Thanksgiving 2025

It has been a quiet day here at Casa Kumpe in Broken Arrow, used to be USA now Muscogee Creek Nation, Indian Territory of Oklahoma.  Ironic how history keeps repeating itself.  Thank you SCOTUS for setting progress back a hundred and fifty years.

Sheila and I's holiday meal was almost exactly the same as the ones I remember growing up on the farm.  Just the immediate family.  No crowds, no noise, no hullabaloo.  When I was  young we were so poor that the food was far simpler than what was on our table today but nevertheless the atmosphere was the same.  It is good to spend time with those close to you.

We are not doing the major production we did in years past.  It's a waste to cook that
much food for two people. We had a small roast turkey breast, mashed potatoes (frozen), stuffing (out of a box), green bean casserole (dump two cans and add toppings), rolls (brown and serve), apple pie (Walmart) and a sugar free pumpkin pie cheesecake (sort of homemade).   It wasn't nearly as good as our scratch made productions but it only took me a couple of hours to prepare.  Sheila is off work for the rest of the week and it will feed us at least that long.  One of our traditions is to eat "Thanksgiving Sandwiches" out of the left overs until we are so sick of them we throw the rest out.

We had a pleasant little dinner with family last night at Charleston's celebrating our grandson Ben's 13th birthday.  Ben and his dad had been at our house earlier in the week and he had already opened his presents from us.  The company at dinner was pleasant but the food (at least Sheila and I's) was rotten.  We both ordered the shrimp scampi.  The pasta was badly over cooked, the sauce was greasy and they were very frugal with the shrimp.  I  make better pasta in the microwave with a cook-in-the-bag retort pack, a few spoons of leftover meat and a jar of sauce.   The only thing that saved the meal was the croissants and cheese toast.  If we hadn't been in a group with someone else paying the check I would have sent it back.  It just wasn't worth disturbing the party over bad pasta.  

Monday and Tuesday were kind of rough days.  A few months ago my Cologuard test came back positive so my GP ordered a colonoscopy.  At my age colonoscopies are not usually ordered unless really necessary because they are considered high risk.  This was confirmed when I got a glance at the scheduling board for the OR where my procedure was performed.  I don't think patients are supposed to see that.  It said "HIGH RISK COLONOSCOPY" in big letters.    I won't burden you with the details of the prep leading up to the procedure other than to say I really don't want to do that again if I don't have to.  The procedure went quite well after a couple of beginning hiccups and the doc's opinion was that nothing serious was found.

The week before, my friend Charles Glenn and I traveled to Tahlequah for our annual firearms re-qualification.  I had gone ten years without having to shoot the thing but CLEET (the Oklahoma state agency responsible for licensing law enforcement and security officers) installed a new computer system that cannot be easily fudged.  The course of fire requires shots from various positions including from the hip, from your weak hand and from cover at ranges from one yard to 25 yards.  Everything is done against a timer.  The average shot time FROM THE DRAW is about a second and half.  72 is a passing score.  Charles and I both scored in the 90's.   Charles' groups were a lot prettier than mine but for this qualification as long the hole is in the kill zone the shot counts.  Charles is a retired Army Master Sergeant who competes regularly in defensive pistol matches.  I shoot once a month because I have to to keep my skills up.  The picture shown is NOT the target I shot the day of the qualification.  It is the same qualification round shot previously in practice.  It's a good enough representation to show what is required.  

I'm sad that the weather has turned so cold that it's no longer comfortable to ride my scooter around the neighborhood.  I've been having great fun with that thing all summer and fall.  It will do pretty close to 30 mph and go way over 20 miles on a charge.  As soon as I got it, I quit driving my car for neighborhood errands, taking it instead on my usual round of stops, Aldi's, Braums, WalMart, Dollar Tree and Reasors.  Until this past week, every afternoon I would take a half hour or so spin around the neighborhood, stopping and talking to neighbors and generally enjoying being out of the house.  I usually let anyone who wants to take it for a quick spin and they all come back saying "I want one of those."   I wouldn't have chosen the color purple but I bought it out of an estate and apparently that was the favorite color of the little lady who owned it.  All of the little silver haired ladies of the neighborhood seem to love the color.  

