I just bought a new iPhone 3g and downloaded a program for posting on WordPress.com.
Now no matter where I am I can write stories and post pictures!
Jay, Tina and Jana came to visit us for a few days.
Well to put that in perspective, Tina and Jana are going to the Philipines and we live 10 minutes from LAX.
However, to put that into perspective, they could have flown out of SFO.
Talking with Jay this morning he said that his number one priority in life is to create an environment for Jana where she will be able to think about her future and what she wants to do with her life.
To put that into perspective for me he explained that when he was little his only thought was to be able to survive the day without gettin’ a beatin’.
;;
J
Posted from my iPhone
I suppose the F U will be officially over tomorrow when Limpy and her family go home. It was sure a wonderful week-end. I want to thank everyone for coming . We had such a good time. We had so much fun. ( sorry, Karo).
We rode the four wheeler and the go-cart. Well, everyone else rode them. I cannot climb upon them with my leg and hip yet. Maybe I can before the riding weather is gone.
Had lots of food, and we all ate until we made pigs of ourselves. But, it was so good. All the ladies worked hard and helped fix the food. I hated to see everyone go home. I love you all, and hope tpo see all of you at the next F U. There were 24 here, I think. Mary and Cecil ( Marion’s sis and Bro in law.) came also. We had rain a coupla times at night. Some were going to sleep out on the screened porch the first night, but, it rained very hard that night, and the whole porch got wet because the wind blew in rain in.
Guess I’d better close and go to bed. It is midnight and Limpy and them have to get up early. Me, too. This evening Limpy and I and Robbie sang to the kareoke. That was fun. After that, Robbie and I played the guitars . They said I play good, but, I do not agree.
Ya’ll take care. Love ya. G’night.
Love, Bets
A few weeks ago I turned 53. Not so cool.
32 people showed up for my surprise birthday party. That was cool.
I fully intend to write each person individually and personally thank them.
I’ve been intending to do that for some time now.
I’m just writing this now in case in a few weeks I actually forget that the whole thing ever happened.
It was sure cool though.
Thank you all.
This story is about Jim and Ronnie. Some people might not see the humor in this story, but I think most Boshears will, especially those who knew Jim well. If you knew him, no explanation is necessary. If you didn’t, no explanation is possible.
When Ronnie died in 1995 he was cremated with the intention that his ashes would be buried with me when I died.
A little history before I tell the story. Ronnie and Jim loved each other, but their temperaments were always clashing. Ronnie was always borrowing Jim’s tools when he needed to work on a car. Jim was always misplacing his tools and if he didn’t find them in the first place he expected them to be, the first thing out of his mouth was always ”@&$% somebody stold my #@%$ wrench!!” Actually that was true of anything he put somewhere, from misplacing his sunglasses to the TV remote. He never put it where it belonged. Every flat surface in our house was fair game for any of his stuff and that’s where he wanted it left.
A couple of years after Ronnie died some of the other kids and their families were over visiting one weekend. I was in the living room watching TV and Jim and the guys were outside working on a car. The timing was off and Jim couldn’t find his timing light. Jim was not what you’d call ”the quiet type” so I could hear him even in the living room, but I didn’t know what it was about. The usual barrage of cuss words came first.
Morton came in after a little bit, laughing, and told me that Jim couldn’t find his light and since, according to him, Ronnie’s first diagnosis of any engine problem was the timing, he was sure that Ronnie had taken it and never brought it back and he wished he was there so he could kick his ass.
I calmly got up, went into my bedroom and got Ronnie’s box. I gave him to Morton and told him to take him to Jim and tell him to drop-kick him across the street if it would make him feel any better.
He did and then I could hear the cussing commence again. He brought Ronnie back in and told me Jim said I could kiss his ass. ROFL Shortly afterwards he found his timing light….
