Easter With The Family - A Favorite Time Of The Year For My Mother

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- Easter was always a special time of the year for my Mother. Being a good southern cook and loving blooming flowers of spring time, she always looked forward to laying out a big dinner spread and having all her family over to enjoy the day. For many years I bought her a corsage for the day and in later years would send her flowers. Easter was the new beginning of the new year for Mother. It was the resurrection of life in more ways than just the Christian view. Easter meant to her that it was time to start her gardening and tend her flowers. I have missed her more at Easter and Christmas than most other times because it was at these times she expressed her joy for life.

This year Kay and I were invited over to Marvin and Cathy's for Easter dinner with some of my Mother's remaining cousins. This is that celebration in picture and music. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed producing it.

Love, peace and grace,

Dr. Darryl

Life on Lake Barkley After The Ice Storm of the Decade

Here is what our front yard looks like from the hot tub area of the cabin

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- We are so grateful that life at Lake Barkley is slowly getting back to some resemblance of normality yet it will never be the same here. Our lot down to the lake has about 41 piles of brush to be burned or hauled off and we have another 30 plus trees that will have to be removed.

It is as if some giant's kid got mad and went through the neighborhood just snapping the tops out of every tree. None came through unharmed and yet the redbuds and dogwoods are slowly blooming now.

Today, we had severe storms. A tornado touched down in the northern part of the county. Two injured and a mobile home destroyed. This my friends is spring time in Kentucky. Stay around long enough up here and you get any kind of weather you could want.

Since today is Good Friday we send all our friends and colleagues best wishes for Easter. We hope you have a safe and enjoyable weekend with all your families.

Love, peace and grace, Dr. D

Cleaning up the 'hood - 67 volunteers and 2500 lbs of trash!

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- I am often asked: "Why do you enjoy your work?" after all it is very stressful at times; you never seem to "get away" from it all; and sometimes the folks you deal with can be very difficult and at other times just downright delightful.

Delightful, energetic, committed, fun-loving, and focused were all the folks we worked with to help the Hawthorne Civic Association to clean up their neighborhood recently.

So, I wanted to take all those pictures I took and put them into an enjoyable format so you could see for yourselves why we enjoy our work. Thanks Doug, Lil, Chuck, Pat and Ed for including us and all the Lockheed Martin and contractor volunteers.

Enjoy:

When You Know You Have Friends - Bert Ballard 1929-2002

Brother Bert Ballard, Brother Jim Suitor, and Me

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- My ole buddy Bert Ballard (Sept. 30, 1929 - March 25, 2002) is sorely missed. Bert and I were friends from the first day we met and shared a beer at the old Holiday Inn in Bardstown.

Older than me, Bert was that older Brother I always wanted but he also served as a mentor, hunting buddy and sometimes a Father figure. We went through our divorces together and I had the privilege of being able to spend a year of Thursdays with Bert while he was in Hospice care.

I credit the old man with saving my own life when he sternly pointed out to me to never ever take blood in your urine lightly. Bert died from complications of bladder cancer.

Bert dished out some good advice over the years. Some of it hard to take at times. He believed you probably truly only loved one woman ever in your life and that most men had unrequited love in their hearts. He and I shared the belief that you never sit with your back to the door.

That southern gentlemen were always gentlemen, irrespective of the situation. That dogs will almost always die before you do and your heart will be broken by it. That the only good Bourbon was Kentucky Bourbon and to stay away from anything else. He razed me alot about liking Scotch as much as Bourbon but that was okay, because he was my buddy.

Bert and I hunted together for 30-years in Alabama, Kentucky and Georgia and I use the term "hunting" lightly since many years our idea of the sport was to go to the woods and watch and listen and never take a shot. But we always ate and drank well. We always told the same stories so they must have been true.

When Bert finally decided there would be no more chemotherapy, this occurred after his daughter Julie preceded him in death from breast cancer, I decided that I could not allow him to just go gently into the night. So, every Thursday I would trek to Bardstown and in the early stages of the dying process we would go to lunch and for a drive and come back for cocktails around 4 p.m.

