Die Hard!

It's not easy to die when you aren't dead. During the last couple of months, I have been wrestling with my Will and Trust and instructions as to what to do after I am not there to do it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to die right away. I'm in good shape for the shape I'm in. It's just that dealing with this "stuff" is kind of complicated. I want to make it as easy on those left behind. I am a minimalist, so I don't have a lot of "stuff", but yet we all have debris we don't even think about until it comes time to think about it. Find a lawyer, name an executor and backup, bank accounts, stock accounts, IRA, car, clothes, jewelry, funeral/memorial wishes, cremation or burial, ashes or caskets, which funeral home, computer, family pictures, notifications with phone numbers, instructions about instructions, and I'm sure I have forgotten something.

Sometimes you think, let them worry about it, but that's not the right thing to do. I am a man who does the right thing. I urge you all of you to do the right thing. When your survivors and friends are in mourning, they don't need to add to that grief by taking care of "stuff" you didn't take care of and left behind with no direction. Nobody really plans to die, but none of us are getting out of this thing alive. Only God knows when and where. Mark and Jeff's untimely deaths proved that.

And one other thing, always wear clean underwear.

Have a nice day!

Sam

2 Shades of Gray!

My first car was my grandma's 1949 4-door battleship gray with a straight stick. My current car is a Toyota Camry, 4-door battleship gray with some sparkleys.  When I bought this 2007 Camry in October of 06, I wondered, given my age, if this would be my last car. That was nearly seven years ago, and I'm still kicking. So I have been wondering if I should get another car to carry me off into the sunset. Maybe splurge a little with an expensive flashy midlife crisis type mobile. Perhaps a convertable. I once had a white '58 Chevy convertible. It was my first self bought car. I traded it in for a blue bottom of the line straight stick Corvair a few years later ( You figure that move out, I sure can't.)

In between the two gray bombers were many kinds of cars. I've had a Mercedes and a Porsche, but they were not a 500 or a Cabrerra. They were a 230 and a 944, not the top of the line. I've had Fords, Chevys, Hondas, Oldsmobiles, Mercuries, Cadillacs and Buicks. It is hard to remember all the cars I have had.

I've never worried about gas mileage and other questions of the car nuts. I always bought a car by its looks. I've always liked black cars, but actually had only a few. Brown,  yellow, gray,gray, gray. Never had a red car. Always liked red, but I guess my personality didn't  fit with red. I like red shirts, but I don't look good in them. I'm a brown, gray guy I guess.

There was a day when your car defined you. I think it's true today for some, but not me, or maybe in reality it does. I think, although I am very financially secure and could buy pretty much any type of make or model I want, I am still a minimalist. I have nothing to prove. My Camry only has 63,000 miles on it, so I think it maybe just maybe the one to carry me out of here. It's the right color.

Have a nice day!

Sam

This Just In!

ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO PRINT, OR NOT!

1. RGIII fined by NFL for wearing and unauthorized tee shirt of field It said, "Operation Patience" referring to his need to be patient in healing his injury.

That explains why they wear jock straps. Don't want to get fined for panty lines.

2. Ben Affleck to play Batman.

Don't know what Mark would think about that, but I caught his urn shaking a bit this morning.

3.Vin Sculley back for his 65th year broadcasting the Dodgers. He will be 85 years old.

I was ten when he started. Guess he's a bandwagon guy now that the Dodgers are winning again.

4.Wisconsin Dells voted top vacation destination by teens.

Really???? It was also dubbed in times past as the world's tackiest resort. I guess the nerds rule, or is it the other way around?

5. Could Mayor Bob Finer's escapades actually be an episode of Mad Men?

 I wonder if he smokes after sexual harassment?

6. The Triple A Philadelphia farm club, the Leigh Valley Ironpigs (Yah that's right) held an essay contest to give away a funeral. (Yah, that's right) it will happen during the sixth inning.

 Perhaps the Padres should enter.

7. According to the Huffinton Post stripper's flaming nipple tassels set off fire alarm.

Now, that's hot!

8. What is known as a French kiss in many parts of the world is know as an English kiss in France.

Or a Bob Filner kiss in San Diego.

9. Is a hybrid Cadillac Escalade an oxymoron?

Have a nice day.