I'm thankful for the things mentioned above.  I'm thankful for a quiet day with Sheila with good food in a comfortable home.  I'm thankful for a quietish dinner with the small Tulsa family.  I'm thankful for the good results on my medical tests.  I'm thankful for passing my firearms qualification.  And, I'm thankful for my purple scooter (a gift from Sheila) that lets me buzz around the hood shopping, visiting with folks and enjoying the wind on my face.  I've got a lot to be thankful for.    

Veterans Day 2025

I miss my old and dear friend Tom on Veteran's Day.  Tom was a veteran of the little spoken of and almost completely forgotten "Second Korean War" which was overshadowed at the time by events in Viet Nam and at home.  Like many veterans of that era, he served in a very dangerous place where there were no medals and not even an official recognition that a war had been fought.

We had so much and yet so little in common.  Our children grew up together.  We were deacons and lay preachers in the same little circle of churches.  We had a lot of history.  But that was where the similarities ended.  He was Army.  A grunt.  I was Navy.  A highly trained technician.  Tom had no education so speak of.  I have more education than any one man needs.  He was a fruit vendor.   One of the guys that goes house to house, business to business selling fresh fruit.  It was a hard way to make a living and he had a big family.   I was (am?) a lawyer.  I've always dressed pretty well.  Tom's daily uniform was a pair of worn jeans and plaid work shirt of some sort.   He wasn't much of an intellectual but he was a keen student of his Bible.  And he played a wicked game of chess.  In the latter years some of our best hours were spent quietly over a pot of coffee and a chessboard.  He regularly beat me in about forty moves but was always kind and humble about it.  

Every veterans day, Tom would call me up and we would hit the free meal offers at places he couldn't afford otherwise.  We would get in more than one sometimes as many as three meals but especially the Golden Corral dinner buffet.  I hated it but never let him know.  He loved it.  I'm not particularly outgoing.  Tom would strike up conversations with other vets every place we went.  

Last night, I really didn't want to eat out.  It had been a long day and I had already eaten out once.  I would just as soon have had a sandwich on the sofa in front of the TV.  But, thinking of Tom, I called Sheila and had her meet me at the Olive Garden in Broken Arrow where I claimed my free Veteran's Day dinner and we spoke a little bit about Tom.

One of the memories that haunts me on Veteran's Day are the grunts.  I did a tour of duty on a ship that was part of the massive machine feeding infantrymen into the meat grinder of Viet Nam.  Every few weeks we would embark with four hundred or so mostly fresh from boot camp newly minted Marine grunts who as soon as they had completed their amphibious training and jungle training would be fed into units in Viet Nam as replacements.  

They were loud, annoying and could be dangerous.  But, they were also lonely and scared even though they wouldn't admit it.  While nobody talked about it everybody knew that within a year somewhere between five and ten percent of them would be dead and that many more at least would be wounded and seriously affected for the rest of their lives.  Over twenty five percent of the casualties in Viet Nam were Marines.

The saddest part of it all was that they were mostly teenagers.  High school kids who should have been chasing girls, working on old cars, feeling their way into manhood and building the foundation for a good life.  But, manhood was thrust upon them early and for the most part they shouldered the burden quite well.  Their junior officers were college kids in uniform.  The average life expectancy of a platoon leader in Viet Nam was never more than two weeks and was often measured in minutes.  We killed off a generation of our best and brightest in that unforgivable war and permanently damaged the country in the process. 

I don't care much for flag waving and sentimental speeches on Veteran's Day.  I am  offended by the artificial sentimentality hawked by many designed to make the crowd feel good about themselves.  It cheapens the sacrifices.  I prefer to quietly remember the guys like Tom who was a friend closer than a brother and the masses of teenage green grunts facing a very uncertain future with what amounted to, for them at least, dignity, honor and devotion to duty.   

