RRN Online Volume 246

February 17 '01

Volume 246

It's Expected Readers & Relatives

I wish I could be more like Paul the Regular Issues Apostle, St. Paul if you're a Catholic, but I'm not, and neither am I able to be all things to all people. To some folks, I am too critical, and yet others never notice I possess that trait. Don't ask me to name names, just believe me. Some find me talkative, while others view me as the "quiet sort." I suppose a few may consider me mildly intelligent, but I'm sure some don't give me credit for having the sense to come in out of the rain. Heck, now that I think about it, maybe I am all sorts of things to all sorts of people, though I'm surely less than what Paul had in mind. Instead, he seemed to be stating that he could transform himself to suit the particular needs of those whom he sought to convince that Jesus was the Messiah and "Savior of the World."

I really can't be another Paul. In fact, I can only be myself, and as hard as I strive for consistency, I fall short. Thus, my inconsistency and the fact that people see in me whatever they want to see, pretty much accounts for the various interpretations of my personality. Some perceive me through their rose colored glasses¾ others prefer to use polarized lenses that disallow certain elements to pass through¾ some may need to have their glasses cleaned, and still others don't need any glasses to see me for who I am. Somehow, I can't live up to the expectations of everyone who knows me, and I probably shouldn't try, because doing so would leave little time for me to be me.

As editor and publisher of this newsletter, which, by the way, is not published so much for the present generation as it is for future generations, I find certain levels of expectation exist on the part of readers. By now, most readers have become accustomed to finding a column by Bodock Beau at the end of each issue. Therefore, it is expected. By now, most readers know that during a typical week this newsletter is mailed on Thursday and arrives in most households by the weekend or shortly thereafter. This, too, is an expectation.

Knowing that certain expectations exist induces me to perform as expected. Sometimes the self-imposed pressure to perform is great, and sometimes it is nonexistent, but there are some weeks when there would be no newsletter, if there were no drive to satisfy the expectations of others. In some ways, I have become a slave to that which I enjoy.

From time to time, I am expected to write about something or someone, and, if I do not, one or more readers are disappointed that I did not live up to their expectations. Some relatives may receive too much exposure in this newsletter and some too little. I don't plan it that way. That's just how it works out.

My niece, Felicia, has matured greatly over the past couple of years, but would still prefer to see her name in print more often. Anna, my granddaughter, is now a teenager. Not long ago, she suggested that I write a story about her. I responded that perhaps I would, but knew at the time the story might not appear for quite a while. I even overheard my wife sympathizing with someone, telling him or her how I didn't write about her either.

Perhaps the volumes of episodes I have written about my daughter, Rayanne, prompted Jason, my son, to scold me for not writing more about him.

When I defended myself, claiming a number of past articles featured Jason, his response was, "Yeah, but it's always something negative, like me being ungrateful."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Jason," I replied, "but your life is…well, just not that interesting. After all, you still live at home, so I can’t write about your moving off somewhere or buying a house. You're not married and you've not experienced the joys of fatherhood. Mind you, you're welcome to stay at home, and I'm not suggesting you move anywhere or run out and get married."

It was probably a little unfair to say Jason's life was uninteresting. It would be closer to the truth to admit that much of what Jason finds interesting, I do not. And, it's probably safe to say the fault lies with me in my not taking the time to understand and appreciate his interests. However, there was some truth, more than I am willing to admit, in my tendency to dwell on the negative.

From a fathering perspective, I remember chastening my son more often than praising him. Though a chunky toddler, he never became the fullback I expected him to become. Choosing to "get by," he never applied himself to his schoolwork, and having no desire to earn a college degree, failed miserably in my expectations of him becoming an accountant, doctor, or lawyer.

However, from a musical standpoint, his love of music has outstripped my wildest dreams for him. I envy his singing abilities, and while I once held the edge on playing a guitar, he has left me in the dust. Presently, he's only a couple of years older than I was when I married, so there is hope he may not live out his days on earth a bachelor.

Without a college degree, he still earns more than I earned up until the last dozen years of my career. Jason has a great sense of humor, which I attribute to his having me for a father. Now that Lillie Belle is not around the house, Jason has assumed more responsibility for his own well being and the upkeep of a household. Like his dad, he may feel it's expected.

Candied Responses Sweet Tooth Tales

A number of individuals responded to the "Sweet Tooth" article published three weeks ago. Last week's issue contained a response from Leoda Morrow. Several other comments have arrived since the first of February.

Claude Jones wrote to say that the Baby Ruth bar was his favorite, and he included a poem he had penned on the subject in 1997. It follows below, in its entirety.

