You can’t fudge with this.
She would take a stick of real butter and my mom would smear the grade A butter around in the bottom of her large shallow serving dish. What would happen after cooking up the fudgy mix is pour the thick mixture in to the buttered serving dish, then place in the fridge, and waa laa, chocolate fudge. Chocolate fudge just in time for Christmas.
But wait a minute. First it all started with my youngest sister having to cut marshmallows into three or four pieces. Yes, the same marshmallows one would roast over an open fire. But then came later the mini-marshmallows. Just toss the minis into the boiling chocolate mix and watch it morph into real fudge. It sort of sped up the process. Then came a few Christmases later a big plastic jar of thick gooey marshmallow goo. That really sped up the boiling fudge process.
Again, my mom was making her famous Christmas fudge with walnuts. Something she did either before Thanksgiving or before Christmas. Then several pieces would show up in our Christmas stockings. But now, no one is doing this. Mom, please come back. What did you do with the recipe? Merry Christmas.
My mom and her trendy Xmas trees.
She talked to the trees.
Once we moved east to our new and bigger house in L A County my mom thought it trendy to buy a fake Christmas tree. One wants to follow the trends of course. My mom was a devoted trend follower. Getting most of her inspiration from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue. Never mind just a few short years back she and my dad lived on a forty-acer parched farm in south central Oklahoma just north of the Red River. The trends back then was to switch from wood burning stoves to charcoal. Switch from milking a cow to going into town and buy milk in a quart glass bottle at Mohdells cash and carry. My mom wanted to keep up with the Jones’ who lived just a short mile south down the gravel county road. But certainly not the Jones’ who lived near the Baptist cemetery.
But anyway her first fake tree purchase was an all-white plastic with little green markings giving the impression of being either a flocked evergreen or a white plastic tree with little green markings. But when fully decorated It looked like a fully adorned and lighted plastic tree.
Then her trend following went up a notch. She found an aluminum tree in the shape of a Christmas tree but with funny looking aluminum mushroom shaped on the ends of each fake branch. To me it looked like an exploded box of aluminum foil. However, it really did light up and reflecting all the color lights. Looking like a Las Vegas hotel marquee. . But after others who bought aluminum trees being shocked when either faulty lights were conducted by the metal foil or when people walking on nylon carpet wearing rubber soled shoes and touching the tree would receive a serious electric jolt. Ouch! Safety experts suggested to toss the aluminum tree in the lake for a fish habitat.
Then fake tree manufacturing went up a notch. Looking more and more like real trees. I’m not sure the next tree my mom bought was suppose to be a pine or a spruce. It had long green needles about four or five inches long. I must admit it did look real. But the needles looked much longer than your basic forested tree. The needles looked more like green broom straw. But with that kind of dense needlidge with a dark forest green it would be easy to over decorate. If you know what I mean.
But during the off season all this fakery was kept in boxes in the entry closet. Then come the next Christmas her daughters would pull out all the boxes and start all over again. Merry Christmas.
The Freshman 24/7.

College Freshmen are the more stupider.
First semester of my freshman year I thought I could juggle two jobs along with the last week of my college classes. I was in the final week before Christmas break December 1962. Our class counselor told me of a seasonal job at the Sears west coast catalogue warehouse. Interestingly enough it was in the warehouse for toys. It would start about 3:30 in the afternoon and end at about 9:00 PM and all-day Saturday. So they called me in.
Then a friend of mine told me of a temporary job at the Post Office which starts about 10:00PM and goes over night. I applied and was also called in.
So that last week of school I would get out of classes about 2:00 in the afternoon then ride with my dad at about 2:30 and he would drop me off at my Sears job on his way to work.
I must admit I missed some of my classes that last week of December school. Then I was scheduled to return back to school and for finals week just after the first of January.
Then so it went. As mentioned, I skipped some morning classes and slept for an hour or so, made some of my late morning classes, came home and rode with my dad to my Sears work. Then I rode along with a couple of girls I knew who were also working at Sears getting off at the same time as me and they dropped me off at the Post Office gate on their way home. Yes! Lots to juggle.
