Visiting the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville is memorable no matter how famous the singers are who stand in the circle. It was even more memorable for Debbie and I on our honeymoon in the fall of 2004 while visiting Nashville.
    And it almost didn’t happen!
   After enjoying three days in the Smokey Mountains, we made the trek to Nashville for an evening of country music – with a trip backstage to boot.
    A few weeks before our wedding on Sept. 25, I looked up the list of singers scheduled for the evening of Oct. 1 at the Opry. The list included Ricky Skaggs, Jean Shepard, Porter Wagoner, Chely Wright, Little Jimmy Dickens and T. Bubba Bechtol, a country comedian.
      I reached out to T. Bubba, who I must admit I had never heard of, to let him know that Debbie and I were getting married in Iowa and that we would be at the Opry on Oct. 1. To my surprise, he replied to my email with an invite for us to be his backstage guests.
      Wow, not only where we going to the Opry, we were going to be able to mingle with the stars backstage.
     Arriving at the Opry with little time to spare, we made our way to the backstage entrance. Our excitement quickly turned to disappointment after being met by the security guard at the entrance of the parking lot. Asking us our names, he scanned the guest list and announced that we were not on it.
     What! I tried to explain that T. Bubba had invited us as his guests, even trying to show the guard our email communications. He was not interested. All that mattered to him was that our names were not on the list.
    What happened next had to be an intervention from God, as one minute our evening was done and the next it was just getting started. And to think, we had tickets and had sold them before the show. The security guard made a call and we were given the go ahead to park and attend the show. 
      Excited, we made our way to the “Artist Entrance” canopy over the walkway to the building. I happened to be carrying my Canon camera with flash and the inside security guard looked at it, then made a comment about the size. I don’t recall what I said, just explaining that it was my everyday camera.
    The guard told us that as soon as T. Bubba arrived, he was to let security know that it was okay for us to be at the show. It wasn’t long and T. Bubba entered the building. He found us, introduced himself and assured security that we were indeed his guests. T. Bubba kept making the comment about not having many guests, so when we told security we were his guests, security must have known it was okay. 
     T. Bubba lives in Pensacola, Fla. and on Sept. 16 that year, Hurricane Ivan hit the panhandle of Florida with winds of 130 miles per hour, destroying his home and blowing away the information we had mailed to him, which he had needed to submit to Opry security for our entrance to the show.
    We are grateful that it all worked out. It was a wonderful experience as we walked the backstage hallways, met the performers, some who are no longer with us, and gathered autographs on our wedding program, which we still have. We happened to meet up with Porter Wagoner in the hallway after his performance on stage. He was in street clothes and was headed for the door. He gracefully gave us his autograph as I mentioned that I knew he was from West Plains, Mo. He agreed as I explained that my mom was from New Madrid, Mo., in the Bootheel.
    We even had our photo taken with the lady who assisted the artists backstage, later mailing her a copy. We enjoyed sitting in the church pews located on the stage for the artist’s friends, family and guests while watching the performances in the packed Opry house and visiting the gift shop.
   The opportunity to mingle in the halls of the Grand Ole Opry, look into the dressing rooms where many country greats slipped into their stage outfits, tuned up their guitars and slid their bows across the fiddle strings before going on stage to bring the music alive is something that we will never forget.
     Have a great week and always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

   I grew up in a two bedroom, one bath house in the Florence Park neighborhood about five miles from downtown Tulsa.
     My parents closed on the house on April 11, 1959, just a few months before I was born.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was home to me for almost 32 years. I have many fond memories of growing up in that home and anytime I’m back in Tulsa, I always drive by and take a look.
    The house included a two-car detached garage that was filled with boxes of old clothes, tools and fishing and camping gear. There was an old Admiral chest freezer as well. When I was older, the seal on the freezer door gave up the ghost, so my dad used the weights from my barbell set to keep the door closed. It was quite an ordeal to get food out of the freezer.
     In junior high school, I built a club house in the garage attic, which was accessible from a stationary ladder on the back wall of the garage. My club house featured a cot and sleeping bag, a bean bag chair, board games and even electricity with lights and a radio. I carpeted it using carpet square samples I got at a nearby carpet store. One of my prized possessions was a poster of Rachel Welch hanging on the ceiling. 