We would tell some of the same stories. He would show me his old home place and talk about his childhood and his days as the general manager of the Stephen Foster Story. He would brag on his kids and sometimes cry about the loss of his daughter. Some days we would "plink" with his old .22 or .38 and some days we would just sit quietly and be with each other.

As the time grew nearer I sat down and wrote the following letter. I share it with you because I believe that we owe it to those we love and believe in to tell them that. So many times we forget that life has no guarantees and that the next minute could be our last.

This is what I wrote to my best friend. Maybe in some way it will inspire you to sit down and write a letter to your best friend. I hope so. They are few and far between and are so very precious.

February 8, 2002

My dear Brother Bert,

To simply tell you I am grateful for the shotgun would be an understatement. However, I really don’t like the conditions under which I am having to accept it.

It seems just like yesterday that we met at the Holiday Inn during one of the travel show planning meetings. I recall afterwards we escaped and had a beer with Dawn Ford and some other folks. That was 30-years ago.

The time has flown by. I knew from that day that we would be good friends. I never had any idea that you would end up being my very best friend, confidante, and most dependable hunting buddy.

Ah, the times we have shared. And I guess that is what saddens me. To think that we won’t get to create any more of those memories. But what wonderful memories they are. I will always cherish them. And as long as my mind stays in tact, I will always be able to take them out and recall them with as much fondness as the days and nights we created them.

Some of my earliest memories are of you and Hank Lindsey and me. Working the Cincy travel show, meeting Miss Mississippi, and you guys trying to drop me off with some old broad that was strolling the sidewalk in the wee hours of the morning!

Then there was the days of the go-go girls and the old soul singer in the cabaret that we went to that was a hospital theme. Remember that one? They used bed pans to pass around pretzels. But you may remember she had a voice and moves like a 30-year old.

Hell, she had to be 90 if she was a day.

There was the days of the peanut bar in the old Hilton. The time we got snowed in in Cincy and Cleveland and probably other places that I forget.

There was the Milwaukee trip where we ate raw hamburger, red onion slices, on a piece of bread and drank cold Pabst beer. There were the St. Patty Day parades and the two of us cold as could be bundled up and leaning back to back to hold each other up after a night of drinking.

Then there was the year of being on the wagon. Remember when we carried our root beer wherever we went? Most people didn’t think we could do it. But we did. I recall having to do it to prove to myself that I didn’t have to wake up in a city and not know which city I was in. I got tired of looking for phone books to remind me of the town I had slept in the night before.

There were the musical rooms on nights when snow and ice was so deep no one could travel, or at least shouldn’t have. Then there was the infamous Indy night when Dawn Ford played room arranger and none of us except you ended up in the proper room!

There were the antics with Brother Jim in Indy and East St. Louis. And yet, we all got out alive, God surely protects children and fools!

There were all the opening nights and your hospitality to all of us all those years. Of course, after the first two times of watching “The Story” I looked forward to just sitting in the office with my Bro. And having a drink and laughing and clowning around as we often did.

There were the AAA tours and the bartending, baggage carrying and always the promoting of our properties and the dances and meals and busses. Through it all you maintained your good humor.

Remember our writers’ tours and you guiding for me? I never told them you weren’t from Lake Barkley. I just told them all they had one of the best damn guides and he happened to be my best friend.

They all seemed okay with that. And you even caught some fish!

Remember those scary houseboat rides at night on Lake Cumberland and Lake Barkley?

And then there were all our hunting trips. I will miss them the most. Alabama and then Georgia and finally Kentucky. All those years of Daddy Paul and Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Nixon. Then Brother Jim had to screw it up killing the largest deer ever taken off their property and not telling them before someone else did!

The years we got deer and the years we didn’t. It never really mattered to me. It was about having time with my best friend that mattered.

I am so grateful you could hunt this year although I know it had to be tiring on you. I will forever be grateful for that though and for Elmer’s stand building abilities.

Some of my friends have never understood that it wasn’t about hunting. It was about being together as friends. Spending timing catching up and laughing and talking and drinking and playing cards and cooking meals and sitting in deer stands watching squirrels.

You have been more than just a friend of mine Bert. You have truly been my best friend.

You hung in there with me through all of it. The good and the bad. You stayed beside me when I went through the Rebecca and Judy thing. You were still there after I screwed them up and had foolishly broken my heart more than once.