Anniversary Weekend

Sheila and I celebrated out 56th wedding anniversary this week.  While in the past we have done far more adventurous things, lately we are becoming more and more content to just stick around home and enjoy the little things around us.

The weekend began with Sheila getting flowers and a card with her morning yogurt and coffee.  That's kind of a ritual with me.  While we both say we aren't going to do anything this year we always do.  

That evening we had dinner at Tokyo Garden on South Memorial thanks to one of Sheila's vendors.  The place did not have the kind of traffic you would have expected for a weekend evening.  Sheila keeps an eye on that neighborhood since in her spare time she's the property manager for a big shopping center nearby.  

My calamari steak was very good, sweet, tender and perfectly prepared.  Sheila was less thrilled with her scallops.  The miso to put it kindly left something to be desired.  

The staff were all dressed up in their Halloween costumes and the crowd we shared our serving position with, a birthday party, were pleasant enough.  It was overall a pleasant little evening.

Sheila and I have a weekend ritual.  Most Saturdays about mid morning we fuel up her car, wash it and clean the interior, eat a cheap lunch someplace and then do any shopping I haven't take care of during the week.  

One of our favorite lunch places is Moreno's Supermercado at 81st and Aspen in BA.  Their in house restaurant serves real Mexican food at very good prices.  For example, you can get three big tacos meat of your choice, rice, beans and a soft drink of your choice for under ten bucks.  But, it helps a lot to speak some Spanish.  This day, the girl working the register at the cafe either spoke no English or was giving we gringos the business by claiming "no habla."  Luckily, Sheila and I have enough Spanish to order a meal.  The food was simple and good.

The Mexican Dia del Muerte holidays follow Halloween.  There are actually two feast days.  Nov. 1 honors the souls of deceased children while Nov. 2 honors the souls of all the deceased.   The celebration was in full swing at Moreno's.  These lovely young ladies were dispensing charm and candy to the children at the door.  

I made sure Sheila had her Kindle with her since I knew the next errand was going to take some time.  Some very generous friends gave me a nice little gift card to Scheels sporting goods.  I had never been to Scheels before.  It was like Tim Allen's "Outdoor Man" store had mated with the Texas State Fair.  The place was big, bright, very crowded and had everything from a Ferris Wheel to a shooting gallery.    

For some time, I had been wanting to try a red dot optic on a handgun but simply could not bring myself to let some local gunsmith begin milling and drilling on the slide of one my pristine Glocks.  And at any rate, I didn't care for the high sight mounting many optics require making your weapon far less elegant and concealable or the fact that the batteries can run down.  

Ruger appears to solved this problem.  Their little Max 9 subcompact 9mm seems to check all of the boxes.  It is a small but relatively high capacity pistol and comes from the factory machined to accept a small, low but very usable little red dot optic.  The kicker for me in this decision is that this optic, like the optics on my AR-15s perfectly co-witnesses the iron sights so that you can choose which to use depending on the situation or if the batteries are down.  A bonus for the Ruger was that this is a passive optic that requires no batteries or recharging.  It collects and uses available light through a passive optical collector.

Scheels had a good price on the actual weapon but did not stock the Ruger optic.  I ordered the optic from Amazon.  The process of purchasing the weapon at Scheels was more or less pain free, it just took a while as all weapons purchases do.  Sheila, sat patiently in the car enjoying her book.   

Overall it was a pleasant little weekend, just being together, doing a few things and enjoying each other's company.  That's adventure enough at our age.

Bali On the Badlands

 

Sheila and I spent a long weekend at Foss State Park in far Western Oklahoma.  Foss Lake is relatively unknown expect to locals and bass fishermen who travel long distances to fish there.  It is located in the flat grassy expanse of Western Oklahoma and has extraordinarily ocean like sandy beaches.  During the week, especially outside the summer rush, the place is virtually empty.  