Baby Ruth

Come one, come all, to hear my word of truth

The best candy bar in this world, is the Baby Ruth

They wrap it in red and white, it's very easy to see

It's wrapped bright and pretty, wrapped just for me

You can be fooled by first appearance, only chocolate you conceive

But there is more, much more, I tell you and believe

Those bumps, those lumps, that outward the chocolate juts

Are wonderful, crunchy, delicious peanuts

Pull the wrapper back, but only halfway down

Or you'll be tempted to eat it whole and look just like a clown

Eating a Baby Ruth is such a pleasant task

And there are so many ways, don't be afraid to ask

You may want to just take a bite, incisors as your tool

And crunch and smack and enjoy it and be real cool

Or if you're all alone, no one on you to spy

You can lick the chocolate off, boy that will satisfy

Then comes the peanuts, each one a true delight

Just flick them off with your tongue and never have to bite

Now down to the center, where peanuts, have left their dent

To that round, brown sticky caramel, it's truly heaven sent

It will stick your teeth together and pull out any plate

You will chew and chew, and know, that it tastes great

But us connoisseurs of Baby Ruths, will take a whole different approach

Be careful who you tell, or to whom the subject you broach

The way I do it, and I know it's right

Though it takes some skill and will power might

With bar in hand, a three-quarter inch bite you take

Then carefully rewrap and fold, a square corner make

With tongue poised and ready, as bite is complete

Shove Baby Ruth to left jaw, quickly and neat

Once firmly in place, between your gum and cheek

Let it lie quietly, no chew or no peak

The chocolate will melt to your palate's delight

You will be tempted to bite, you'll really have to fight

When you're sure, no doubt, the chocolate is no more

Step two takes over, and it's never a bore

With tongue or with teeth, be careful for sure

One peanut remove, then chew, taste clean and pure

One peanut at a time, or could be only a half

Gives time for enjoyment, gives time for taste buds to laugh

And now for the nugget, sticky, sweet and good

You don't even have to wonder if you really should

It takes some time, you'll be tempted to chew

But in about thirty minutes, you'll say, how time flew

It only took an hour, your time was well spent

And three fourths of Baby Ruth is left, if you get my hint

It's a whole half a day, if Baby Ruth is done right

It will cure your ills, and settle almost any plight

And calories don't count, when it's taken in so slow

So grab a Baby Ruth, and away we will go.

C Jones 11-97

Concerning the Three Musketeers bar, Ruth McCullough stated that she definitely remembers when the bar had three distinctly colored sections of nougat, light brown chocolate, cream colored vanilla, and pink strawberry. She further remembers the various flavors were not as distinctive and distinguishable as the colors. Thanks Miss Ruth, for clearing up my faulty memory.

One reader confided his favorite candy bar is a Mr. Goodbar. It's one I did not name in the article, but then I did not try to list all known candy bars.

Jason Carter said his all time favorite candy bar was the Marathon bar, which he also said is no longer manufactured and sold. As with his claim to being the best slide guitarist in Mississippi, I've not sought to authenticate the demise of the Marathon bar.

Some members of my family enjoy putting a Snickers bar in the freezer long enough for it to become nail-hard, apparently, so it will be harder to "wolf" down. However, Durwood Young allows that his wife, Brenda, prefers a Snickers bar that has been heated in the microwave for a few seconds to soften it. Durwood favors a Baby Ruth bar, but when praising the value of a microwave oven, he also mentioned that a microwave was good for heating up a cup of Vanilla Wafers. He claims this will soften them, and they won't get all over you when you eat them. I'll have to try that the next time I have a craving for some Vanilla Wafers.

My Mistake Is It 2001 Already

In the newsletter business, I feel badly enough when I let a proofing mistake slip past me, and even worse when the mistake goes unnoticed by my wife. Neither of us are expert grammarians, so a misplaced comma or place needing a comma is apt to show up with some regularity. My sister, being an English teacher, may qualify for expert grammarian, but back when she helped proof this newsletter (the early years), she missed more errors than she found. I lay that off on her speed reading techniques and the fact she's been grading essays for high school students for too long.

Yet, there are a number of readers who've expressed their appreciation for the content and don't seem to mind the occasional mistakes. Those who've found the content not suited to their liking or bristle at the mistakes have failed to make this writer aware of their displeasure.

I've learned a lot about writing over the past few years, not that one can tell by the content herein, but I have discovered that I can read an article I have written ten times and fail to find an error. Yet, as surely as I start printing the newsletter, something will jump out at me. My problem is that I know what I intended to write, and when I read the article, I think or speak the words that may not be on the paper. Thankfully, Barbara still can't read my mind, so she's pretty good at catching a missing word or misused word, like my needing to use "too," instead of "to." I'm also bad to use "know" while intending to write "known."

I began a volume numbering system with the first issue of this newsletter, using the date of the publication as the volume number. After four years, I decided to change what had served me well, opting to begin a numerical count of publications to date. Some of you may have noticed the change last June. If not, don't fret over it.

The volume number of this issue is 243, meaning that there have been 243 issues of the Ridge Rider News. I don't know whether or not others are impressed, but I am. When I began this newsletter, I had no idea I'd still be writing a weekly publication two hundred or so weeks down the road of time.

When it comes to mistakes, I didn't get off to a very good start this year. Underneath the title on page one of each issue is a bar that contains the month, day, year and volume number. On this issue it reads, February 17 '01 Volume 243. However, the first issue in January did not contain the day of the week. I discovered my mistake after printing sixty newsletters, so I let it slide.

I did better on the next week's issue, January 12^th, in that I remembered to include the day of the month, but I failed to change the year to '01 for 2001. Readers who keep a few back issues on hand will notice that all the publications from January 12^th through February 10^th, have the wrong year. I suggest you hang on to them, because, like U.S. coins that have been double struck or suffered another abnormality will become collector's items and increase in value, so shall these copies of RRN become more valuable, once this newsletter goes "national." It's okay to laugh, now. Then again, it could happen.

Meanwhile, readers are asked to indulge the occasional mistakes, even enjoy them if you like, until the staff of RRN arrive at perfection.

Bodock Beau Wisdom Tidbits

I don't know about you, but I'm still working on becoming wise. I ran across a few dozen tidbits of wisdom and am sharing my favorites:

Wisdom

We are born naked, wet, and hungry. Then things get worse.
Never test the depth of the water with both feet.
Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.
Some days you are the bug, some days you are the windshield.
Timing has an awful lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance
Don't squat with your spurs on.
If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.
Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your mouth is moving.
There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.
Taxation WITH representation isn't so hot, either!
Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.
It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.
It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help.
If you think nobody cares if you're alive, try missing a couple of car payments.
If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything.
If you lend someone $20, and never see that person again; it was probably worth it.
It's always darkest before dawn. So, if you're going to steal the neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.
Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
Never miss a good chance to shut up.

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