…work hard and good things will usually happen for you.
I spent a few days carefully considering where I wanted to work that summer. Recalling all of those trips into town over the years, I decided I’d apply for a job at Smith & Reifsnider, who’d moved over to John Street by then…and, to both the Old Man’s and my own surprise, they hired me! They told me to report the first Monday after graduation, which was now about two weeks away…I couldn’t believe it. I remember the Old Man telling me to be careful, which I didn’t really understand. It was a lumber company, right…what could happen to you at a lumber company? Splinters, I thought, he must be telling me I’ll need to be careful of splinters! The fact that they would have machines there that could tear your arm off never crossed my mind.
So I showed up that first day a bit nervous, and some cigar followed by a guy named Bud, the yard supervisor, told me I was going to ride along and help on deliveries. He sent me down to the lower lot in search of truck 39. Now this wasn’t as tough as I thought it might be, as there were only four trucks (I never really understood that numbering system they used). Truck 39 was an old International driven by George, and this was the first time I ever really met him. (yeah, I always knew him as George, not Ed, which got a bit more complicated the next summer when I discovered his son George was now also working at Reifsnider’s. I recall the first time I met Julia. She came in late one afternoon after she got off work, and I didn’t know who she was, and she was asking where Ed was. I think I told her she was mistaken, ”Lady, there’s no one named Ed working here”. I can to this day recall that twisted up look she gave me, and can only imagine what she was thinking.)
Now George had a regular helper, an older guy named Tex. If you think to yourself, what would a guy named Tex look like, it is exactly what you are picturing. Snakeskin cowboy boots, a Stetson hat with a wide band, straight-leg jeans, and a denim vest…he had the look long before Richard Petty, and he had the Houston drawl to match. He was the only guy I ever met who could holler and whistle at a woman from the truck, and get a friendly wave and a smile in return. Anyway, George and Tex got along famously, and sometimes they would take me along on deliveries. For instance if they had a truck-load of bricks (which had to be unloaded by hand), they’d invite me along. As I recall, George and I would be the ones who unloaded the truck, while Tex lectured us on the importance of lifting with our legs, not our back. “Leverage, son,” he’d say. “It’s all about leverage.”
Over that summer George took the time to teach me about how the place operated. He had some interesting theories on management, which I discovered later were not in any of the text books when I studied business in college. I didn’t feel particularly oppressed, but he assured me that I was. My sense was that he had decided it was up to him to make something of me, and my long string of summer employments was a tribute to his dedication.
I found George to be quite the connoisseur of what we now call comfort food…he could have written a guidebook detailing every greasy spoon within fifty miles of town. Once, we were out on a string of deliveries, when, around mid-day, he suddenly turned in at a bowling alley. I recall thinking at the time that Mr. Brose, our manager, would not be particularly happy if he knew we’d stopped at some point to bowl a few frames. However, it turned out that the reason we’d stopped was that George was particularly fond of the corn chowder they served at the snack bar, and this was to be our stop for lunch. Unbeknownst to him, this was yet one more lesson learned…to this day, I avoid bowling alley food.
Another take-away from working with George was his skill as a navigator. If sent to an address he’d never seen before, he would set off like an Indian scout. If you asked him if he knew where we were going, he’d wave with his arm and say something like “out past Taneytown, now let’s ride!”. Sometimes, after driving for awhile, he might start to look a bit tentative, and you’d think, “Oh yeah, he’s lost.” If you asked him if he knew where we were, he’d crouch down behind the steering wheel and peer out through the windshield, as if looking skyward for the position of the sun, or he’d look off into the distance for a bent tree branch or something, and then with a croaking whisper he’d say “It should be just over this next hill,” and sure enough, it was just over the next hill. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t pass this skill along to me. I remember being sent out on a delivery by myself one time, and I had to ask him for directions. He said something like “Well, you need to head down to Old Mayberry road, there, and at the fork you bear off to the right. Then, you go a ways down ‘til you get to the old Miller place, and you turn up the dirt lane just past the fence-line next to the creek, you know, where it floods every spring. Then you’ll come to an old stone barn with the roof fallen in, and you’ll…” at this point I would usually cut him off. For a long time I thought he was just pulling my leg, but soon I realized this was genuine…he was not a man of road names or route numbers. He’d memorized half the damn state by sight.