Since I had a teaching activity Saturday, we left mid-morning Sunday.  We stopped for lunch at the BOOMARANG DINER in CHANDLER, OK.  This is a chain of 50's retro diners that serves breakfast, burgers and simple diner food. The place was spotless and cute, the young servers were friendly and helpful and the food was outstanding.  I told our statuesque young server that with her height and figure she should be a model.  I was rewarded with a charming small town blush and shy smile.  Sheila and I split a chicken tender sandwich and an order of onion rings.  It was all exceptionally fresh and well prepared.  We thought about stopping there on the way back to do it all over again. 

We stayed at the CABINS at FOSS LAKE STATE PARK.  We arrived at the tiny house cabin we had reserved almost exactly four hours after we left.  Check in  took less than five minutes.  The little cabin was spotless, well laid out and well furnished.  It even had a good queen size bed.  It is a near perfect tiny house layout.  But having said that, the people who placed the cabins (there are two) should have thought twice about the location.  They are close to a busy state highway.  We could hear oil trucks passing until almost sunset.  This was not helped by someone from the farm house up the hill who had their stereo turned up full blast and kept it that way until bed time.  Our home in Broken Arrow is much quieter and has a better view of nature than these cabins.  There was nothing the local staff could have done to make our stay more pleasant. They were friendly and helpful.  But, somebody didn't think when they located those cabins.  I would strongly recommend they plant a grove of fast growing pine trees and shrubs between the cabin the road and that inconsiderate farmers house if they want to improve the ambience of their cabins.

We had a couple of hours to kill before dinner so I set up my amateur radio field rig and worked a few contacts.  I was surprised that it worked as well as it did.  I also spent a little time serenading Sheila with my uke as we sat on the bench on the patio watching the late afternoon pass.  While my attempts at music are not always melodic she was still nice enough to endure it and give me a patient smile in the process.  

We had dinner at PREET DHABA an Indian restaurant just a few miles down the road.  The online reviews were good and the pictures of the food looked good.  Some people shade the truth on the internet.  The "restaurant" is actually the back room of a small Conoco truck stop.  The so called "menu" was written in Punjab on a dry erase marker on the wall.  One of the Indian men hanging around translated for us in a less than gracious manner.  The servings were tiny and served on a military style metal tray.  The only really good thing on the tray was the fresh cooked flatbread.  This place is apparently a hangout for Punjabi, Indian and Sikh truck drivers running I-40.  We didn't feel especially welcome and neither the food nor the service would bring us back.  The place had a bad vibe.  Once again, don't believe everything you read on the internet.

I was up long before Sheila as usual.  I made myself a cup of coffee and got out our travel radio.  I enjoy listening to distant AM stations.  So far out on the flatlands, I was receiving signals from hundreds and even thousands of miles away.  I enjoy listening to the small town stations where the local AM broadcaster is still a big part of the community giving everything from farm reports to obits.  I spent several minutes listening to local newscast from Cheyenne, Wyoming.  

We spent Monday morning exploring the park.  It is a remarkably clean and well kept little park with an abundance of RV slots, picnic tables and other recreational facilities.  There are several good docks and ramps for the serious bass fishermen.  There was none of the hustle and bustle of the state parks near more populated areas.  We settled in on one of the pretty little beaches shown in the ads.  We had it to ourselves.  We spent the rest of the morning there.  The water was too cold for swimming so we got out our rods and fished.  While we saw many large bass breaking the surface none were interested in what we had to offer.  This is a lake that attracts serious fishermen so I guess the fish knew it when a couple of rank amateur bank fishermen were on the other end of the line.

I had forgotten to pack our picnic basket for lunch so we decided to explore the small towns north of the lake.  These tiny little farming hubs are all remarkably clean and well kept up compared to places of similar size in the eastern part of the state.  It's almost as though the strong west winds out there blow all of the trash east.  

We wound up at a charming little place called MARIA'S TAQUERIA in HAMMON, OK.  No sign out front.  Just a storefront on the sparsely populated Main Street of Harmon.  I guess all of the locals know where it's at and there's not much traffic so a sign isn't necessary. We found it using GPS.  We were amazed when we stepped in.  The place was spotless and very well equipped.  Maria was cooking and her charming teen aged daughter was working the counter.  I had tacos and Sheila had gorditas.  The food was fabulous.  Genuine home cooked Mexican.  