You were there when Kay came into the scene and you were there when David and Dad died.

You have been here for the July 4th celebrations and the fireworks. And to think you won’t be here for those is really very difficult for me.

You were more than just a friend to me Bert. You taught me a great deal about marketing and tourism. I thank you for that. You and Bill Knight and Ray Scott took me under your wings and helped me learn from some real professionals. I am appreciative.

You are the big brother I never had. The Father that paid me more attention than my own Dad. You are my running buddy, my hunting buddy, my mentor, my touchstone.

If there was anything I could do other than pray I would. Yet, I must confess that I prayed lots in 1991 and those prayers were answered for eleven more years. God was good to us. I think he understood from my prayers that I just couldn’t stand to loose you then. He comforted me as he comforts you now. Through his grace I shared eleven more years of your friendship. I am so grateful for that.

I pray that there will be a miracle. That something will happen and reverse all this yet I am realistic and I understand the reality. I just don’t want you to suffer and I do want you to know how much I love you.

I will never forget you. Your shotgun will always hang in a special place in my cabin. Every time I look at it will recall our fun times together.

And if you can Bro. Please stop by now and then. Put your hand on my shoulder or hug me in that way you hug so well. Whisper to me when I get too far afield - I will listen hard.

I have told a few people about this but not many. The evening after we buried Weldon Petty I was en route to Chattanooga. I had Weldon and Sue Weller on my mind. I don’t know if I said it out loud or not but I said something to the effect of “Sue if you and Weldon are okay give me a sign that I can’t miss.”

Just about that time I topped Monteagle and was heading down when the biggest, brightest explosion I have ever seen in the sky happened. I thought a plane had blown up. I rushed into Chattanooga and stopped at the Tennessee Patrol station just outside of town to report what I had seen. They had heard about it already. They said no planes had gone down. No explanation.

The news later that night said NASA nor NORAD had an explanation but thought it was probably space junk.

Then it dawned on me that Sue and Weldon probably sat back in Heaven and chuckled to themselves. I am convinced that was a sign from them.

If you can let me know you are okay when you pass over. Don’t scare me. Just comfort me. You don’t have to do explosions. Just an overwhelming feeling of you hugging me will be okay.

I love you Bro. I always will. I will be up to see you later this week.

Love, peace and grace your younger more handsome Brother,

Darryl

Easter, 2008

FROM THE BACK OF EDDY CREEK ON LAKE BARKLEY --- Today, Christians around the world believe that Jesus Christ rose bodily from his tomb and walked once again among his followers. It is all about belief and faith. The following story shared with me by Lynn Beckman, a dear friend and former student of mine who lives in St. Louis with her husband Bob, a surgeon is another prime example of the power of belief. I hope you enjoy the "Eagle" story.

Freedom and Jeff

Freedom and I have been together 10 years this summer. She came in as a baby in 1998,with two broken wings. Her left wing doesn't open all the way, even after surgery.... it was broken in 4 places. She's my baby.

When Freedom came in, she could not stand. Both wings were broken, her left wing in 4 places. She was emaciated and covered in lice. We made the decision to give her a chance at life, so I took her to the vet's office. From then on, I was always around her. We had her in a huge dog carrier with the top off, and it was loaded up with shredded newspaper for her to lay in. I used to sit and talk to her, urging her to live, to fight; and she would lay there, looking at me with those big brown eyes. We also had to tube feed her for weeks.

This went on for 4-6 weeks, and by then she still couldn't stand. It got to the point where the decision was made to euthanize her if she couldn't stand in a week. You know you don't want to cross that line between torture and rehab, and it looked like death was winning. She was going to be put down that Friday, and I was supposed to come in on that Thursday afternoon. I didn't want to go to the center that Thursday, because I couldn't bear the thought of her being euthanized; but I went anyway, and when I walked in, everyone was grinning from ear to ear. I went immediately back to her dowl cage, and there she was, standing on her own, a big beautiful eagle. She was ready to live. I was just about in tears by then. That was a very good day.

