Well I guess it was only a matter of time, but now I’ve got to deal with the snow. You would think I’d be used to it by now but the first part of the winter always gets to me. It wears off by about February but those first few months are a killer.

The thing that makes this time of year the hardest isn’t the cold, although my old bones don’t like it much, but all the drivers who seem to have forgotten that it snows ’round these parts. I can’t say I’m immune to temporary driving amnesia over the summer but it seems to me that some folks never quite regain their memory. It’d be funny if it weren’t for the fact that you could get seriously injured. My Jenny says I’m projecting my own inadequacies on others or some such Freudian nonsense but I think some people are just plain dumb. And besides, I’m an excellent driver and don’t you let anybody tell you otherwise.

The road less traveled certainly makes all the difference but it isn’t always the best road to take.  For the first time in I don’t know how long, I got myself completely lost today.  It’s hard to do in Utah, with the grid system and all, but I managed to get it done.

I was actually filling in for one of the other drivers so it’s not like I was on my regular route but for a guy like me it’s still a little embarrassing.  Ryan even offered to let me take his GPS, but there was no way the Gunny was going to listen so some blinking box all day long telling me to turn right or go straight.  I’ve been driving through hostile territory for the better part of my life and I never needed much more than a map and my own gut instinct so I wasn’t about to admit I needed some technological assistance today.

It officially took me 45 minutes of meandering through what seemed like the seventh circle of hell before I completely lost it. I imagine it would have been a sight to see a 70+ year-old man hollerin’ to beat the band and wailin’ on the steering wheel with both fists. Can’t say I’m proud of throwing a tantrum but don’t act like you’ve never cussed out the steering wheel when nobody was in the car to hear it.

Jenny taught me a long time ago how beneficial it can be to take a breath or two and count to ten. I might have counted to thirty but I eventually got myself under control. The call to Ryan wasn’t the proudest moment of my life either but when he explained that in Utah County the North-South coordinates change frequently as you pass from Orem to Provo and so on I got things straight. I suppose that old saying about learnin’ somethin’ new everyday is as true as ever.

Well, fall’s comin’ on strong. I’ll be grateful when the heat dies down but it’s always a little sad to see the summer go. I’m still not the biggest fan of the snow and it’s just around the corner. The good thing is we got all the good sports going now. I’m quite partial to football, as you might imagine. Down South football comes in a close second to Jesus and even then the line gets a little blurry on Saturday afternoon. I played a little ball myself when I was a young man, but it sure was a different game back then. These boys they got runnin’ around now a’days just might of killed little ‘ol Gunny when I was their age. I was actually pretty big compared to the rest of my friends but I sure didn’t weigh no 200 pounds and we didn’t even keep track of the 40-yard dash.

The only problem with this time of year is the spike in blood pressure. I tell you what, when the Bulldogs go down to the swamp to play those blasted Gators I just about go hoarse yellin’ at the TV. Jenny doesn’t like the game much but she indulges me a game or two during the year. She doesn’t particularly like the hollerin’ so she usually finds a reason to leave the house. She still takes me with her to get her nails done though so I guess we’re even.

If not for my cat like reflexes this might have been my eulogy.  I think I’ll stick to the surface streets for a few weeks until my heart stops beating out of my chest and I can take driving on the freeway again.

I’ve had close calls before. Like I said, you see all kinds of things when you spend all day on the road, but today I just about greeted the good Lord in person.  It was northbound I-15 at about nine in the morning.  I was hummin’ right along at a good clip to the sultry sounds of my good friend Conway Twitty when I caught just a glimpse of something bearin’ down on me like a cheetah on a gazelle.  I didn’t have time to think, I just whipped the truck over into the emergency lane and watched a little blue somethin’ or other plow into the back of the car behind me.  The two cars went flyin’ past and right into the concrete divider.  I had slowed just enough when I got over that I was able to bring my vehicle to a stop right before I put the Prestige truck topping on a mangled automobile sundae.