About halfway through our meal a large Hispanic man in work clothes walked in and sat down at the table behind us.  He is Maria's husband.  He told me the story of the place.  He works for one of the local rig service companies.  They bought the shell of this empty downtown building a few years ago and Maria refurbished it herself.  I have to say she did a great job.  It looks like it was professionally done. I remarked on the place being empty and he explained that most of their business is takeout for the guys who work the rigs and local agribusinesses who pass through.  This family is working hard and doing a good job.   I wish them well.  Western Oklahoma has killed a lot of small timer's dreams.  

After lunch, we headed back to the lake and settled in at the large, well situated pole fishing dock at one of the boat ramps.  Again, we had the place to ourselves.  Sheila managed to thoroughly tangle the line on her little Zebco Dock Demon spinning rig and I managed to lose a pretty nice lure and a bait rig to the undergrowth near the bank.  Once again, the fish eluded us but it was a nice quiet time together sharing a few laughs at ourselves and enjoying the surroundings.  

Sheila wanted to have dinner at LUCILLE'S ROAD  HOUSE in CLINTON, OK.  It is hyped as a Route 66 legend.  It may have been once upon a time when it was in the old gas station out on old Route 66.  Now, it is nothing more than another cookie cutter diner clone on a large scale.  We shared a chicken fried steak.  It was overcooked and under seasoned. The mashed potatoes were sub par.  The only thing good was the fried okra but it is really hard to mess up fried okra unless you cook it black since all you have to do is dump it out of the bag frozen into the deep fryer.  Our GPS tried three times to take us to TC's up the street where the parking lot was jammed.  We should have listened to the GPS.

Once back at the cabin, Sheila spent the evening reading and I overdosed on Gunsmoke re-runs on the satellite TV.  

Tuesday morning, I asked Sheila what she wanted to do.  I figured she might be up for a little more exploring on the way back.  She declined and said head home so that's what we did.  On the way back we stopped at Braum's in Clinton, OK to get a sausage biscuit to supplement our healthy but meager yoghurt breakfast eaten earlier.  The voice through the drive thru speaker came back with perfect, unaccented highly polished and professional English.  When I got to the window, I asked the young lady where she was from.  She replied Guatemala.  She sounded very well educated and spoke a lot better English than most Okies.  

The trip home took a little over three hours.  This was our first road trip in our new Hyundai Kona SUV.  The fuel economy was great, thirty three or so mpg at the speed limit or plus.  All of the systems worked flawlessly except for gps which tended to lie about road obstructions and route us in great circles around the flatlands when it got confused.  The drivers seat did prove to be an issue after a couple of hours of driving. We opted not to purchase the more expensive model because the base equipment package on a Hyundai has all of the features we will normally use plus many more we won't. The one thing missing on our Kona is a lumbar support on the drivers seat.  It is a power seat with a number of possible adjustments but you have to spend a couple of thousand more for a package that includes a touch screen the size of a TV that stretches across two thirds of the dash to get lumbar support.  This usually isn't a problem driving around town.  But, I spent most of trip back with a folded towel strategically positioned on the spot where my back was complaining.  

I don't know if I would do the Foss Lake Cabins again.  The cabin itself was great but between the truck noise and the farmer's stereo I really didn't get the cabin experience I was hoping for.  They apparently didn't think about the cabins as a destination in and of themselves but rather just a place for visiting fishermen to sleep.  Having said that, Foss Lake would be great place with an RV or Travel Trailer since those spots are far quieter and better located near the water and the rest of the park.

We had a good time and didn't let the annoyances bother us.  That was the most important thing.  We were together and it was pleasant.

Memorial Day 2025

Yesterday, Sheila and I made the annual trek to Sallisaw to decorate our family graves. It was a cold and rainy day and we did not get to enjoy a few moments over the graves, silently remembering and in our hearts speaking to our beloved family members who have passed on.  We simply put the flowers out and got out of the rain and wind as quickly as we could.  Mom, Dad, Uncle Gene, Uncle Charlely you deserve more attention than you got this year.  But, Sheila was barefoot in the puddles and my shoes were soaked.  We were both shivering in the wind.  I'm sure you understand.