The bottom line I made good Christmas money and bought lots of presents for my family. But when all that was over I returned to class just in time for finals. To say the least I was not completely prepared for taking any tests.
Then as a result of this experience, I kept having reoccurring dreams of showing up for the last day of classes unprepared. Actually it was like a nightmare. Probably dreamed this awful scenario dozens of times. Yes, freshmen guys are most stupid. Is there medication or treatment for this?
Where will I get an Egg McMuffin?
Let’s assume we actually rocket to Mars.
Let’s also assume there is about of hundred of us who came along on this six-month long voyage. We also could easily assume dozens of us could be stuck in the middle seat getting there. Then about half way to Mars they could run out of peanuts and ginger ale. Then about one month out from Mars someone could stupidly set off the smoke alarm in one of the rocket’s lavatories vaping persimmon flavored E-cigarettes.
So when we finally get there where do I go to get my hair cut? Will there be an Apple store with iPhone battery replacements at Mars mall? What about running shoes? Is there a New Balance store nearby? If I happen to fall down on the sandy glass shard Mars surface and open a large wound and it bleeds, where is the closest Urgent Care? What if I lose cell phone service? How do I post on facebook and text my mom? And last of all and most importantly, where is the nearest Starbucks? I gotta have a white Latte every day to get me started.
By the way when is the next rocket scheduled back to mother Earth? What if I forget to bring extra underwear and toothpaste. I would need to get back to Earth right away. What do you mean the Pilgrims never returned back home? I have only a one-way ticket? Darn!
Oh, I love the smell of fresh cut pine.
posted by Chuck Ayers
The perfect tree.
We were living in Sacramento December 1966. Right at the corner of 48th Street and ‘P’ Street in a duplex with a fire place. Perfect for Santa to shimmy down.
Wife and I were about less than a half mile off US-50. A most narrow four lane street. Go west for about 50-miles and you will cross the Bay Bridge into San Francisco. Go east and you will end up in the Sierra foothills just past Pollick Pines. .
On this particular day we were headed up the foothills and looking for a tree farm. A tree farm looking for the perfect shaped Christmas tree.
As we drove up the Lincoln Highway one could see signs directing passersby to various tree farms. So, just choose one. So we did. We pulled off US-50 headed for a farm whose sign told us to go that way. We came up on to an open area to park our car, then parked, and set off looking for the perfect tree with my trusty hand saw.
Families with excited kids whooping and screaming were all over the farm. “look over here dad or honey come look at this one. “As families were scouting for the right tree, I came up on a tree out in a clearing that couldn’t have had a brighter red arrow pointing down at it indicating this one here Chuck. I couldn’t believe adults and kids were all over the tree farm and not looking at this one tree. I walked all around it. It had a full Christmas tree shape. I thought, not bad. It appeared to be about 7-feet tall, a nice thick base, and dog gone if it weren’t the perfect tree.
So I asked the tree farm guy how much and he said, Seven bucks. Then he told me if I wanted it I were to saw the base at an angle. So I did as he told me and gave him a five and two ones. Carried it over to our car, tied it down, and off we went back to 48th and P. And after carrying into the house we attached a metal stand and started our tree decorating. Don’t you just love the smell of fresh cut pine. Merry Christmas everyone.
Poetry
Full circle.
A poem
By Charles
I am neither indigenous
Nor native of this land.
This land we call Oklahoma.
My forefathers left these low rolling hills
Of parched red dirt.
Way back when
Red dirt bellowed as a streaming river
in the air.
Leaving Forefathers and mothers traveling away from this dry sun burned land and the
Noonday orange sun.
These Pilgrims Voyaged to western panoramas.
Venturing westward towards the Golden State and the great
Fruited Central valley.
Surely riches and treasures
Beyond the purple mountains did lie
For my exploring ancestors.
But for me returning to
These red Plaines is best.
Better than being
Homeless in L A.
Copyright, 2023 C. R. Ayers
Book report
Book Report.