We knew she could never fly, so the director asked me to glove train her. I got her used to the glove, and then to jesses, and we started doing education programs for schools in western Washington. We wound up in the newspapers, radio (believe it or not) and some TV. Miracle Pets even did a show about us.

In the spring of 2000, I was diagnosed with non-hodgkins lymphoma. I had stage 3, which is not good (one major organ, plus everywhere), so I wound up doing 8 months of chemo. Lost the hair - the whole bit. I missed a lot of work. When I felt good enough, I would go to Sarvey and take Freedom out for walks. Freedom would also come to me in my dreams and help me fight the cancer. This happened time and time again.

Fast forward to November 2000, the day after Thanksgiving. I went in for my last checkup. I was told that if the cancer was not all gone after 8 rounds of chemo, then my last option was a stem cell transplant. Anyway, they did the tests, and I had to come back Monday for the results. I went in Monday, and I was told that all the cancer was gone.

So the first thing I did was get up to Sarvey and take the big girl out for a walk. It was misty and cold. I went to her flight and jessed her up, and we went out front to the top of the hill. I hadn't said a word to Freedom, but somehow she knew. She looked at me and wrapped both her wings around me, to where I could feel them pressing in on my back (I was engulfed in eagle wings), and she touched my nose with her beak and stared into my eyes, and we just stood there like that, for I don't know how long. That was a magic moment. We have been soul mates ever since she came in. This is a very special bird.

On a side note: I have had people who were sick come up to us when we are out, and Freedom has some kind of hold on them. I once had a guy who was terminal come up to us and I let him hold her. His knees just about buckled, and he swore he could feel her power course through his body. I have so many stories like that.

I never forget the honor I have of being so close to such a magnificent spirit as Freedom's.

Hope you enjoy this.

Jeff

Jeff Guidry and Freedom are at Sarvey Wildlife Center

Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
www.armstrongandassociates.org

I will not apologize

FROM THE BACK OF EDDY CREEK ON LAKE BARKLEY --- I will not apologize. For those of you that know me, you know I am a patriot. I believe that is one of the things missing from many of our citizens today. I would lay down my life for my wife, my family, my dogs most likely and my country. I am a good ole southern boy and I am proud of it. I love my country, apple pie, the American Flag, my Momma, and my family and friends. I could be called a redneck and that would be okay because many members of my family are and were. Rednecks got their names from the sunburn that they often experienced around their necks from working in the fields.

Which leads me to share this next little ditty with you.

This is a video of the Cactus Cuties, they are very talented young ladies ranging in age from 8 to 13 and in this video are singing The Star Spangled Banner.

The performance was at the Texas Tech vs Texas basketball game January 20, 2008 in front of over 11,000 people.

The Cuties are Andi, Baylee, Blaire, Madeline and Tatum. The group is named for the Cactus Theater in Lubbock, Texas and are coached by Cami Caldwell.

I suspect this will bring on the goose bumps (and maybe tears) if you also are a patriot but that's okay.

This is the way our National Anthem should be sung!

Cactus Cuties

P.S. I can't watch a video like this without getting teary-eyed. I've always wondered what my daughter (Sirah Ilyana was going to be her name) would have had as a talent. I would have been proud of her talented or not. Certainly, her Daddy couldn't sing or play anything for sure. She would have been 21 years old this year.

Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
www.armstrongandassociates.org

9 March 2008 - "I did this lecture really for only three people"

FROM THE BACK OF EDDY CREEK ON LAKE BARKLEY --- The snow that dumped about 6 inches here and there on us but never materialized into the massive winter storm predicted by our local weather forecasters is already beginning to melt away. In fact it is supposed to be in the 60s by Wednesday.

The three "boys" have enjoyed it especially Max, the Alaskan Malamute, who now thinks this is pretty good living. Stimpy is enjoying it at his own pace and does continue to take his daily walks with us when he chooses now. There are days when I can't get him to go at all. Little Bit is forever the be close kind of guy who has your back.

Today, I want to share with my readers two You Tube videos.