I was disappointed to see that the local American Legion had not (at least yet) placed flags on my father's and my Uncle Charley's graves.

As we were getting ready to leave, I asked Sheila to dig around her purse and find a penny for me. I never carry change. There is a tradition among veterans. When you visit another veterans grave, you leave a coin. A penny means that another veteran was there showing his respect. Larger coins mean more about your relationship.

I always visit the grave of a young army captain who would have been about about my age.  He is buried near my family's graves. I didn't know him but knew members of his family.  He was one of the last graduates of the Oklahoma Military Academy.  He died in Viet Nam on my birthday in 1970 trying to rescue a number of wounded that had been left behind by their retreating unit. The citation for his Silver Star, America’s second highest award for valor, says that he personally pulled two of the wounded back to safety and died with a third in his arms. Many of the best men of my generation died in that useless jungle geo-political escapade now just vaguely remembered as the Viet Nam "conflict." In years past, I would I would often find other coins on his headstone. This year, there was only mine.

It was a necessary but disappointing trip.  But, we had the living to think about as well.  Sheila's sister and her husband are both quite ill and were past due for a visit.  We took them food and then took them  for a little drive up in the hills to visit an old hangout or two. It seemed to cheer them up a bit.

Maybe next year we can spend more time.

 

The Kona Chronicles - Beginning

It's been over a decade since Sheila and I bought a new car.  We are by nature frugal and I take very good care of my automobiles so they usually last until I get tired of them. And then Sheila drives them some more.  Had the insurance company not, over my strenous objections, totalled my beloved 2011 Sonata which ran like a Swiss watch, I would still be driving it.

We had been discussing buying a new car for over a year and were torn between the Hyundai Kona which gets  high ratings for reliabilty and value and the Buick Envista which is stylish and cute.  We settled on the Hyundai because of the superior warranty and the fact that Buick's tiny three cylinder supercharged engine makes the car while cute as button over complicated under the hood and still badly underpowered.  

But, deciding to buy a Hyundia and actually buying one are two very different things.  They make wonderful cars that offer incredible value for the money.  But, you have to buy the car in spite of their dealers rather than with their help.  We made several initial attempts over several months and every time the dealership frustrated us so badly that we just quit looking.  Hyundai USA should pay a lot more attention to the quality and training of their sales force.

At one dealership we were met in the lot by a friendly, well dressed guy about our age who did the preliminary sales talk.  But, when we walked into the showroom he "handed us off" to a young man with dreadlocks,urban athletic clothing and an attitude that we did not find conducive to favoring with our business.  Hyundai USA should take a lesson from Bud Light and scrap DEI.  Some of us find it insulting.

At another dealership, the very young sales person knew absolutely nothing about the car and when we asked questions would pull out his phone and Google for information.  When he couldn't Google an answer and asked a more senior person on the floor that person said, "Go ask Jimmy.  He knows about this stuff."  Apparently Jimmy was the only person in the building that had studied the brochures.  Hyundai USA dealers, here is message for you, customers Google too and in many of  your dealerships they may walk in knowing more about the cars than your so called sales people. Get rid of your identity politics token employees and hire a few professional salespeople who know the product and know how to serve a customer.

At this dealership, we asked to test drive a new vehicle and they found the battery was dead.  After they tried jumping the car they found the gas tank was empty.  So, we spent nearly an  hour sitting around the dealership waiting for them to get a new car on their lot able to drive around for a few blocks.  Hyudai USA dealers here is another message. Keep your stock in good shape and in running condition.  Buyers will want to drive the car and will not be impressed if it won't start.

After several more disappointments at dealers around the area I decided to give the last dealership a second chance.  Even though they are about a forty five minute drive away and their sales department is virtually non-existent, they do have a reputation for having the best service department in the region.  Since Hyundai gives a 5/60 bumper to bumper, 10/100 drivetrain warranty and free oil changes and regular service for the first several years you own the car the service department is important. 

