They said her mind was going much faster than before. They said she was talking out of her head in her room at the rest home, talking to people that weren’t there.

It’s typical of dementia. The little circuits in the brain short out, but the mind is a survivalist. It seeks out new connections and utilizes them. Often those connections roll through memories, which can seem real to the person experiencing them.

There’s no doubt my grandmother was slowly slipping into some sort of haze. She was, after all, in her nineties. At the time, I believed the nurses and the doctors.

My brother and I were talking not long ago. We had both seen her not long before she went to meet her creator. He said he had been led to her room by a staff member, who opened the door and said, “Miss Stouff, there’s someone here to see you,” and before my brother stepped into view, she shouted, “Tell Larry to come in here and give me some pie!” He had pie with him, by the way.

The last time I saw her, as I’ve told here before, I was already living in her old . . . → Read More: Departing

Graveyards and Old Pawn Shops

I hate graveyards and old pawn shops

For they always bring me tears

I can’t forget the way they robbed me

Of my childhood souvenirs – (John Prine)

I’m tired of writing about oil, and you’re tired of me writing about fishing. So where do we go from here?

Actually, my fishing license expired June 30 and I haven’t even got a new one yet. Go figure. I went to Walmart a few weeks ago, but their machine is broke, and I never went back. I feel kinda nekkid without a fishing license.

But I actually turned down a chance to go fishing recently. I had a lot to do that weekend, honestly, but in my reckless youth, that wouldn’t have bothered me. I would have gladly thrown all responsibility to the wind and happily jaunted off on a fishing trip. I don’t know why I didn’t do that.

But I’m talking about fishing, aren’t I? And you’re sick of that.

At this point, I really should abandon all hope of writing anything pertinent or meaningful and end this column at a pathetic 5 inches in length. It’s what a real gentleman would do, an honorable man, someone who . . . → Read More: Graveyards and Old Pawn Shops


Not long after tar balls started showing up on the Texas coast, the Coast Guard announced it might not be from the BP oil spill.

At first they said it was, then they said most of it wasn’t.

The reason? Coast Guard spokesman Petty Officer Richard Brahm said the confusion resulted from a mistake made at a lab in Houma, La.

“It turns out that almost all the tar balls are not BP,” Brahm said. The more accurate test results arrived Friday from a Coast Guard lab in Virginia, Brahm said.

Yeah. Right. Blame it on the incompetence in Louisiana, right.

More like, “Don’t Mess With Texas,” because unlike Gov. Jindal, Rick Perry would be on their butts in short order, and the bruisings would begin.

Not so here. Diamond Offshore Drilling is the latest deepwater operation to heave anchor and head to better waters. “We are actively seeking international opportunities to keep our rigs fully employed,” Diamond Chief Executive Larry Dickerson said in a statement. “We greatly regret the loss of U.S. jobs that will result from this rig relocation.”

All because of what The Financial Post calls “an avertable catastrophe.”

Let’s go back to that whole offer . . . → Read More: Treason

Fresh Figs

It was a long, busy weekend.

There was grass to be cut, in the first place. Lots of it.

Those of you who have been reading this dribble long enough know that I consider grass cutting the most colossal waste of time on this planet. If I had it my way, I’d let the land go back to nature.

But no. Modern society into which I am forced to exist insists I wear respectable clothing – though I am only marginally accommodating of this – bathe regularly, work instead of fish, and mow the lawn.

Early this spring I retired my old Snapper lawn mower, which I called The General in homage to Gen. George Armstrong Custer because it regularly didn’t want to start, threw belts on a whim and ran like a drunkard.

It was replaced by a bigger lawn tractor, with 17 horsepower under the hood and a 42-inch cutting deck, compared to the General’s 10 horsepower and 30-inch cutting deck.

All this truly amounts to is I can cut it all a little faster. It’s not any more fun.

I cut my grass and my mom’s Saturday, and around . . . → Read More: Fresh Figs