Book article

The meeting of IFMA Committee

            The following report came from the minutes of last week’s meeting of the IFMAG -- “Ideas for Mark’s Article Committee.”

---

MARK: All right, the meeting of the IFMAC is called to order! Everybody plant yourself! Sit down! – Okay, Secretary Barry will now read the minutes of our last gathering. – Barry, go ahead. Barry?

BARRY: I’m s’posed to take notes? I had no idea. Nor do I have any minutes.

MARK: Barry, you make me want to weep. Anybody remember the meeting? Anybody?

MILDRED: Yes, you mentioned flyswatters and the bug assault gun. We liked the idea and said you should go with it.

MARK: Right! Mildred, you’re a peach. By the way, I got a little feedback on the fly article. A guy named Rick Rose said his brother got him a Bug-a-Salt gun last Christmas. Since it came from his brother, it was the cheapest one on the market. But, Rick enjoys the daylights out of it. They have fly shooting contests and everything. He highly recommended it.

CHARI: Well, that settles it. Write about your new fly gun. How has it changed your life? What does Kay think about it? People like it when you throw Kay into the mix

.

MARK: Funny you should say that. Kay wouldn’t let me get one. Said there was no way I was paying $40 for a fly swatter. Told me to get two of the wire-handled swatters. Cost me $2

.  

JAMES: I can’t help thinkin’ that Kay pretty much controls you. If my wife ordered me not to buy a bug shooter, I’d go out and buy six of ‘em. Maybe you should write an article about what a pansy you are. Hold it? You already have… several times.

MILDRED: Now, now, James. There’s no call for that.

MARK: I move we kick James’s rear off the IFMAC. Do I hear a second? Anybody? Mildred? Anybody? All right then, James. You’re still with us, but hanging by a thread.

BARRY: Look, I’ve got other things to do. Polishing my headlights comes to mind. So, can we forget last week’s article and come up with ideas for the next one? Oh, and if this offends you, Mr. President, I beg you to kick my butt off the committee.

MARK: Okay, Barry, there’s no call for that attitude… nor that language. Put a dime in the jar and let’s move along. - So, ideas for the next article? We’re running out of time, committee! – Flo! Great, you’re awake. What you got?

FLO: Why don’t you write about people having pet pigs. I hear they’re smarter than dogs.

MARK: No, that’s dumb. Let’s cut to the chase. I need to see what you think about this. It just so happens I finally published my book. I did it myself, because nobody else would. It’s called “The Summer of 1976.” It’s about a teacher who loses everything he cares about, and takes a hike that leads him to a small town where a bunch of good and bad stuff happens that leads to a change in the townsfolk and the “Teacher Man.” What do you think?

JAMES: So, you want to use your article to promote your book? You’ve got yourself some brass—

MILDRED: James! The dime jar? Mark, I think it sounds like a sweet idea. So, say somebody wants to get your book, how do they go about doing it?

BARRY: Yeah, say some sap wants to read the thing, what’s it gonna cost ‘em? You puttin’ that in the article?

MARK: Yes, Mr. Meany Britches. It’s an e-book. You go to Amazon Books and search for me or the name of the book, “The Summer of 1976.”That will pull up a site where you see the cover and can read a few chapters. If you want the e-book, it will cost you $2.99. I wanted to sell it for $3 but they only want prices that end in “99.”

CHARI: Since it's with Amazon, a lot of people might think it can only be read on a Kindle. You need to tell them that there is a place just below the price of the book that says "Free App." If they click on that, it will allow

them to download an app that will let them read it on any device they have.-- Did I do good, Mark? 

MARK: Yes, Chari., right up to that last part. By the way, I think I’ll include something about how easy it is to get your manuscript published for free as an e-book at several sites on the Internet. Amazon is just one of the bigger companies. Just follow the directions they give you.

JAMES: Sure, but unless somebody has a newspaper column, how are they gonna get anybody to know about it.

MARK: James your bucket always has a hole in it. Look, there are a lot of places where you can get advice about selling your e-book. Most cost money, but some are free. Most importantly, I suggest you pray. Doesn’t guarantee success, but it will provide peace of mind. -- Okay, so what do you think? I’ll hear a motion to accept “The Summer of 1976” as the topic for the next article. Do I hear a second? Anybody?

FLO: What’s the book about?

BARRY: I’m outta here!

end

endhttps://www.amazon.com/Summer-1976-Mark-S-Hayter-ebook/dp/B07DNNBQ2Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1530907288&sr=8-1&keywords=mark+hayter

Mark can be contacted at hayter.mark@gmail.com.

