David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Life's "Oh WOW" Moments

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Life's "Oh WOW" Moments: “Oh WOW!” The exclamation I named this blog doesn’t relate to my drawing of the 4 th Street Elevator in Dubuque, Iowa. While...

Life's "Oh WOW" Moments

“Oh WOW!”

The exclamation I named this blog doesn’t relate to my drawing of the 4^th Street Elevator in Dubuque, Iowa. While I have never forgotten my roots and enjoy drawing scenes from my hometown, I refer the “Oh WOW” to moments I stepped through opened doors and my life changed.

Years ago I gave speeches on health-related topics across the country. At that time I was a physical therapist and ergonomist. I taught others from the front of many a conference room up on a stage wearing my suit. Being a member of the Central Florida and National Speakers Associations, my public speaking skills became honed. In the early 1990’s I started writing cowboy poetry. It was Christmas in 1994 that the president of our speakers group suggested we entertain ourselves by appearing before fellow members and do something we don’t normally do on the speaking stage. The venue was our Christmas party.

When the crowd almost fell out of their seats with laughter, I knew right then and there it was an “Oh Wow” moment. I replaced my suit with spurs, chaps, cowboy hat and boots. Nearly twenty-five years later I am still performing my Cowboy Comedy Show across America. I was honored when the Governor and General Assembly designated me as the first-ever “Cowboy Poet Laureate of Tennessee.”

The touch on my forearm decades past snaps back in my mind like it happened seconds ago. It also was an “Oh WOW” moment. The respected newspaper editor was my patient. While she rested on the treatment mat, I shared another funny life story with her and was about to walk away.

She grabbed my right forearm and looked me in the eye. “David, you have to write a book one day. You are an excellent storyteller. Make sure you share those with others and write that book.”

I wish Dell Lockwood sat next to me right now. I suspect she’d smile when I told her I was a national storyteller and an author of many books and have won national awards for my short stories and my poems.

A little over a year ago I was flipping from one video to another on You Tube and stopped to watch an artist draw a tree with a pencil. I was mesmerized and intrigued watching him draw. I followed along and became hooked. That too was an “OH WOW” moment in life for me. Several months later, I now have two books of art and have begun teaching others how to draw. I enjoy sharing my passions with others. I sell my prints and book on my web site.

Everyone has a talent and a gift. Not everyone listens when the door of opportunity in life opens. Discovering a new hobby is like Marco Polo stepping on to another ship to explore new adventures. I challenge you to listen to that inner voice and feel the “Oh WOW” rush over you like a waterfall. You will know it when it happens. And you will smile if you step through that open door.

www.davidnelsonauthor.com

www.cowboycomedyshow.com

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet Laureate | "If The Hlls Could Talk" Christmas Fruitcake: To Eat or Not To Eat

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Christmas Fruitcake: To Eat or Not To Eat: The following is one story from my book, "If The Hills Could Talk" www.davidnelsonauthor.com The Christmas Fruitcake I...

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet Laureate | "If The Hlls Could Talk" Christmas Fruitcake: To Eat or Not To Eat

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Christmas Fruitcake: To Eat or Not To Eat: The following is one story from my book, "If The Hills Could Talk" www.davidnelsonauthor.com The Christmas Fruitcake I...

Christmas Fruitcake: To Eat or Not To Eat

The following is one story from my book, "If The Hills Could Talk" www.davidnelsonauthor.com

The Christmas Fruitcake

I like all kinds of traditions. I especially like the Christmas tradition of standing in long lines at the post office to mail packages that have a high probability of getting delivered six months later. The term Postal Service is an oxymoron. I like watching television reports of people standing in long lines outside closed stores, in the middle of the night waiting for the store to open. I enjoy the news showing the rush of people fighting, punching, and kicking to buy some toy that the media convinced us we should own. I wonder if that’s what is meant by tidings of good cheer? One tradition I don’t like is paying off my credit card in January.

I like food and I like to eat. I like the tradition of preparing treats that are only made at Christmas. It’s fun to re-invent the learning curve because I forgot how to make an item during the past year. It’s also fun to learn the same thing new each December. I think that might be one definition of insanity. The added holiday stress is something my Type A personality enjoys. So does my pharmacist because I have to load up on anxiety medications. My heritage is German and Norwegian. We talk a little funny but we enjoy our Christmas foods.

