Monday, October 30, 2006
YankeeBeau makes a fine hand
Good sign. While Dr. ER and I were in Kansas and Iowa, Bird (20-year-old redheaded redneck stepchild) and her YankeeBeau (her 21-year-old sweetie, from Massachusetts), dog- and cat-sat for us.
During a real toad strangler, they reported that the rain gutters appeared useless and that water was rushing off the house willy-nilly. Downspouts clogged.
Plan was for me to scale a ladder and deal with this over the weekend. Unplanned was my dang ear infection, which has me nearly deaf in my left ear and has me pretty much a little dizzy all the time, and unable to walk a straight line. No ladder-climbing for me, please.
Bird and YankeeBeau were in Texas the first half of the weekend, and I text-messaged Bird that I would require YankeeBeau's assistance "for about an hour" on Sunday afternoon when they passed through on their way back home.
Hoo boy. Make that two hours plus, and it was at least five times as difficult as I expected. Yet YankeeBeau came to the aid of his sweetie's step-pa with nary a complaint -- and he wouldn't let me pay him.
"Hey, I can't take that. No way. If I needed your help, you wouldn't charge me."
Indeed.
YankeeBeau made a right fine hand, and I truly appreciate the help. Supper is on me next time.
--ER
During a real toad strangler, they reported that the rain gutters appeared useless and that water was rushing off the house willy-nilly. Downspouts clogged.
Plan was for me to scale a ladder and deal with this over the weekend. Unplanned was my dang ear infection, which has me nearly deaf in my left ear and has me pretty much a little dizzy all the time, and unable to walk a straight line. No ladder-climbing for me, please.
Bird and YankeeBeau were in Texas the first half of the weekend, and I text-messaged Bird that I would require YankeeBeau's assistance "for about an hour" on Sunday afternoon when they passed through on their way back home.
Hoo boy. Make that two hours plus, and it was at least five times as difficult as I expected. Yet YankeeBeau came to the aid of his sweetie's step-pa with nary a complaint -- and he wouldn't let me pay him.
"Hey, I can't take that. No way. If I needed your help, you wouldn't charge me."
Indeed.
YankeeBeau made a right fine hand, and I truly appreciate the help. Supper is on me next time.
--ER
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And he's a real Yankee? Are ya sure he doesn't have kin from God's country, and they just got lost and wandered back East?
OK, I ain't from New England, but I sure as hell ain't from Louisiana, so I will never, ever, ever, ever consider myself any sort of Southerner. More Yankee blood in me, so I take offense that only Southern folks have work ethic and a caring nature.
Y'all done pissed me off. Git over y'alls dang selves and y'alls dang Southern ways.
Give me a yankee any damn day over a Southerner whose arrogance stands out over the rest of us. They may not say "yessir," but they'll break a back for ya.
Excuse me for my rant, but I get damn pissed when folks try to say shit like that. Hey, ER, you ever known me to back down from helpin' someone who needs it? Sheesh.
Y'all done pissed me off. Git over y'alls dang selves and y'alls dang Southern ways.
Give me a yankee any damn day over a Southerner whose arrogance stands out over the rest of us. They may not say "yessir," but they'll break a back for ya.
Excuse me for my rant, but I get damn pissed when folks try to say shit like that. Hey, ER, you ever known me to back down from helpin' someone who needs it? Sheesh.
Ted, that chill pill in your pocket? Take it. He never ever said anything like what you're reacting to. He's always identified the boy as YankeeBeau. He's just saying how much he appreciated YankeeBeau's help, since he's wayyyyy to dizzy himself to be working up high.
If anything, this is a momentous occasion for a couple of reasons. First, E.R. confessed right out loud that it was a job he didn't trust himself to do alone, and asked for help. Woot! Second, no limbs (human) were lopped off, slashed, dashed or diced in the making of this post.
How long has it been since we saw a post from E.R. involving household chores that didn't involve a major injury? Hmm?