    There was also a clothesline in the backyard. It featured four or five metal wires strung from two large, heavy metal poles. There was a wooden birdhouse on one end that my dad helped me build. He also hung some of his old antique water well pullies and antique tools on the clothesline posts. At the other end were two decorative pink flamingos stuck in the ground. I have no idea where my parents bought the flamingos, but they were there for many years.
     Even though we had a washer and dryer, my mom, who did all the laundry, often used the clothesline on nice days.
    I can still see her using a washrag to clean the clothesline off before hanging the wash out. The bag of clothespins hung nearby. I can still see all the clothing items blowing in the breeze on a hot Oklahoma summer day.
     My mom had an old antique Maytag ringer washer in the garage. Once a year, she’d dig it out, wash it off, plug it in and we’d spend a Saturday washing quilts, bedspreads and other heavy clothing items from the winter months. It was a family affair for sure. 
      She’d wash the items, run them through the hand-cranked ringer and then hang them on the clothesline to dry. I remember helping many times.
     My dad took lots of pride in the yard and spent hours tending to a small garden in back and mowing the grass. In 1962, my parents remodeled the kitchen and had custom cabinets built right into the house. The remodel project included the addition of a Frigidaire Flair Imperial electric range and oven. It was almost space age like as it pulled in and out of the wall. 
      They later added a dish washer and garbage disposal and some years later, they had custom shelving built in the dining room. My mom displayed her many family heirlooms on the shelves.
In the early days, we had a floor furnace, but it quit working so my folks took it out. They installed a heater in the hallway. There were also gas heaters in the bathroom and kitchen and gas logs in the fake chimney in the front room.
      When I was age 10, my parents bought a window air conditioner and it was an added plus on hot summer days. The house also featured a large attic fan, a common sight in southern homes before air conditioning. Back in the day, folks would open the large windows and turn on the attic fan to keep cool. After we got the air conditioner, we used it during the day and turned it off at night. We opened all the windows and fired up the attic fan. 
    Sometime in the early 70s, my mom had a small addition added to the house and part of that work included a new four stair central heating unit and water heater.
     I learned to ride my bicycle in the driveway and built stick forts out front by the big oak tree where I played with my Matchbox cars. And anytime I got a spanking at school, I got one when I stepped through the double French doors into the living room. Ouch!
     I enjoyed many home cooked meals in that house and family backyard barbecues with family and friends. And we had many wonderful family Christmases, birthday gatherings and anniversary celebrations at that house. After I graduated from high school, my family gathered in the dining room for cake and ice cream.
     And to this day, I can tell you most of the names of  the neighbors on my block and where they lived. We all looked out for each other. My dad and I mowed their yards and my mom and I tossed the daily newspaper on their porches in the 1970s.
     It was a small house, but it was filled with love and lots of memories of good times along the way.
   Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

​     I have lots of fond memories of my grandparents on my mom’s side of the family. I remember spending many weekends in the 1960s with family at their home on North Woodrow in Tulsa. My aunts and uncles often gathered there to play a friendly game of Rook, eat a big meal, visit or play a game a pool in the garage behind the house.
    My grandparents, B.D. Horton and Cloa Mae Jackson, grew up a few miles apart in Winston County, Alabama, in the northwest part of the state.
     The Horton family moved to New Madrid, in the Bootheel of southeast Missouri, in 1924 after my great grandfather Horton got caught making moonshine. The law gave him two options – jail or move his family to another state. He took the latter.
     The Jackson family came to New Madrid in 1932 and my grandparents were married on Oct. 29, 1932 in the New Madrid County Courthouse.
     My mom, the third of seven children, was born in New Madrid in 1936. After my mom came to Tulsa in 1955 following high school graduation, my grandparents followed suit a few years later as did most of the rest of the Horton clan.
     My grandparents bought the three bedroom, one bath house on North Woodrow in 1962. In the late 60s, my grandparents went to work on the riverboats that pushed goods along the Mississippi, Ohio and Tennessee rivers. My grandmother cooked for the crew and my grandpa helped in the kitchen and cleaned. They’d be on the river for one month, then home for a month.
     They later lived with Aunt Alice, my mom’s younger sister, and Uncle Ronnie in southeast Tulsa before buying a house on a five-acre spread in the county near Coweta, Okla., in the early 1970s.
     I enjoyed many Thanksgiving and Christmas family gatherings in that house. One particular memorable event took place in the mid-70s.
      My mom loved to can and she and my dad grew big gardens every summer. I remember spending many summer days, or at least a few days that seemed like the whole summer, snapping green beans or helping press tomatoes. I can still see the pressure canner stewing away on the stove back burner.