Each year at Christmas my family makes potato bread and a cookie. The bread is called lefse. It’s a large round flat piece of dough. It’s warmed in the oven, covered with butter, rolled up and vigorously chewed with every bit of jaw strength one can muster. And that’s just to bite off a piece. The Norse god, Odin, first had it served to the souls of slain warriors because it would last an eternity. My brother, Richard calls it reindeer hide. He doesn’t like the stuff. But he’s not much of a traditionalist. Lefse is a Norwegian version of beef jerky. It can last forever. Krumkake is a Norwegian waffle cookie that takes a long time to make. Each cookie is made by hand one at a time. The first bite crumbles the cookie into hundreds of tiny pieces. As a kid I always liked watching adults make a mess. Uff-Dah!

There is one tradition I do not like - that is the re-appearance each December of fruitcake, the most disgusting food item ever created. Fruitcake was discovered by accident by a Greek fella named Imus Disgustus.

He was sitting around one day fully crocked on some fermented apple juice and felt creative. You probably don’t know this, but he was the first person the see a chicken lay an egg. There he was, soused to the gills and saw what appeared to be a white oval-shaped thing fall from what he thought was the chicken’s butt. He scratched his head and pondered. “Hey, we can crack that thing open and eat it.”

Later that day, ole Imus was out of his happy juice and was scrounging around his bachelor pad trying to find more alcohol of any type. All he could find was dried up raisins, hardened cranberries, crusty blueberries, chunks of cherries, fermented figs, dehydrated apricots and he finally came upon some brandy. He thought he’d have some fun.

He decided to cook something during his drunken stupor. He mixed the five-year old, dried up ingredients with some flour, sugar, baking powder, allspice and baking soda. He tipped some brandy into the mess for good measure. And presto! He created the first fruitcake. The year was 1170 AD. There are still edible pieces of his original cake displayed in Athens at the Martha Stewart Museum for Aged Products.

I got to thinking. Who in the world should be given this disgusting, vile, repulsive food as a holiday tradition? Politicians. Politicians should be given fruitcake. The descriptions of the food and the profession are the same. An added benefit might be their inability to swallow and thus hinder their ability to talk. We could all prosper from that. When a politician isn’t talking, there are no lies being told.

I think we should give one to our judges each December. Surely, they would write a court order of protection that no normal citizen could be within a half-mile of fruitcake. Those folks waiting in lines in the middle of the night at closed stores would be exempt from that order because they are not normal anyway. Plus the name itself pretty much describes these folks – fruitcakes.

I gave a loaf to my neighbor last year. He owned a dog that barked constantly. The neighbor fella must not have liked my fruitcake. I saw the fruitcake thrown out into his back yard. He probably figured the dog would eat it. That dog has been trying all year to eat and swallow the stuff. Ah-ha. I just noticed there has been no more barking.

Workers in the pharmaceutical industry should be given fruitcake and forced to eat it. The side effects include constipation, upset stomach, difficulty swallowing and nasty residual taste, inability to speak for hours, loss of sex life (because all they are too busy chewing), painful jaws, and seventeen others.

I sent one last Christmas to some prisoners sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. I figured it would take them that length of time to eat my gift. After all, fruitcake does last a lifetime. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

Some dentists set out trays with bite size morsels of fruitcake in their lobbies. This stuff will chip or loosen a perfectly good tooth after just three bites. I figure it’s good for the dental business. But then, maybe some of the dentists just want to use their new reciprocating saws they bought at Home Depot. I found that to be the best tool to cut this stuff into pieces.

There is one time a person should never eat fruitcake. Never attempt to consume this vile concoction if you are scheduled for a colonoscopy in the next six months. The ingredients will still be embedded inside and can appear as radioactive polyps. Then your medical insurance rates will increase because you will have a new diagnosis.

Lastly, I don’t know of a single person who claims to like fruitcake. If I hear of someone who claims to enjoy fruitcake, I can never locate him or her for an interview. Trust me, I have tried. They are nowhere to be found. That’s like the people who were supposedly asked questions in a national survey or a political poll. I’ve lived a long time. I know lots of people and never met a person yet who claims to have been a part of some survey.

