Sheldon Weaver - Unedited - Unplugged - Story Teller Extraordinaire
Sheldon, above sharing stories with youth on a hay wagon trip
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Every New Year when I was growing up, four
family's would get together. They where Ralph Replogle's, Richard Putt's, Ray
Reighard's and the Gerald Weaver family. Just in case you have never met them,
those four men where the funniest people I have ever met. Ray was the king of
humor and it still runs in his children. When we all got together, we had the
best of times.
Second part of the story. My Dad was never what you call a man's, Man when it came to fight or flight he was always the latter. He did have one defense. If he was startled or frightened, he would yell at the top of his lungs, with a force that could turn the most harden mugger into a cowering child. As a young boy I used his defense for my great since of amusement.
Third part, our home was above the funeral home it consisted of a kitchen, living room, two bed rooms, a casket room and the prep room. We had fixed up the third floor as a extra place to hang out.
The forth part of the story is a Sock Monkey.
Second part of the story. My Dad was never what you call a man's, Man when it came to fight or flight he was always the latter. He did have one defense. If he was startled or frightened, he would yell at the top of his lungs, with a force that could turn the most harden mugger into a cowering child. As a young boy I used his defense for my great since of amusement.
Third part, our home was above the funeral home it consisted of a kitchen, living room, two bed rooms, a casket room and the prep room. We had fixed up the third floor as a extra place to hang out.
The forth part of the story is a Sock Monkey.
Story:
One New Years Eve when I was around twelve we had the party at our house above the funeral home. The adults where in the kitchen and the kids where above on the third floor, as we waited for the magic hour to arrive, I saw that my Dad was in the kitchen by the window that was behind the sink. I / we, hatched a plan. I had taken my Sock Monkey and tied a noose around it neck. Then we opened the attic window and slowly lowered the monkey down. Just when Bill Reighard,( my cohort in crime.) said do you think it's in front of the window, and before "dow" left his mouth. We heard the loudest roar that has ever been heard in the Weaver Funeral Home, before or since. It was followed by a stampede from the kitchen that was triggered by my Dad's sonic warning. What was even funnier, was my dad trying to explain what he saw out of the window. We finally had to admit to the deed, and it went into the history book as one of the most exciting New Years ever! To this day, every time I see Bill that is one of the first of the memories we bring up.
Take care my friends have a happy new year,
and watch out for flying Sock Monkeys!
One New Years Eve when I was around twelve we had the party at our house above the funeral home. The adults where in the kitchen and the kids where above on the third floor, as we waited for the magic hour to arrive, I saw that my Dad was in the kitchen by the window that was behind the sink. I / we, hatched a plan. I had taken my Sock Monkey and tied a noose around it neck. Then we opened the attic window and slowly lowered the monkey down. Just when Bill Reighard,( my cohort in crime.) said do you think it's in front of the window, and before "dow" left his mouth. We heard the loudest roar that has ever been heard in the Weaver Funeral Home, before or since. It was followed by a stampede from the kitchen that was triggered by my Dad's sonic warning. What was even funnier, was my dad trying to explain what he saw out of the window. We finally had to admit to the deed, and it went into the history book as one of the most exciting New Years ever! To this day, every time I see Bill that is one of the first of the memories we bring up.
Take care my friends have a happy new year,
and watch out for flying Sock Monkeys!
Sheldon's Sock Monkey
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Another trip down Sheldon's memory lane. The next time you get a bad meal
at a bad restraint or have to wait forever for cold food or just have poor
service. Just remember it could be worse! Years ago a person and I with another
couple went out to eat at a place that shall remain nameless ( Duncansville
Hoss's, the old one.) , they may have had to close it after, what had happen to
me. Any way back to the story. Everything was preceding as planned, we ordered,
and our food came out. My friend was sitting across from me and we where sitting
next to the isle. He had just taken his time to cut up his steak in small bite
sized cubes, and was just putting the first bite into his mouth, that is when I
heard someone running in my direction from behind me. I then heard the
unmistakeable sound of someone throwing up. At that very second I felt "as I
could best describe as chunks hitting the back of my head". I watched as
projectile vomit shot past my ears and went all over our table and plates of
carefully cut steak. (This would be a good time to interject, that wile I have a
strong constitution, I do not do vomit very well.) Out of the corner of my eye I
see a man running to the bathroom making small deposits on the floor as he went.
