Page 4 - - THE SPECTATOR, Ozark, Ark.

, Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Hit the floor running

by Clydene Overbey Getting out of bed has become more of a problem to me now that Im older. I used to hit the floor running. Now just getting my eyes open is a chore. I awake and lay there with my eyes still closed for a while. My aches start right then. I have to flex my arm, leg, and yes even my brain muscles all the time knowing the actual rising up and moving is going to hurt. I force my eyes to open slowly peering into the room and over to the window. If it is sunshiny I think, Oh, heck, its going to be hot today. If it is cloudy or raining I think, Well, heck I cant go out today so might as well lay back down for a spell. If it is cold I think, Oh my, this bed sure feels warm and comfy. It goes on-and-on that way for a while. Finally I decide Id better just get up and be done with it. I pray and thank God that He has once again awakened me, Im alive and I ask Him to guide my steps today and be by my side. Now I finally sit up and slowly swing my feet over the side of the bed. Now comes another struggle because I know I must put my feet on the floor and actually stand. Oh, grunt, groan, ouch, my this hurts! Next thing is to get my glasses on my eyes so I can see where Im going, get my robe on and stumble out to the kitchen. There I will find my coffee already brewed and ready unless I forgot to turn of how olBuster would have loved to have had lunch with that poodle; it would have been the lunch. Oh well, its dog-eat-dog anyway, but thats just an expression. on the timer the night before. I pour my coffee and head to the bathroom. On the way I might run in to a door or two or step on a doggie toy that protests loudly with a squeak. It is then that I realize I have sometime during my trek indeed again closed my eyes to protest having to wake in the first place. I finally get to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face to assist the waking up. Then I dry my glasses after I discover I forgot to take them off before splashing the water on my face. I sit down on the toilet lid because I forgot to raise it. Once more I arise, put my teeth in my mouth, run my hands through my hair and go back to the bedroom to retrieve my house slippers that I forgot to put on before. I stand looking lovingly down at the bed and contemplate crawling back in for a short nap. When the wisdom of not doing that finally hits my blurry brain I go on and get a new day started finally. In my younger days I would have already been dressed and about my business by now. Good grief! Hebrews 11:6 - But without faith [it is] impossible to please [him]: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and [that] he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.

Scouts recognize Gardner

by Mickey Salazar Boy Scout Troop 74 recognizes outgoing Scoutmaster Lee Gardner. Lee has been scoutmaster since January 2001 and has led three Boy Scouts to the rank of Eagle, the highest rank in Boy Scouts. He knows the skills, community service and other requirements needed for scouting and life. Gardner has donated countless hours toward scouting by preparing for meetings, campouts and various scouting tasks. He will quickly tell you he doesnt do it all by himself. Troop 74 Ozark has been blessed by his dedication and leadership; he is a tireless volunteer, always setting the right example. Scout Law: A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. Thank you, Lee.

SUNSET ROTARY ADDS NEW MEMBERS Pictured from left are Ricky Belk of Dyer, Lynn Washington of Altus and Jennifer Ree of Ozark, who were inducted into the Altus Sunset Rotary Club on Jan. 27 by president Laura Rudolph (right). Following the induction, A.C. Moncrief presented a Welcome to Rotary fireside chat explaining the history and mission of Rotary International and highlighting the clubs activities and service projects. The Sunset Club, which meets each Monday evening at The Gathering Place in Altus, now has a membership of 25.

Senior Moments
by Bob and Dorothy Rattan

(Years Gone By) Where are all the dogs? I grew up in a community that consisted of middle class, blue collar, hardworking Americans. Most of the neighborhood had moved to Salinas, Calif., during the Great Depression days from Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas. It didnt really matter which state you came from we were all called, Okies. This gave us all a common bond and nearly all our folks worked in the lettuce sheds. We all lived in modest and affordable wood frame houses, fairly close together. The neighborhood was serviced by a school, a couple of small grocery and variety stores and scores of kids and dogs. In the evening hours, right after supper, the area came alive with kids playing in the streets and on vacant lots. There was no TV back then, so we all played outside until dark and then some. In those days everyone had dogs and they all ran loose. I am glad for the leash laws of today, but sometimes I miss seeing all those free-spirited dogs. Most of the dogs around there were just mutts or better known as the Heinz

57 or Traveling Salesman variety. No one could afford a pure bred with a pedigree and if they could they would never expose it to the riffraff in the streets; it wouldnt survive anyway. I learned a lot about dogs when they were running loose. For example they are creatures of habit. They knocked over the same garbage cans every night, all of them visited the same lawns and left their opinion of the world in general in the middle of it; then scratched the grass as an encore. A rule of the day was never mow the lawn without inspecting it first. The problem was what to do with the waste? The garbage men didnt appreciate it; it probably was produced by the neighbors dog, but he didnt want it back, so just scoop it up and sling it on the nearest vacant lot. Every neighborhood had a bully and ours was Junior Caves. Junior was in his third year of the eighth grade. We all thought he was retarded, but the adults just said he was slow. Junior wore his head shaved most of the time and was bigger than most of our dads. He always had his dog, Buster, with him. We didnt

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know what a pit bull was then, but as I look back I think Buster was a cross between a pit bull and a turpentined bobcat. Junior and Buster owned the ground they walked on. We used to hide behind buildings and tease Junior and throw a rock or two at him. He taught us some facts of life, how unbelievably fast a big person can run and the fear of doom just before he caught you. I miss all those dog fights too. You could hear them and then run to them to see who won. We always hoped our dog never was foolish enough to challenge Buster. Our nightly music was dogs barking messages to each other. I always wondered how a female longing for love and companionship could attract so many suitors, then seeing there were too many; try to run away from all of them. It seems there was an older lady who was disturbed with this entourage of hopefuls tearing up her flowerbed while in hot pursuit and fights, so she called the pound to complain. The pound master asked her how many dogs are in her yard. She counted 10 total; he then asked, Are they mad? she promptly answered, Well, eight of them are. As the neighborhoods prospered and improved, so did our way of life. Now the kids on the block hardly know each other and the dogs are more dignified and most have moved into the house to live. One advantage the neighborhood mutt had is he never knew the word neuter or what it meant. He entered the pound a full male and was bailed out intact or went underground that way. Every time I drive through one of those fancy high-class subdivisions and see a couple out walking, dressed in matching shorts with a prancing little poodle on a leash and the man carrying a plastic bag with a garden scoop, I think

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