Man oh man, I have seen some things in my day but I’m not sure I ever came so close to bitin’ the big one as I did this day.  The only thing more deadly than the crash was the two hours of paperwork the highway patrol had me fill out as a witness to the accident.  I count the whole experience as a bona fide miracle though I tell you what, ‘cause not one person was seriously injured.  The darned fool in the little blue car will be spendin’ some time in jail I imagine, seein’ as how he was drunk and all, but everybody walked away relatively ok.  Even the clothes made it to where they needed to go, although a little later than usual.

The ankle is on the mend, and it’s a good thing because I needed it today. You see I just got a new person on my usual route.  That’s a good thing, but he lives in an apartment building in the avenues, on the third floor with no elevator.  I don’t need to remind you that I am not the physical specimen I once was.  My limit seems to be two flights because by the time I got to the third I was breathing pretty heavy.  I remember a time not too long ago when I could run a good mile at close to a dead sprint.  I guess fifty years takes off a step or two.

When I got to the door the young man, Danny I think he said, was just coming out.  The ‘ol Gunny’s pride kicked in and I stood up straight as an arrow and did my best to act like I was feeling tip top.  It worked though ‘cause the guy mentioned how good I looked for a man who was so obviously “mature” I think was the word he used.  I just couldn’t keep my Georgia mouth shut and I went on and on about how I liked to keep myself in good shape.  I left out the fact that I was limited to that crazy elliptical contraption Jenny bought off the QVC.  It’s easy on the ‘ol joints though so I recommend it to any of ya’ll lookin’ to get in shape.  Anyway, Danny said he’d felt bad about loading the bag too heavy since I’d have to carry it down three flights but since I was in such good shape he pulled out an area rug for me to take with me.  He offered to help of course but I was in too deep by then to admit I needed it so I had to heave that ‘ol rug all the way down to the truck on my back.  Jenny has me laid out on the floor pumped full of ibuprofen as we speak.

My ankle is still a little swollen which had impeded my speed considerably.  I think I’m officially retired from my boyish antics but it would be nice to get in and out of the truck a little quicker.  Getting old is tough pill to swallow.

I told you last week how even at 50 I could handle my own against the youngsters.  I may have had a few more aches and pains the next day but I held my own.  Jenny tells me that I have nothing to prove and that my need to outrun a 20 year old private was … hell I don’t know what she called it, some psychobabble jargon.  I just call it teaching respect for elders.

Back in ‘89 we had this hot shot kid named Templeton get assigned to our unit.  I was in Alaska at the time and there wasn’t much to do but stay inside where it was warm and entertain yourself the best you could.  Being a bunch of leathernecks like we were, someone got the bright idea to buy a couple pairs of boxing gloves.  Visits to the dentist when up 100% that month.

It was mostly in good fun, but this Templeton really took to giving everybody in the company a whollopin’.  He was all state somethin’ or other back home and boy did he have a mouth on him.  I was one of the old guys and Jenny always told me I should be an example to the other men, so I kept my mouth shut, for the most part.  A Georgia man can be a patient man but it’s hot down there and our blood runs a little warmer than the average man, so about a week before Christmas when little ‘ol Templeton got to shootin’ his mouth off, it was time for he and I to have a little talk in our make shift boxing ring.

I’ll spare you the details ‘cause, as you might have guessed, I gave ‘ol Templeton a real lesson in respectin’ your elders.  He didn’t break nothin’, unless you count a rib, but he found chewing his roast beef a little more difficult for the next few weeks.  I got myself a nice shiner for my trouble but for a 49 year old Gunny like me, it might as well have been a medal.

I tell you what, my body just don’t function the way it used to.  Even when I was 50, I could still hold my own against those snot nosed privates who wanted to tangle with the Gunny, but today I lost a fight against a front step.

When I’m getting’ your knickers back to ya’ I treat it like a high level military extraction.  I get in the truck, I get to your doorstep and I get out, the quicker the better.  When no ones lookin’ I even dive behind a bush or two.

