David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: If I Had A Hammer

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: If I Had A Hammer: If I Had a Hammer Peter, Paul and Mary recorded “If I Had A Hammer” in 1962. The song was originally written in 1949. It was a catchy t...

If I Had A Hammer

If I Had a Hammer

Peter, Paul and Mary recorded “If I Had A Hammer” in 1962. The song was originally written in 1949. It was a catchy tune to a thirteen-year old kid that year. I enjoyed that song. Little did I know that years later my life motto would have the same theme.

If I had a hammer, I’d clobber anything mechanical that fell apart. Yep, that’s my answer to stuff that breaks. I have no ability to repair anything. I don’t know the difference between a ball-peen and claw hammer nor a regular and phillip’s head screwdriver. When I need help I call a “pro” if the item is expensive. If the item is a piece of cheap crap, well I go get a hammer. Which one I use to destroy it, makes no difference to me.

The following short story is a true one. It’s about my lack of patience, prowess and power to accomplish a simple task. I assembled a metal storage shed. The story is from my book PALS: Part Two and can be found at Amazon or my website www.davidnelsonauthor.com

“The Open Door Policy” ©

“Whoosh” went the air brakes from the semi tractor-trailer that was now parked in front of my house. I saw the driver walk towards my front door. Oh boy, I was excited. He was from Roadway Express and here to deliver my metal shed. A shed I intended to put to good use as storage in the pool area. But first I had to put it together.

“Where do you want this thing?” the driver asked.

I walked a fast pace in front of him, and pointed. “ Here, I’ll show you. Can you get it up here under the carport?”

He scratched his head and looked puzzled. “There’s no way my forklift will make it under here. But I’ll try to get it as close as I can.”

And the next thing I knew, the noise of the forklift starting, the loud tailgate dropping, and the racket from him loading my shed, brought out a couple neighbors and then kids on bicycles. Cars were lined up behind the semi because there was not enough room to pass. I just realized that it was 5:30 P.M. and the neighbors were coming home from work.

I felt the heavy thud on the cement as he dropped the back half of the palate and shed. The closest he could get to being under my carport was halfway. I signed the papers and turned to look at what lay in front of me. Cautious optimism fell over me and I swallowed a big gulp. I can do this thing, I said to myself. How difficult can it be?

Having been out of graduate school for three years, my thinking was still in the scientific mode. I learned to think that way because of my didactic training. I took the 147-page manual into the house, sat at the table, and began using my yellow highlighter leftover from my biostatistics class.

The first step was to take an inventory. Great. I thought. That makes perfect sense. That is logical. I could not contain my excitement, and after I finished supper, I decided to start my new project. It was only after I headed out the door that I remembered it was 7:10 P.M.

Earlier, I had skimmed the first forty-three pages of the manual and my highlighter was dry from everything I’d underlined. But that didn’t matter because the seven pages of inventory were cut and dried. Any idiot could follow those directions. Using a steak knife I sliced into the taped carton on all sides. I lifted the five-foot by seven-foot cover off and set it out of my way on the far side of the carport. That cover reminded me of a larger version of the donut boxes outside The Milk House in Dubuque. Those stolen donuts sure tasted great.

I turned on the porch lights and found the bags of screws, nuts, bolts, washers, miscellaneous parts, and unknown plastic pieces. I squatted with both knees bent, tightened my stomach, and lifted the first thirty-pound bag of fasteners out of the box. The second bag was not nearly as heavy.

I used the lid for a collection surface for all the pieces. I marked each lettered item on the lid and then placed the corresponding pieces next to it. I placed a check mark by each item in the manual. I was up to the stock letters AAAA when I finished inventorying the first bag. Thankfully, I had a piece of plywood leaning against the pool fence. I lugged the sap-soaked board under the carport to use as a collection surface for the second bag of fasteners. Weeks before I learned how well gasoline removes tree sap. After washing my hands in gas and wiping them dry, I lit a cigar and marveled at the project I would complete in a day. It was now 9:25 P.M.

Heat lightening, I thought as I opened my back door to go inside and get a cold beer. I stood in amazement and gulped a few swigs of beer. I wiped sweat from my face. I had never seen so many pieces to one single unit. And those were just the small pieces. I didn’t inventory the main parts. I used my cap to wipe the sweat from my bald head and went back inside to get a dry cap. The heat lightening continued.

The humidity was so heavy it actually felt moveable, like a person could move it with their hands and arms. Within moments my new cap and my shirt were soaked. Having a second beer and still looking at what lay in front of me, I decided the only thing to do was to attack. Something nudged at me though and I remembered thinking how impressive the frequent heat lightening was that night.

