Official site of Tribune News serving Tomball, Magnolia and Waller

My daughter recently showed me a picture of Superman. He was in a football uniform except this time he was in a real game. He wasn't dressed up for Halloween as he was the last time I saw him. That was over thirteen years ago and Superman had grown up. Here was a story I remembered from many, many years ago.
Halloween had come and gone and I got into trouble again. It seems that every year that goes by I get in trouble for one reason or another.
Some years I get into trouble for being over zealous in my Halloween activities and then some years I get fussed at for not caring.
If I am in one of my, I don't care years, my wife gets on to me because I don't come to the door every time it rings and ogle and ah at each little candy snatcher that makes their way to our door. If I'm in one of my very active modes she has to get on to me because I tend to go overboard. I can still remember one year at a former church I attended I kinda got into trouble for being too creative.
The Hall family used to live in a location that was way out in the boonies or at least so it seemed.  Tall trees and a lot of underbrush surrounded them and their property had a gully that ran across one area of the land. We decided to have a spook trail and we did all kind of fun scary things. We cleared paths in the woods and I laid some lumber across this little gully that had about two inches of water in it. Once it got dark all of the actors took their various places around the trail and I tended the water crossing.
As the group touring our trail got positioned onto the crossing, I would pour a cup of gasoline on the water as it ran toward the board. I could see the oily skin on the water reflecting in the moonlight and as soon as it got near the bridge I would light the gasoline. The trail of fire trickling toward the board crossing naturally made people scatter. It was fun until the women started getting mad because I was making them get their feet wet while escaping the wall of fire. People got tired of trampling on each other too! Creative panic and controlled chaos is what I called it.
I really felt bad about what happened this one particular year! I always thought Halloween was a time to be so scared it made you wet your pants but apparently that idea went out with bell-bottom pants.
One little trick or treater named Tyler Ligon visited our house along with his mom. I happened to be outside when they drove up and once they made their way inside I hid between some bushes in front of our house hoping to scare everybody that walked out the door. For whatever reason my wife allowed them to exit the side door to our home and little Tyler made his way past my lair as I jumped out and growled real loud. The little fellow was dressed as Superman and as much as he tried not to, he burst into tears, deflating any laughter this old man had. I apologized and my wife got after me with a piece of weed eater string. I guess it just goes to show you that big guys never grow up and all guys, big or little, still need the comfort from the women in their lives.
It was good to see your picture Tyler. I'm the old man that scared Superman.



- Clifford

Last week I shared the truth about my hunting activities. I enjoy telling everyone that I enjoy hunting and I really do…but the truth be told that typically I am a lazy hunter. I enjoy the THOUGHT of hunting and I enjoy being around everybody at the camp house but when it comes to actually having to get up and go out in the field of game I become lazy. Here is what I thought was going to happen to me when I ended my story last week: I showed up at the ranch for this weekend to deer hunt. I got up early well before sunrise Saturday morning to head out to my stand. After several cups of coffee and a bathroom stop I decided to take a quick nap before walking to my stand and didn't get up until noon.

Well, actually I am pleased to tell you that it did not happen that way and I am also excited to announce that I had the most HAIR RAISING and EXHILARATING hunting experience of my life! No, I did not get a deer but that does not matter. That would have caused me to have to clean the thing but here is what did happen.

I arose early Saturday morning well before daybreak. The younger hunters had sat around the campfire until the early morning hours and I heard them come in about 2 AM. I was laughing to myself cause I was going to sneak out of the house, shoot my deer and have it hanging in the tree field dressing it before these young ‘en's ever got out of bed. When I got up I had that nasty yucky mouth feeling so I grabbed my toothbrush and stepped outside with a bottle of water to brush my teeth. The moon was absolutely beautiful and bright. I stepped to the back of my truck and dropped the tailgate and placed my items on the tailgate and the moon was so bright I could actually read the toothpaste tube. I figured that because of such a bright moon the deer had probably been feeding all night and that hunting would probably not be too good.

I grabbed my gun and headed toward the woods. The moon was so bright that walking to my stand was nothing. I took a small, little, rinky dink, double AA battery powered pen light with me. I had just enough light that I could double check my stand for critters before I climbed in it.

