The Demise of my Big Johnson

July 15, 2015.Reading time 4 minutes.

I’ve had my Big Johnson for as long as I can remember. It was perfect to me and I’m not sure how I will get along without it. While age brings irreplaceable experience, it also can cause damage and wear. Moving parts are bound to produce friction and friction causes tiny chinks in the mechanism. Eventually, one of those chinks grows into a flaw and since everything in a machine must work together perfectly, too many flaws render it kaput.

Things break, expire, and just flat out stop working as we get older.

And so, my Big Johnson broke. It was a precise instrument of measurement and the best tape measure I’ve ever owned. You could ask me why I loved it and I couldn’t tell you. It fit perfectly in my hand. It just felt right – like a graduated extension of me and that is enough. Anyone who builds stuff understands.

We worked together for years. We built furniture, a playhouse, finished a basement, and numerous other projects. My Big Johnson went to Africa with me and it visited Haiti, too. In fact, I took my Big Johnson wherever I built things. If I had a friend in need, I never had a problem whipping out my Big Johnson to help with home repairs.

Saturday I pulled it out with my lovely wife to measure between pictures we were hanging and it wouldn’t go back in. A spring broke and now it is dead. I don’t think she offered the proper amount of concern for the demise of my Big Johnson.

I feel so utterly incomplete without it.

To add insult to injury, the Johnson Level & Tool Mfg. Company doesn’t make them anymore. Can you believe it? Their new line is called, The Big J… (Insert sigh of disappointment.)

Whoever was the marketing genius who originally named the product must have retired. Try to imagine the board meeting where bell curves showing plummeting sales of tape measures are plastered to the wall. A snickering young executive points out that there might be another connotation to the name causing customer reluctance. I have a mental image of a bunch of gray-haired old men sitting around a long table shocked while this young Johnson brings them up to speed.

I admit that I have the maturity of a 7 year-old. While most contractors and do-it-yourselfers may have giggled and shied away from purchase, the name is precisely why I carried it to the register. How could I know it was a finely crafted instrument that would soon become indispensable to me?

I miss it already. In fact, I will probably make a display case for it and save it for the day when researchers find a way to fix broken springs in tape measures. Kind of like I am cryogenically freezing it until it can be brought to life again.

Until that day, I’ve ordered The Big J. I am thoroughly disappointed yet hopeful that somehow we can work together. It just feels like nothing will be the same again.

A Rather Curious Decision

July 8, 2015.Reading time 4 minutes.

Life is full of decisions that directly affect us, but are made without our consent or input. In any highly-contested matter of public policy, we are peppered with opinions and bombarded with exaggerated notions of what will happen if a law is made or amended. One side of the argument sees our country moving to a more progressive society while the other warns of the imminent decay of the very moral fiber of our nation. In a stunning turn of political events, I cannot believe the audacity of our government to pervert something sacred.

Of course, I’m talking about the legalization of fireworks in the state of Georgia. A decision that has shattered the sacred peace of every citizen hoping to find sleep a decent hour.

I am outraged! Who would think it was a good idea to give already over-armed, drunk rednecks flammable and wildly unpredictable projectiles that have the capability to set an entire neighborhood ablaze?

Happy Fourth of July!!!

rainbow fireworks

I’m reminded of a 4^th of July family reunion many years ago when my people converged on cabin in the hills of Tennessee. My brother-in-law found it prudent to pick up some fireworks on the way. When the big day came, we sought a safe place to launch our fireworks. We surveyed the landscape and found not a single flat spot an appropriate distance from the cabin.

So, what do two bright young men with an insatiable desire for colorful explosions do? Stack up rocks and sticks to fabricate a semi-flat launching pad. Smart….

Let the festivities begin!

Bottle rocket inserted and wick lit, we took off running in opposite directions. Our makeshift flat surface immediately crumbled and the bottle began to spin like teenagers playing the old flirting game. Imagine the odds: 360 degrees in a circle, with my B-I-L taking up maybe five degrees one direction and me taking up five in another. That leaves 350 available degrees for that bottle rocket to point and fire.

I wish camera phones were available then. Because we would have won the jackpot on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Of course, that thing didn’t go for the other 350 degrees. It launched directly at my B-I-L’s butt and exploded upon impact. Being a field artillery specialist, I was stunned with its accuracy. In fact, I would wager I couldn’t have held it in my hands and fired for the same effect. He was not so impressed. The pain wasn’t hospital-worthy, but hurt nonetheless. We also had a good bit of tamping to do with the ancillary fires caused by our negligence.

* * * * * * * * * *

We’ve both grown out of our stupid ways (for the most part) and become contributing members of society. A society that now can legally aim bottle rockets straight at us.

In these days when staff reductions have hit state and county employees such as our fine firefighters, bully for you Georgia legislature. Now that you have decided legalizing fireworks is a good idea, I hope each of you live next door to a drunk, excited neighbor who celebrated until 3 a.m. like mine did.

I don’t watch the news, have there been any other decisions with such far-reaching implications made lately?