Clucker is the name Pat has given to the crow that clucks like a chicken. We figure he must have been raised on a farm where chicken talk was all he heard.  He has been visiting us for over a year and has always made this sound. It’s been a matter of pride for us to know a bilingual bird. A recent happening makes us think he wants to add English to his language accomplishments.

We heard a ruckus at the front door and went to check it out. Clucker had landed on the wrought iron front railing that borders our front stoop. He clucked a little and then started rattling off gibberish that wasn’t understandable. As we listened to the cadence and inflection, we realized that it sounded like a human who was speaking a foreign language. His actions were like those of a person telling a story. When he finished his remarks, he joined his fellow crows on the driveway and began eating. It was as if he had delivered his message to us, and the ball was in our court. It seemed that he thought he was actually getting through to us. When he says something we can understand, I’ll let you know.

Dave Thomas

3/12/2026

Shaving can be the most boring part of the day.  I mitigate the ennui by drinking coffee while I shave. Being a low vision kind of guy, legally blind, I don’t have a need for a mirror, so I can shave in the kitchen or living room or wherever.  My normal routine is to shave my right cheek, take a couple of sips of coffee, shave the left cheek, take a couple more sips, and keep this up until done. The balance of the coffee is cold by this time, but it’s still coffee. While enjoying the aroma and taste of the coffee, my mind wanders, and I daydream and sometimes get constructive and try to plan the next story for my blog.

This morning, I got to thinking about the many places Pat and I have enjoyed a delicious cup of coffee. Some of the stories have been told already, so this time, I’ll just concentrate on locations. Our coffee drinking took place across a fair amount of the globe. We feel that for a working-class couple, who never had more than a 2-week vacation, that we’ve covered a lot of ground. From Montreal, Canada, in the North to Paris, France in the East, to Mazatlán, Mexico and La Paz, Baja California in the South, and Okinawa, Japan in the West, we got around!

I’ll try to only list recognizable places but will add places where we have been individually as well. Here we go:

Montreal, London, Warminster, Berkley, and Bath-all in England, Paris, Memphis, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee, Wichita, Oklahoma City, Dallas, Fort Worth, Waco, San Antonio, Houston, El Paso, Denver, Durango, Taos, Santa Fe, Gallup, Las Vegas, Scottsdale, Sedona, Prescott, Yuma, San Diego, Capistrano, Los Angeles, Santa Monica, San Francisco, McKinleyville,  and Palm Springs, Oahu, Lahaina, Kauai, Midway, Kwajalein, Guam, Iwakuni, and Okinawa.

Some of our journeys were done separately. Pat has been to London and Paris twice, and I have only been there once. She has been to Washington, D.C. and Seattle, Washington, and I haven’t seen either of them. She has also been to Victoria, British Columbia. I have also had coffee in Peal Harbor, Kwajalein, and Okinawa. Another solo trip for business was to Cleveland and Detroit.

Lots of fun and lots of coffee!

Dave Thomas

3/5/2026

It’s time we got past this red verses blue controversy which, in some cases, has deteriorated into nothing but pettiness, and return to the red, white, and blue that has symbolized our country for so long. This time, let’s consider the color white to be a remembrance of the millions of people of all skin colors and faiths who fought, struggled, and endured so that we might grow and prosper as we have.  Don’t let our history be destroyed. Stand up for America.

Dave Thomas

2/19/2026

Fort Worth, Texas is the only city in the world that has its own herd of longhorn cattle. They celebrate the history of the Texas trail herds every day at the Stockyards in Old Fort Worth in the northern part of town. The cattle are kept at a corral there at the Stockyards, and each day at 11:00 AM and 4:00 PM, city employees dressed as cowboys saddle up and perform a cattle drive down the street. The cattle go just a couple of blocks and round the corner and return to the corral. They have done it so many times they could probably do it without the help of any cowboys. Onlookers can stand at the curb to watch, or they can have a seat at an open-air restaurant nearby. It’s a great promotional idea and is fun to watch.

I’ve always thought of the longhorns as being brown in color, but that’s a mistake. They come in many colors, even white with black spots. Every one is different.

An interesting static display of a cattle drive can be seen in Dallas. There are several bronze statues of longhorns coming off a knoll and crossing a water feature. The cattle are 25% larger than life size and are tended by a bronze cowboy on horseback. These bronzes can be seen at Pioneer Plaza in Dallas. Another interesting feature there are bronze plaques embedded in the sidewall featuring the trail brands of the men who bossed the trail drives back in the old days.

Dave Thomas

2/12/2026

At the time, I was an AT3. That’s an Aviation Electronic Technician Third Class. That’s pay grade E4. I was attached to Patrol Squadron Forty-Eight, VP48, and stationed at North Island Naval Air Station in Coronado, California.