The first is from a friend of ours in southern Illinois whom we met doing some work for an engineering company down in Paducah. It seems that her son was brutally beaten by two young men all because they were jealous over the fact he was dating one of their former girl friends. These hoodlums left this young man to die in a park. The quick action of EMTs and medical personnel saved his life and the dedication of PTs in rehab has him on the road of struggle back to normalcy, whatever normalcy may be for him in the future continues on. The first video below is the current status of this brave young man Brady, his family, his caregivers and his belief and faith in God. I suspect you will find it as inspiring as I did.

Brady's Road to Recovery

This second video is truly important to me at this time in my life. On those days when I am really feeling about as depressed as I can get I need something like this to remind me of the delicate nature and real frailness of life. Yes, this is an Oprah video from a college professor whom we can all learn a great deal from about the true meaning of life and death. Peace be with you all.

The Last Lecture


Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
www.armstrongandassociates.org

Stimpy Update and My First You Tube Type Video

On The Back of Lake Barkley --- The storms have moved through here this evening. They even disrupted Yoga class in Princeton when the brick facade fell off the building next door to the Yoga studio. Everyone is fine but the storms persist. We are keeping a close watch. The temps here today approached 60 and they are suppose to drop to the 20s this evening. Ideal weather for tornadoes and thunderstorms!

I again want to thank all of you who continue to ask about Stimpy and how he's doing. Here is the latest. He continues his daily walks with us although today his first walk was very short. He strains to go potty but with the stool softeners he is dong pretty good. He is eating well especially now that I am sharing some deer sausage with him daily --- don't tell the other two fellas here --- they don't get any.

So I tried out my new Casio camera this evening and got some video --- it has my "baby" voice for my buddy Stimpy --- I can't help it I am just like that with my old man. As you can see he is being well cared for ;-) and yawning and stretching and enjoying his couch!

Enjoy ---

Dr. Darryl

L. Darryl Armstrong

http://www.armstrongandassociates.org/

The Old Man and the Dog

I don't know Catherine Moore but I love her as I do my friend Stephanie and Momma Knipe both who sent me this story.

If ever a story captures the belief I have about "angels" and my own dog Stimpy this story does just that. Maybe there are those of you out there that have not yet understood that Stimpy is not "just a dog" to me. This story might help you understand why I feel that way.

Enjoy, Dr. D


The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore


"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.

At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died.

His zest for life was gone.

He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick , and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.

Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair.

As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face a n d muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement."He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.

When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when D ad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust.

"If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it!"

Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.

At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne .

Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years.

Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.

Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead be side Dad's bed.

I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church.

The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . .and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
http://www.armstrongandassociates.org/

A Trucker's Story from our friend Dave Cahlander

Tybee Island, Ga. --- The weather is rapidly cooling and the rain has begun at the island yet Stimpy still is taking his daily walks and seems to be holding his own. Your continued prayers are appreciated. We will be leaving the island on schedule 20 December and returning to Kentucky 21 December.

Our friend Dave Cahlander in Middle River, Md. shares this special holiday story with us. Having grown up with a "Stevie" I can especially relate. I hope you enjoy.

A Trucker's Story

Dave writes -"If this doesn't light your fire..your wood is wet!"

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie.

His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie.

He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried.

After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties.

Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty.

Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks.

Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table.

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked.

"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."

"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is."

Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.

Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said.

"This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something for Stevie".

"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this."

She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."

That was three months ago.

Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

"There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,"

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.

But you know what's funny?

While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow.

Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
http://www.armstrongandassociates.org/

“Donut Doug”

Tybee Island, GA. --- Every now and then in your life you come across someone that you just know instanteously is going to be a friend.

Someone who you realize shares instinctively similar values for God and Country, believes that most politicians are simply out to feather their own nests, and who likes dogs and guns.

So it was with Doug Bailey. Doug was a good ole East Tennessee born and reared fellow with a pleasant smile and a soft voice.

I briefly met Doug the first time in a horrible snow storm one Christmas when he delivered his sister-in-law Marilyn King for me to pick up at a convenience market near Clarksville so we could share Christmas together.

Marilyn and I go back to our days at Murray State University and for some reason she is another of those friends I have never lost contact with over the last four decades.

Marilyn’s sister Carole married Doug and like she said she knew he was a good fellow when he didn’t run screaming from her house one night when her poodle Jasmine peed all over him --- Doug I am sure saw it much like I would --- he was being marked.

