My Ramblings

One of my favorite stories about my two brothers, Jeff and Kevin, and me is about a particular fishing trip. We fished together quite a bit, all over several counties in our area including Stanislaus, Merced, Tuolumne and San Joaquin. Usually, we took an old green metal Coleman ice chest on our expeditions in which we put our lunch and soda pop. Later in the day we put our catch in it whether it be fish or bullfrogs. One day we ended up on the Merced River, downstream from Lake McSwain and east of Snelling, CA. An elderly woman owned the property on the Merced where we liked to fish. She had given our dad permission to fish there many years before and then also let us have access. The river there had a dam which was designed to allow the water to run over its top, slowing down the flow into shallows in which we could wade and fish. The Merced contains trout, salmon, bass, crappie, perch, bluegill and catfish. At the time of this story which occurred in 1974, I was 17, Jeff was 16 ...

Today I offer some reminisces about my little brother, Jeffrey who was 15 months my junior. It would take a book to tell just the stories I know about him, let alone the dozens of those that have been told to me by others. So this will not be the only recounting of his life in this blog, but it’s a start. Most people called him Jethro Bodeen or just Bodeen, and it fit him so well. His true initials were JB (as in Jeffrey Bert) but he was given his nickname by one of his second grade classmates who was not fond of Jeff. The TV show, The Beverly Hillbillies was popular at that time and the kid thought it was funny to dub him Jethro Bodeen because of his manner of talking, his “redneck” behavior and that he appeared to not possess a lot of “book learnin’.” The nickname stuck with him the rest of his life until his untimely demise at age 46. In school, Jeff was enrolled in an EH (educationally handicapped) class. He was hyperactive for which he was prescribed the drug of choice at that ...

My maternal grandfather was a tough and simple man. His name was Bert Lee Taylor who was born on January 26, 1909 in Dallas County, Missouri and passed away on March 30, 1978 at age 69. He married my grandma, Mildred in 1930 when she was 16 and he was 21. They were the parents of my aunt Joan, my mom, Delores, my uncle Phil and my aunt Sue. They were married a total of 48 years. I have some great memories of my Grandpa which I want to share with you. Grandpa was not a religious man and this fact was painful for my grandmother who had been a Christian since she was a child. He was sometimes gruff and wanted things to go his way most of the time so he could be impatient. But he could also be gentle and I remember how he grinned and cackled when something amused him. I’ve been told he made it as far as the second grade in school but I don’t know why he did not go further. I can imagine he began working early in his life and required no more education to make it through. He worked in Te...

Senator Robert Francis Kennedy died at 1:44 AM on June 6, 1968 after being shot by Sirhan Sirhan the previous early morning. I mention it here because this event resulted indirectly in a traumatic event for me later that day. Be patient, as it will take me a minute to get to that. The names in this story have NOT been changed to protect the innocent. I was in Miss Lum’s fifth grade class at Whitmore Elementary School in my hometown of Ceres, CA at that time. Some of my classmates included Ron Megee, Debbie Rayford, Dave Stiffler, Eddie Morrow, Rita Woodral, Tim Crownover, Debbie Fabela, Robbie Spears, Jonni Dunnegan, Nick Chipponeri and Mark Lowe. During lunchtime, the school allowed kids to go home to eat but we weren’t supposed to go anywhere else. Being the adventurous and unbridled boys that we were, some of us would go instead to Ceres Billiards to shoot pool and play pinball. On one of these days, not the day recounted above, a few of us – Eddie, Dave and Tim went to...

My daughter, Heather called me today with a sad story. My 7 year old grandson, Luca was drawing a picture last night and as he did so he was crying. Heather heard him and went over to see what was going on. It depicted Luca and his Uncle Daniel standing side my side, each with a broken heart over their heads. Another panel showed a grave with Luca standing at its foot. Heather asked Luca about his picture. He replied that he really misses his Uncle Daniel and wishes he was still here. Hearing this broke my heart. This is not the first time Luca or his little brother, Logan has, out of the blue mentioned Daniel and his death. Each time they do, it again brings the pain of this event to the surface. While I am sad for myself, my heart aches for these little guys who loved him so much. Folks, if you ever consider taking your own life, please think again and again and again. Think of how detrimental your death will be to your family and friends. Think about the mess you will leave behin...

We are beginning to get ready for Christmas, but this year is so different than in the past. Yes, some of this has to do with us knowing Daniel will not be here to celebrate it with us, but it’s not the only thing. I have, up until now, neglected to report here that Linda and I are now “empty nesters.” Judah and his parents moved back to the Bay Area on November 17. My attempts to keep Judah here with us when Holly and Bryan moved were unsuccessful. Funny how a mom requires the presence of her child without any regard to how this makes the sad and lonely grandparents feel. Judah has lived in our home since his second day on earth. We got accustomed to seeing him daily. We have been told by friends what a great thing an empty nest is and how we are going to love it and blah, blah, blah. Yes, it is quieter and I can walk around the house in my underwear if I want to (don’t picture that in your mind), but so far, these “benefits” are not what they’re cracked up to be. Putting up the Ch...

I have felt like writing lately so I will continue to do so. After yesterday's post regarding my early life, I thought some of you might like to know a bit about what I did as a vocation. I have received a number of compliments regarding my writing ability for which I am grateful. Most people do not know that for many years as a Probation Officer, I wrote reports for the Court. In this job I got a lot of practice as an "Indentured Wordsmith." The following is a fictional account of one such report. The defendant in this case was convicted of attempted robbery. In addition to all the other information required by the Court, the reports I wrote contained information resulting from my own investigation including my interviews of the victim and defendant. Most of the report is who, what, why, where and how, but in the evaluation section, I got to throw in my opinion about what consequences the guy should get. Keep in mind, the defendant had already been convicted...