Every waitress had magically disappeared and I know as I scanned the room I saw
at least a dozen people with there first three fingers pressed against there
lips, trying to hold back a pending disaster of epic proportion. All eyes
focused on me, to see if my recently eaten food would join the food on the table
and would in turn, start the mass carnage. Now, this is the funny part. I look
over at my friend who was still looking at his fork with his first bite of steak
on it, and it struck me so funny, I started to laugh hard! He looked at me and
also started to laugh. The laughter from us must have relieved the pressure of
the situation. Eventually a waitress came to our table and asked if there was
anything she could do? I asked if they had a shirt I could use. She said no but
we have hats! She then asked if we wanted another table. I said no its kind of
hard to eat with fresh puke in your hair. We all left restraint, and I went
directly home to the shower. So, the next time your food is cold or not to your
liking, remember it could be worse! Take care my friends
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Sheldon's memories, This winter was the first time I was skiing in years,
and it brought back a flood of memories. I wanted to tell you a few of the
funnier ones. The first involved a teacher that will remain anonymous ( I will
use his code name "Rabbit") . We where at the bottom of the mountain at the main
lift, with a large group waiting to get on the chair lift. When it was "Rabbits"
turn, he partnered up with a young attractive girl to ride up with on the chair
lift. (This was the goal of all the guys). I am sure he was trying to look as
cool a possible, but he failed to realize, as he stood waiting for the chair,
that he was slightly a head of the ski bunny he was with. The chair hit her, and
the force of the blow knocked the bar down that keeps you on the chair. The bar
hit "Rabbit" and knocked him down, (here's the funny part.) The bottom of the
bar, where you put you feet, entangled with he's belt and started to drag, then
lift him up into the air. Rabbit was hanging from the bottom of the chair lift
as he headed to the top of the mountain. Quick thinking from the lift attendant
stopped the chair with Mr. Rabbit hanging 8 feet off of the ground. All this had
happened in front of most of the ski club. The lift has no reverse and I don't
think Mr. Rabbit was keen on the idea of a trip to the top of the mountain.
After what seemed like hours, a few tall people reached up and grabbed his skis
so he could untangle himself, and they let him slowly drop to the ground. He was
safe, but his cool factor suffered greatly. We, that where there that night will
never forget. Next Time I will tell you a story about our leader, Brian Walter,
that stills make me laugh uncontrollably. Until next time my friends
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Sheldon's Memories, Ok, the Brian Walter story. I don't know if this will
translate into a good story. It maybe one of those "you had to be there
moments". So I will have to set the story up a little. We had a lot of snow that
winter, we even had a lot at the bottom of the ski run. There was a building at
the bottom of the hill that we called the Warming Hut, and the snow was a good
two feet above the double doors, that opened out. The snow there, was cleaned
out so the doors could open, but then went up two feet at a steep angle to the
level of the snow. , and like everything is at Blue Knob it was icy! The Warming
Hut was packed when we decided to stop in and get warmed. This is where Brian
enters the story. Brian skis up, takes off his skis, and has them and his poles
in his arms as he walks to the door. As soon as his boot hit the ice, his feet
shot out, and for a second or two he was completely horizontal. The ice and the
angle, shot him forward at an amazing speed. When he crashed (and I mean
crashed) into the doors it looked and sounded like a train wreck! Skis and poles
flew everywhere, and Brian lay in a lump at the bottom of the doors. When he
hit, everyone ( and I mean everyone) inside jumped, and then we all watched
Brian try to get to his feet. After he gathered up his skis and poles, Brian
took one step and did it again! Only this time everyone was watching and I was
rolling in the snow with laughter. Not to be deterred, Brian gathered his
equipment up one more time, took one step, and Bam! This was the third time he
hit the doors with a massive crash! I couldn't take it anymore. Brian with all
the dignity he could muster, gathered up his skis and poles, then crawled into
the Warming Hut. I had laughed so hard that I warmed my self up and not wanting
to be the doors next victim, I decided to keep on skiing. Now for the rest of
the story. I always fancied my self as a good skier and that night I had not
fallen once, (other than with laughter). Well as I was walking to the Ski bus I
started down a steep hill and build up speed. That is when I hit ice and did a
Brian! I slid completely under the bus. Everyone (and I mean everyone) in the
bus saw me. Only my head was sticking out! I watched as no fewer than a half a
dozen bus windows flew open, and heads came out everywhere. As I layed there I
tried to decide if I should gather up my skis, poles and my pride or just let
the bus run me over. I still don't know if Brian's head was one of the ones
sticking out of the bus. Anyway you know what they say about karma. That is the
Brian story, according to Sheldon Thank care my friends and remember don't do a
Brian! (Or a Sheldon) PS. Brian just in case you or Tina has to save my life
sometime, I'm sorry for the story.