So, I emailed the general manager of the dealership, told him where the car we wanted was located at another dealership about half an hour away and asked him for appointment to talk business.  My proposition was straightforward.  They would appraise our trade in and if the final price was reasonable I would give them a cashiers check for the amount due.  THE DEALERSHIP DID NOT ANSWER MY EMAIL.

In desperation, we finally went to the dealership where the car we wanted was located.  After a couple of really frustrating situations with them in previous years with different cars I had sworn I would never walk onto that lot again.  But, we already knew which car we wanted right down to the VIN number and had already determined what we would pay for it.  Surely we could get through that.  

The very young salesman who approached was friendly and helpful.  I knew we were being hustled but he was giving us the information and access we needed so I went along for the ride.  At least his line of BS was entertaining and he didn't look like a thug. The car we wanted was ready for a test drive so I drove it for a while and then we went downtown to Sheila's office and she drove it around a while.  We were gone at least an hour and half.  We already knew what we were willing to do.  The obligatory negotiations followed and later that evening we drove away in the car.  

However, the young man who did all of the work was not the salesperson who appeared on the paperwork.  We had apparently once again been "handed off" to another person.  I was left wondering if the dealership was not pulling the same stunt insurance companies use.  They "hire" junior salespeople as trainees, milk them for all of their personal contacts, only give them part if any of their commissions or worse get them into the hole on a draw and then let them go when the stream of new leads dries up.

A real sour note was their "business manager" actually their F&I man.  Sheila and both worked the F&I market a long time ago and we know the tricks.  This guy spent too much time hard selling us an expensive secondary warranty that would kick in after the very generous Hyundai warranty expires.  He tried to scare us by telling us how delicate the electronics of new cars had become and how expensive it is to repair them.  I was tempted to say, "Well if that's true give me my check back and I'll go buy a low mileage pre-electronics, pre-computer used car." 

Sheila was an executive in the company that underwrote the US extended warranty program for one of the Japanese big three.  We know what those warranties cost.  But, the scare tactics, cheap sales methods and "I'll only do this price reduction for you" statements reduced his credibility to zero in my eyes.  Hyundai USA dealers here is another message.  Set a fair fixed price for your extended warranty and stick to it.  Don't encourage your F&I people to cast doubt on the quality of your product and ruin the credibility of the whole dealership over a few hundred dollars in commissions.  If this guy had just spent a few moments explaining the benefits of the program without the scare tactics and then offered a reasonable price we might have bought it.    

After all is said and done, we are happy with the little car.  It is comfortable, peppy enough and gets great fuel economy.  It is small but handy.  We averaged 35 mpg at 75 mph on a trip this weekend.  I only wish Hyundai offered it with their more powerful 2.0 L Theta normally aspirated engine instead of the turbo option. Sheila will drive it to work and around town and we will use it for travel.  My well kept but aging Sonata will remain my every day vehicle.  Sheila likes the new car.  It is her first new off the lot car.  In the past she had always driven my hand-me-downs.   And, it is something like her beloved ancient Nissan SUV from decades ago that I made her get rid of when it was no longer safe to drive and uneconomical to repair.  

But above all, thank heavens we won't have to deal with car salesmen for a long time in the future if ever again.

Postscript:

The saga continues.  Soon after we purchased the vehicle I got a call from the younger salesperson saying that they "required" three referrals on each sale.  I was taken aback by the hubris.  I didn't say what I should have said but simply replied, "I am not inclined to do that."  Did they seriously think I was going let them more or less order me to give them the names of three of my friends just because I was buying a car from them?  The very thought was insulting.  I am not about to share my friends contact information with anyone much less a car salesman and I would be highly unhappy with a friend that did.  

Then the calls began concerning their performance review.  The younger salesman almost begged me for a good review saying that they actually got paid on their review performance.  He offered to buy us a free tank of gas if we would fill out the review in the dealership.  I told him I didn't have the car.  Then the calls began from the older salesperson whose name appeared on the paperwork.  Every couple of days with texts and emails as well.  It was getting annoying quickly.  I find the thought of asking for a good review and then thinking you can buy one with a tank of gas insulting.  Seriously.  Do a good job with your customers and then don't worry about the reviews.  The reviews will take care of themselves.