It was about an hour later when the flashlight quit for the first time. I looked everywhere for size D batteries in the house and found none. I found that when I banged the flashlight against the cement it would glow just long enough to find a piece or a part. The process slowed my progress but not my enthusiasm. I was sort-of having fun. I was no longer soaked from the humidity or heat. As a matter of fact, I remembered being somewhat cool from the drop in temperature and slight breeze. That felt nice.

Somewhere around 1 A.M., I felt a little puff of wind. I was reading the manual on or around page seventy-six. I had three sides of the shed assembled. It became quite difficult to balance those sides, hold a broken flashlight and to read instructions at the same time. The wind began to increase and I noticed how the sides made warbling sounds. As the wind increased so did the tin melody. I saw the illumination of a porch light being turned on at one of the neighbor’s houses. And then I realized: I was trapped in a three-sided metal snarl.

I used what little common sense I had and shimmied and shoved the contraption across the driveway. It sure did make a lot of noise scraping against that cement. I made it to the side of the house and propped one end against the house. Two more neighbors’ lights helped illuminate my work area. I went inside and returned with a mop. I used the mop to balance the other sides. The music from the sides whipping in the wind stopped.

When the first pine cone fell, but didn’t hit the ground because of heavy winds, I suspected I could be in trouble. I was reading the manual when I noticed a red stop sign around a boxed-in information piece. It read: ”Caution. Do NOT assemble in High Winds.”

The rains came whipping sideways, pine needles were flying through the air like darts in a tournament, and the entire packing crate was soaked from the downpour. The box top skimmed across the cement like a magic carpet. I chased it down my driveway after tripping on that damn flashlight. All the hardware was scattered throughout the box lid. Most of my lettering was bleeding beyond distinction from the rain.

I pulled the box back under the carport and secured it with the corner of the plywood. In doing so, I slid all the hardware off the wood. I went into the house to make a pot of coffee. It was 1:30 A.M. The storm passed about forty-five minutes later and I was blowing on my cup of coffee looking at the mess. I brought out an extension cord and adapters. I took three table lamps from the living room and plugged them into the outlets. Presto! It looked like Yankee Stadium lit up for a night game. I felt like telling my thoughtful neighbors I didn’t need their lights anymore. There were now five houses lit up and a few dogs barking somewhere.

I re-inventoried the pieces I could find and sat on a lawn chair trying to figure what to do. I analyzed, synthesized, and hypothesized. My next goal was to get that fourth side up and screwed down so the unit was secured. I then noticed a cartoon of someone smiling in the manual.

The caption read: “Congratulations. You have completed Part One. You only have four more parts to go. This should have taken a total of two hours to complete.” It took me eight hours. Eight hours. I am trying to make this story acceptable for all ages – so I will not write what I said. I went to bed. It was 3 A.M.

In our family, whenever we screw something up or go about an activity the wrong way, we refer to that as the Rick Factor. The term is named in honor of my brother Richard. He can go off like a rocket with any mechanical failure or any time things don’t go quite right. One time I saw him throw rocks at his car when it wouldn’t start. I watched him bend the new oven burner in two parts because he could not get it anchored correctly and smacked and cut his head on the oven door. As I lay in bed evaluating the previous eight hours or so, I smiled and called my project the Rick Factor. I promised myself that my next attempt to finish the project would be much better. I drifted off to sleep thinking of that damn flashlight.

7 A.M. came early for me, way too early. I had a fitful four hours of sleep and I dreamt I was on a magic carpet made of cardboard. During the ride, I avoided asteroids that looked like screws, bolts and pinecones. After waking, I made coffee and went back to my project. I stood under the carport evaluating all the pieces remaining to connect while I enjoyed my morning brew. I turned to go back into the house and noticed something odd. I saw five houses with their outside lights still burning. Wasting electricity, I thought.

I scraped the four-walled structure across the cement. It had been propped near the house and I needed it to be in the center of the carport. I heard a dog howl somewhere nearby. There was no wind like last night, so the structure stayed in place. I connected cross-brace AABC to its counterpart on the side at the hole marked JJKY. Using washer NNOP, I balanced the bolt, labeled GOGD and used nut labeled POOP to secure the brace. One down and seven to go, I thought.

A couple hours later I had the bracing complete and was ready for the roof panels. The next and last thing would be the installation of the doors. I noticed quite a bit of fine print on each page, but didn’t slow down to read all of it. I could see where everything was really going and was on a roll now.

It took two more hours before I finished the top and while the doors were confusing, I connected them without difficulty. I remember one place in which there was no hole drilled for my bolt. I almost drilled a new hole, but decided to step back a minute and I’m glad I did. I was trying to put the door on upside down. That would indeed have been a Rick Factor.

Now, I only had three pages left go. I was excited, happy, and having fun – right up to the point where I fell off the ladder and into the metal roof. I had been on the top rung of my ladder anchoring the panels. I had just one more panel to go and it was quite a stretch. I felt the ladder wobbling. I lost my balance and put a huge dent in the left roof panel (item number WWOW) with my elbow.