Let me set the scene for you.  It was the last drop off of the day.  I saved my best stuff for this last stop because it had all the elements of a high value target: Wedding dress, long driveway, dog.  I stopped the engine fifty yards from the drive and coasted in silence to the extraction point.  I watched my second hand tick toward the 12, then I sprang into action.  I was out my door and had the wedding dress out of the back in less than five seconds.  There were no enemy targets in view, so I went quick and low along the hedge line to the front door.  I’ve been to this house many times so I knew to hang the clothing on the porch light.  I looked at my watch again, 24 seconds, a new record.  Getting in, however, is only half the operation.  I checked the perimeter again, no unfriendlies, I was out of there again, quick and low.  The only thing I left out of my perfect plan was the final step off the front porch and onto the driveway.  It caught me while I was looking to my 3 o’clock and I went down hard.

Now I’m at home with my swollen ankle in a tub of ice.  I told Jenny it was a pot hole on the street but I don’t think she believes me.  Lets just keep all the running around and diving behind bushes between you and I how ‘bout?

You can’t shock a man before he’s had his coffee in the morning!  My grandson stayed at our house last night and unknown to me he has a slight sleep walking problem.  Had I known I probably could have avoided what happened this morning …

When I get up in the morning I’m used to having the house all to my self.  Jenny has the good sense to sleep until at least 7, but I haven’t been able to sleep much past 5:30 for the past thirty years or so.  This morning I get up at my normal time and hobble down to the kitchen in my usual sleepy daze.  I may be moving but I am by no means awake.  I go into the kitchen on auto pilot and fumble around the counter until I find the button on the coffee maker. Suddenly, then the ear piercing drone of the blender just about makes me soil myself.  I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I screamed like woman flipped around in full combat mode.  To my even greater surprise, I see my grandson sitting on the counter behind me covered in flour with the blender between his knees.  The scream must have startled the poor little fella ‘cause he wakes up and starts to cry.  In my state I can’t really grasp what in the sam hill is going on and to make matters worse Jenny runs around the corner in her nightgown hollerin’ like a stuck hog.

It must have been a sight to behold, me gripping my chest like I’m havin’ a heart attack, Jenny in her pajamas, hair all a mess, screaming for someone to explain what’s going on at 5:30 in the morning in her kitchen and my poor grandson on the counter, covered in flour, crying his little eyes out.

After that, driving around all day was pert near relaxin’.

It’s good to know that good ol’ fashioned hospitality still exists in this modern age of ours.  If you look around most cities today, you might be inclined to think there aint one nice person left.  It hasn’t always been that way of course.  I remember one trip down to Central America a few decades back when I met about the nicest set a folks I ever did know.

My unit was keepin’ tabs on a little town a few hours out of the capitol.  These poor folks had been through the business and they were actually happy to have us “gringos” around keepin’ things calm for a bit.  One afternoon I found myself with a broken axel, stranded by the side of the road in 100 degree heat.  My water was running a little low and help was still more than an hour away.

I was stuck there in a pool of my own sweat, just as miserable as man could be, when a little tike came by on his bicycle.  He couldn’t have been more than ten and he lit up like Christmas when he saw my big ol’ jeep. I lifted the little guy into the driver seat and he commenced a’ bouncin’ around like he was driving 80 through the jungle.  After a minute or two he must have noticed my sweaty condition ‘cause he started making hand motions like he was drinking.  I figured he was askin’ if I was thirsty so I said yes and mimicked the same pantomime.  That little guy jumped down and took off like a bat outa’ you know where.  Not five minutes later three or four of what I assumed were his relatives came by with a pitcher of lemonade bigger than my head.  It was about the best thing I ever did taste at the time.  The water made me sicker than a dog for about a week after but I surely did appreciate the gesture.

It wasn’t the jungle, but it sure was hot this afternoon and I was just as stuck.  The sun was beatin’ down on me like a hammer and my truck was out of commission.  The wrecker was still a ways out so I had nothin’ to do but wait, with no shade for a mile.  It wasn’t a little boy on a bike this time but Mrs. Henrickson in her big ol’ suburban who came to the rescue.   We sat in the air conditioning, sipping cold bottled water, chewin’ the fat like two old biddies for almost an hour.  Thank you Mrs. Henrickson I sure did appreciate it.