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Quick "Sheldon Story" This is a short story that takes place in the early
80s with a good buddy, Troy Byers. I am driving my Mercury Capri 2 and Troy is
riding with me on the road from frosty hollow that joins 36, it is close to
Sells airport. We where doing about 60 heading on the road to 36. I was not
paying attention when I realized that someone had knocked the stop sign over at
the T in the road. I started to brake at the yellow lines of 36. Needless to say
I did not slow down much in the 8 feet before my car did a Dukes of Hazard off
of a 3 foot drop in to the freshly cut corn field. I know we cleared at least 60
feet before we Hit the ground HARD very HARD! Now this is the funny part. In the
early 80s there was a Movie that was popular, called Billy Jack, he was part
Indian and a black belt, war hero. One thing that caught on then was his Billy
Jack hat. (The hat looked like a sombrero made of quarter inch thick leather
that was very hard and had designs cut into it.) Troy was warring this fashion
statement but not his seatbelt at the time we left the road. When we hit the
ground, Troy hit the roof, Literally! The force smashed that thick leather hat
down on his head to the point that only his considerably large nose, and equally
proportioned ears where sticking out. Now the best part is that it stuck like
that. My only help to find a good way out of the field, came from a blind hat
with ears and a big nose! No one was hurt that day and we eventually got his hat
off. The only thing wrong with the car was the horn did not work and the
passenger sun visor had a large dent in it. My stories are 100% true "as I
remember them!" and they always seem to have a memory picture that I will never
forget and bring me great joy. Troys leather Billy Jack hat is one of those
memories. The more stories I tell the more I remember. Until next time my
friends.
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Sheldon's stories, This takes place on a nice warm sunny day in July about
1977. Darin and I are in the back seat of our black 76 Chrysler Newport "Custom"
with my Dad behind the wheel. We where motoring along about 60 mph, on 26 in
route to Huntingdon. Just then a bright red Alfa Romeo Spider, with two collage
"graduate" want bees on there way to meet up with Mrs. Robinson, passed us like
we where standing still. I looked at Darin and he looked at me, we both said at
the same time "Pass Him" Now this is where I need to give you some more
information. Our 76 Newport was not your run of the mill GrandPa car. It looked
like one. But this was a undercover FBI car with Cop Brakes, Cop trans and a Cop
440! Now unless your a Mopar Motorhead you will not know of a carburetor called
a theroquad That year the 440 HP came with a large 1000 cfm. carb. The front two
barrels where smaller but the back two would suck in gulf balls. incase you have
never ridden in a car with one, I will explain. When the long peddle hit the
floor, the motor would take a big gulp of air, the 727 trans would down shift,
then all heck would brake loose! It felt like you where hit from behind with a
Mack truck. Now you need to know something about my Dad. My dad did not drive
fast. But he also did not liked to be passed by anyone, especially two punks in
a red sports car. All it took was the words "pass him" and two seconds later,
the crap hit the fan. We where doing well over 120 when we went by them. One old
guy in a Black Mafia, looken, staff car. With two kid's heads sticking out of
the window, and laughing our butts off. The look on there face's where
priceless. One more story about that car and my Dad. I was at a Boy Scout camp
at the Bedford Speedway, and the whole week we where there, it rained, (Hard).
We where all trying to stay dry so everyone was sitting in the bleachers under
the roof. The track was solid Mud! I mean Deep Mud! Just then Lance Barkman said
"who's that A$$ whole in that nice car? I looked, then said. "That's My DAD! He
cam flying around the track at the Bedford Speedway, with my poor Mother hanging
on for dear life. He stopped right in front of us. I hopped in and we took off!
With the sound of our 440 and two giant roster tails of mud!. Yea my DAD was
COOL! Take care my friends.
(1) Another story from Sheldon's past. After the birth of John Henry, my
wife and I knew we where done having children. So, I decided to man up and get a
vasectomy. The day came and I bravely went into the doctor office, after I
disrobe and put on the gown. (This is the part that my wife loves.) A older
woman (I found out later it was the doctor's mother) tells me get on the table,
and had me put my heels into the stirrups. (Guys say a little prayer and thank
God you where not born a girl!) if you have never been exposed like that you
don't know what your missing. She didn't even give me a sheet to cover my man
hood. Ok a tissue would have worked. After an hour (10 minutes) the doctor came
in, and no kidding he was eating a hoagie and from the smell it, it had extra
onions. He told me what was going to happen. The one thing that stuck in my mind
was when he told me "it was going to feel like getting kicked in the balls"(his
words). Now that has happened to me before and I have never enjoyed it, but I
was still trying to be brave. So he leaves and "mom" starts to shave my parts
that should never be shaved, then she covers me in only disinfectant. The doctor
comes back in the room, still having onion breath, carrying a needle that looked
like it was 3 feet long. I figured it was filled with anesthetics, but I swore
only had water in it. He jaggies me all over and I'm still trying to be brave,
thinking this will be over soon and it will all be worth it. He makes the first
cut and I'm still ok, but this was the ball kicking part, he pulls down on the
Vas deferens. That is the technical term for the most painful part of a man's
body. When he pulled down it felt like it was hooked to my ear. (PAIN, when he
said it felt like getting kicked in the balls I did not realize it would last
for a half an hour!) then he soldered the ends and stitched it up. That's when I
remembered I had two of them, and I had to go through the whole thing again!