Hi, guys. How are all of ya’ll? We are just fine. We are still having lots of ice and snow on the ground. We have had snow and ice on the ground since the 12th of Jan. We are tired of it. It is very dangerous to walk outside now. Lot’s of people her have fallen and broken bones.
Our pup dog is soooo cute. She will be four months old on the 8th of Feb.
she is so funny to watch.
Jer…I ordered a machine that transfers cassette tapes and phonograph record onto cd’s. It looks like an old phonograph player, and it has internal speakers, and jacks for external speakers. It says in the literature that it does these things in ”three easy steps” but, they don’t know me, do they?
It was expensive, ($400) but, it will be used a lot. I have lots of cassette tapes that me and friends and family have made, and lots that I have made alone. I do not have a cassette tape player in my car, so this way I can listen to cd’s while I drive. As ya’ll know, cassettes are on their way out.
Anyway, I guess that is all I have to say right now. You all behave,
Anyway,
I have to coolest dog in the world… His name is Seiko… I named him that because I wanted him to be a “watch” dog… Anyway… He’s never been very athletic, but he is smarter n’ heck… He could never learn to catch a ball… When he was a puppy we would all be in the front yard and Steve would toss him a ball over and over again yelling “Catch”, but he usually didn’t even see it coming and it would just bounce off his head, or if he did see it coming he would dodge it… Finally we figured a way to not make him look stupid and if anyone happened to be walking by we would yell “Duck” when we threw it and then he’d appear to be following instructions… He has always gone out and gotten the newspaper every day since he’s been big enough to drag it in… He still to this day can “Go find my cigarettes” when I tell him and it’s been 8 years on the 14th of January ‘07 since we quit smoking… He sits, stays, lays down and when you say “Shake” he shakes like he does after a bath… He’s just the bestest dog ever… He’s pretty old for a Golden Retriever… I had to stop taking the newspaper about 5 months ago, but I take the time each night to put a newspaper in the driveway so he can go get it in the morning… He puts up with anything I dish out… Even his brother Larry Dean (the Bushbaby)… Larry jumps on his back and rides… If Seiko is sleeping Larry sits on his head and pulls his lip up with his little hands and licks inside of Seiko’s mouth or holds his ears up and licks all down in there… Sometimes when Seiko is standing up Larry will latch onto Seiko’s back leg with his legs and one hand and use the other hand to swat Seiko in the balls… Then when Seiko starts trying to walk away he hangs onto his tail, which makes Seiko turn in circles, and he swings… Sometimes I swear I hear Lar going “Wheeeeeeeeeeeee”… LOL … Anyway… What other dog would put up with all that?… I love Seiko so much… He has been a great companion… He probably won’t be around much longer cuz he is 14 as of the 31st of January ‘07 and has hip dysplasia badly… He takes two pain pills a day… But he still gets the paper and even insists you throw a toy for him daily… Of course he used to fetch as long as you’d throw for him and now he only goes 1 1/2 to 3 trips, then he stops… I sure will miss him when he goes… Like I said… He’s the bestest dog ever…
It was a year of “firsts” and “lasts”.
I will relate something that happened when I was fourteen. Along with my best friend at the time, I ran away from home. (I did that a lot in those days . . . LOL!!) My buddy’s name was Ricky Durling. (Not Darling . . . we weren’t that close, okay?)
Anywaay, we ran away. We hitch-hiked from Los Angeles to Tijuana; where we spent three weeks in jail. Here’s how it all happened . . .
When we reached Tijuana (where we had heard that there were “chicks” to be had; it was a “wide-open” town.) And it was.
The first place we went was the Blue Fox Cafe. It was roaring with activity. And there were “chicks” everywhere!! Most of them were probably about our age. I can understand now that they were just trying to make money in a depressed economy. But at that time, I was in Teen Heaven.
We sat down in a booth at the Blue Fox and we were immediately served Cerveza (beer). As we sat there drinking our first beers, young girls sat beside each of us. And, under the table, they were touching and squeezing our “manhood”. (Talk about TEEN HEAVEN!!)