Doug like many of us had had a practice marriage or two. So had Carole. So when the two of them settled in with Carole’s two dogs it was not without careful thought. I have never seen two more compatible and happy people wed.

I met Doug when Carole and Marilyn were making the final plans for their Mother’s funeral. I officiated and gave the eulogy for Mrs. Louella King. Doug was most kind in his comments about the eulogy, however, that is not what made us friends.

Following the funeral Marilyn, Carole and Doug had to do what all children must. They had to make arrangements to settle the Mrs. King’s estate. Now, many spouses especially good ole boys from the South might have shunned any responsibility for this. Not Doug.

Doug had been there every step of the way with the slow decline of Mrs. King supporting her, Carole and Marilyn. Never once did I ever hear him complain, grumble or question the proceedings. Many son-in laws would have become difficult to be around in those circumstances but not Doug.

Doug and I got along so famously I think because he and I were similar in many ways.

He was an only child of parents of humble origins. He liked to read most anything but especially for fun Dean Koontz and magazines about guns. He liked guns and shooting them and he believed an armed society was a polite society. He liked Coast-to-Coast radio late at night and thinking about the esoteric side of life.

He liked people and watching them and getting to know them. He liked helping people especially those less fortunate. He liked to eat good steak and have a cold beer.

He was conservative in his politics and believed there was a right and a wrong and that our country was worth fighting and dying for.

He was patient, kind and considerate to those especially in need of attention. He was gentle and yet firm. He was the kind of guy that you could trust your back to and never doubt it was well protected.

He was funny and witty.

He was good to his wife and attentive to her.

He believed in a God and that John Wayne, Elvis Presley and President Ronald Reagan were national heroes.

Doug Bailey was the kind of person that if I were looking for a friend I could not have found one better. Sadly though Doug two years ago this December parted this world.

Doug liked to drive fast. So do I, although I confess at 57 I have slowed down a lot. One rainy December evening enroute to work he failed to negotiate a rain slicked curve on I-440 and Doug joined many of our heroes that had gone before.

I was asked and honored to deliver Doug's eulogy. This is what I spoke about when I delivered his eulogy. Perhaps some of these words will resonate with you this Christmas season and you will truly find love, peace and grace as yoiu reflect on these thoughts.

The great writer Somerset Maugham once wrote, that ‘The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.’

Doug Bailey never ceased to love, of that I am sure.

Everyone that came to know Doug knew him as a “Gentle Giant” of a man with a heart as big as they come. A heart that surely even in his final moments on this earth was filled with the love of life, family and friends.

Doug loved his Mom and Dad, his wife Carole, his sister in law Marilyn and each of his friends gathered here – he loved his job with an all consuming passion.

Now, how you say do I know this?

Well, when it comes to Carole let’s simply review the circumstances under which he won her heart --- 10 years ago this time of year --- in 1996 --- with one of the worst snowfalls the city had ever seen on the ground Carole and Doug were to have their first date --- Carole received a call from Doug -- she was certain that he would cancel after all – she lived in Madison – he in Laverne – they had really only talked a few times and she did live at the top of a very steep hill – yet as the time for the date approached with no relief in site for the weather when Doug called he simply confirmed the time he would pick her up – now Marilyn had felt so bad for her – fearing she would spend her birthday alone had sent her flowers – yet the day and time arrived and so did Doug – he was driving a new rented Jeep Cherokee geared to 4-wheel drive --- that was Doug --- dependable, responsible and true to his word – something that we would all learn that we could depend upon ---

Some of you will suggest that this was the sign of true love.