After I hobbled to the car an drove home, I jumped in to the shower to try to
wash away the memories, I looked down to see blood running down my legs, I
thought this cant be good. So I got the ice bag out, and tried to ice it. This
is another thing that no man should have to do. A week went by and the swelling
went down and I started to walk normal again. That is when I did one of my top
ten stupidest things ever. I thought I would jump of the tailgate of my pickup.
I know for a fact that they hit the ground! Anyway, months later I had a friend
that was thinking about having a vasectomy. I encourage him, secretly laughing
inside, knowing what I went through. Well the next time I saw him I asked how it
went. He said they put him to sleep and it was all over. That was when I replied
"YOU CAN DO THAT!"
Sheldon's signs of our age! Do you remember, when you could not speak a
sentence with out using "like" at least seven times?
Sheldon's, Signs of our age! Do you remember when bullying in school meant:
Bear fats, purple flugies, buck wheats, being locked in a locker, the dreaded
"Bag Tag", juugies, Horse bites, Indian burns, flat tires, wet willies, wedgies,
and the worst thing of all "Tree Jobs". Now days if you get picked last for a
ball game, you are being bullied. ( I got picked last, because I stunk!) Kids
now are such wimps. I am sure each generation thinks that about there
kids.
Another "Sheldon's Stories" I was mowing my yard today in my ski parka and
gloves, day dreaming of warmer days, and this story came to mind. I call it "Bee
careful in cemeteries" The story takes place on a very warm day in July, at the
Bedford Forge Church Cemetery. This is a beautiful little cemetery with one bad
trait, Ground Nesting Yellow Jackets. (Just in case you don't know about them,
they are very aggressive and have a wicked sting. ) On many occasions (from a
safe distance) I have enjoyed seeing the gravediggers and Vault men try to get
rid of these nasty little creatures. Just the site of grown men dancing a
flailing around, trying not to get stung, makes me laugh. As with most of my
stories I seem to get paid back with a vengeance.. Anyway. We where standing at
the graveside, with the temperature hovering around 110. I was fashionably
dressed in a Black pinstriped, Swedish knit three piece suit, from the Young
Men's Shop. (By the way, not the best thing to try to stay cool in.) ( My
Funeral shorts idea never took off). The pastor was half way through his
committal service, when I felt something in my pant's leg, at that very second I
felt like someone shot me in the leg with a Police Taser. This was just above my
knee. I grabbed at it, all the wile trying not to disturb the service. Then BANG
I got hit again (it felt like a hot knife with a dull blade stuck into my leg)
only this time six inches higher. I grabbed that one with my other hand. Then
BANG (this one felt like a big strong fat bald man just slapped me as hard as he
could only on one square inch of my leg) , now encase you where not counting, I
have ran out of hands and this was higher than the last sting. Knowing, only my
tightie whities where my last defense, I decided to try to get out of the area
as quickly as possible. FYI it is hard to run in a dignified manner with both
hands grabbing your left leg, especially when that leg is paralyzed. My only
cover was the vault truck at the end of the grave yard. I was almost their when
BAM, (this one felt like blazing vice gripes just pinched off an chunk of my
leg), and it was within three inches of the last thing on my body that I want to
have stung. I'm sure by then the yellow jackets where thinking, "Man is this
hole seem long this morning" I finally made it to the truck and right in front
of the vault guys, I drop trawl, but not before one more got me just to say Bye.
(That one felt like, well you get the idea , IT HURT!) I ripped off my paints
and started swing them around my head, trying to keep from getting stung by the
Yellow Jackets that where left alive. After the vault men realized that I had
not lost my mind, they could not stop Laughing. (Pay back!) After I felt it was
safe I went back to the tent. Oh yes I did put my pants back on. When the
service was over. I told my Dad what had happened, and said I'm Mad and I going
home. I got in the hearse and took off, as I drove, all I could think about was,
what are the signs of anaphylactic shock, and if I got them all. Now every time
I go to that cemetery. The vault guys want to tuck dollars into my belt. Just
remember, Bee safe my friends.