First of all and most importantly, I’ll never forgive the now King Charles III for what he did to Princess Diana. But never mind my own opinion. None the less, this is a frank telling by the spare. Not the heir apparent. Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex and grandson number 2 of the late Queen Elizabeth II. Son of the former Prince Charles. And brother to “Prince Willie” as Harry likes to call him. Harry refers to his grandmother and Queen as Granny. His father Charles he calls Pa.
None the less, Prince Harry is constantly troubled with the forever spying eye of the media and press. According to Harry printing lie after lie. Prince ‘Willie’ and KC3 do not seem to be bothered with the tabloid stories printed about Harry and his new wife. No matter where Harry travels domestically or abroad, flying helicopters or moving about town he can look over his shoulders and see a half dozen bumptious camera carrying media mongers. Harry was somewhat reluctant to establish romantic relationships in fear she too will be hounded by the prattling press. Although it would be most difficult to do, Harry want a quiet private life.
The book titled: Spare by Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex. Biography, bestseller 2023.
Library of Congress annotation:“It was one of the most searing images of the twentieth century: two young boys, two princes, walking behind their mother’s coffin as the world watched in sorrow—and horror. As Princess Diana was laid to rest, billions wondered what Prince William and Prince Harry must be thinking and feeling—and how their lives would play out from that point on. For Harry, this is that story at last. Before losing his mother, twelve-year-old Prince Harry was known as the carefree one, the happy-go-lucky Spare to the more serious Heir. Grief changed everything. He struggled at school, struggled with anger, with loneliness—and, because he blamed the press for his mother’s death, he struggled to accept life in the spotlight. At twenty-one, he joined the British Army. The discipline gave him structure, and two combat tours made him a hero at home. But he soon felt more lost than ever, suffering from post-traumatic stress and prone to crippling panic attacks. Above all, he couldn’t find true love. Then he met Meghan. The world was swept away by the couple’s cinematic romance and rejoiced in their fairy-tale wedding. But from the beginning, Harry and Meghan were preyed upon by the press, subjected to waves of abuse, racism, and lies. Watching his wife suffer, their safety and mental health at risk, Harry saw no other way to prevent the tragedy of history repeating itself but to flee his mother country. Over the centuries, leaving the Royal Family was an act few had dared. The last to try, in fact, had been his mother. For the first time, Prince Harry tells his own story, chronicling his journey with raw, unflinching honesty. A landmark publication, Spare is full of insight, revelation, self-examination, and hard-won wisdom about the eternal power of love over grief.”
If you find the audiobook, Prince Harry is the reader. And I must admit he does a very good job of narrating the book. Read it. You’ll like it. Romance is included in this biography. Includes some strong language.
He will do anything for popcorn.
Then there was Rickles another Yellow Lab.
A dog who wrote the book on pleasing. He loved to please most anyone in his presents. He would do almost anything to get a scratch behind the ear. But he would fall to the ground to keep from getting his ears swabbed out. He couldn’t flatten out on the floor any flatter to avoid a cotton swab screwing into his ear. “Please please not me”
Rickles and I walked the central California coast beaches. Also the central coast of Oregon. The southern coast of Maine.
He and I flew from Chicago to L A. From Dallas/Fort Worth to Portland, Oregon. Flew from Los Angeles to Tulsa and back many times over. We rode by car to Iowa. From Iowa to York Maine. Maine to Oklahoma. We rode from Tulsa to Santa Fe many times back and forth. He was a traveling dog.
Now, Rickles was a keen observer. If I’d reach in to the cabinet in our kitchen and pulled out a microwave pack of popcorn, Rickles would be standing on my foot staring straight up with begging eyes. He knew what was about to happen. I often pop up some popcorn and retreat to the sofa in the TV room and watch the nightly news. And of course, Rickles would be right in my face. So I would toss in a popped corn right in his mouth. I would toss one up in the air and Rickles would jump to grab it. If I hesitated Rickles would poke his very big and wet nose on my elbow. “Oh sir, it’s me. The popcorn dog.
I would have to admit Rickles was the best and most loyal dog I had ever partnered up with.
Only if they could have clone Rickles. He was the best.
Training for a career change.
Then there was Darber.
Yes, Darber was my second guide dog’s name. The guide dog school sometimes used the last name of a significant donors last name. Not sure though.