If anything, this is a momentous occasion for a couple of reasons. First, E.R. confessed right out loud that it was a job he didn't trust himself to do alone, and asked for help. Woot! Second, no limbs (human) were lopped off, slashed, dashed or diced in the making of this post.
How long has it been since we saw a post from E.R. involving household chores that didn't involve a major injury? Hmm?
The pill was swallowed, about 15 minutes after my post this morning.
http://www.maryvilledailyforum.com/articles/2006/10/31/news/news6.txt
http://www.maryvilledailyforum.com/articles/2006/10/31/news/news6.txt
Link's not workin'. Try this (The column runs in tomorrow's Maryville Daily Forum):
On Nov. 7, most Nodaway County residents will begin saying hello to a new state senator, a new state representative, a new presiding commissioner.
I will be saying goodbye to a friend.
Shane Drury, 27 — a professional bull rider, a fun-loving character, a young man with a heart of gold — died Tuesday after a four-and-a-half-year battle with cancer.
Through the trials and tribulations that began in the spring of 2002, he showed a faith, hope and love that any caring human being could only want. He and his family established a Web site so that those who knew of Drury or had heard of him or had watched him ride bulls at the National Finals Rodeo could keep tabs on the ups and downs of battling the disease.
In the summer of 2003, the roller coaster that is cancer was at its peak. Drury had beaten the disease, it seemed, and he was back to riding bulls.
I got to hang out with the young bull rider that summer, writing about his exploits. I got to meet his family. I got to tell their story. Each step of the way, I was drawn closer to the personalities that made up the life of young Shane Drury, who at his heaviest, never tipped the scales at 150 pounds. Heck, he probably never came close to it.
But Drury had something else. To paraphrase former Chiefs coach Marty Schottenheimer, he had that something special in the eight inches between his breast bone and his back bone. Drury had heart.
There's no way you can overcome fears by jumping on the back of a nearly one-ton bull without it. There's no way you can endure hours of chemotherapy and radiation and nausea and all the other crap that comes with the treatment for the dreadful disease without it. There's no way you can look at the end of your life and still praise God without it.
That's Shane Drury.
Until the illness became too much, Drury posted items on the Web site himself. The last time was Oct. 16:
"Today is one of those days that I feel full of life, full of God's love. Wow, what a feeling!! My Monday official weigh-in was 118, so I am staying stable if not gaining a touch. I have been able to walk around a bit without using the wheelchair, which is a blessing in its own. My breathing seems to be a little better today also. PTL!! I still can't talk much let alone yell if I need help with something so my dad got me a loud bike horn to get everyone's attention. It seems to be woking pretty good so far. Tomorrow I am getting a chatter vox that will magnify my voice so people can hear me. I really get kind of frustrated when people can't understand me, but I understand. That's all for now."
Often, though, he ended his statements with something even more profound: "I hope everyone had a great weekend and you keep growing for the Lord, through out the week and your life time."
Though I mourn my friend's death, I rejoice in the life he lived. At 27, he had lived and shared his life more than most people twice his age. He shared his love for God unwaveringly until the day he died.
A few weeks ago, Shane Drury wrote a letter and made his brother, Chad, promise not to open it until after his death.
"Let people know I am at peace, to keep smiling and to always keep God close to your hearts."
In rodeo, bull riders use their balance, their athleticism and their courage to ride for the qualifying eight seconds. They wear curved spurs that aren't sharp, but when used right can help them maneuver to a better spot on the bucking beast. If they do all the things right, they can make the whistle and earn a score.
I've always likened Drury's battle with cancer to an eight-second ride on the toughest bull he's ever faced. For more than four years, Drury wiggled and clawed and kept working his way back to the middle. He got thrown head first into the dirt, but every time, he'd grab that bull rope and climb back on.
My mind's eye could see the little squirt shuffling his feet, fighting with every ounce of energy he had, his hand wrapped tight in the rope and that classic grimace on his face.
