Miss Texas Gets Unwanted Attention

My hot trophy wife, Miss Sugar, is also known as Miss Texas. I call her that for good reasons.

One reason is that she grew up in The Republic of Texas. Another reason is that she actually was a finalist in the Miss USA pageant.

Therefore, I thought it was fitting and proper for me to order a Colorado license plate that says: MSTEXAS. See photo below.

Miss Sugar told me at the time that she did not want a license plate saying Miss Texas, but I got it for her anyway. She was right. I shouldn’t have done what I done.

A few days ago, Miss Sugar, aka Miss Texas, was driving her vehicle in, of all places, Loveland, Colorado. Turns out that Loveland is not that friendly of a town. Or, maybe it is tooo friendly.

Sugar was driving. I was a passenger. A police officer turned on the lights and beeped the siren on the police vehicle, indicating that Sugar should pull over. That was surprising because another car had just passed us at a high rate of speed, causing us to remark to each other when the police car turned on its lights that it was to go after the speed racer. Alas, we were wrong. The officer of the law wanted Sugar to pull over. We did not understand why the speeder was ignored, nor could we think of a reason to pull Sugar over.

I now believe the reason was curiosity. People speed every day, but the officer wondered what MSTEXAS looks like.

The reason given was that, supposedly, the stickers on the license plate are not fully visible. (I contend that enough is visible for a law enforcement officer to see the expiration is 4 of 24). What do you think? Are partially covered stickers a huge problem in Loveland? Is it such a huge problem that officers have been instructed to prioritize this as a more serious criminal violation than the actual safety hazard of speeding vehicles when a choice has to be made for the good of the community.

As it turned out, the police person did not issue an actual citation for the serious license plate sticker issue. Despite the lights and siren, in retrospect, the traffic stop was unnecessary. Lawyers call that a lack of probable cause.

Enough about Miss Texas. Now let’s talk about me. My modeling agency suggested that I get vanity plates for my 2000 Ford F250 pickup as a way to advance my career by drawing attention of the general public. The suggested plate would say HANDSOM (I can spell handsome but only seven letters are allowed).

No way! I don’t want every female cop pulling me over just to get a better look.

Not My First Rodeo

I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked how I got to be such a good rider. Well, folks don’t often come right out and ask in, you know, words, but I can see the admiration in their eyes. If someone ever does actually ask in actual words, maybe asking for advice about how they could become as good as me, I will tell them, “If you have to ask, it is probably too late. You must start young, preferably before you can talk. Just master one skill at a time. Make horsey rides your number one priority.“

Crafting THE LOOK

Many of you will recall that awhile back I announced my return to modeling. It will surprise you to learn that my agent has ghosted me about updating my portfolio. I am shocked.

I have taken matters into my own hands. I am handling it myself, arranging photo shoots on my own.

The Kardashians have shown me the importance of experimenting with various “looks.”

This week, rather than swimsuit pics, I am branching out to what I call “The Outlaw Look.”

I was influenced by a man I know who did some time in prison. He worked at a store where I met him. We talked sports. This guy is 6’5″ and told me that he played basketball in college (at a D-1 school that you have heard of) but, alas, he got involved in some criminal activity that resulted in a prison stint. While there, he learned some life lessons.

One day he told me about a rough character who had been in the store. My friend described the customer as “looking like he could kill somebody.” I thought, “You ought to know.”

Then he said to me, “Of course, you look like you already killed somebody.”

I took it as a compliment, as he intended.

He went on to offer some fashion advice. He suggested that I get a teardrop tattoo by my left eye. He said that would mean to those familiar with prison tattoos that I killed somebody in prison. That would give me respect.

However, he cautioned me that it is very important to specify the left eye. I was told that a tear by the right eye signifies that the tattooed person “was somebody’s bitch.” Heaven forbid!

I started with a face-painter. Next step is a real tattoo artist, as soon as I get a spousal permission slip.

Dumpster Diving Danger

We have a big dumpster at our ranch. The trash service empties it twice a month.

Last week, my wife requested that I retrieve some cardboard boxes which had already been thrown away into the dumpster. Miss Sugar had purchased five hens from a neighbor and needed the boxes to transport them. So I dutifully walked to the dumpster to get those boxes.

The top of the dumpster is about as high as my armpits, which would not have been a problem if the boxes were near the top, in which case my arms could have reached the boxes. Unfortunately, the trash service had emptied the dumpster shortly before I had put the boxes in. Consequently, the boxes were at the bottom.