Darber was a Yellow Lab and Golden mix. Or as they call it a ‘cross.’ I could only guess to get the best of both breeds.
When a guide dog user goes back to the dog school, time spent training is shortened by a week or two. So you get your dog, train for about two weeks, and quickly leave. No time to think about it.
A week or two after returning home I could sense Darber might have his own agenda. There was this certain stubbornness. We would normally walk around the block two or three times. Darber insisted to return to the house after one round. He wanted to turn in to the front walk way and I wanted to go another round or two. To say there was lots of leash correction. Meaning a quick jerk on his chain collar. But Darber would hold in place. Never mind I told him ‘forward’ many times. But to get him acclimated to what needs to be done, I too held in place and insisted he continue on walking another round. And the conflicts continued.
One early afternoon I was making lunch for myself. A nice smoked turkey dagwood sandwich, placed on a plate, and sat it on the kitchen table. Then the phone rang so I answered the call. By the time I finished the call I stepped back to the table to notice my lovely multi-layered sandwich was missing. So a dog was missing as well. It didn’t take much to surmise what happened. There after I had to pay closer attention to where Darber was and limit his access to any food on the table.
Then there were many times I had to shoo him off the sofa. I could only assume his puppy raiser allowed such a thing. Then there was the time he was left outside. And outside against his will. So Darber came trotting in to the kitchen. I’m certain I left him outside. I walked to the back bedroom and discovered a large opening in the window screen. Ripped open by a dog needing to be inside.
Then after several other misadventures, I thought Darber needed a ‘career change.’ Yes, this is an official designation.
So after about two years of some difficulties, I contacted the guide dog school and made arrangements to train with a new dog.
Now, for real Darber did go through a career change. Darber started going with a teacher friend to her school with the official title as ‘therapy dog.’ His main job was to bring calm and smiles from the high school kids. Which did work. Darber was living with my oldest daughter and she would bring Darber to the school on her way to work. Kids would fuss over who would go out to my daughter’s car to escort Darber into the school. He was so loved Darber had two full pages of his photos in the school’s year book. Plus some of the seniors wanted to walk with Darber at graduation.
Then something bad happened. Darber at about age 7 or 8 fell ill and shortly died. Died even after a friend prayed over him. Not sure what he died from. Kids were most distraught. None the less, Darber did serve as Therapy Dog for about two or three years. So, in the mean time I went back to the dog guide school for training and a new guide dog.
He was not a chocolate Lab.
They were all Labs.
I was partnered up with three different guide dogs. All were yellow labs. Most were just about blond or creamy white. But boy could they shed.
My first guide was named Axle. He was about 20 or 21 months when I started working with him. He was trained first by a little 4-H girl who worked in a group of 4-Hers. They all worked on obedience training. Sit, stay, down, etc. Then after eight or ten months the dogs were sent back to the guide dog school in San Rafael for advanced guide training.
One thing for certain they did NOT train them to eat chocolate candy. Supposedly chocolate is almost like poison for most dogs. Can quickly empty out their stomachs.
Never the less, on one occasion we visiting my folks in southern California. Axle was left in a back bedroom with our luggage. Luggage we thought was locked. In one small suitcase was a fully wrapped one pound box of See’s candy. One pound of “Nuts and Chews.” My favorite.
Axle’s nose was telling him there is something most delicious in one of those flight bags.
But to make a long story a bit shorter, when we got back from a short trip to somewhere, we walked in the back bedroom. So the one luggage bag fully open, the one-pound box of See’s was completely unwrapped, and every morsel was eaten. Gone. Eaten by a pooch who pretended to not know what was going on. ‘Oh hey, what happened here,’ he might had thought.
But anyway, that evening and as usual Axle was asleep on the floor by my bed. Then suddenly and about 2-AM Axle nudged my elbow with his very wet nose. At that moment and after collecting my thoughts, I knew what that wet nose meant.
I leashed him up and quickly took Axle out the back door and out on the nearby grass and let him go. And go he went. Woosh. It all came out. Like an open faucet flowing used chocolate. It was not a pretty sight. Never mind the smell.
Chuck the Blogger Guy 