Sammy

Nearer My God!

Someone in my small group from the Rock Church ask me how long I had been a Christian. It seemed like a simple and straight question, requiring a simple straight forward answer.  My first quick answer was, "All my life". That was true. I hand gone to church all of my life. I was born into the Quaker (First Friends) in Marion, Indiana.

When I got married, I converted to Catholicism. I was a Catholic for 42 years. I left the Catholic Church because of the pediphila scandals and coverup by the church.  It seemed that the protection of the church was more important than the children who were molested.

I discovered the Rock Church about six years ago. A couple of friends ask me to come.The Rock Church is a Mega church, evangelical, non-denominational,having about 13,000 members. At first I did not quit understand the raised hands during the high energy worship band. However, when I  heard Miles McPherson speak, he truly spoke to me. He uses the Bible to talk about our real life. He does it with humor and conviction. I actually heard the message of the sermon, something I rarely did in my Catholic days, when my mind often wandered into the bushes.

One of the things that caught my attention was the diversity of the congregation. All ages, sizes, complexions, tattoos and tank tops. When I saw all this and the size of the congregation, I said to myself, "I don't know what it is, but something's going on here." When I moved to San Diego full time the Rock became my rock.

Even though it is a Mega church, it becomes smaller when you join one of the small groups close to home. Our group have become good friends. The Rock has over a hundred volunteer ministries that puts Christian work to work in the community. I actually know more people from the Rock than any church that I have ever attended. I look forward every Sunday service.

It was at the Rock I discovered what it meant to be a Christian. I guess I am a quiet Christian. I don't preach about the wages of sin. If I find someone who seems to be searching or having a tough time with life, I ask them if they had tried God and invite that them to church. I tell them that it may be somewhat different than your previous experience. You can't force people to God. It's like a druggie or alcoholic, they can't be forced to treatment. They must make the decision for themselves.

I became a true Christian when I finally understood what it means to be a Christian. In other words, I GET IT. To "get it" is to finally understand, the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. It not about religion, it's about having a personal relationship with God. If we tried to live our lives more like Jesus, the world would be a better place, and we would be better, not perfect, people at all levels of society. What would Jesus do? (WWJD) is a pretty good philosophy, even if you are not a Christian.

When I see the congregation raise their hands to God and worship, they are truly feeling God's presence. It is a feeling of genuine joy. I love when I see broken people come to Altar call in tears, I know they have found a way to peace in their lives. Being a Christian is always a work in progress.
Christ brings out the good in people.

When Mark passed away, it was my faith that got me through it. I assigned no blame to God. "WHY God, why? " never entered my mind because I knew it was God's plan for Mark.

In the future I will explore my path to be nearer to God.

Have a blessed day

Samuel

Custer's Last Stand

A neon drive-in casts long shadows across a vast parking lot as the sun drops behind a distant hill.  A large neon sign buzzes in the foreground. . . Mel’s Drive-In, while in the background, “Rock Around The Clock” blares from the radio of a beautiful decked and channeled, white with red trim, tuck-and rolled ‘58 Chevy Impala that glides into the drive-in.

The opening scene in American Graffiti from the original script.

We lived American Graffiti in Marion, Indiana -- my home town.  Custer’s Last Stand was the Mel’s Drive-In of “Marion Graffiti”.  I imagine every teenager of the fifties and early sixties had a Mel’s Drive-In or a Custer’s Last Stand in their town that evokes the same wonderful memories of those by-gone innocent days of a high school summer.  Custer’s Last Stand was a classic 1950’s drive-in restaurant on the by-pass.  It was Bob Custer’s place.  It was our place.  It was the gathering place on those warm Indiana nights

A driver’s license and a car were the only passports needed to participate in the rituals of youth at Custer’s Last Stand.  Transportation came in a variety of shapes, sizes and ownership.  It might be a friend’s car, your family car, or if you were lucky, your own car.  I was one of the lucky ones. 

My car looked like it might belong to a grandma -- actually it was a car formerly owned by a grandma -- mine.  It was a 1949 four-door Ford sedan, battleship gray in color, with a straight stick.   The closest thing to customizing it was a quick-turn knob I attached to the steering wheel.  My car was hardly a symbol of cool, but it was all mine.