A special treat was The Mountain Run. This involved a full day on a Thursday on a route that covered Thurmont, Emmitsburg, and all points in between. We’d load the truck the evening before, and leave first thing the next morning. You didn’t come home ‘til the truck was empty. Putting aside the fact that the customers up there were crazy, a cool day in the mountains beat a hot day in Westminster anytime. On the way back we’d always stop at the General Store in Detour for an ice cream or a soda. At the time, It seemed like those days would last forever…unfortunately, I was too dumb to realize that we were on the tail end of an era that was about to disappear.
I spent five summers working for Smith & Reifsnider’s. After the first year riding shotgun with George and Tex, I spent most of my time around the warehouse filling orders, with an occasional short run locally. There were still useful things to be learned…for instance, if you dropped fifty roofing nails on the floor, what percentage would land standing straight up? And I owe a great debt of gratitude to Paul Brose’s dad, who taught me how to chew tobacco, which I got pretty good at. By the end of that summer I could whistle, chew, spit and drink soda all at the same time.
On Saturdays George or George would frequently ask me what I was up to after we got off work at Noon, which was typically not much. They’d invite me out to the house to give them a hand with whatever they might have going on…baling hay and painting the barn roof were particularly memorable. After work was done, playtime with the Ibex boys would commence, and that could be a bit more sinister. I am precluded from describing those activities to this day due to the unexpired statute of limitations.
I have been fortunate throughout my life to have found myself surrounded by good people. My parents, my wife, my coworkers, and my many friends, like the Ibex’s. Guys like George, here, made more of an impression on me than anything I ever read in a book or heard in a lecture. They’ve all given me a terrific lesson in humility, the simple appreciation of work, the importance of not taking yourself too seriously, and above all else, the value of friendship.
Today we celebrate the life of a fine man. To me, he’s always been an example of what so many should strive to be…decent, of simple convictions, a love of life, sacrifice, and pride in his family. In his generation these ideals were common, but for some that followed, they have become less so. In these troubled times, there are many that have lost their way. Guys like him are an example of the bedrock on which this country is built. We have been fortunate to have had their shoulders to stand on.
Julia, Garld, George, Ginny, Ronnie, Donald, and all of your spouses and partners, your children and your grandchildren…I can assure you that the pain and grief of these days will eventually recede, but that his memory shall, and must, remain. It may take weeks or months, but you’ll find that he’s still in there somewhere…make sure you let him out once in awhile.
I’ll leave you with one final thought. Once, quite a few years ago, over a few beers after a long day, I asked my boss at the time, “When you get down to the end of your career and life has slowed down, how do you know when you’ve made it”. He thought for a moment, and with a smile, he looked me straight in the eye and said “It’s when you can sit on your back porch in your underwear and eat ice cream out of the box with a wooden spoon.” I’ve been carrying that picture around in my mind for a long time. Here this morning, looking out over this room full of George’s family and friends, I can see that he made it, so I wonder if he ever got the chance to sit out back in his BVD’s and eat some ice cream? I sure hope so, but I can tell you one thing, I’m really, really sorry I never took the time to do it with him.
Thank you."
I hope you guys have the absolutely best Christmas ever.
Healey
A few years ago the patriarch of a family of friends of mine passed away. Deep working-class people, ones uncomfortable standing in front of a crowd, the oldest son called and asked me to say a few words at their dad's funeral service.
I'd worked with their dad, George (Ed), for a number of summers during high-school and through college. The only guy that taught me more about life and honor was my father. George was a veteran...29th Infantry Division. He'd gone in on Omaha and made it across France and Germany, then came home, married, raised a family, lived well into his eighties. He lived every day like it was his last, but with humility and decency.