Then we had to admit that we had “no dinero”. Suddenly, we were Pesona Non Grata. The beers were removed and – alas – so were the hands!! We were tossed out – literally – the back door into the alley.
Ricky said: “Man, that was great!! We need to get some DINERO!!” As we were walking the streets of Tijuana – wondering where we were gonna’ get some dinero – Ricky had the bright idea that we could steal some hubcabs and sell them. Thereby, getting some of that preccious dinero . . . so that we could go back to the Blue Fox Cafe and get some you-know-what. They are “ready, willing and waiting”.
I told him that I thought that was NOT a good idea. He decided to go for it anyway. (There is NO reasoning with a horny 14-year-old, I tell ya’.)
So, when he started to take the hubcaps off a near new Olsmobile (they were “spiinners” and were very popular in Los Angeles), I walked down to the end of the block; so as, hopefully, not to be caught in the crossfire when they killed him.
Of course, a monster-sized PoliciaMan came up and accosted him. He pulled out a monster-sized .45 caliber revolver and held him at bay. Of course, as a real friend will always do, Ricky pointed down the block to me and said that I was his accomplice; a lookout to be precise. (Way to go, Rick!! MY buddy!!)
Anyway, the monster cop pointed his monster .45 at me and ordered me to come there. When he had the two of us together, he said something that I shall never forget: “Jou mi’ as well to go ahea’ and ron away. I theenk I may jus’ choot you, anyway.” Of course, I can’t speak for Ricky but – at that moment – my 14-year-old hard-on became a slug . . . LOL!!
The monster cop hauled us off to the Tijuana jail. When we arrived, we were thrown into a monster holding-type cell with a bunch of other men. Most of them were Mexican but there were six sailors – on leave from San Diego – who were being held for public drunkenness and one of them was in for battery of a shop owner.
There was one American there – as we learned later – who was being held on manslaughter charges; he had killed a Mexican in a bar fight. Needless to say, I was frightened. Suddenly, I was not fourteen anymore; I was more like six and I wanted My Mommy!! LOL!!
Of course, being fourteen, I would never admit that. I was “tough” and “macho” – at least, on the outside.
At one point that evening, an official guy in uniforrm came to the cell and called us over to the bars and demanded out names. Well, when he asked Ricky his name, Little Mr. Smartass told him: “My name is Mickey Mouse.” So I – also being a little smartass – told him that my name was “Donald Duck”.
He studiously wrote our names down on his paperwork. Then he told us that we would – at some time – be taken “upstairs” for formal charging. And, nice guy that he was, he said: “Meester Maws an’ Meester Dock, when they tell you wha’ jou are charge’ with, jou better admi’ dat jou are guilty. Odderwise, dey will beat jou onteel jou DO admi’ dat jou are guilty.”
I was becoming more and more afraid by the minute; at least on the inside.
There was an American inmate who was a “trusty” and he was the one who brought our food. I use the term “food” quite loosely; it could just barely be called food. It was some kind of “gruel” crap and it was awful!! And, along with it, came a piece of so-called bread. The bread was interspersed with chunks of some kind of wood. (Apparently, the Quality Control in the kitchen left a lot to be desired.) Being a fussy eater, I refused to eat that crap. At first. I can assure you that, if you get hungry enough, you will eat anything. Just pick out the wood – and other contaminants – and eat away.
That night, as I sat on the edge of a steel bunk, I saw something that I shall never forget (and, Lord knows, I have tried!!). As I sat there wondering what the hell I had done to my life. It was the first, last and only time I ever saw a man have sex with another man.
There was a man – passed out drunk – on the floor of the cell. He was lying face-down with his head turned to the left and his arms down alongside his body. Another man came over to him, managed to reach under him, unbuckle his belt, loosen his pants and pull them down around his knees.