Some kids borrowed their family’s car to cruise Custer’s.  Borrowing the family car was the low end of cool, but it did represent a degree of independence and freedom.  Girls were often the prime borrowers of their families’ cars, since the boys often provided their transportation.  Girls didn’t have to be cool.  They were the object of cool. 

Some cars circled round and round -- some parked.  Circling Custer’s Last Stand was a little like the Indians circling General Custer and his troops at Little Bighorn.  Cars were backed into parking places on the back row in order to have a prime view of the parade of teenage freedom.  The stars of the parade were the half-finished customized ‘49 Mercs with gray primer, lowered rear-ends, chopped tops, de-chromed and leaded in, dual exhausts, smooth custom mufflers rumbling, radios blaring out the sounds of the fifties and drivers’ left arms cocked in open windows.  Customized cars were cool.  Cruisin’ Custer’s was cool.

If we had any money, we’d punch the call button on the speaker and wait to hear the familiar, “May I take your order please?”  “I’ll have an order of fries, double ketchup and a Coke”.  A car-hop, an auto waitress, would bring the order to the car and carefully (most of the time) attach the tray to the door.  It was the haute cuisine of the times.  Fries and a Coke were cool.

Custer’s Last Stand was more than fries and a Coke.  Custer’s was a place to see and be seen.  If you weren’t seen, you were missed.  It was a place for cruisin’ and buzzin’ and parkin’, squealin’ tires a little, dates and sittin’ close, hangin’ with the guys and checkin’ out the chicks.  It was a gathering place, and a place for making plans.  It was a place to be together and ask the “whys” of the deaths of our friends, Larry and Jim.  They peeled out of Custer’s one warm summer night and got themselves killed.  Our plans didn’t include tragedies, but for the first time we caught a glimpse of our mortality, but it didn’t last long.  Custer’s was the center of our universe, and we were immortal.  Custer’s was the coolest.

We leaned on the fenders wearing the styles of the times, ducktails, pegged pants, senior cords, saddle shoes, white bucks and penny loafers; smokin’ cigarettes, eatin’ fries, drinkin’ Cokes and talkin’ ‘bout “stuff”.  It was a James Dean thing.  He was our icon of cool, wearing his red jacket with the collar turned up and his teenage frustrations out front.  He was our Rebel without a Cause.  James Dean had been born in Marion, just like us, and we felt he was our kindred spirit, expressing our inner most thoughts and feelings as the teenagers of the times.  James Dean was cool.

James Dean was killed in a high-speed car crash, September 30, 1955.  It was the day our music died.  I was just starting college and sitting in my dorm room when I learned the tragic news.  I felt the deep shock you feel when a famous person you like and can relate to meets a too soon death.  His death served as a symbol of a coming of age, the carefree days of Custer’s were gone forever, and the rest of my life was beginning.  It was my personal Custer’s Last Stand.

Custer’s Last Stand was eventually torn down and replaced by a McDonald’s.

Have a nice day!

Sammy Carl
MHS Class of '55

Grandma Kept a Candy Dish!

            

            Filled with sugar-coated lemon drops, as tasty as fresh cool summer lemonade;

Cleverly placed in the center of the buffet, just out of the reach of a small child without a chair;

Made of clear depression glass with a lid that made the sound of glass symbols when a small hand lifted the too heavy lid for an un-approved treat.

Ding! Cling!,  A burglar alarm to a loving grandma.

“Not now, you don’t want to spoil your supper do you?”

“Yes”, but I kept the answer to myself. 

“Well, maybe just one.” 

Grandmas are like that, you know.

Moonbeams and sunbeams, crystal white and sunshine yellow,

A symphony of sweet and sour, bringing a tingling twinge,

As taste buds adapt to this special treat of contradictions.

Grandma and the sugar-coated lemon drops are gone forever.

The dish no longer holds the sunshine and smell of lucious yellow lemons.

It is filled with pins and papers and paper clips and loose buttons and loose change and receipts and other bits of everyday debris that find their way to this temporary glass storage place at the corner of the buffet.

Grandma kept a candy dish, filled with memories of a childhood gone, but never lost.

Grandma kept a candy dish.