Good Old Days, Bah!

“Death of the Good Old Days”

                       

            You ask me, the Good Old Days were good because we didn’t know any better. If we had known what the Sam Hill was going on back then, we would’ve been every bit as angry and depressed as we are right now. 

            Today, little gets past us. Immediately and constantly we are bombarded with information both real and fabricated. Most of what we hear and read is bad, simply because good news doesn’t hold our attention as well.

            In the Good Old Days we didn’t have that many choices. Let me take you on a short visit to the Hayter household back in The Day. -- Mom did all the grocery shopping for the family and she did it really fast. The reason I know that is because she would leave Dennis, Jill, Alan and me in the car with the windows down while she shopped; yet, she never lost any of us. If we had been accustomed to air conditioning, we would’ve moaned and groaned.

            Mom wasn’t even afraid of us being kidnapped. If anyone walked by a car filled with sweaty kids, the notion of taking any of them home would be adverse to reason. Before heading into Weingarten’s, Mom would say something like, Den-Mark, take care of Jill and L’il Snothead. And, behave yourselves or when I get back I’ll wring your necks.

            Fortunately, Mom never followed up on any of her horrific threats. -- I take that back. She did once come close to pulling my hair out. -- Unless a parent backs up a threat, it’s hard for a kid to remember what he’s not supposed to do. To this day, I’ve associated a door slamming with a hair yanking. And, there’s no counting how many times I cried until I was given something to cry about.

            From all of that, you might be led to assume that Mom didn’t let us shop with her because we acted up in the grocery store. Truth be told, I don’t ever remember her letting us in the grocery store. Elsie always anticipated the worst when it came to child rearing. Everything she did was preemptive.

            We missed out on a whole lot by not getting to shop with Mom.  Had it not been for the cereal commercials on our 18 inch RCA, I would’ve thought that Grape Nut Flakes was the only cereal on the market. A decade or so later, when I got to eat my first bowl of Sugar Pops, I wept.

            That’s why it never took Mom long to shop. There wasn’t all that much of a selection, and she knew exactly what she wanted.  Today, there are way too many decisions to make while grocery shopping. Take crackers. Mom’s choice used to be between Saltines and Ritz. I am so glad she didn’t live to see the Trapezoid Flaxseed with Farro Bits Cracker.

            When it came to sliced bread we got Mrs. Baird’s or Cookbook. When Sunbeam came out with thin-sliced bread, Mom jumped all over it. I believe it was Dad who made her go back to Baird.  

            I lived during a time before the twist-tie was invented. All bread was wrapped in paper with one end laced with an un-stickable glue. After closing the wrapper, you had to shove the end of the bread against the flour canister to keep it closed.

            Picking out produce was a lot simpler back then. They apparently had not yet bred different varieties of tomatoes, because the only one I ever saw was the one called “tomatoe.” Now, I have to stand in the produce department and try to figure out if I want the tomatoes with the vines still on ‘em, or the container with the 56 grape-sized tomatoes. I’ve never cared for a tomato that exploded in my mouth. Kay apparently gets a bang out of ‘em.

            The only lettuce of which I was aware was called “head lettuce” because it was in the shape of a soccer ball and no one played soccer back then. There are so many different varieties of lettuce, today, that if one variety carries a germ, there are still 34 other weird leafy things from which you can choose.

            But that was all acceptable because, like I say, we didn’t know any better. As I look back, we were shielded from so much. Food selection was only one of the minor cover-ups.  Practically all of the ills in today’s society have been with us since biblical times. I was raised during a time when the media, government, schools, churches, and, yes, our parents told us what they considered was best for us to know. In the words of Colonel Nathan R. Jessup in “A Few Good Men,” we couldn’t handle the truth.  

            Now, we have a so much grander opportunity to discard our blissful ignorance. It’s so much easier to check up on things. What we find out can really mess up our opinions about stuff, but that’s only a problem with those of us who worship opinion.

            Perhaps children today will be able to look back to what they consider Good Old Days. For that to happen, we need to care enough to search for and learn the truth. But more than that, we will need to value it. 

             

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Mark can be contacted at hayter.mark@gmail.com. An archive of Hayter’s articles can be found at http://markhayterscolumn.blogspot.com

Weedeating

“Downsizing gone wrong”

            OUT BACK – Water? Anybody? No. I’m not offering. I need water. Look out there. I just weedeated the backyard during the hottest part of the day.