As I left an open field and headed into the woods, I could still see the moon light as it broke through the canopy of the tree tops brightly shining my way down the now wooded trail leading to my stand. About fifty yards from my stand I suddenly heard a rustling to my right and an immediate sound of an animal passing gas. I could tell from the sound that something had been bedded down and as with us men, animals tend to expel the nights build up of noxious odors as soon as we stand up from the nights slumber. (Women do too but they don't talk about it like we guys do).

No sooner than I heard this loud rumble of gas, I heard a swishing sound like a deer makes when it has been spooked.

"Great", I thought to myself. "I've done jumped a deer bedded down next to my stand" when suddenly this awful rustling sound came thrashing toward me in the darkness. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall as this noise was multiplied numerous times and I thought the whole woods had come alive with creatures of the night!

I grabbed the stupid little pen light I had in my pocket with one hand and had raised my gun to my shoulder with the other. My life was flashing before me because I thought Satan had been awakened as this thundering, thrashing and swishing sound, came toward me in the darkness! I knew I could not shoot because my target was not identified, but I figured if something bites me or tries to maul me I was going to shoot because I would then know it was not a cow or human! My dumb little pen light did not have the power to light up an ants behind, but I kept waving it toward the noise and then like a little girl I even let out some kind of sickly yell! I was petrified when suddenly in front of me in a moonlit spot, four hogs came barreling across the trail. Even then and after knowing it was hogs, my life continued to flash before me because now I wondered if the boar was stalking me! Then, as suddenly as the sound had began, it faded away into the still darkened night.

Weak-kneed and perspiring and hoping my drawers were still clean I made my way to my stand.

It was a great hunt! One I will never forget.

Clifford

P.S. Several years ago I told a story about seeing a beautiful black panther at the ranch. Most people scoffed at me. My son and I both saw this animal on Saturday in hot pursuit of a group of deer! I now have a witness!

- Clifford

I got a phone call tonight from a Fellon. She tried to harass me, but people always forget that I can generally have the last laugh. The word is mightier than the sword.

Ok, Ok, now let me straighten out this story. The Fellon that called me is actually my son's mother in law. No, she is not really a felon, but she really is a Fellon. That is her last name. She thought she could tease me about a recent situation that occurred to me. The two of us have recently had similar occurrences in our separate lives that have caused us distress. She has had a real bad sinus infection which has caused her serious and uncomfortable nose bleeds and I have recently had a nose bleed too! The only thing however is she had no control over her sickness, but shear dumbness caused me to create my own nose bleed.

I was trying to show off and accidentally hurt myself. You would think that a guy who just turned sixty would have more sense, but alas, I'm a kid at heart and made a dumb mistake. My son and I went to the shooting range to get ready for opening weekend of deer season. I'm a lazy hunter and really don't even hunt anymore, but I try to push myself into believing I will do some serious hunting. The truth is I don't like getting out of bed early enough to climb into a stand. Just the same, I do go to the range every year for that "just in case" opportunity and the trip is a tradition for my son and I (and my son in law – if I can get him to go).

Well this year I decided to shoot my lever action 30-30 with open sight, at 50 yards. I did reasonably well grouping ten shots in a hands span while my son was on the other end of the range shooting a hundred yards with my scoped 30-30. As I stood behind him watching his shooting techniques, I noticed by his body language that he was not happy with his shots. Finally he turned to me and told me he was having some difficulty hitting the bull's eye.

Great, I thought, here is one way for the old man to one up him and I just calmly asked him if I could give it a try. I grabbed the gun and sat down at the bench. I pushed all the sand bags aside as I knew that sitting in a deer stand would not offer the comfort and resting on a stack of bags. No siree I was going to free hand it! I threw the gun to my shoulder and fired off a nice quick round at the target. In a split second after my shot was made I glanced through the scope again at the target and sure 'nuff a nice clean hole just an inch or so away from the bull's eye.

Well, I thought in a nano second, I better quit while I'm ahead and then suddenly a sharp pain began to develop as I felt a warm trickle run down the top of my nose. Ohhhh, you dummy, my mind screamed, show no pain, as I stepped away from the bench and stepped back for my son to gaze at his dad's well placed shot. I moved to the edge of the dark shadows and took the cuff of my old shirt and pressed it hard against my nose when my son turned to me and saw me bleeding.