Now another part of the Rick Factor is the loss of patience when things don’t go quite like they’re supposed to go. We cuss! We throw things! We scream! We may even break stuff. I calmly dropped to the cement, walked into the shed, and with my fist, I hit that roof with all my strength. One factor about metal is that it’s near impossible to return it to its original shape after being bent. I learned that in summer school in physics class.

I climbed back to the top of the ladder and didn’t need to look far to see the damage. That panel had a pretty good-sized bubble projecting out. Ah, nobody will see it anyway, I thought. I covered every nut with special tape on the inside of the shed. This was to keep it from leaking. I was pretty proud of myself and celebrated by getting a beer and lighting a cigar.

Moments later I was blowing smoke rings across the carport and into the shed. I bit down on my cigar with my teeth and stood facing my masterpiece and closed the doors. “Son-of-a-Bitch!” I yelled. The doors did not meet!

 There was a three-inch gap. I bit my cigar in half and kicked the nearly full can of beer onto my plywood work surface. I threw a pair of vice grips, two screwdrivers, and a ratchet into the front yard. I let loose with a litany of cuss words that would have made a sailor blush. Have you ever noticed how many parts there are to a flashlight? I separated all of them with a few direct smashes against the driveway. All of them.

The neighborhood kids who were using my pool at that moment slammed into me, and sprinted out the gate towards their homes. My tantrum must have frightened them. They scattered in different directions like a nest of cockroaches when a light is lit in a dark room. I had forgotten they were using my pool. That same dog from the night before howled from all the commotion coming from under my carport. I yelled, I punched my fists into the air and finally screamed. THAT, my friends, is the Rick Factor!

It was two days later that I was calm enough to re-read the instruction book. I returned to the section about the doors. In the fine print appeared a stop sign logo that mentioned the exact way to connect the door panels. When I attempted to hang the door panel upside down, I had read the identifying letters incorrectly. All the M’s looked like W’s. As fate would have it, the door panel marked W was to be placed on the opposite site.

I gave some kid a dollar to look for tools in my yard while I removed the roof panel tape. Yep, I had to remove the entire roof, change the doors, and re-apply the roof - again. I finished just in time as several of my buddies began to arrive. They came to help carry the storage shed and place it along the fence inside the pool area.

We were all enjoying a beer except for Dan. He had not touched his. He was too busy inspecting the shed. He laughed. “Hey, Nelson why is there a bubble in the roof? Does that have something to do with physics also?”

https://youtu.be/ZqJ8uShcMt8

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: An Old Dog & New Tricks

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: An Old Dog & New Tricks: When Was The Last Time You Did Something For The First Time? “Dum loquimur, fugerit invida Aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula p...

An Old Dog & New Tricks

When Was The Last Time You Did Something For The First Time?

“Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
Aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero”

Translates as:

While we're talking, envious time is fleeing: pluck the day, put no trust in the future.

Poet, Horace (65 BC – 8 BC)

Odes Book I

Do you feel trapped, bored or sluggish in life? Do you spend more time thinking about what you can’t do than what you want to do? Do you wonder if this is all life has to offer? Maybe my experiences might offer you some food for thought.

I would challenge you to remember Horace’s advice – time is passing by and there’s no time like the present to seize the day. However, I’d add one more ingredient to the recipe for life – that is passion. For me, it is my passion and my desire to suck the marrow from life. Moments before I die, I might look back with a final fleeting glance and smile. Because, like the song title says, “I Did It My Way.”

My sixty-six years have given me many gifts. One of those gifts is to believe I can accomplish anything I choose. It’s my passion for lifelong learning that provides a sense of self-worth, lessens stress and gives meaning to life. I think a lot about life the older I get. I also think a lot about death. Many friends have died in the recent past. I sometimes wonder if they had any regrets before dying.

I hope I will not have any regrets. My goal is to experience as much as I can because as Horace said the quote above, “…envious time is fleeing.” I try to learn or participate in at least one new activity or hobby a year. Since I retired from a forty-year career as a physical therapist, I’ve been on the attack to experience and learn new activities or hobbies.

After a couple weeks of lessons a few years ago, I learned to play the alto saxophone. I never played an instrument before that time. I can now read notes and often my squawking stirs up the coyotes in the nearby mountains. I didn’t say I was any good. I simply enjoy the fact I learned something new.

Recently, I began learning how to sketch. My wife, “Trixie” complimented me on one of my drawings the other night. She smiled and said, “That’s really nice. What is it?”

“It’s an owl,” was my response. I didn’t say I was any good, you know.