            What? No, I don’t own a Weed Eater, smarty britches. I’ve never owned a weedeater with the BRAND name of Weed Eater. Most people have caught onto the realization that when someone comes up with a popular invention, our culture rewards that person by referring to any facsimile with the same name.

           

            It wasn’t all that many years ago when bosses would hand over a piece of paper and say, “Get me a Xerox of this.” Today, I call all carbonated drinks “cokes.” If I see a large, round, plastic loop at the Dollar Store, I call it a “Hula Hoop”, even if it’s labeled “Hip Twister.” So, all grass trimmers are “weedeaters,” and all orange, cheesy, crispy snacks are called Cheetos.

            By the way, I’m really thirsty now, so I’m sneaking into the house to get some water. It sure wouldn’t hurt my feelings if one of you took that broom and swept the grass off this porch. And no, I’m not taking orders for drinks. I’ve only got two cokes and they’re both Dr Peppers. That means Kay owns them. -- Back in a minute.  – Okay, I hope you’re happy. Kay didn’t know I was out back until she saw me come in for water. She’ll be out here before you know it.

            Kay doesn’t enjoy sitting outside by herself. I don’t mind at all, especially when you show up. Speaking of which, I noticed the broom hasn’t moved. Not to worry, my electric leaf blower made the move with us. Unfortunately, my 250 feet of extension cords didn’t. I left them at the old house, because we were down-sizing and I knew I didn’t need any long extension cords.

            Last week, I had to buy 125 feet worth of extension cords, because while the size of the property and the house are smaller, the portion of the property that needs maintained is about the same size. I never thought I’d need new garden implements, because we weren’t buying a place large enough for Kay to have a garden.

            Last Tuesday, she handed me one of the first two blackberries from “our” garden. They were large, dark blue and sour. I planted the vines and did my share of garden tending. I had to buy and distribute a bunch of mulch and top soil. Kay tells me that for my efforts, we may get up to two handfuls of berries this year. -- Quite often, logic takes flight around here.

            I also managed to give away my old battery powered weedeater because I didn’t think I’d need it and the battery was good for only about eight minutes. In early April I ended up buying a new grass trimmer. The thing has a battery so powerful that the car starts while I’m trimming the edges of the driveway. (Slight exaggeration) I don’t know how long the battery will hold a charge, because I plug it in after each trimming and it’s always maintained its charge to that point.

            By the way, Kay invited the Plilers and their grandson over last night for supper. (Stay with me. This is relevant.) I cooked a pork roast, and everyone thought it was okay. Virginia said she would’ve preferred ribs. But, forget my feelings; Virginia and Freeman’s grandson works in lawn maintenance. He has a card and everything. He suggested we let him take care of our lawn.

            I didn’t respond, because I knew when I said no, Virginia would  claw my eyes out. Had Ryan asked me back in February, I would’ve let him take over the lawn. But, over the past couple of months I have invested so much money in lawn equipment and accessories, I can’t justify letting someone else take care of my yard.

            As long as my self-propelled lawnmower, my EGO Grass Trimmer, my electric leaf-blower with 125 feet worth of extension cord, my new shovel, rake, pickax and work gloves with an attached flashlight… as long as all of this stuff is operative, I feel an obligation to maintain my own yard. Yep, Kay mows the yard, and I continue to do the hard stuff… until I can’t.

            When I no longer have the mobility or stamina to take care of the yard or myself, I’ll be hauled off to “Adela and Norm’s Home for the Inactive.” Kay continues to monitor me to make sure I keep up the payments on my long-term care insurance policy. The things that woman does for me. – Speak of the angel, here she is.

            “Well, hi, my sweet-patootie. How nice, you brought me a Dr Pepper.” – KAY: “No, it’s mine. I thought you already had water.” -- ME: “Right, so what do you think about the yard, my little dandelion?”  -- KAY: “Looks like somebody should mow it. I believe it’s your turn isn’t it?” – ME: “Excuse me a minute, my dearest tricker-lady.”

            I’m sorry. I’m going need a moment with Kay. I think she’s joking with me, but can’t be certain. And, people are always telling Kay that they’re praying for her. Give me a break. – Next time.

           

end

Mark can be contacted at hayter.mark@gmail.com. An archive of Hayter’s articles can be found at http://markhayterscolumn.blogspot.com

darling jackass

“The pulse of the neighborhood”

 

            OUT BACK – Give me a second and I’ll be right with you. I’m trying to find my pulse. I’ve been at it for three minutes. Nothing. If I were the Coroner, I’d have to declare me dead at 7:52 p.m.