If you haven't figured it out by now, my showing off made me hold the gun too loosely and when I fired the scope came back and hit me across the nose leaving a nice clean cut across the bridge of my German sized schnotzel. (Yes, I know that is not the right word but that is what my Grandma called it). The whole incident became funny by that time, as the pain had subsided, but it made me think back to my Great Uncle Teddy Vogt. I seem to recall the time as a kid when he showed up at a family reunion with a very badly bruised eye from the same situation. We got to laughing among ourselves as young kids and nick-named him Uncle Scope Eye. I guess I learned my lesson because payback ain't funny.

All in all, the pain and no gain was a good time for my son and I to be together and the harassing phone call from Mrs. Fellon made for a good story. I just can't wait to give you a deer hunting report. It's probably gonna read something like this: I showed up at the ranch this weekend to deer hunt. I got up early, well before sunrise Saturday morning, to head out to my stand. After several cups of coffee and a bathroom stop I decided to take a quick nap before walking to my stand and didn't get up until noon..

 - Clifford

The sun began to move lower into the sky and the wind that had been blowing all day was beginning to subside. It has been a good day. Here I now rested under the shade of the big oak tree in the middle of the pasture and not a soul around but for me, myself and I. I grabbed my thermos of coffee I had in my truck and pulled up a chair to the still standing table and began to enjoy a place that is near and dear to my heart, the Family Ranch.
All the guys had left and I was finishing up my cleaning duties and began to just really chill out. As I sat in the silence of nature a few deer appeared in the distance no longer disturbed by the many, many shotguns that had been hammering away at clay targets just an hour or two before. I enjoyed the coffee and then after tying up a few loose ends I climbed back into my truck for my trip home about an hour away.
I had invited the men of my church up to the ranch for a great time of manly fellowship. As I surveyed the crowd that had gathered earlier in the day I suddenly observed that I think I have now become an official, old man in the crowd. I do believe I was the eldest of them all and it brought me pleasure to share with these guys a place that I enjoy. I looked over at my son during the day and realized he will someday be the leader of the festivities up here if he so desires.
Our goal for the day was to shoot some skeet and I had made preparations for twenty to thirty people. I have to admit that I skipped Sunday Morning Church services to make the preparations for everybody and I hope the Lord forgives me. The game plan was for all the guys to head out in a caravan after church being lead by my son and then as soon as they arrived I was to have lunch prepared for immediate consumption. I had purposely kept everyone in the dark about the menu for several reasons. First of all, I know men well enough that they will eat just about anything anybody will make if they are hungry enough and I knew they would be hungry right after church. Not that church makes anybody hungry now mind you, but church always seems to let out just a few minutes after my normal lunch time. Secondly I didn't share the menu because this brings down too many suggestions. The women were not invited and without the women we men can do just about anything we want with our meals. The tables don't have to have center pieces or table cloths, the food doesn't have to be a balanced meal and the food can be cooked as spicy as we want. I did hear however, a few of the guys make comments as to how lost they felt without the women being there.
After we had our lunch time prayer I simply told the guys to help themselves and dig in. I had grilled some sausage and tube steaks and had a choice of bread, bun, flour tortilla or simply a sausage on a stick. It was their choice to create whatever they wanted with the food at hand. Some of them said they were lost. They couldn't hear any woman telling them how to make their plate, what to eat and not eat and to watch dripping grease on their shirt. They even commented about how quiet it was with no talking during the meal. We all simply ate good greasy food and listened to the end of the football game on the car radios with no talking interruptions. The guys had thought all female influence had passed us by that day until I suddenly saw Matt using PINK SHOTGUN SHELLS! I just about died when I saw PINK SHOTGUN SHELLS at the ranch. I could not believe it and they really did not improve his shooting very much either. Actually, after watching this group shoot, I don't think a crook has anything to worry about. David won the grand prize. Ed came in a one shot second. I gave David a cheap gimmie calculator that I have had in my closet for ten years. Actually I gave him two of them. Ed's prize for second place was; not having to carry around a piece of junk that probably did not work anyhow.
Everything had gone real well for me during the earlier part of the day. The fire in my pit was able to burn down quickly enough to put the sausage on at a good even heat and everything fell into place very well except when something literally fell that I haven't told anybody about until now. Well, something fell on the ground. Actually a whole pan of sausage fell onto the ground but I followed the old standby five second rule. I quickly picked it up and thoroughly washed it off before returning it to the pit for reheating --- or maybe I didn't really. You will never know….
Thanks guys for the good memories.


