Monday, October 31, 2016

Christmas Break for Tom and Sharman in Oklahoma.

Help identify everyone in this picture.  This was Sharman's first trip to Oklahoma.

Tom brought Sharman to Oklahoma at Christmas time in 1983.    Clockwise from upper left--please verify.

Fred Canada
Fern Meany
Raymond Canada
Hidden person?
Stella Canada
Melba Miller
Bottom left?

Was this at Fern Meany's or Vernon & Anne Spence's house.  Help and corrections in the comments section please.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

I was already speeding

The Travel Inn in Edmond, Oklahoma was a mandatory stop for my grandfather on most trips to town.  He might not have to stay long but he had to say hello to many old friends.  Grandpa described to me one time when he was leaving his favorite stop and heading home.  He had stayed a while and had enjoyed a few or maybe several beers.

He said that he was driving along and somebody came up behind him and then pulled around and passed him like he was just sitting there.  He said that he gave it some gas and in turn passed the offender and stayed ahead of him.

My grandfather explained, “I had to pass him.  I was already speeding when he passed me.”

I don’t know that I can explain his logic but perhaps I can better understand why some of my cousins enjoyed racing so much.  Some of it must have been hereditary. 

Oh, we've hit that before...

On one of my occasional trips to the Travel Inn in Edmond, Oklahoma in which my grandfather drove despite my multiple offers to chauffeur, we had concluded our business and were ready to head home. As he backed the car out of the parking space—a piece of gravel lot indistinguishable from the rest of the lot—and backed up, I noticed a short pole to the rear.

Realize that when my grandfather put the car in gear he would also accelerate.  It did not matter which direction; he gave it some gas.  So there I was in the back seat as tires were spinning, gravel making a furious noise, and we were racing backwards when I saw this pole that we were closing in on fast.

I yelled, “Pole!”

Stella, his wife, casually looked back at me and said, “Oh, we’ve hit that before.”

Grandpa put it in drive, gave it some gas, and we spun out on the gravel until we hit asphalt.  Apparently, the small poles at the edge of the lot were just magic posts in the pinball parking game of which I had yet to receive my initiation. I should have known that my grandfather would have already tested the boundaries of the parking lot.