Have a nice day!

Little Sammy Arnold

Yah, I actually wrote this. I call it a poem because it looks like a poem. I don't know anything about the technicalities of poetry writing, except it expresses beautiful thoughts, feelings and memories.

Pondering Itches And Scratches!

I had an itch, and I scratched it. Hmmm? That got me to thinking about an itch and the scratch that satisfies? Where does the ordinary itch come from. I'm not talking about the seven year itch or the itch caused by scratchy fabric or a bug bite, or a Poison Ivy/Poison Oak rash. I'm talking about the sudden little itch that just appears at any time and in any place. The itch itch.

What makes an itch decide to go where it goes? What makes an itch appear just when and where you don't want it, like your nose when your hands are full or, heaven forbid, an anal itch? Forbidden itches don't bother baseball players, they itch and adjust in front of 50,000 people in the stands and millions watching on TV. A man always has a good scratch first thing in the morning. Can't start the day without a yawn and a good scratch on the way to the bathroom.

An itch is easily satisfied with a fingernail or a spatula in case it's on your back.  The quickest way to a dog's heart is a scratch on the ears or back side. Same goes for a back scratch by the opposite sex.
Oh my!

I guess that about exhausts the subject of itches and scratches. Next time I will tackle nose picking in the car.

Have a nice day!

Sammy Carl

Divorce American Style!

It has finally happened. A female gay couple are getting a divorce in Minnesota. Seems they married in Canada where same sex marriage is legal. They lived in Minnesota, where until August 1, gay marriage was not recognized.

Attorneys are saying this is new territory, since there is no case history. I don't think it's hard, the same laws apply.

It is somewhat ironic so many gay couples want marriage, and heterosexuals are getting married less and less.  To many unmaried baby mommas.

The whole issue is a non-issue to me. I just want the same laws to apply. I would prefer civil marriages because of my personal religious beliefs, but certainly not addimentl, if a church choses to conduct the ceremonies. What I don't want to see is a church to be penalized, if they chose not to hold gay marriage ceremonies and threatened with loss of tax exempt status.

Gay marriage is a fact in the world of today. I'm happy if they're happy. The churchs who honor gay marriages and those who don't need to respect the each other's belief system. God will ultimately judge. It not my place to judge. I've got bigger issues on getting into heaven.

Have a nice day!

Sam

The Foodie Who Doesn't Cook! Part Two

It was time for college. My Dad always kind of wanted me to go to Purdue, but after a campus visit and the fact I didn't want to be an engineerI.ruled Purdue out. Where to go? Where to go?  Michigan State had a good football team, so it became a candidate. I ordered a catalog, and it looked good.  Then I had to look into majors. In leafing through the catalog I came across Hotel, Restaurant and Institutional Management. MMMM! That's sounds interesting . I think I'll look further into that. It seems like getting away from Marion into far off East Lansing would be nice move. As with many times in my life, God has a plan for Sammy Arnold.

I applied and was accepted. I decided to go up to the school in July, and take in Orientation Week for newbies. I had never even been in the state of Michigan, let alone the campus in East Lansing. I got in my Ford and off I went.

I knew the minute I stepped on campus that this was the place for me. It is a beautiful campus  green, lots of trees and a combination of the old and new.  There were about 20,000 students, which at that time was a very large school. I did we'll on my tests and meeting new people. I thought the Michigan natives had an accent. Turns out, I learned that I was the man with the lazy Hoosier accent. No one had even heard of Marion, Indiana. What? Funny thing is that many of the guys who teased me about Marion were actually from much smaller towns than Marion. I bought Michigan State windbreaker. I was going to wear it proud back home. It was different than the many Purdue, Indiana and Ball State jackets.  I returned to Marion to await the day I would become a Spartan.

I settled into my studies. Lots of basic education and a peek into my major. At that time I focused more on the Hotel side. In summers you were required to work in the hospitality industry . I was a busboy,catering waiter most of the time. In the summer between my Sophmore and Junior year I ventured to Cincinnati to work at the Sheraton Gibson Hotel. Fiftybucks a week. Once again I went by myself on an adventure. Living at the YMCA was an adventure in itself.