Sheldon's story's It's been a wile since my last story. I thought I would
tell a short one on my mother. (Mothers Day!) Late one night, we had a death at
someone's home. My Mother and father went to the home to make the removal. When
they got there, my Dad went into the bedroom to talk with the family. My Mother
sat down on the couch in the living room, with a lady that was sitting there,
after some time went by, my Mother tried to make small talk with the lady it was
then that the family and my father came back into the room and my Mother
realized the she was sitting with and talking to the dead lady.
I have had a request for a Chaz story. So here is a montage: Charles use to
tricker treat every year in the same cheap bunny mask. When he was 4 that wasn't
bad but when you open your door to a 6 foot 5 inch man with a bunny mask. Well,
lets just say you may need long term therapy. Charles use to bring a basket ball
to my house that he had over inflated to the point it would get stuck in my
hoop, so one time I was trying to get his ball unstuck and Charles disappeared.
I just happened to look over in time to see an arrow fly from behind the garage
and go through our second story window. It got stuck in the curtain of the
window, and looked funny. I went back to see Charles putting my bow away, and
telling me, he was trying to hit the yard. I said you missed and go tell my Dad.
(I never saw such a look of total fear.) Staying with Charles and bows. One time
at the high school when we shot bows for Jim class Charles took one of those
little bows that could hardly make it to the bale, and shot an arrow almost 200
yards, that hit the step under the door of the HS. (The total truth), 2 seconds
later Mr Hoover and Mr. Saint Clair stepped out of the door. (Another look of
total fear!) Charles was sled riding with Darin and I at the FH. We had been
throwing snow balls at him most of the night. when he was walking up a steep
bank at the bottom to the parking lot. I had just picked up a big chunk of ice
and pitched it as high as I could in the general direction of Charles. Well, he
just reached the top of the bank, stood up as tall as he could, when that chunk
of ice hit him right between his eyes. He went down like a red wood. I have many
others. One story is will have to wait for another night, but it's worth it!
Good night my friends.
I haven't written anything for awhile. So here is a gem from my brain.
Today I figured out why they have turns in the roads. They help remind old
people to turn off there turn signal, that they left on from the last turn, they
made over five miles ago. That came to me as I was riding my motorcycle, trying
to look cool with my left turn signal on, for well I don't know how long. Things
like that happen to me every time, "I think I'm all that and a bucket of
chicken" as my wife would say. So I decide to make a list of what makes bikers
look cool on there bikes. I am talking motorcycles not bicycles. No one looks
cool on a bicycle! I hate those skinny people in there spandex thinking they are
so healthy. All wile I have to take my hand out of the fries to put it back on
the wheel, just to swerve across the road, so I don't run there vegetarian butts
over. I almost spilled my big gulp! Back to Motorcycles! You may think your cool
on a bike unless you: Ride a bike with only one cylinder! Have more than two
wheels! Have a windshield the size of a glass door, or any windshield! Wear a
helmet. (Your smart but not cool) Ride a motorcycle that's purple and has a
missing windshield (Prince). A scooter is not a motorcycle and you can never
look cool on one, unless your Brad Mock. Ware shorts! Ware fake hair! Singing
born to be wild, at the top of your lungs! Ware a shirt that says " if you can
read this the Bi**h fell off" everyone knows they never had a girl in the first
place! Men, Never, never ride with another man! A woman with another woman, now
that's cool! Ride with one of your kids fake tattoos on! Here are some of the
things that may be cool, but I just don't understand: Handle bars so high that
you have to stand to reach them! Have your feet higher than your hands! Having a
cute little girl holding on to the back end of a crotch rocket, with there
stupid boy friend doing 100 on one wheel!!! Riding a bike that you have to lay
on the tank! Riding a bike that is bigger than a truck just so it makes you look
smaller! Face it, it's the only way big guys like me can, even think we could
look cool. What! Do you want to see us in spandex on a bicycle! Be safe out
there my friends!
A poem by Sheldon H. Weaver I use to come up with poems when I would try to
sleep. I could never remember them the next day. This poem, I took the time to
write down one night around 3am, when I was 18. Whispering willows of
tempestuous white, shattered the moonbeams red blaring light. The dawn of
temptation died in disease, as all the young virgins were brought to their
knees. The stars did light the sky aflame, as a young hero who had no name. Shot
the beast that ate the light, that stole the sparkle from the night. The virgins
did not want the beast to die, for the beast did try, and the virgins did lust.
and all that remained, was the light that came, and the misguided feelings of a
young boys trust. and I ended it with "and who cares." Oh well it was 3am.
My daughter is so sweet, after fourteen Christmases she finally realized
that momma was not having an affair with Santa Claus, and that it was really her
daddy dressed up. Now she likes the song! That's my baby girl!