Shane Drury's life was short-lived, but he rode the rankest bull in the pen longer than anyone could've imagined with his faith in God still intact.
Shane Drury finally got his championship gold buckle Tuesday morning with his father and brothers by his side.
Good ride, cowboy.
On Nov. 7, most Nodaway County residents will begin saying hello to a new state senator, a new state representative, a new presiding commissioner.
I will be saying goodbye to a friend.
Shane Drury, 27 — a professional bull rider, a fun-loving character, a young man with a heart of gold — died Tuesday after a four-and-a-half-year battle with cancer.
Through the trials and tribulations that began in the spring of 2002, he showed a faith, hope and love that any caring human being could only want. He and his family established a Web site so that those who knew of Drury or had heard of him or had watched him ride bulls at the National Finals Rodeo could keep tabs on the ups and downs of battling the disease.
In the summer of 2003, the roller coaster that is cancer was at its peak. Drury had beaten the disease, it seemed, and he was back to riding bulls.
I got to hang out with the young bull rider that summer, writing about his exploits. I got to meet his family. I got to tell their story. Each step of the way, I was drawn closer to the personalities that made up the life of young Shane Drury, who at his heaviest, never tipped the scales at 150 pounds. Heck, he probably never came close to it.
But Drury had something else. To paraphrase former Chiefs coach Marty Schottenheimer, he had that something special in the eight inches between his breast bone and his back bone. Drury had heart.
There's no way you can overcome fears by jumping on the back of a nearly one-ton bull without it. There's no way you can endure hours of chemotherapy and radiation and nausea and all the other crap that comes with the treatment for the dreadful disease without it. There's no way you can look at the end of your life and still praise God without it.
That's Shane Drury.
Until the illness became too much, Drury posted items on the Web site himself. The last time was Oct. 16:
"Today is one of those days that I feel full of life, full of God's love. Wow, what a feeling!! My Monday official weigh-in was 118, so I am staying stable if not gaining a touch. I have been able to walk around a bit without using the wheelchair, which is a blessing in its own. My breathing seems to be a little better today also. PTL!! I still can't talk much let alone yell if I need help with something so my dad got me a loud bike horn to get everyone's attention. It seems to be woking pretty good so far. Tomorrow I am getting a chatter vox that will magnify my voice so people can hear me. I really get kind of frustrated when people can't understand me, but I understand. That's all for now."
Often, though, he ended his statements with something even more profound: "I hope everyone had a great weekend and you keep growing for the Lord, through out the week and your life time."
Though I mourn my friend's death, I rejoice in the life he lived. At 27, he had lived and shared his life more than most people twice his age. He shared his love for God unwaveringly until the day he died.
A few weeks ago, Shane Drury wrote a letter and made his brother, Chad, promise not to open it until after his death.
"Let people know I am at peace, to keep smiling and to always keep God close to your hearts."
In rodeo, bull riders use their balance, their athleticism and their courage to ride for the qualifying eight seconds. They wear curved spurs that aren't sharp, but when used right can help them maneuver to a better spot on the bucking beast. If they do all the things right, they can make the whistle and earn a score.
I've always likened Drury's battle with cancer to an eight-second ride on the toughest bull he's ever faced. For more than four years, Drury wiggled and clawed and kept working his way back to the middle. He got thrown head first into the dirt, but every time, he'd grab that bull rope and climb back on.
My mind's eye could see the little squirt shuffling his feet, fighting with every ounce of energy he had, his hand wrapped tight in the rope and that classic grimace on his face.
Shane Drury's life was short-lived, but he rode the rankest bull in the pen longer than anyone could've imagined with his faith in God still intact.
Shane Drury finally got his championship gold buckle Tuesday morning with his father and brothers by his side.
Good ride, cowboy.
Awesome, Teditor. I thought of you when I saw the story in the local paper. Redneck prayers aloft for his kin -- and friends.
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