Hyundai USA here is final message.  You sell fine quality products.  They have a great reputation here in the US.  Make sure your dealerships sales tactics match that reputation.

Music and Madness in April

 April was an interesting month.  Two of the highlights were that we had a chance to enjoy some really good home brew music and Sheial and some of my friends thought I had gone insane for a while.

My old friend Robert Smith is a truly gifted country/western/swing musician.  I was pleased to learn that one of my friends from church, Braden Miller, used to play with him in ages past.  I asked Robert about Braden and he said something like, "Yeah, nice kid.  Plays like Chet Atkins."  Braden is in his forties now, BTW.  That's high praise from Robert.  So, I decided to arrange a reunion and home jam session.  I also invited a family from church that lives in our neighborhood.  The father asked, "Do you want me to bring my violin?"  I thought to myself, "Fiddle would be a better word for this crew," but just said, "Sure."

Robert showed up with enough equipment to put on a full show and he did just that.  He's got a great solo act that he plays around the retirement home, no booze restaraunt circuit.  (He's pretty hard core Church of Christ.)

Braden came in with a truly ancient Fender Amp that looked like it had been through the wars and a pristine vintage Gibson jazz box worth a small fortune.  It sounded wonderful.  It wasn't long before Robert and Braden were putting out a mix of Bob Wills, George Strait and Willie Nelson songs that would have been at home in any high class honky tonky in Oklahoma or Texas. 

But, the real wild card was the fiddle player, Jeremiah.  He gave us all some bad moments when he said he played mostly classical and hymns.  He didn't tell us that he is one of those rare musicians that can simply hear a tune and play it ... not only play it but play it well.  Within a couple of minutes he was playing the fills and the fiddle leads on those old western swing tunes like he had been doing it all of his life.  He said that he had never heard a lot of them.  Robert wanted to recruit him for his swing band.

One of Jeremiah's daughters plays uke so she picked up my little Epiphone Hummingbird and played along quietly on several numbers.  It was good to have those teenagers in the house.  They were polite and pleasant and most of them appeared to be having a good time.  I noticed a couple of them singing along with the songs silently and tapping their feet.  

I didn't join in.  I am not in the same league with those guys for one thing but for another it wasn't the right night or the right crowd for my brand of blues which is about all I am any good at.  Blues is like Haiku, the forms are very simple but the thoughts can run as deep as you want to take them.  This wasn't the time or place.

A good time was had by all.

A little later in the month, Sheila accused me of either experiencing a bout of insanity or lapsing into my second childhood.

It started like this.  In the afternoons, I like to take a spin around the neighborhood on one of my mobility scooters.  The problem is their top speed is four miles per hour and it takes forever and sometimes a battery change to get anywhere.  I really wanted something that I could take down to WalMart or over to Reasors on a nice day. A couple of miles round trip. When I saw a good deal on an electric scooter with a 20 mph top speed and a 15 mile range I ordered one.

It was like learning to ride a bicycle all over again.  I took a few spills but nothing serious.  But then I noticed that I couldn't enjoy riding it.  It required all of my concentration to keep upright and headed where I intended to go.  Then it hit me.  A lot of old people suffer from vertigo in varying degrees and I am no exception.  I was fighting vertigo and the scooter learning curve.  After several days of experimental riding while I mastered the controls my balance didn't improve.  I could ride the blasted thing but I couldn't enjoy it.

Finally, common sense prevailed and I agreed that if I took a bad fall it could have serious medical ramifications.  So, I gave Josh, the guy who does our lawn care and home maintenance, a good deal on the scooter.  Sheila and my friends who knew about it heaved a great sigh of relief.  I am told Josh's ten year old daughter is tearing all over their neighborhood on it now.  Oh well, it was fun for a few days even if down deep I was scared spitless part of the time.

And those were the highlights for April.