So I sat down and wrote a few words, then delivered to his family and the seventy or eighty folks who turned up the day we took George up the hill. The passing of a generation...my one and only eulogy:
"Good morning, everyone.
When I was a kid, my father had a house built over in Winchester Park on the south side of Westminster. It’s right down over the hill, here. We’d been living up on the end of Green Street in a place that my parents had rented, after moving here from Eldersburg the year before. My father worked just outside of Washington…why he chose to live so far from his work I never really understood. I think he just really liked this town and the people that live here.
My father used to refer to himself as the Old Man, and that came to be the way I thought about him, not out of disrespect, it just fit his demeanor. He was a mechanical engineer by training, and spent most of his career overseeing bridge construction projects for the State. If you’ve ever driven over the American Legion Bridge outside DC, you’ve seen his work. He and his friends were the kind of guys that if you asked them “Hey, what time is it?”, they’d sit you down and explain how to build a clock. Suffice it to say, he took as much interest in the construction of that house as anything he’d ever built in his life.
Every Saturday, and occasionally late on a weekday afternoon, we’d ride out there to see what was going on, what progress had been made, and the Old Man would check to make sure things were going according to plan. While he was doing whatever it was he did, I can remember running all over the place, jumping over the brick piles and mounds of top-soil, kicking around scraps of lumber, and stomping through the mason’s sand pile (which I’m sure the mason really appreciated). I remember picking up hundreds of these round metal punchouts from the electrical boxes, about the size of a quarter, thinking that if I could just get myself to a soda machine, I was going to drink ‘til I burst.
The Old Man hired Luther Brothers to build that house for him…he’d heard he was one of the best builders in the county. It turned out that Mr. Brothers was just as particular about things as my father. They bought all of the material that went into the project from Smith & Reifsnider, who was located down on Main Street at the time. It said a lot about that company, that they could work with these two guys and keep them happy. Sometimes when we were out there, Mr. Beard from Reifsnider’s would stop by to see how things were going, and I remember he would always take a minute to talk to me if he saw me hanging around. If I was really lucky, one of their delivery trucks would come by and drop something off, deliver some lumber, windows, whatever…that was always pretty exciting, and those delivery men were every bit as nice as Mr. Beard.
After the house was built and we’d moved in, we would still make occasional trips into town to Reifsnider’s. When the Old Man decided to finish the basement and build a screened porch on the back of the house, he got all of the material there. I remember standing in those long lines with him on Saturday mornings, placing the order, than going out to the warehouse with our ticket to pick up our stuff. You could shoot half the day in there if you were lucky, and, regardless of what the Old Man said, for a twelve year old kid, that was pretty great.
The years went by, and soon I was getting to the end of high school. A few weeks before graduation the Old Man asked what I was planning to do that summer, and I said I didn’t know, but that I’d probably get a job and try to make some money. For some reason he found this to be uproariously funny, as my organized work experience was minimal, and my reputation for laying around the house legendary. However, when his chortling subsided, he told me that whatever I did, to work as hard as possible, and to always be sure I gave a full day’s effort for a day’s pay. That was the best advice he ever gave me…work hard and good things will usually happen for you.
I spent a few days carefully considering where I wanted to work that summer. Recalling all of those trips into town over the years, I decided I’d apply for a job at Smith & Reifsnider, who’d moved over to John Street by then…and, to both the Old Man’s and my own surprise, they hired me! They told me to report the first Monday after graduation, which was now about two weeks away…I couldn’t believe it. I remember the Old Man telling me to be careful, which I didn’t really understand. It was a lumber company, right…what could happen to you at a lumber company? Splinters, I thought, he must be telling me I’ll need to be careful of splinters! The fact that they would have machines there that could tear your arm off never crossed my mind.