If you do ever meet one of those folks, they are probably lying. I’ll bet they will tell you that they like fruitcake also.

Christmas On The Range

David Nelson, Cowboy Poet / Artist & Maggie Tyler Art & Scrapbooking

Artist combines effort with scrapbooking sister

David Nelson, Cowboy Poet / Artist & Maggie Tyler Art & Scrapbooking

Artist combines effort with scrapbooking sister

David Nelson B & W Art

Some of my art. Pieces are for sale soon at my web site. www.davidnelsonauthor.com

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Christmas Tree: To Decorate or Nor to Decorate

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Christmas Tree: To Decorate or Nor to Decorate: “A Christmas Story: To Decorate or Not to Decorate” © I haven’t decided if I will decorate for Christmas this year. Last year on Decemb...

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: HelpingVictims from Gatlinburg / Pigeon Forge F...

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS:


HelpingVictims from Gatlinburg / Pigeon Forge F...: Helping Victims from Gatlinburg / Pigeon Forge Fires Three Stories By David Nelson 12-5-2016 “I want to leave some...

Helping Victims from Gatlinburg / Pigeon Forge Fires

Three Stories

By

David Nelson

12-5-2016

“I want to leave some for the others.”

I imagine there were fifty of us volunteers and probably thirty National Guardsmen who worked non-stop today in Pigeon Forge, TN. We sorted items from hundreds of boxes from at least two semis and many other box loads from people who brought items by car, truck and trailer.

At around 9:30 this morning, a frail, elderly and obviously shy woman stood in the doorway with her hands in the pockets of the heavy, tattered winter coat she wore because misting rain. Another volunteer asked if she needed help. I walked by as the lady straightened the old scarf she wore over her head.

She looked down at the floor. “Yes, I do need a toothbrush and some toothpaste and maybe I could get some soup if it would be OK.”

The volunteer wheeled one of the shopping carts we were using to move the donated items up to the old woman. The two of them somehow managed to maneuver the buggy between five- foot high stacks of boxes scattered around the large auditorium.

Several minutes later, I passed the two of them and noticed one tooth rush, one tube of toothpaste and two cans of soup in her cart.

The old lady looked again at the floor and spoke quietly. “No I don’t want to take any more. I want to leave some for the others.”

The volunteer assured the woman she could take all she wanted. The woman refused, stuffed the items into her large coat pockets and shuffled out the door. I lifted a box of items from under the canopy outside, turned and saw the woman disappear around the corner. I was told she lost everything she had in the fire.

She only took two cans of soup, a toothbrush and toothpaste. I wish I knew her name. My water-filled eyes blinked rapidly at the thought of what many of these people have lost.

“His name is Billy.”

In addition to the semis that were driven from Alabama and Indiana private citizens filled the parking lot of the old theater building. I walked out the door when a young mother carrying a plastic-filled bag with combs, soap and shampoo approached me.

“Excuse me, where can I put these things I bought?”

“I’ll take care of them,” I replied and smiled at the little girl who appeared to be maybe two years old. Next to her was a blond-haired boy who was maybe four years old.

The little boy extended his arm up toward me and I noticed the worn stuffed animal in his tiny grasp. “Here, Sir. His name is Billy. I want to give him to somebody.”

I got down on both knees to look directly into that little boy’s eyes. “You will make some other little boy very happy.”

He handed me that animal and gave me a hug. “Thank you,” he said.

They turned and walked away toward their car. I carried Billy down to the section marked “Children’s Toys” and placed him on top of a large box stuffed with animals. I wiped water from my eye and went back to work.

“Dolly wants to thank all of you for what you are doing.”

In the early afternoon I noticed other volunteers stopped their work and looked off to the far side of the room. I turned to see a handler with a majestic eagle perched on his left arm. Several of us walked over to get a close up view. It was a first for me.

I heard the handler say he was from the eagle sanctuary at Dollywood. He said, “Dolly wants to thank all of you for what you are doing.”

 I followed him outside and he graciously allowed me to have my picture taken with him and the bird. He looked at me and shook his head. “Isn’t it great when Americans come together.”

I nodded and said, “Indeed it is.”

The relief organizers need help seven days a week and I was told the need would be this way for months. The arsonist who started that fire may have taken lives, taken property and taken jobs away, but our spirit is strong and, yes, Americans have come together.