There were normally only 2 squadrons of seaplanes at North Island. That made a total of 24 seaplanes there.  I had been checking out the electronics on my plane but had knocked off for lunch and was heading for the hanger where I would be brown bagging it. I was walking down an aisle or lane between two rows of airplanes that were facing each other across this aisle. The aisle was probably 130 or 140 feet wide so as to accommodate a seaplane with 110-foot wingspan being towed through.

 I was walking for a few feet behind a 2^nd Class mechanic that I knew but didn’t care for. I noticed a dog trotting on a line that would intercept us. The dog looked like a pointer but also looked like he was starving as his ribs were showing. The dog trotted up abreast of the 2^nd Class who immediately kicked it. The dog yelped and went down though scrambling to try and regain his balance. I saw red, and, without thinking, advanced a couple of steps and booted that guy square in the ass. He went to his knees but jumped up swearing about all the things he was going to do to me. I told him that if he wanted to kick me like he kicked the dog, he should go for it. He changed his tune and said he would “write me up.” Writing me up would mean a Captain’s Mast which is like a trial with the Skipper for a judge. My record was clean, and I couldn’t afford any bad marks or judgements against me. It could cost me a stripe or a chance to advance to the next pay grade. That worried me.

I spent the next couple of days worrying about the guy writing me up. Fortunately, nothing came of it. I sure learned a lesson about taking action without giving some thought to the consequences.

Dave Thomas

02/05/2026

During the summer of 1953, I was working at Howard Motor, the Chevrolet and Buick dealer in my hometown, Augusta, Kansas. I was just a high school kid trying to make and save a buck so I could buy a car the following year.

1953 was a big year for Buick in that it was the company’s 50^th anniversary. To celebrate they had come up with design changes to enhance both the looks and performance of their cars. One large change was the creation of a two-door hardtop model which, I believe, was the first car known as the Riviera. One distinction was the paint job. The tops of the cars were painted an ivory color, and the bottoms were bright and sassy.

One of the first proud owners in our town was Junior Ewart. I don’t remember Junior’s real first name, but he always went by “Junior” anyhow. I can tell you that Junior was married to Connie Howard, the daughter of Ray Howard who owned the Buick dealership. Junior’s new Buick was the sharpest car in town. It was painted ivory on top and fire engine red on the bottom. Wow!

One day, I was washing a car on the wash rack which was near the back of the garage when I heard Service Manager, Kenneth Markley, call my name. I came out of the wash rack and saw Kenny beckoning me to the front of the shop.  Just inside the front door, I saw Junior Ewart’s car surrounded by a bunch of guys. Kenny was standing with Junior and Ray Howard, and, along with them, were the Body Shop Foreman and an insurance guy.  When I got there, I was told the shop had brought them together. Junior had gone to the golf course that morning and, upon arrival, had parked by a fence. While Junior was playing golf, a city employee was spray painting that fence with silver paint. Naturally, there was a breeze which resulted in Junior’s car having a serious case of the silver measles. There were hundreds-if not thousands- of little silver specks all over the car. Junior probably cried a little before coming to the shop for help. This group of guys was trying to decide the best way to take care of the problem. The insurance guy didn’t want to spend much for a new paint job. The Body Shop foreman warned that a repair never looks as good as a factory job. Ray was there as kind of a final authority, and Junior just wanted his pretty car back.

I had been detailing cars on our used car lot and was waxing for customers. I had become pretty good at it.  Kenny asked me if I could take care of the problem without hurting the paint job. I knew you couldn’t buff those silver spots away without thinning the paint job. I didn’t want to hurt the paint, so I decided to experiment with some of my skills on the windshield and chrome. Using my thumbnail, I found that I could cause the specks to pop off with very little effort. I told the group I could remove the silver spots and then wax the car by hand rather than buffing, and there would be no damage. After a discussion, Kenny told me that I had the job and wouldn’t be working on anything else until it was done.

I went to the drugstore and bought a pack of single-edged razor blades and then got to work. The razor blades were perfect. You could slip the blade under the edge of the spot, and it would pop right off without leaving a mark. This was the good news. The bad news was that there were ten jillion of the little devils.

I tore into it, and in two days had all the spots removed. The third day, I waxed the car by hand. A few times, I found some of those little specks that I had missed. The end result was that the beautiful fire-engine red was restored.

Everyone was happy and made it a point to tell me so and shake my hand. I ended up with a lot of brownie points and a $35 bonus as well as my regular wages.

Dave Thomas

1/29/2026

This year we will celebrate the 250^th anniversary of the founding of our country. This has been a sorrowful year for our democracy, and it got me to thinking of some of the trials and tribulations our nation has faced. In my thinking, I finally got to WWII and the Greatest Generation. Everyone gave support to the war effort, and, for many, that included their children. I was only five when the war started and almost nine when it ended, but I knew many friends and neighbors and townspeople who had sent their sons to war.

