Walter

I grew up in a small town with a war memorial on the town square.  I don't know if Walter ever did this, but had it crossed his mind he would have.

Crip Walker

This is a quick pencil study for a project I am beginning.  This is Crip Walker, a black man that helped raise my brothers and me back in the early fifties.  Lost my only photo of him, so this is from memory.

Poor Man's Wood Carving Vise

I saw this on you tube and wanted to try it.  It works well and frees up both hands.  To keep it from slipping you will need to groove the end of the tee with a grinder.

OLD ME

     The middle of last month I reached the ripe old age of sixty seven.  It had sneaked up on me as my health had been pretty good.  I am blessed to have reached this age.  I used to wonder how someone in their thirties could even get around.  As forty came and went I laugh at that silly notion now.  Now at sixty seven I wonder where the time has gone.
     My body is in disrepair, there is no cartilage in any of my joints.  The bone ends are inflamed and even the slightest movement is painful.  I looked around to see if I could find where my youth had gone.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the skinny insolent seventeen year old.  There he was all full of piss, vinegar and testosterone moving around all erect and proud.  He had a beer in one hand, scratching his butt and chewing on a tobacco leaf.
     The sight of the young me pissed me off.  "Have a little class, dumbass!" old me yelled at young me.  True to form his response was "F### you old man."
     I already did not feel good and that inflamed me even more.  When you look back fifty years it is right there.  If you look forward fifty years it is a lifetime away.  Even though he was younger and faster than old me, I knew I had a shot at whipping his ass, besides it was my dream.  "Come on you stupid little shit." old me exclaimed.  Old me shuffled toward him as fast as I could.  Young me looked at old me and laughed.  Just as old me got to him, young me tripped over his forgotten six-pack.  When he did, I whacked him up side his young head and the blood spurted out of his nose.  When young me hit the dirt, old me started kicking him.
     That didn't satisfy old me and I got down over him as far as my old knees would allow.  I pummelled his young butt good.  Old me knew I couldn't kill him for here I am.  But I took great delight in his pain.  When I tired, I tried to get up but I couldn't.  When young me came to his senses, he graciously helped me up.  By then my anger was over and we had a good  laugh at our expense.  The next time I wake up and think someone needs a good butt whipping, I am going to turn off the clock, pull the covers over my head and wait until that stupid feeling subsides.
   

Transition:Life From Death

16x20 inches, oil on stretched canvas.  Death is not the end, it is the beginning.

Demoncrat Party

Just an observation of the democratic party at the congressional meeting yesterday.

Short Road

The road of life is short.  We start out as energetic youngsters and wind up as people so worn out they need help walking.  All that happens between the beginning and the end gets lost in the daily hustle and bustle.  The only constant is our faith in our Lord and Savior.  Thank God He stays with us throughout the journey.