      Anyway, my mom loved peaches and would often travel the 40 miles to Porter, Okla., known back in the day as the “Peach Capital of the World,” to pick a few bushels.
     It must have been 1976. I hadn’t been driving too long. Mom and I took my dad’s 1967 C10 pickup to Coweta. I stayed with my grandpa while my mom and my grandmother took my grandparents’ Impala to Porter.
    My grandparents lived on a gravel road a few houses from where my Uncle J.W., my mom’s younger brother, and my Aunt Lynette and their two children lived. The mailboxes for that stretch of county road were located at the “T” intersection, about one quarter of a mile from my grandparents’ house.
      I saw the mailman stop and deliver the mail that day and I was itching to get behind the wheel. I hollered at my grandpa and told him that I was going to get the mail.
     I eased my dad’s truck alongside the cluster of mailboxes, but needed to readjust to get close enough to get the mail.
    Pulling forward, I backed up at an angle and soon felt a “clank.” Unable to go anywhere, I got out and discovered there was a small culvert. I had just dropped the passenger side rear wheel into the ditch. The truck was resting on the axle housing.
I knew I was in trouble!
     I walked back and told my grandpa and he got the wheelbarrow and we loaded some lumber, concrete blocks and off we headed down the road.
       Using a long four-by-four and some concrete blocks, my grandpa built a makeshift lift, while I built a stack of blocks under the rear wheel in the ditch. He lifted the truck and I slide a board under the tire, giving me enough room to clear the axle housing. During the first try, I hit the gas and the tire spun, causing one of the boards to go flying and the truck to land on the axle again. I can still see my grandpa laughing as we worked together to solve this issue. The second go round produced better results and we got the truck out of the ditch.
     It wasn’t long when my mom and grandmother returned from Porter and we loaded the peaches in the truck and headed to Tulsa. I was fearing the worse when I arrived home and told my dad what happened. He was on his knees looking the truck over and I don’t recall getting in trouble for it.
      That wasn’t the case a year earlier when I was leaning to drive and let out the clutch without enough gas. That caused the truck to jerk and I ended up backing it into a light pole and bending the metal bumper and damaging the right rear quarter panel of the truck bed. I smashed it real good. My dad was quite upset with me and I had to wait a whole month after my 16th birthday to get my driver’s license.
       Wonderful memories of a wonderful childhood and life!
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

     With extra time off due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I’ve enjoyed watching movies on television more than once like the “Pitch Perfect” series and “Under Siege” starting Steven Seagal. The “Pitch Perfect” series and “Under Siege” are like night and day, but I enjoyed watch them all. We even caught the television version of “Gran Torino” starring Clint Eastwood. A classic in my book, as are all Eastwood movies.
    Some of Eastwood’s older movies are the best. They include, “Unforgiven,” “The Outlaw Josey Wales,” “Escape From Alcatraz,” “Pale Rider,” “In the Line of Fire,” “Every Which Way But Loose,” “Two Mules for Sister Sara, “The Gauntlet,” “Bronco Billy,” “Joe Kidd,” “The Eiger Sanction,” and “The Mule,” which I have not watched.
     Last week, Debbie and I watched “Rustler’s Rhapsody,” starting Tom Berenger, Andy Griffith and Marilu Henner. Released in 1985, the film is a parody on Western movies and the singing cowboy. Debbie said she used to watch it while in high school and I’ve never heard of it. Anyway, I enjoyed watching and laughed through the entire movie.
      Some of these old movies are great. I like them a lot more than the new ones Hollywood is releasing these days. One that comes to mind is, “The God’s Most Be Crazy, released in 1980. The movie centers around a Coke bottle, which was tossed out by the pilot of a private plane. It lands in the African desert and is discovered by a Bushman, who takes it back to his tribe. Tribe members find all sorts of uses for the Coke bottle such as a musical instrument, a fire starter and even a cooking utensil, until the tribe starts fighting over the bottle. The Bushman decides to take the bottle and return it to the gods. What ensues will keep you in stitches.
      There was a sequel, “The God’s Must Be Crazy II,” released in 1989. If you want a good laugh, check out these two South African gems.
       Back in the day, even before I could drive, my mom would take me to the Circle Theater on North Lewis in Tulsa on Friday nights for a double feature. I don’t remember all the movies I watched, but a couple that come to mind are, “White Line Fever,” a 1975 Canadian-American action crime movie starring Jan-Michael Vincent, who played Carol Jo Hummer, an independent trucker and his fight against the big boys in the glass house.  It’s a good one.