We lived at 19 Cliff Drive in Augusta, Kansas in our small town of 5,000 folks. Two doors south of us lived Harold and Martha Guest. Martha, who was known as “Mattie,” was the sister of my great aunt by marriage, Rachel (Wright)Peebler. Rachel was the wife of my uncle, Dave Peebler, and the two ladies were sisters of Johnny Wright.

Harold and Mattie certainly contributed to the war effort. Their son, Ed, went to the army, and their sons Bill and Jack went into the Navy. Their daughter, Jean, was going with a man named Wayne Porter who was in the Army, and their daughter, Jane, was going with Charlie Fennell who was in the Air Force. When Harold and Mattie or the girls received mail, the whole neighborhood knew due to the whoops and hollers emanating from their house.

Fortunately, all of the guys made it home after the war. I don’t remember what the other guys did, but Jack, who had quit high school to enlist, reentered Augusta High to finish up and get his degree. Jack was more interested in chasing girls and having fun than going to school. Everyone left for work before Jack had to get up, so I was hired as a “waker-upper” to go to the house and wake him up and to stay and nag him until he finally got up.

In later years, Harold, Mattie, Ed, Jack, and Wayne all moved to Los Angeles where the guys helped to build the massive 405 freeway.

This was a family that gave big in both war and peace.

Dave Thomas

1/22/2026

Ring-A-Ding-Ding

We didn’t have a telephone when I was growing up. While visiting friends and relatives, I was able to learn the protocols such as party lines, long distance, Information, and generally how you should conduct yourself. My small hometown, Augusta, Kansas, was probably considered as having a very small telephone system. Reading the newspaper ads, I learned that McDuffee’s Service Station was telephone number “2.” The Augusta Theater, I believe, was number “6,” and Howard Motors was “66.” My great uncle, Dave Peebler, was “413.” That should give you an idea of the system size. We had good neighbors who would take calls for Mom or Dad and come over to the house and get them.

When I was 10 or 12, the Gardner family had rented the house to the south of us. Billy and I played together every day and when we heard that you couple make a phone line with a couple of tin cans and some string or cord, we couldn’t wait to try it out. There was only about 20 feet between houses, and our bedrooms faced each other, so it was simple to string a line across. We had quite a time with our telephone. I’m not sure if the thing worked, or if we just heard each other shouting back and forth.

In March of 1957, I enlisted in the Navy. Three months later, coming home for leave after boot camp, I learned that my folks had both a telephone and a television. I guess that once you are rid of the person eating you out of house and home, you can afford the finer things.

In the 1970’s or 1980’s, remote telephones were designed and became popular. We had one. I was working for a company that designed and sold remote phones. Our company’s receptionist sat just inside the front door. A tech would place a base station on a small table near the girl. The remote phones were guaranteed to work up to 200 feet. It so happened that there was a telephone pole exactly 200 feet from the front door. The technician would lean on the telephone pole, and he and the receptionist would take turns making and receiving calls to see if the phone worked. It always looked like they were killing time, but they were actually doing a final test.

I don’t have a cell phone because I can’t see the apps on an Iphone. I have macular degeneration and am legally blind. I should explain that I have enough vision that with the help of a digital magnifier, I can handwrite these stories, and my daughter, Terri, types them and posts them to the blog. Cell phones connect you to the world. They can keep you in touch with your friends and relatives. When my wife, Pat, is talking on the phone and laughing, I know that everyone is all right.

I’m ending the way I started- with no phone. That’s the way it goes.

Dave Thomas

1/15/2026

It was a warm summer afternoon in our hometown of Augusta, Kansas. Jack Watson and I were standing on the steel bridge at the southeast edge of town. This bridge over the Walnut River was pretty high, maybe 20 feet above the water. On the upriver side of the bridge was a small dam with a notch in its cap that let the river spill into the pool beneath it. The area beneath the bridge and for a few yards downstream seemed to be a breeding ground for snapping turtles as we never failed to see some of them when they surfaced along the edges. If we were able to pot one of them and then get it out of the water, we would take it over to a nearby farm and give it to a lady who lived there. She had a bunch of kids and would cook up a turtle feast for them. A couple of times, she shared a cooked piece with us. Yes, it tastes just like chicken.

On the downriver side of the bridge, there was a patch of land that was part of Glen  Lietzke’s farm. Jack and I, with our .22 rifles in hand, were watching for snapping turtles when we saw movement in the weeds on the Lietzke property. As we watched, two feral cats came slinking out of the weeds and went to the water’s edge. Without hesitation, they stepped into the water and began swimming across the river. We were both floored! Whoever heard of a cat swimming? We watched in amazement as they expertly swam across the river. When they got to the other side, they shook themselves off and entered a gulley that took them up the bank. This had all been done in a calm and direct manner as if it happened every day. We had certainly learned something about a cat’s will to adapt and survive.

Dave Thomas

12/31/2025