So I showed up that first day a bit nervous, and some cigar followed by a guy named Bud, the yard supervisor, told me I was going to ride along and help on deliveries. He sent me down to the lower lot in search of truck 39. Now this wasn’t as tough as I thought it might be, as there were only four trucks (I never really understood that numbering system they used). Truck 39 was an old International driven by George, and this was the first time I ever really met him. (yeah, I always knew him as George, not Ed, which got a bit more complicated the next summer when I discovered his son George was now also working at Reifsnider’s. I recall the first time I met Julia. She came in late one afternoon after she got off work, and I didn’t know who she was, and she was asking where Ed was. I think I told her she was mistaken, ”Lady, there’s no one named Ed working here”. I can to this day recall that twisted up look she gave me, and can only imagine what she was thinking.)
Now George had a regular helper, an older guy named Tex. If you think to yourself, what would a guy named Tex look like, it is exactly what you are picturing. Snakeskin cowboy boots, a Stetson hat with a wide band, straight-leg jeans, and a denim vest…he had the look long before Richard Petty, and he had the Houston drawl to match. He was the only guy I ever met who could holler and whistle at a woman from the truck, and get a friendly wave and a smile in return. Anyway, George and Tex got along famously, and sometimes they would take me along on deliveries. For instance if they had a truck-load of bricks (which had to be unloaded by hand), they’d invite me along. As I recall, George and I would be the ones who unloaded the truck, while Tex lectured us on the importance of lifting with our legs, not our back. “Leverage, son,” he’d say. “It’s all about leverage.”
Over that summer George took the time to teach me about how the place operated. He had some interesting theories on management, which I discovered later were not in any of the text books when I studied business in college. I didn’t feel particularly oppressed, but he assured me that I was. My sense was that he had decided it was up to him to make something of me, and my long string of summer employments was a tribute to his dedication.
I found George to be quite the connoisseur of what we now call comfort food…he could have written a guidebook detailing every greasy spoon within fifty miles of town. Once, we were out on a string of deliveries, when, around mid-day, he suddenly turned in at a bowling alley. I recall thinking at the time that Mr. Brose, our manager, would not be particularly happy if he knew we’d stopped at some point to bowl a few frames. However, it turned out that the reason we’d stopped was that George was particularly fond of the corn chowder they served at the snack bar, and this was to be our stop for lunch. Unbeknownst to him, this was yet one more lesson learned…to this day, I avoid bowling alley food.
Another take-away from working with George was his skill as a navigator. If sent to an address he’d never seen before, he would set off like an Indian scout. If you asked him if he knew where we were going, he’d wave with his arm and say something like “out past Taneytown, now let’s ride!”. Sometimes, after driving for awhile, he might start to look a bit tentative, and you’d think, “Oh yeah, he’s lost.” If you asked him if he knew where we were, he’d crouch down behind the steering wheel and peer out through the windshield, as if looking skyward for the position of the sun, or he’d look off into the distance for a bent tree branch or something, and then with a croaking whisper he’d say “It should be just over this next hill,” and sure enough, it was just over the next hill. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t pass this skill along to me. I remember being sent out on a delivery by myself one time, and I had to ask him for directions. He said something like “Well, you need to head down to Old Mayberry road, there, and at the fork you bear off to the right. Then, you go a ways down ‘til you get to the old Miller place, and you turn up the dirt lane just past the fence-line next to the creek, you know, where it floods every spring. Then you’ll come to an old stone barn with the roof fallen in, and you’ll…” at this point I would usually cut him off. For a long time I thought he was just pulling my leg, but soon I realized this was genuine…he was not a man of road names or route numbers. He’d memorized half the damn state by sight.
A special treat was The Mountain Run. This involved a full day on a Thursday on a route that covered Thurmont, Emmitsburg, and all points in between. We’d load the truck the evening before, and leave first thing the next morning. You didn’t come home ‘til the truck was empty. Putting aside the fact that the customers up there were crazy, a cool day in the mountains beat a hot day in Westminster anytime. On the way back we’d always stop at the General Store in Detour for an ice cream or a soda. At the time, It seemed like those days would last forever…unfortunately, I was too dumb to realize that we were on the tail end of an era that was about to disappear.