      Another one that comes to mind is “Sky Riders” starring James Coburn, Susannah York and Robert Culp. The movie centers around an industrialist’s wife, Ellen, and their children who are kidnapped by Greek terrorists and hidden in a mountain top monastery. After failed attempts by the police to rescue the family, Ellen’s ex-husband, Coburn, enters the picture. He hires a crew of professional hang gliders to help with the rescue. A great movie.
       As a kid, and even into high school, I always enjoyed watching Disney movies starring Kurt Russell. Russell made some great movies back in the day and I enjoyed many of them.
      Three gems that bring back lots of memories from the 1970s are the “Walking Tall” series about the real-life Buford Pusser, a legendary sheriff who spent his career in McNairy County, Tennessee cleaning up moonshiners and prostitution. He carried a big stick and took justice in his own hands. The first film in the series starred Joe Don Baker as Pusser. “Walking Tall 2” and the “Final Chapter” starred Bo Svenson as Pusser. The Final Chapter was released in the fall of 1977, my senior year in high school. There’s a museum in Adamsville, Tenn. to the late Pusser, who died in a 1977 auto accident. Visiting the Walking Tall Museum is one of my bucket list items.
     I can’t forget about Steve McQueen, who made tons of movies. Two of my favorites, “The Hunter,” and “Tom Horn,” which were filmed toward the end of his life, are McQueen classics and worth seeing. I loved the car and combine chase scene in a corn field in “The Hunter.”
     And lastly, I can’t forget about movies featuring Don Knotts, Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. One of my favorites, “The Longshot,” features Korman and Conway. It’s a movie about four life-long losers who decide to take a chance and place a large long-shot bet on a broken-down horse. It’s hilarious!
     If you have a little time on your hands, as most of us do, check out some of the oldies but goodies from back in the day.
    Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

   Fred “Duane” Dailey was an icon in the agricultural journalism field. He was a friend and mentor of mine at the University of Missouri-Columbia.
   I am sad to have learned that Duane passed away at Boone County Hospital in Columbia on March 10. He was age 84.
   As a student at MU, I was fortunate to have learned from him. Being in my early 30s and returning to college, Duane gave me advice and encouragement that were keys to my success. I also got to clean his office and empty the trash once a week in Whitten Hall, where I spent four plus years working as a custodian while taking classes during the day.
   And even after I graduated from MU, he sent me a letter and story sample to the North English Record, where I worked at the time, with tips on doing a photo story on a rural mail carrier. I had expressed an interest in such a story and he wanted to help make it happen.
   Duane was a master photographer and has guided many young budding photojournalists through the years. In the early 1980s, he traveled all over the state of Missouri documenting, interviewing and photographing more than 100 people who raised, used and cared for mules. I often marveled at his photographic work and his ability to tell a story with a single image. It’s like a writer who puts one word on the page and you want more.
   According to his obit, which he wrote himself a few years ago, Duane graduated from MU agricultural journalism program in 1959 and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army from the MU ROTC program. He became an artillery officer at Ft. Sill, Okla., during officers basic training. He was then assigned to be a public information officer at Richards-Gebaur AFB, Grandview, Mo. He was PIO (public information officer)  for two years for the North American Army Air Defense Command (missile artillery defending the heartland with Nike missiles). The School of Journalism connection secured the job.
     At the end of his tour, he was offered a job back at MU by his adviser, Richard Lee, head of Agricultural and Extension Information. He covered 4-H news the first years before taking on reporting on the MU Extension Balanced Farming program.
   Early, Dick Lee allowed Duane to enroll in the Missouri Photo Workshop founded by photojournalism education pioneer Cliff Edom of the MU School of Journalism.
      That changed his career to an emphasis on reporting with a camera.
   Later, he founded a version of the MPW for the American Agricultural Editors Association, the farm magazine group. That weeklong workshop for mid-career journalists ran for 11 years, with cooperation of top ag photographers and Cliff Edom.
   Then he was invited by Edom to the MPW, where he had started as a student. When Cliff and Vi Edom retired, they asked Bill Kuykendall, head of the MU photojournalism sequence at the time, and Duane to be co-directors. He did that for 15 years, after serving on the MPW faculty.