            Beg your pardon? Oh, I was watching one of those cop shows where a guy squatted down next to a man lying in the street. The officer felt of the guy’s wrist for about three seconds before saying, “He’s dead.” I decided to see how long it would take me to determine if I was alive. It’s been three minutes and I’m still dead.

            Seems to me the best way to determine if I’m dead would be to stick a pin in my arm, or tickle the roof of my mouth with my toothbrush, or, heaven forbid, have someone sing Captain and Tennille's “Muskrat Love.” Any of those would get a pretty quick reaction from a live me.

            Speaking of 7:52 in the p.m., have you noticed how long the days are getting? Well you need to start. Each day will be little longer than the last up until June 21. No, Matt, that’s not the Fourth of July. That’s the first day of summer, at which point each day begins to get a little shorter until December 21. No, Thelma, that’s not Christmas… unless you live in Canada. (I made that up.)  That’s the first day of winter, after which the days start getting longer.

            By the way, Monday is Victoria Day in Canada. I believe that’s when you can go to the mall and sit on the lap of an old lady who looks like Queen Victoria, and tell her what you wish you had gotten for Christmas the previous year. O’ Canada.

            What’s that? No, it’s not the rifle range. Well, some of it is, but most of the pops are coming from nail guns being used on the houses on the next road over. This subdivision is booming… and popping. The nail gun is considered, by most carpenters, to be the best invention since the hammer-holder on overalls. Before that, they had to stick the claws of their hammers on their bibs. Faris Hayter was a carpenter for a good while, so I know stuff. – Beg pardon? Well, yes, he had a good sense of humor. What does that have to do with anything?

            Hold it a second, Kay’s coming out. – Hi, darling! No, I’m just working on a grocery list. – She’s out here to check her flower garden. Right now, she’s headed for our blackberry bushes. You’d think they were planted in an Arizona rock garden. Just something else I have to mow around.  – Excuse me a second.  -- Sweatpea, I need to show you something! It’s important.”—Here she is. Sober up.

            “Guess what? I just found one red berry.” – “We must have Virginia and Freeman over to share our bounty! Here, have a seat.” – “Why? What are you going to do to me?” – “It’s just an experiment, Sugarplum. I need to find proof that you’re alive.” – “If you had pulled weird stunts like this when were dating, you would’ve ended up married to that girl with the dimples. What was her name?” – “Sugar Smacks, when you walked into my life, I forgot all others. Now sit down and hand me your wrist.”

M: “As I expected, you’re dead. Wait a minute, I feel a song coming on. ‘Muskrat Suzie, Muskrat Sam, Do the jitterbug at a Muskrat Land.’” Hmm, no, you're dead all right. --  

K:  “Captain and Tennille? Really? You’re feeling in the wrong place. Feel right here.”  

M: “Sweetie, it is impossible for the dead person to help the guy who’s looking for a pulse. But, if you insist, I will try your neck using with both my hands.” –  

K: Okay, my darling jack ass, that's about enough of this."  

M: “Well, I can't just leave you dead!” – 

K:  “Have you been taking your pills, Jaw Man?” –  

M: “Well, I did miss an antibiotic.” – 

K: “I’ll go get you one.”

            Once she realizes she has no pulse, she’s gonna hit the floor. Oh, about Jaw Man? Last Friday I had some dental work done as a result of losing my bridge on the way to Waco... which, incidentally, is the title of a new song sung by Kenny Chesney.

            Turns out the dentist couldn’t make a mold for my new bridge because the two teeth the old bridge set on were decayed. One of ‘em had to be pulled. The root on that tooth must’ve been wrapped around one of my ribs. When the dentist has to get leverage by propping his knee on your chest, you’re in trouble. I don’t know how many times he had to grab the inside of my cheek and give me a shot into my gums. The right side of my jaw is still numb. I won’t be able to whistle until Christmas... in Canada.

            Wow, those nail guns are really getting after it, aren’t they. Fortunately, our house is so well insulated that it stifles most outside noises. Unfortunately, the music the guy a few houses down plays every weekend is horrible. Why do people do that? Don’t they know that there are others on this planet? By the way, I don't know if you've noticed, but some rap songs have really bad language in 'em.

            Well, I guess it could be worse. We could be living across the street from a volcano. And that, my friend, is one of the chief reasons Kay married me. Regardless of the circumstances, I choose to focus on the positive.  – Beg pardon? Of course, I’m joking.

end

Mark can be contacted at hayter.mark@gmail.com. An archive of Hayter’s articles can be found at http://markhayterscolumn.blogspot.com