Course work included, Front  Desk, Quantity Cooking, Food and Beverage Control etc. and regular business courses. HRI was a business degree with a specialty industry focus.

Once again God's plan showed me the way. In that era, military service was a requirement. The only choice you had was how you wanted to serve the seven years. Six months six and a half reserves, two years five years reserve etc. In my case I chose the Navy. A gentleman from the Navy came to campus and told the Seniors that the Navy was starting a new program of recruiting HRI majors to run Officer's Messes and  BOQs. Wow, actually doing what my education intended. The requirements were that you had to qualify, an officer makes more money, graduate from OCS like everyone else and serve three and a half years active duty. Sounded good to me. I graduated from OCS in Newport, Rhode Island in November, 1959 as a shiny new Enaign in the United Staes Navy, a proud day. My orders were to the Amphibious Base in Coronado, California, San Diego, exactly where I wanted to be. It had been a long term goal to live in California. Two dreams in one.

I arrived in San Diego, January 6, 1960. I took the car ferry to Coronado. It was like the first time I sat foot on the campus at MSU. I knew this was the place for me.

I was there  three years, working in my profession with more responsibility than most graduates would of have for several years. In retrospect, I didn't know shit. I was only 22 years old. The Captain didn't like me much. He once said it was a good thing I was in the navy because I'd have a hard time making in the civilian world. Ha! Ha! Turned out it was the other way around.

And so the next chapter of my preparation for life was over. I was ready. More to come in Part Three.

Bored yet?

Have a nice day !

Samuel C Arnold Ltjg (retired)

A Little Poem For Today!

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Why should I be discouraged, Why do shadows come,

Why should my heart be lonely And long for heaven and home,

When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:

His eye is on the sparrow, And I know he watches me.

I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free,

For his eye is on the sparrow, And I know he watches me.

Have a Blessed day!

Sam

Talking to Marky!

If tears could build a stairway

And memories a lane

I'd walk right up to the rainbow bridge

And bring you home again.

Have a nice day!

Sam

A Foodie Who Doesn't Cook! Part One

I've been in the food business my whole working life. My first job ever was working in my Dad's small grocery store in Marion, Indiana. My job was to stock the shelves when I came to work after school. 50 cents an hour. I worked M,T,Th,Fri after school and all day on Saturday. It was less less than ten bucks a week, but money went a long way in those days. It took me a year to become a clerk.

Ironically, the name of the store was the Sam Arnold Grocery, after my grandfather, who started the store, but passed away leaving my dad as the sole support of my mother and his mother. He was only 23 years old. A lot of responsibility for such a young man.  It was a classic small grocery store in a small business district in South Marion. In the 20s,30s and 40s, each neighborhood had grocery stores with walking distance from neighborhood homes. The ladies were nearly all stay at home moms that didn't have cars.

It was here my food life began. I worked there all though high school. A couple of summers, I worked as a meat delivery truck helper. That was four bucks a day, mostly carrying baloney.  Pretty much what I do now, but with a little different meaning.

The stores of that day were built on personal service. Our store even offered credit to some. It had no shopping carts. Frequently, I would follow the lady shopper around, holding my apron out so she could place her canned goods in it. I remember when we got into frozen foods business with a four by four home freezer. We had a meat department with a butcher, who actually talked to you about meat and everything else. The meat was wrapped in orangish butcher paper. I guess these stores were more like the delis of today. Closing time required sweeping the sidewalk outside. That was my job.

Supermarkets with lesser prices and more selection killed these small family owned grocery stores. The new sacrifices the old. My dad could no longer sustain the business, and he closed the doors for the final time in January, 1961. A sad day for friends, family and customers.

On a trip to a high school reunion I stopped by the old location. I found myself as the only white guy in a black barbershop. I tried to put the grocery store in my mind into the current space of reality. Gosh, it really was a "small" grocery store. Why do the spaces of our youth shrink in the light of today? I tried to place where the stove had been located. Around that stove were the daily discussions of the trials and tribulations of the Marion Giants. Those discussions are probably the only things that carried forward into the barbershop. At least there is one thing that links the past with the now.

It was a simple time. Who knew where life would take the boy that stocked the shelves? I'll get around to Part Two soon. Stay tuned.

Have a nice day!

Sammy Carl