   In 2007, Duane was named to the Missouri Photojournalism Hall of Fame. Thirteen years ago, Duane received an Alumni Citation of Merit award by the MU ag alumni association.
His column, Hometown Boy, appeared in five weekly papers. That column ran weekly with only three misses in more than 20 years.
    There is so much more I could write about Duane. He did so much for so many and my life is better because of his impact.
    Duane is one of many mentors who have crossed my life path. Some have been ministers, counselors, friends, family and even co-workers.
    Mentors in my life have taught me to believe in myself, to trust God, to push past barriers (natural and manmade) and to not give up.
    We all should be mentors. We have so much to offer, to give and it all starts with a step. Something as simple as a kind note of thanks or a word of encouragement can help someone through a tough spot in life.
     The world needs people who care, who love and who want to make life better for others. You are needed, especially in the face of COVID-19. You are important and have something to offer to those who need an encouraging word or some direction. A kind word may be the key that helps someone get through all that is going on in the world. Keep your head up and keep moving.
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

      As a friend of mine said, “Kindness is still best for all.”
      I was reminded of that valuable lesson on Saturday.
      While coming home the backway from the Montezuma Lions Toy Show, I came across a young lady whose car was stuck in a Level B Road snow drift at the intersection of 470th Avenue and 100th Street, northwest of Montezuma.
    This young lady, who hails from upper state New York, was out canvassing for Presidential candidate Elizabeth Warren on 470th Avenue. There are a few houses on that section of the road west of Highway 63 before it turns into a Level B Road.
      Not being from Iowa, she drove her car down the road and while trying to turn south on to 100th Street, she got stuck on a mound of snow from the road being graded.
       I drove past her, then stopped and backed up, rolling down my window to see what was going on.
       “I’m stuck,” she said, smiling as to ask if I could help.
       I pulled to the side of the road and got out, inching my way across the icy road to assess the situation. Her wheels were spinning and she was going no where.
         I live a half-mile south, so I drove home and got a bucket of sand.
Arriving back on the scene, I used what sand I had and it did no good – she was stuck. Along came another fellow from Lake Ponderosa who got out to help. The two of us spent a good 20-minutes working to get her unstuck, all to no avail. We even tried putting salt around her tires and that didn’t help either.
       It wasn’t long before my neighbor up the road stopped by to help. We pushed and pulled and her car wasn’t budging.
        My neighbor found a place to hook on a tow rope and my other neighbor from the lake, hooked on and within a few minutes, they had her pulled off the snow mound.
        While all this was going on, I was lightly teasing her about politics. She seemed to be a good sport about it all.
        “Rural Iowa in general leans more Republican,” I said. “You have to go to Des Moines or Iowa City to find more Democrats.”
        I went on to say, people in rural Iowa fly Trump flags in the yard and hang big Trump signs in their work shops.
        “They even sell Trump flags at the Iowa State Fair,” I told her.
        “Right now I’m just canvassing Democrat voters,” she assured me.
        After getting her unstuck, I told her not to forget that three good Republicans just got her out of a snow drift. She was one happy young lady as she drove off.
        At that point, it didn’t matter who she supported for President, what she stood for, what she believed or anything else. It was neighbors being “Iowa nice,” and helping each other out. Our paths may never cross again, but I’m sure she will not forget the kindness of three rural Iowa strangers on a cool late January day.
        With the Iowa Caucus just around the corner, the endless hours of political commercials and all the mud-slinging, it is easy to get caught up in the craziness. What we all need to remember is the importance of being “Iowa Nice” and having compassion for each other in the current political climate. Now that is real climate change.
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

    Back during my teenage years when I was hot rodding down the streets of Tulsa, Okla., I would have never dreamed that one day I would be cruising down the gravel roads of Iowa hauling hay.
     In August 2016, Debbie and I became the owners of three mini horses – Gazer, Sophie and Harmony.
     We bought a horse shed and with the help of family, added a fenced-in area for the horses to graze.
     Debbie is in charge of feeding the horses and my job is hauling hay for them. I can get 10-bales in the back of my old newspaper van. It once was used to haul newspapers and now is used to haul hay.
    Even though I grew up in the city, my mom and dad both grew up in the country. They knew the value of hard work, taking care of their family and taking care of the animals.
    In 1974, my parents bought a 20-acre farm south of Tulsa. It was part of an 80-acre dairy farm that had been split into three farms - two 20-acre sections and one 40-acre section. The farm was located along Highway 67 about 20 miles south of downtown Tulsa.