 - Clifford

"Clifford, come here! Clifford, can you hear me boy, I said get in here!"
"Sir", I said as I entered the unfinished kitchen. 
"Look at this, every one of these styles are a sixty-fourth too short or long."
"What's a style Uncle Speedy and how short did you say they were?"
"I said they were each a sixty-fourth too short or two long and a style is the divide between each door on these cabinets!"
"Ok, but Uncle Speedy, what's a sixty fourth?" I asked.
"Clifford how long have you been working on cabinets?"
"Well Uncle Speedy I've only done this a couple of times before, but I still don't understand what a sixty fourth is!"
"Come here and look at this ruler. Do you see each of these little marks between the inch marks? That's a sixty fourth!"
"Do you mean those little, bitsy, teeny, tiny marks?"
"Yes Clifford, each one of those marks represent one sixty fourth of an inch!"
"But Uncle Speedy what difference does one sixty fourth make? I can't even see it much less cut it any closer!"
"Look at it this way son. If you had a cabinet sixty four feet long and you cut every style one sixty fourth shorter than the one before, how short would your cabinets be?"
Now even though I had to go through Mrs. Beards remedial math course three times to get through high school, I was still able to calculate the answer when I finally confessed to him it would be an inch out of whack! That's a lot when you're working on cabinets and they hadn't invented one-inch caulk yet.
This was one of my first lessons in cabinet making from Uncle Speedy Bogs. Now Uncle Speedy really wasn't my uncle but because all the Mueller Boy's called him Uncle Speedy I called him Uncle Speedy too!
I had often asked my dad how Speedy got his name. He confessed to me that it was a nickname given him by all his boyhood friends. He had one crippled foot and they always had to wait on him when they were running anywhere so they just nicknamed him Speedy! The name stuck, even in light of its original connotation that sounds cruel to some, but was really a sign of friendship between boys. We men are like that you know. We take the worst things about a guy and poke fun at them and as we get older we soon realize the nicknames given each one of us are really a true bonding of friendship. Many men carry nicknames from childhood. Moose, Goose, Unk, Speedy, Shorty, Fat Albert, Dog, Bimbo, Cotton, Squi-rrel, Hoss, Peg, Runt, Blackie, Whitie, Stick, Stinky, Blue, Suds, Shine, Hair, Monkey, Smitty, Rubber Butt and Popeye are just a few of the nicknames that have stuck with men that I have known for their entire lives. Mine was Popeye, because as a child I wore a Popeye outfit at Halloween with a can of spinach stuffed down my shirt. The problem was however the can kept falling down the front of my shirt, past my skinny ribs and wound up either falling on the floor or into my pants which really made a sight for wonderment.
When the name is first anointed on them it is usually at a young age. It is initially intended to poke fun at each other but as we grow older we soon realize the name is no longer intended in harming or poking fun at you, it's simply a way of being accepted by other men with common problems, likes and ideas. I don't expect my female readers to understand the bonding two men have when their nickname is used as an everyday, common expression of friendship and acknowledgement.
Well, now I've got a new name to add. It's Pink Sugar. Pink Sugar works at a Panera Bread location down at Spring Cypress and Tomball Parkway. If the place doesn't advertise in this paper they need to because I will tell you that Pink Sugar has been added to my list of good food and faster service. Just for kicks I have started timing Pink Sugar and the crew that produces my lunch sometimes just for fun.
I will tell you that I recently received a bowl of soup and a handmade half a sandwich in twenty three seconds! Now someone will misunderstand that a sandwich made in twenty three seconds can't be any good, but no joke, it is a regular sandwich that Pink Sugar can put together in a flash!  I am a connoisseur of good food and I have eaten at just about every restaurant in this area and fast is not always good but in this case, it really is. What's bothering me now, however, is how does a guy get a nickname like Pink Sugar? What if Pink Sugar wanted to join a motorcycle gang? Can you see him going up against names like Lug Nuts, Flywheel and Jack Hammer? HA!
"What's your name boy?" "
Ahhh, its Pink Sugar"
It makes me think of cotton candy ….hmmm.

Clifford