I spent five summers working for Smith & Reifsnider’s. After the first year riding shotgun with George and Tex, I spent most of my time around the warehouse filling orders, with an occasional short run locally. There were still useful things to be learned…for instance, if you dropped fifty roofing nails on the floor, what percentage would land standing straight up? And I owe a great debt of gratitude to Paul Brose’s dad, who taught me how to chew tobacco, which I got pretty good at. By the end of that summer I could whistle, chew, spit and drink soda all at the same time.
On Saturdays George or George would frequently ask me what I was up to after we got off work at Noon, which was typically not much. They’d invite me out to the house to give them a hand with whatever they might have going on…baling hay and painting the barn roof were particularly memorable. After work was done, playtime with the Ibex boys would commence, and that could be a bit more sinister. I am precluded from describing those activities to this day due to the unexpired statute of limitations.
I have been fortunate throughout my life to have found myself surrounded by good people. My parents, my wife, my coworkers, and my many friends, like the Ibex’s. Guys like George, here, made more of an impression on me than anything I ever read in a book or heard in a lecture. They’ve all given me a terrific lesson in humility, the simple appreciation of work, the importance of not taking yourself too seriously, and above all else, the value of friendship.
Today we celebrate the life of a fine man. To me, he’s always been an example of what so many should strive to be…decent, of simple convictions, a love of life, sacrifice, and pride in his family. In his generation these ideals were common, but for some that followed, they have become less so. In these troubled times, there are many that have lost their way. Guys like him are an example of the bedrock on which this country is built. We have been fortunate to have had their shoulders to stand on.
Julia, Garld, George, Ginny, Ronnie, Donald, and all of your spouses and partners, your children and your grandchildren…I can assure you that the pain and grief of these days will eventually recede, but that his memory shall, and must, remain. It may take weeks or months, but you’ll find that he’s still in there somewhere…make sure you let him out once in awhile.
I’ll leave you with one final thought. Once, quite a few years ago, over a few beers after a long day, I asked my boss at the time, “When you get down to the end of your career and life has slowed down, how do you know when you’ve made it”. He thought for a moment, and with a smile, he looked me straight in the eye and said “It’s when you can sit on your back porch in your underwear and eat ice cream out of the box with a wooden spoon.” I’ve been carrying that picture around in my mind for a long time. Here this morning, looking out over this room full of George’s family and friends, I can see that he made it, so I wonder if he ever got the chance to sit out back in his BVD’s and eat some ice cream? I sure hope so, but I can tell you one thing, I’m really, really sorry I never took the time to do it with him.
Thank you."
I hope you guys have the absolutely best Christmas ever.
Healey
Re: Hobo Jungle
To my fellow hobo's! Merry Christmas! And a toast to happy New Year!
Running that red block Charlie.
Re: Hobo Jungle
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Re: Hobo Jungle
That is really pretty, Wayne.
roger
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
Re: Hobo Jungle
When a gift is perfect:
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
Re: Hobo Jungle
The holiday beverage cart has wound it's way down south.
Homemade eggnog, Kentucky bourbon, sprinkle of nutmeg.
Cheers, Gents!
Homemade eggnog, Kentucky bourbon, sprinkle of nutmeg.
Cheers, Gents!
Running that red block Charlie.
-
Rufus T. Firefly
- Posts: 42159
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 7:52 am
- Location: To be Determined
Re: Hobo Jungle
I have to drive over to my sister in law's for dinner, but by all the gods and all that answers any prayers that you can offer, please do have the beverage cart come by after I return for there will exist the greatest of needs imaginable thereafter.......
I go to make my wife and mother in law happy, and perhaps it is a far, far better thing that I do, I will need a drink (or 3...) immediately upon my return!
I go to make my wife and mother in law happy, and perhaps it is a far, far better thing that I do, I will need a drink (or 3...) immediately upon my return!
Invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple.
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