Lamborghini for Christmas, My son was just saying how much he liked his
Christmas presents. I told him when he gets bigger he can buy me a Lamborghini
for my Christmas present. He said what did you say? I said a LAMBORGHINI he said
"I thought you said a longer weenie." I said that would work too.
I have to tell you the story about Len's Chrysler 300. Dewayne McKnight had
a friend that wanted to sell this car and told Len, he also said it was FAST. So
Len and I went together and bought the car for $100.00 fifty each. We drove it
home from Altoona with no brakes. The car was nice, but Len wanted to fix it up
and he did! It looked beautiful! He paid for my half of the car, and it was all
his. Now the only reason we survived this car was because of the Good Lord and
prayers from our mothers. We would drive 36 at well over 100 miles an hour,
every time we where in the car. It had a 440K motor and air plane gears. The
best part of the car was when you tramped on the gas, the glove box would fly
open and the big ash, ash tray would fly off on to the floor. We would sit in
the back seat and pull the faces back of the people in the front seat and yell G
forces! What fun, I miss the old days.
Last night around 1am, the house was very quiet and as I was ready to go to
sleep, I thought I could here something or maybe it feel something. I could
barely tell it over the loud ringing in my ears ((The ringing is normal. ( to
much loud Disco music as a teen.)) It sounded like a very low rumble, like our
furnace was trying to start and couldn't. It would go for five seconds then stop
then do it again. This went on for a half an hour, then I decided to
investigate. I went to see if the furnace was trying to start, but after a long
time it did not turn on, so I tried to sleep in the basement recliner until it
did. I could still hear it, but more like feel it. Time went by and it would not
stop! I started to feel like I was in a Edgar Allen Poe book, the tell tale
heart. It would not stop! I looked and looked to no avail. The sound had no
direction. I finally laid back in the recliner to try to sleep, but it was still
there, a feeling more than a sound, I turned on classical music on my iPhone.
But I could still hear or feel it. I turned the music up but it was still there.
On and off, on and off it would go, over and over. Was it coming from my head?
Was I loosing my mind? Sometime after three I must had drifted to sleep. The
next day I told my family what I had heard and wanted to know if they heard or
felt it, they all said no. A short wile later my son Grant laughed and said
look, I had my phone set on vibrate and it was getting messages all night.
That's just one more reason teens should not have phones! Take care my
friends.
The reason I hate the Easter bunny! After years of this happening, I
finally realize it's the Easter Bunny's fault that I'm fat! I start off each
year with a New Year's resolution of loosing weight, and I do well. I lay off
sweets and sodas and in general try to watch what I eat. I get down 20 lbs or
so, then that old Easter bunny comes and we get candy for the kids and a basket
for the wife and I. I know better but I have to try some, just some jelly beans,
only the black ones, then I try a teeny tiny, micro small Milky Way. That's it,
it's all over! The next thing I know I'm scrounging through to the kids basket's
when their not looking, then when that are looking (I don't care any more), I go
for the small chip bags, after all they're small. Soon I'm in the fridge at
night cleaning out the ice cream. Now I'm almost back up to the weight I
started, can't think about anything that does not have sugar in it and all the
kids want to know what happened to all their candy! I HATE THAT BUNNY!
Kids don't do great things because their parents did things for them, they
do great things despite what their parents did for them.
15 years ago yesterday, my father died. He loved being a Funeral Director,
and he was the best! He was also the best Dad! He did not hunt, fish, camp, ski,
skate, do karate, play tennis, or ball of any kind he did not build things,
could not change a tire or know how to even check the oil, nothing that I
enjoyed. But that is not want a father is all about. He liked to read, eat, and
was very funny. He was very compassionate, and would cry at a TV commercial, or
music. He was not what you call a man's man. But he always made me feel safe,
and would NEVER let anything hurt me. He Loved my mother and his baby boy so
much. One night he followed my mother and I home, with his high beams on the
whole way, just to see the the red in my hair. I could tell you so many
wonderful funny stories about my Dad. But to night, I just want to say that when
he laid dying of one of the worse, most painful type of cancers, he showed me
such strength, such bravery, he still wanted to take care of my mother and I, he
wanted to spend more time with his new little granddaughter. But he was ready to
meet his Lord, and at this point we wanted him to be free of his pain. He was
the best Dad in the world. I hope I could be half the funeral director that my
dad was, but If I could be just a tiny bit of the father that my Dad was to me,
then when it's my time to meet The Lord, I will die a happy man.
Every New Year when I was growing up, four family's would get together.