     They had looked for a farmstead for several years when they found this place. All that was left from the original farm was the concrete foundation and a section of the back porch of the old farm house. The old milk barn was just over the fence on the neighbor’s 40-acres.
    I was in middle school the year they bought the farm and I remember spending a late fall Saturday afternoon knocking down horse weeds with my dad. It scared me a bit as the night before I had watched a spooky movie at a church youth Halloween party. I was afraid I was going to find a dead body.
    My folks bought a mobile home in 1981 from a family member in southeast Missouri. My mom had it towed to Tulsa and we blocked it up ourselves. Uncle J.W., my mom’s youngest brother, setup mobile homes for years and I learned a little about the business working for him in my early 20s.
     They moved from Tulsa to the farm that same year. I was already out of high school and decided to remain in my boyhood home. They lived in the mobile home for a dozen or more years until building a log cabin on the property in 1994. It was my mother’s dream home.
      They raised a big garden every year and my dad had a small herd of 20 head of cattle that he raised. When someone asked him how many cattle he had, he always said, “Under 100.” Dad always bought a new bull every two years because he was concerned it would turn mean on him.
      At Christmas, he would ask the neighbor fellow to haul his calves to the Tulsa Stockyards and sell them. He used the money from the sale to buy Christmas gifts. He also collected pop cans at work and every December sold them at a Tulsa recycle place. He used the money to take us all out for a Christmas dinner at Bob’s Fish and Fowl in Broken Arrow, an all-you-can eat joint. It was a great place to dine and my dad always reminded me to skip the salad bar and bread and get to the fish and chicken.
      “You fill up on salad and bread and you don’t have any room for the meat,” he’d tell me.
Anyway, my first experience hauling hay was in the summer of 1992. My dad bought some square bales from a neighbor down the road. I decided to help put the hay in the barn, something I had never done before.
     It was a typical hot Oklahoma summer day. The neighbor, his son and my dad showed up in pants and long sleeve shirts. I showed up in shorts and a T-shirt. It didn’t take me long to learn that shorts and a T-shirt was not appropriate clothing for hauling hay. By the end of the day, my legs looked like a Brillo scouring pad, but I stuck it out and survived the ordeal.
      My dad knew the key to pacing himself without overworking. He didn’t want to take a break. His goal was getting the hay in the barn.  I’m about to choke for a Pepsi and he’s just working, slow and easy. I finally talked everyone into taking a rest and downing a cold soda. In about 10-minute it was back to work. I didn’t remember how many square bales we moved, but I’m sure it was more than 100.
       It was a memorable day and another chapter in a good life!
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

​    Have you ever had something happen in your life and you wondered how it turned out the way it did, all the while thanking God!
   It happened to me back in 1997. I can’t remember if it was the spring or summer of that year. I was wrapping up course work toward my BS in Agricultural Journalism at the University of Missouri-Columbia and was given an assignment in a magazine course to photograph at Lamberts Cafe in Sikeston, Mo.
   If you’ve never been to Lamberts Cafe, the original is in Sikeston just off Interstate 55 south of Cape Girardeau. There is also one in Ozark, Mo., on Highway 65 south of Springfield and a third location in Foley, Ala.  Lamberts Cafe is famous for its throwed rolls. It’s a place where you take home more food in the doggie container than most restaurants serve.
   It was a fun evening. I got to take photos in the bakery, the kitchen and was allowed to mingle freely throughout the large café, stopping to take photos and visit with the patrons. It was almost as if I was part of the decor.
   After wrapping up the evening taking photos, I enjoyed a chicken fried steak and all the fixings. I then headed west on Highway 60 toward Dexter in my Chevrolet S-10 pickup.
    About 5 miles outside of Dexter, I ran out of gas. When I pulled in at Lamberts, I knew my tank was nearly empty and needed gas, but forgot later that evening.
    There I was, sitting alone on the side of the highway at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night with no gas and no way to call anyone. Cell phones where not around at that time.
It wasn’t long before a couple southern Missouri fellows pulled up alongside my truck and asked if they could help me. I told them I ran out of gas and they offered to give me a ride to Dexter and get some gas.
   The car they were driving had no rear seat, no carpet and looked like it was put together from several salvage yard vehicles.
    Not sure if I was doing the right thing, I thanked the men and found a place in the front bucket seat. My heart was pounding!