Hobbies help me to develop a sense of pride, accomplishment and discover hidden talents. Since retiring, I have written six books. One of those books will be shopped in Hollywood and New York to hopefully become a movie. Also, there have been songs written about “The Shade Tree Choir.” You can find my work at www.davidnelsonauthor.com

I recently added the adventure of fishing to my checklist. The solitude of a flowing river calms my soul and affords time to think. To catch a fish or not makes no difference to me. I throw them all back into the water anyway.

New hobbies sometimes allow us to forge new friendships. You might enjoy the company of others through writing groups, golf leagues and exercise classes. I go to the gym several times a week and I manage to lose golf balls once a month or so. I’m not so good at golf either.

Some hobbies or activities can provide meaning, fun and joy to your life. Learning to make soap, creating pottery and stained glass artwork were fun. I’ve given away almost all of my creations as gifts. I believe what we give to others - we give to ourselves. It makes me feel good inside to giveaway my hand made items.

The adrenaline rush from possible dangerous situations excites me. I once caught alligators by hand. That account can be read in my book, PALS: Part Two. White water rafting the Gauley River in West Virginia, the Ocoee River in Tennessee and the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon were events I shall always remember. It doesn’t matter our age, I say, “Grab as much as you can from life anytime and anywhere.”

On a more subdued level, I learned how to make necklaces. That was on a beach in Jamaica. I thought they looked pretty good. Several bottles of Red Stripe beer will make anything look good, I guess. I learned to make baskets and a tie-dye shirt in Jamaica also. The baskets, I gave away. I still have the T-shirt. It doesn’t fit. I guess I had too many bottles of Red Stripe over the years.

I went snorkeling at night in Jamaica. That was almost as much fun as hang gliding and flying in an ultra light. I found the hot air balloon ride and parasailing kind of boring. Do you see a picture here? Do you see what I mean by sucking the marrow out of life?

Other hobbies / activities I’ve enjoyed over the years included woodworking, gardening and cooking. Well, cooking is more of a necessity I guess. “Trixie” says if I’m going to be around the house all day while she works I could learn to cook.

I read recently that the National Center for Education Statistics reported 43% of men and 49% of women participate in some sort of lifelong learning process. As a former physical therapist I understand there are certain physiological benefits to leisure activities, exercise and hobbies. Some of these include: Reduced stress, lower blood pressure, lower glucose levels, reduced depression, better sleep patterns, improved flexibility and reduced risk of a fall. Exercise can reduce the build-up of cortisol (a chemical responsible for inflammation in our arteries), improve circulation and develop greater lung capacity. I believe learning and experiencing new adventures keeps our minds sharp and our bodies in better shape. I need help with both of these.

Listen to the creaking doors in life when they open. Don’t simply peek inside. Kick that door down and jump inside with passion. I did that twice in my life.  

I responded to an ad where two cowboys were riding through three States in five days on horseback. They were going to ride over one hundred miles, sleep on the ground and cover terrain hard and fast like the 1880’s cowboys. During the phone interview I was asked by one of the cowboys, “I assume you know how to ride a horse?”

“Certainly,” I lied.

After I paid my money to the fella and hung up the telephone, I grabbed the phone book. The section marked Horseback Riding Lessons was where I found my instructor. Six weeks later I was in Colorado and seven of us rode into Oklahoma and ended in New Mexico. I’m certain I didn’t have good equitation, but I had a grand time nonetheless.

That event led me to return to their Colorado ranch twice a year for many years and work cattle on horseback. We vaccinated, castrated and branded the heard after rounding them up. Each evening I entered notes in my journal related to my experiences. I created cowboy poems when I returned home. That was the origin of my vocation as a cowboy poet.

I guess you’d say I’m not an ordinary cowboy poet. I am the Cowboy Poet Laureate of Tennessee. Our Governor and the General Assembly gave that honor to me. For over twenty years I have travelled America with my cowboy comedy show making others laugh and ponder about life. I’ve opened on stage for numerous, well-known, international performers. Often, I am the headliner. You can find more information about me on You Tube and at www.cowboycomedyshow.com

Sometimes in life additional doors will open leading to rooms we never knew existed. My work as a cowboy poet recently led me to acting and being an extra on a couple television shows and a movie.

I like the quote attributed to Aristotle when he apparently said, “Memory is the scribe of the soul.” I’ve enjoyed sharing some of my memories with you readers. I hope you would consider finding a new hobby or activity. Your life may change. Mine did.

As for me, I now need to return practicing a song on my saxophone. I plan to record it and have it played at my memorial service. It is titled, I Did It My Way.

Additional Information 

Songs about one of my books:

http://youtu.be/O5I_XS6xb70

http://youtu.be/oQApYp1S9O0

One Minute Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/y3EWghb6qnU

A Cowboy Poem I wrote and performed in Nashville

https://youtu.be/-oM0YpSmHVk