They where Ralph Replogle's, Richard Putt's, Ray Reighard's and the Gerald
Weaver family. Just in case you have never met them, those four men where the
funniest people I have ever met. Ray was the king of humor and it still runs in
his children. When we all got together, we had the best of times. Second part of
the story. My Dad was never what you call a man's, Man when it came to fight or
flight he was always the latter. He did have one defense. If he was startled or
frightened, he would yell at the top of his lungs, with a force that could turn
the most harden mugger into a cowering child. As a young boy I used his defense
for my great since of amusement. Third part, our home was above the funeral home
it consisted of a kitchen, living room, two bed rooms, a casket room and the
prep room. We had fixed up the third floor as a extra place to hang out. The
forth part of the story is a Sock Monkey. Story: One New Years Eve when I was
around twelve we had the party at our house above the funeral home. The adults
where in the kitchen and the kids where above on the third floor, as we waited
for the magic hour to arrive, I saw that my Dad was in the kitchen by the window
that was behind the sink. I / we, hatched a plan. I had taken my Sock Monkey and
tied a noose around it neck. Then we opened the attic window and slowly lowered
the monkey down. Just when Bill Reighard,( my cohort in crime.) said do you
think it's in front of the window, and before "dow" left his mouth. We heard the
loudest roar that has ever been heard in the Weaver Funeral Home, before or
since. It was followed by a stampede from the kitchen that was triggered by my
Dad's sonic warning. What was even funnier, was my dad trying to explain what he
saw out of the window. We finally had to admit to the deed, and it went into the
history book as one of the most exciting New Years ever! To this day, every time
I see Bill that is one of the first of the memories we bring up. Take care my
friends have a happy new year, and watch out for flying Sock Monkeys!
It's been a long time since I had a "Sheldon Story" and I thought it was
time. Now I did not want this to get out about me, but in the interest of public
awareness, I thought it should be told. Please don't think less of me! Now for
the last 8 to 10 years, my hearing has gradually gotten worse. I had blamed it
on being of the Disco generation and dancing in front of the 10 foot speakers at
the Martinsburg Park (I don't care DISCO ROCKS!) any way. I have had growing
tinnitus and loss of hearing, and a lot of problems in crowded rooms, many times
I had to almost read lips. Sometimes my right ear would close up to the point I
would not hear out of it at all. My wife has told me for years to get my ears
looked at, but I felt what's the point, I'm getting older and they can't do much
other than hearing aids. For a week now I have had sharp pain in my right ear,
to the point that I finally said yes on going to the Doctor. Tuesday I went in
to Mainline medical, because of my ear infection. (IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH,
PLEASE STOP READING). The doctor took one look in my ear and said you have ear
wax in your ears, I thought ok they have told me that for years and I would go
home and take care of it with a Q tip. WELL! he said I will have my nurse take
care of that and I said ok. She got this chrome syringe that was (and I'm not
kidding) the size of a Pringles can, and a big bowl of warm water. I held this
little horseshoe cup under my ear. Then she fill up this I instrument of
torture, and shoved it into my ear and pushed the entire contents in, then
immediately pull the contents back out. She then repeated, then repeated, then
repeated, then repeated, refilled then repeated. She would look then do it
again, NOW it felt like she stuck a high pressure car washer in my ear followed
by a suction pump! It felt like my head went to the bottom of the ocean then to
the top of Mount Everest all in two seconds! Hurt! Yes! The last time she did it
she said "I got it." (Here is the gross part!) she had pulled out a thing that
was almost a inch long and as round as a pencil. I said that was in my HEAD?
Then she said there is more, I said "WHAT!" after three more times she pulled
(and again I'm not kidding) a thing that was 3/4 of an inch long and as round as
a pencil. I have to say this with all respect to my Lord and savior. Oh my dear
God! I CAN HEAR!!!!!!! It felt like a miracle happened! I could hear Better than
I have for 20 years. She went to the other ear and did the same thing 10 to 12
times then she went to get the Doctor to try. I said I don't care how long it
takes, get that thing out of me. The whole time I kept thinking of a Star Trek
movie where the Klingons put brain eating cockroaches in some poor guys ears.
Just get that thing out of me. WELL after a few more very painful tries with
tweezers he pulled out another inch of this crap that they call ear wax but
looked more like it came out of a plugged drain. I COULD HEAR, I COULD HEAR!!!!!
Thank you Lord I can hear! All of those years of being yelled at because I could
not understand or hear what was said are now over! My hearing is 20/20 I thanked
and I apologized to the doctor and nurse for putting them thought this, but they
looked as happy as I was. For a day I had to wear ear plugs in me ears because
everything is so LOUD!!!! I still have the ringing but it not nearly as bad
because I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING!!! So don't say anything around me that you don't
want me to hear! And always remember, listen to your wife and when a doctor says
you have wax in your ears, you may need more than a Q-tip! Thank you my friends,
that is all.