     We arrived in Dexter and stopped at a convenience store. I went inside and bought a gas can and headed outside to put a few dollars’ worth of gas in the can. I got in the car and about that time, someone across the parking lot lost control of their vehicle and drove into the road ditch.
     The two men decided to help out, going as far as pulling the vehicle out of the ditch with a tow rope, which they happened to have in the trunk of their car.
    “We’ve done our good deed for the day,” the driver said as I thought about the events unfolding that evening.
      Off we went east on Highway 60 back to my truck, which thankfully was still there. They helped me put the gas in and I handed them $10 for their troubles. They even waited until I got my truck started and was ready to roll.
      To this day, I wonder if those two men were angels from above earning their wings. I don’t know, but I’m thankful for their help.
      There was another instance that happened to Debbie and I few years back while driving from Montezuma to the Lake of the Ozarks for a couple days of R&R. We left later than planned and somewhere around Eldon, Mo., we noticed a car acting strangely in front of us. Then suddenly, one showed up behind us and got real close.
      Our first thought was it was an ambush. It was after midnight, way too late to be out driving in a remote area and there was no place safe to stop. All of a sudden, a police cruiser showed up from nowhere and those two cars disappeared. An angel, maybe! We think so!
     As we celebrate Christmas soon, take time to be thankful for your life, your family, your safety! I know Debbie and I keep looking out for angels intervening along life’s way!
Merry Christmas!
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

   There’s a lot of craziness going on in the world these days. The news and social media are filled with it. The circus in Washington, D.C. is a good example.
   I encourage you this Thanksgiving to turn off the evening bad news, put down Facebook, shut down Twitter and forget about Snapchat for an afternoon and spend it with your family.
   This nation, in spite of the nuts trying to run it, or ruin it (however you feel about it), is the still the most blessed and freedom-filled nation in the world!
   This Thanksgiving, enjoy a turkey meal and all the trimmings and celebrate your life. Enjoy your family and be grateful for the many blessings you have been given. 
   By the end of the day, you will be more relaxed, less stressed and a good long nap will be in order.
   Thanksgiving is also a great time to do unto others through kind and giving acts. Following are a few tips to make Thanksgiving and the holiday season better for others. Here goes:
  • Don’t worry about missing a Black Friday sale, stay home and enjoy your family – and get some rest. Whatever it is that you want, it will be on sale again!
   • Take a percentage of what your Christmas shopping budget is and give it to a local food pantry or outreach for those who don’t have much. There are numerous outreaches in Poweshiek County who help others and can use your help.
   • Buy one less gift for each family member and give that money to buy gifts for a community outreach that helps others.
  • Buy all the food to prepare a holiday meal and give it to a family in need. Or just buy a family some groceries.
    • Give a gift card to a neighbor or friend of the family to enjoy a tasty meal at a local eatery. 
    • Pay for a stranger’s meal the next time you go to a restaurant – Pay it forward.
   • Fix a traditional Thanksgiving meal and enjoy it with your family. I remember the wonderful homemade meals my mom fixed at Thanksgiving. It’s hard to beat and the memories fill my heart.
   • Turn off the television and social media and play a game or have a scavenger hunt with your family.
   • Help clean up a neighbor’s yard, garage or home for free.
   • Invite a neighbor or friend over to enjoy Thanksgiving with your family. I remember when I first moved to Montezuma, thanks to the generosity of a local family, I enjoyed several delicious Thanksgiving meals. It was such a blessing.
   • Hospitals, senior living facilities, jails and many other services needed to keep this country going, all have people working on Thanksgiving and through the holidays. Send a note thanking them for their time and service.
   • Volunteer at a local food pantry, church function or community-minded event.
  • When you stop and fill up, pay inside instead of at the pump. While inside, thank the person working on the holiday for their time and service.
   • Call your friends and family during the holiday and let them know you love them and are thinking of them.
   And lastly – a little more advice. Take a step during the Thanksgiving weekend to fulfill a life-long dream. One step is all it takes to get going. Your dreams are not a waste of time.
   Take time to reflect on your life and write down the many blessings, even the little ones, you have enjoyed. Carry them in your pocket and take time to reflect on something good.

Moving on
   As for me, I will always be appreciative of my parents for taking me to church and teaching me about the good book. One of the greatest lessons they taught me was to do unto others, as I would have them do unto me. It’s been a guiding light throughout my life and one that I have put to practice many times.
   What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?
  Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.