But this is the rest of the story --- shortly after this date one evening Carole invites Doug into her home to meet her beloved children --- two charming and cuddly poodles --- Jasmine and Black Jack – and when Doug gets seated and comfortable – Black Jack jumps up and proceeds too “mark his territory” on Doug’s pants – yes you heard me right --- now I am pretty sure we know how most men would have reacted --- most men certainly would have not reacted the way Doug did – but you see most men were not Doug – he later told everyone that he knew right then and there that the children were just christening their new Dad --- and as you know Carole -- he loved Jasmine and Black Jack just like they were his own children -

You can tell much about the character of a man by the way they treat animals and children and how they speak of their country, show respect for their flag and their work --- and how they speak of their wife and their mother-in-law ---

As many of you have attested Doug always spoke with great fondness of Carole when at work and remarked of how fortunate he was --- he told many of us – since he had had two practice marriages – that the third time was certainly charmed --- and if you were ever around the two of them you could tell from the way they interacted and spoke to each other that they loved and cherished one another ---

Carole and Marilyn’s Mother – Miss Louell King was equally adored by Doug --- during her extended illness he was always available to assist and help in anyway to care and comfort her, Carole and Marilyn --- he and Miss Louell shared common interests --- a sweet tooth and movies --- and he thought so much of her in fact he even agreed to care for her sickly and aging poodle “Misty” after Miss Louell passed away --- as you know when Doug made a commitment he would always fulfill it /// a valuable lesson that I am sure was taught by his parents –-- now Misty was an aging old soul herself ---blind and incontinent one day Doug went to the garage to check on her and in frustration he kicked not Misty but her bedding --- later he would tell his own Mother --- Miss Shirley that he was certain that he had received a ghostly and swift kick in the butt that day –

Miss Louell surely watched over him then and I am certain greeted him with open and loving arms when he arrived the other night

Doug was one of those sensitive souls that knew just how much a Mother can mean to their daughters --- he was there for them with never a question asked or a complaint given during those days of illness --- it was in fact at Miss Louell’s funeral that I came to truly know Doug and began to cherish and love himself myself ---

Many of you may not know this but Doug has always had a healthy respect for law enforcement --- he began to show that respect early on in his life --- it seems that around age 16 or so that Mr. Bailey had bought and helped him soup up a 1972 Grand Prix (car shopping was something he and his Dad had in common) – Mr. Bailey said he found out only later that the car with its new carburetor would do about 130 – in fact it ran so good that one night as Doug was being chased by the Knoxville PD he felt badly enough about the fact they couldn’t catch him that he actually stopped and waited for them to catch up --- now after being detained and taken to the jail he pleaded with the officers not to arrest him because most assuredly his dad would not bail him out --- after a stern lecture he was released --- and so his love of law enforcement began

Speaking of cars and trucks --- We all know that Doug loved his cars and trucks almost or maybe even as much as he loved his guns and his wife – his favorite car / Mr. Bailey says growing up / was a 1969 Yellow 396 Chevelle --- but whatever car or truck it was – it was Doug’s way all the way – his vehicles were always immaculate, clean inside and out – he was always buying, selling or trading – it was part of his East Tennessee heritage and one that he exercised all his life

Doug was a big reader --- all of his life --- in fact, around the 4th grade or so it seems that his Mom received a call from the principal of his school wondering when Doug was returning --- knowing full well that she and Mr. Bailey thought he was in school she called his Dad and they crept home --- he would later say that he knew he was in big trouble when he heard the high heels on the stairs --- sure enough Doug had --- how do we say gotten bored with school and would slip back home each day after his parents left --- and there he was curled up in bed with his cat and a book

Yep. our friend Doug was a reader, a researcher, a purveyor of knowledge -- if you know Dean Koontz you knew Doug’s favorite author --- yet Doug read lots of stuff – he satisfied his curiosities by reading and researching --- want to know about Human Growth Hormones or the best work out routine --- Doug was your man --- want to know the best ammo for a Glock or how to clean it in the upper tray of your dishwasher --- look no further than Doug--- want to discuss the latest conspiracy theories on 911, UFOs or psychic phenomena – pull up a chair and talk to any depth you wish – in past days Doug might have been called a Renaissance man – frankly I always thought he was just one of the most inquisitive students of human nature that I have ever had the privilege too know

Doug Bailey could do anything – absolutely anything he set his mind to –-- think about it --- at age 46 he chucks his corporate job --– goes to the Academy and fortunately ends up at Vanderbilt University working eventually on the psy detail

When Doug set out to build his body strength, take off weight, shoot a perfect round at the range, or calm down a recalcitrant psych patient there were few that could match his tenacity

So today I want us to remember Doug Bailey in many different ways, the ways that so many of you shared with me the past two evenings --- so how shall we remember this friend, son, husband and officer?