In order to reach the boxes, I employed my gymnastic skills to jump up and bend over into the dumpster. This maneuver resulted in the weight of my torso pressing against the top edge of the dumpster as my arms reached toward the bottom and my legs dangled outside.

Naturally, I was successful in getting the boxes.

That success came at a cost. Like many people, I keep my ribcage in my torso. It is usually convenient except in cases such as I am describing. That is, my lowest rib seems to have cracked under the pressure.

I did not even cry. I warn you criers out there to not copy my dumpster diving technique. Maybe use something to stand on when bending over to reach items on the bottom.

My Pastor Died on Good Friday

Besides Jesus Christ, I know someone else who died on Good Friday.

Lawrence Beck passed away at the young age of 39. Since he was a pastor, it was fitting that he was welcomed into Heaven on Good Friday.

Pastor Beck was a hero of mine. I knew him as the pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church in Omaha, Nebraska during much of my youth, including two years of confirmation class. He died of cancer when I was a junior in high school.

The year before that sad Good Friday, Pastor Beck was the star of the Father/Son basketball game. He had played basketball in college. The rumor was that he had played with or against NBA legend Bob Cousy.

For many years, even before he was a pastor, Larry Beck played countless tennis matches with my father. They met when Larry was still in seminary and spent a year as an intern at Trinity. At that time, my parents were a young married couple with a handsome and precocious young son. Seminarian Beck was not married at that time.

Several years later, after he completed seminary, was ordained, and had served another church, Pastor Beck was called to serve as associate pastor at Trinity. They knew what they were getting. The young pastor returned to Trinity with his bride, Evie, and two little girls, Terry and Linnea.

Evie and my mother became very good friends. Mom invited her to some activities outside of the church such as her famous sewing club (at which not much sewing was accomplished but wonderful friendships formed). As it turned out, Mom was with Evie at the hospital when Larry died.

The Becks’ younger daughter, Linnea, is my sister’s age. They became best friends and classmates in grade school. Judy and Linnea are still friends and stay in touch even now, decades later.

Dad and Larry resumed their friendship and resumed playing tennis. Dad was on the church council much of Pastor Beck’s tenure. Becks had a pop-up camper trailer. We borrowed it for a summer vacation trip.

I remember having dinner at Becks’ house on a Friday night. Confirmation class was on Saturday mornings. It was my habit to prepare for confirmation class, which required memory work, on Friday nights, so what I memorized would be fresh in my mind the next morning. Pastor Beck was kind and did not pick on me the morning following that dinner. After all, it was his fault I was prevented from preparing properly.

Confirmation classes were for seventh and eighth graders. When I was in eighth grade, Pastor Roy Benson, who was the senior pastor, was called to another congregation. Pastor Beck became the senior pastor at Trinity and a new associate pastor was called. Unfortunately, three short years later, on Good Friday, Pastor Larry Beck completed his ministry on earth.

The bishop, Dr. Reuben Swanson, conducted the funeral service. The sanctuary was filled to capacity. I remember that Dr. Swanson led us in singing A Mighty Fortress is Our God. He said to raise the rafters with our voices. We did.

Gus Grew Up

Where Did Our Puppy Go?

Taking Up Your Cross

Taking Up Your Cross

God’s Will for You in Particular

Suggestions From A Searcher — Part Three

How Does God Reveal His Will?

Suggestions From A Searcher — Part Two

American Legion

Today my wife and I had a great lunch at The American Legion. It was so good that I filled out the membership application on the spot. We have been members of the country club, but we fit in with these Legionaires too. Let us be clear, I am joining the American Legion, not the French Foreign Legion, nor the Roman Legion, for which I am too young. I am not too young for this organization.

The other diners were almost entirely “an older crowd.” Many came over to welcome us. Among them was Bobby, a Viet Nam vet by appearance. He did not say. However, he was wearing a ball cap that bore a sniper emblem with the saying, “One Shot, One Kill.” He had admired my hat, so I remarked about his.

There is sort of an unwritten rule that real war veterans do not talk much about their personal involvement. I did not ask Bobby about his military service. We did, however, talk about weapons. He is a gunsmith as well as a shooter. I told him about the targets we set up in our pasture against a rocky hill. Miss Sugar told him about her brother who served in Desert Storm and was a shooting instructor.

Now that we are post members, Miss Sugar is organizing a farmers market on the legion’s grounds. We will also have a tent to sell our stuff. Nobody better try to rob us. Bobby is my new friend.