Observation' from Sheldon. "The new MAN" Being the Man of the house, my
role of protecting my family, seems to come down to killing spiders in the kid's
rooms, and hunting down and killing the occasional dreaded Bat that has the bad
luck to come into our home. Other duties of today's man "me" are doing the
dishes, cleaning my Toilet and taking out the trash. The trash is what I would
like to talk about, now. I know that it is impossible to ask anyone other than
me to push the trash down into the trash can, when I come home I find this
heaping pile of modern art that is three feet above the lid of the garbage can!
I swear my wife plays Jinga with all of the trash. Is it because I am so manly
that I am the only one with the upper body strength to push the trash in to the
can? Am I the only one with the mental ability to know how to fold a pizza box
to get it to fit in the trash, or understand how a milk jug and boss bottle can
be squeezed smaller when you unscrew the cap, or that when you put a paper plate
with Mac and cheese you always put it in cheese down.?No, lets just position
Reynolds wrap to blow off the top every time I walk by. Or let's pour spaghetti
sauce in the bottom of the bag along with something sharp. The trash can is NOT
a basket ball hoop! Isn't it bad enough that I have to take it out in the
coldest and hottest days of the year, If not for me, we would have 50 trash bags
that weigh 12ozs each, and Why, Why, Why is it that every time I set a trash bag
down, it falls the opposite direction,than the way I think it will. I hate that!
Does anyone care to look at my poor fingers after the plastic ties of 6 large
garbage bags cut in to them, to the point of amputation? NO! It is so hard to be
a modern MAN! Take care my friends.
Time for another" Sheldon's stories." This is just one story of a long time
friend Len Bassler. We go back to the first grade and while I have so many
memories of our mis adventures, only a few a dare repeat. I have entitled this
one "Don't play with gunpowder!" "Back in the day" to use a phrase from Pawn
Stars. The boys of Woodbury enjoyed many things that would now days put us in
prison. One example, is the enjoyment we had of making things go BANG! Some of
the Woodbury boys had mastered small arms fire, ( Darin Meck i.e. Pyro.) he was
the master of the pop bottle rocket. He would light them, then aim them at his
target (usually us). others, myself included found creative ways to turn M80s,
M90s and M200s into noise. Some where turned into heavy artillery, and even
though I was never involved, I do know some mail boxes suffered. Now Len's
mother "Delphine" was keenly aware of this and gave Len direct orders to not
walk across the road. To remedy this I simply carried him across, thus not
directly disobeying his mother. On one of these times we came up with a new type
of explosive. We took a tick tack case, filled it up with gun powder, packed
tissue paper in it then added gasoline. We lit the homemade A-bomb, than ran.
Well it would not light, so Len decided to pick it up and gently blow on it! Now
me, being a good friend and not thinking that was a good idea, thought about
saying something to him, But my curiosity out weighted my concerns, so Len blew
gently; ever so gently, once, then twice, on the third attempt, he got the
results we wanted. From I would say 10 inches away the power ignited with all
the power of a 50 cal muzzle loader all aiming right at his face. As a small
mushroom cloud rose into the sky, Len was yelling/ screaming PUT ME OUT, PUT ME
OUT, PUT ME OUT!!! He was spinning around with his hair on fire, and he was
smacking his head and spinning and smacking and spinning, saying PUT ME OUT! I
said I will, but I can't stop laughing! His hair was still smoldering as I
approached from my safe distance. The top of his head looked like real tiny
pubic hair. All his eyebrows where gone, and under closer examination we notice
all his eyelashes where curled under, into his eyes. Len's only thought was,
what do I tell my Mother! We where sure she would notice her son was looking
slightly African American and took up smoking. Feeling a little like the kid
from Christmas story, we concocted a plan to say he was to near the burning
trash, "yea that would work, it had to work". Anyway he survived with no ill
affects, other than a mysterious, early gray spot in his hair. Now I never like
to have anyone think I'm smarter than any of my friends. So here's a FYI. Never
point a 12gage shotgun at a pine tree (or any other tree). With the barrel 3
inches away, and pull the trigger! When I hear stories of life flashing, I
believe them. I can't explain how, but I saw in slow motion the shot come out of
the barrel hit the tree, go in then come back out with pieces of the tree, aimed
right for my face. That split second took 10 minutes, and the whole time I was
repeating, this is going to HURT, and it did! Len, I and others are alive today
because of a lot of prayers of our mothers.
I have others I have to find or lost them, and hundreds of stories in my
brain. But typing with my thumbs on my iPad, not knowing how to spell or use
punctuation takes me for ever!