Then he pulled out his penis – stroked it a few times to get it ready – and then got on his knees over the drunk guy. He worked his penis into the other guy’s asshole and proceeded to screw him.
After he was done, he wiped off his tool, put it back inside his pants and returned to where he had been sitting on the floor leaning against the wall.
He didn’t even have the decency to pull the other guy’s pants back up. I don’t suppose rapists are ever all that considerate, anyway.
Ricky and I managed to sruvive that hell-hole for another three weeks. I suppose we might even still be there except we got lucky. The American trusty who brought our food told me that he had been there for sixteen years!! He was accused of manslaughter; he got in a fight and the other guy died. He never even got a trial. They just threw him in the jail and he stayed there. There was no such thing as a “right” to anything such as a lawyer or a trial; at least at that time.
(A couple of years after I got out, there was a newpaper story about that guy. After seventeen or eighteen years in the Tijuana jail he was released. There was a photo of the Tijuana jail in the paper . . . which gave me chills when I saw it.)
Anyway, after we had been there for about three weeks, there was an American there from San Diego looking at everyone in the big cell. Turns out he was a federal drug agent and he was looking for someone in a drug-related case.
He just happened to see me and he said: “Son, you don’t look like a Chicano; what are you doing here?”
I gave him the abbreviated story of how we got there. He made arrangements to get us out and he took us to the juvenile facility in San Diego; where we spent another thirty days.
When they called Dad and told him where I was, he said: “He got himself in there. He can just get himself out.”
During my stay at that facility, I was in the restroom taking a leak. At the stall next to me was a strapping young man of about eighteen years of age. After he had taken a leak, he turned to me – holding a very large penis in his hand – and said: “Hey, Kid!! Want some a this?”
All I could think of to say was: “No, thank you.” and I left the restroom in a hurry. (Never saw him again, thank God.)
Eventually, Dad DID come to get me from the juvenile facility. It was on my 15th birthday and I had to go to court. I was categorized as “an incorrigible delinquent” and when the judge asked me: “Son, am I ever going to see you again?”, I said: “No, sir!!” It took another 45 years but I guess I DID get back to lockup. (But that’s another story.)
When I was 14, it was also the last time that I got a severe beating from our father (who, hopefully, art in Heaven).
Also, it was the year that I got my first taste of “womanhood”. It was Nancy Huddleston. I was 14 and she was 11 but she was built like 17!! How SWEET it was!!
About 4 years later when I was 18 and working at A. C. Martin & Assoc., I met a structural engineer named Bill Huddleston. He was about the right age and I always wondered if he had a daughter named Nancy but I was afraid to ask.
Also, that year, was the first time I ever tried to smoke a cigar.
I remember that I somehow got hold of a cigar and I snuck out to the little shed way in the back yard. I smoked it and – of course – it made me terribly sick.
I went back in the house and sat down in the big easy chair. (Coincidentally, this was the same chair that I shared with Nancy Huddleston as she introduced me to the joys of sex.)
Anyway, I finally barfed all over the floor right by the front door. I can’t remember why but Walt and Patricia were staying with us at that time. Patricia was quite pregnant; I think with Stella.
She came in the front door with a bag of groceries in each arm. And, of course, she stepped in the barf. I remember her feet went WAY up in the air and she landed – KERPLOP!! – right in the middle of my mess.
It seems funny now but it was NOT funny at the time. Patricia, bless her heart, cleaned up me, herself, the floor and all the groceries.
I told her what I had done – kids WILL tell the truth when they are in pain – and after she had made every thing right, she said something like: “This will be just OUR little secret.”
I know that I would have been beaten to death by our father if he ever found out what I had done and the aftermath.
Fourteen was a good/bad year . . .
This is Big Daddy.
James Carr Dailey.
Our mom’s father.
I only have one memory of him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. His legs had sores on them.
In this photo he looks intelligent, thoughtful and easy going.
I wonder what he was like in real life?
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