Let us remember Doug as a man of great conviction --- he agonized over his change in career yet he found his great passion in life and he made it come true --- I admire and respect him greatly for that --- and all of us are benefactors of his pursuit of excellence

Let us remember him as truly a Gentle Giant of a Man yet one who could and would turn on his assertiveness and aggressiveness only when all other avenues had been exhausted ---

Doug was a philsopher and often came out with pithy sayings, "An armed society, he would, say is a polite society"

Let us remember Doug as one whom we would trust our back to under any circumstance because we knew it was covered by the best

Let us remember him as a fellow traveler on this road of humanity that along with Miss Louell had a sweet tooth and always preferred to choose his own goodies - in fact he often signed his emails to me always self deprecatingly --- Donut Doug

Let us remember Doug as a man that was brought up right with the best of southern values, beliefs and principles --- he was taught by his parents to show and give respect and in return he earned it - he understood and practiced integrity

Let us remember him as humble man with great insight and wisdom for his age that set about with his good nature, humor and intelligence to make things easier for the rest of us and that would today hope that we come closer together as friends and colleagues as the result of his life well lived by example

Let us remember Doug as the officer that by humanizing a situation could sweet talk and then waltz a recalcitrant little old lady into the back of a squad car for transport

Let us remember him as one who wore his “Thunderware” with great pride (and for those of you who don't know what “Thundewear” is see me after the services) and that could buy, sell, trade and talk guns as long as you were interested

Let us remember Doug as an officer that could find humor in most anything and share it at just the right time and in the right tone to make life better for all of us even if it was just for a minute

Let us remember this Gentle Giant of a man as one who was proud to be a called SWAG --- a SWAG --- “A Social Worker with a Gun” – a kind, caring and compassionate soul that would often size up a situation with a homeless person and many times in the end give him his last $5

Let us remember Doug as a friend who understood what was truly real and what was transitory in our world – a self-deprecating and self—effacing person who effectively directed attention to others to help them grow themselves into better people

And let us not forget Doug Bailey was a man of opinions based on strong principles and values --- a conservative fellow -- some might say to the right of Attilla the Hun --- I would say simply a man of deeply held convictions bore from a life of experience

Doug knew there was good and bad in this world – that there was right and wrong --- and that the highest calling was to protect and serve

Let us remember him as a soft-spoken, gentle hearted fellow that always knew what to say and when to say it and that always gave wonderful loving hugs to his friends and family.

I miss you Doug Bailey I truly do.

Until next time,

Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
www.ARMSTRONGandassociates.org

The Character of a Man

Tybee Island, Ga. --- It is cold and blustery at the beach today. I couldn’t be any happier. Only the tried and true will remain here over the next few days and then we will be back amongst the natives and the true beach lovers.

Such weather tends to lead me to observe and think. That is one of the vagaries of being a behavioral psychologist.

Today, as we were having a visit and lunch with Jim and Ann Knipe, and their daughter and son-in-law Cheryl and Joe Brinson and their granddaughter 7-month old Chloe, she will turn 8-months old Monday the 26th I was reminded of something that my Grandfather Gunther always told me.

“You can always tell the true heart and character of a person by the way they treat children, dogs and their elders,” he would say.

And that came back to me this day.

You see Joe Brinson used to be a crane operator on the docks of Savannah and years ago became disabled. Now, this Kenny Rogers or Santa Claus “look alike” – depends on the time of the year I suppose when you look at him – would never strike you on first appearance as having the heart of a teddy bear.

You see Joe is just like me. He has never met a meal he didn’t like especially if it had fried shrimp, mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas and corn bread associated with it. He is one of those strapping Southern boys that frankly I would not want to contend with around the truck.

Now we might argue over whose Momma cooked the better corn bread mind you; and we might have some discussion around politicians and how we believe they are all as worthless as “teats on a boar hog” but I doubt that I would want to arm wrestle him.

I quite suspect that we both feel our Mommas were and are saints. And we both knew our Mommas liked Butterfinger miniatures candy bars and could most of the time do no wrong. That is just how us Southern boys are and we are proud of it.

However, it was watching Joe today interact with his granddaughter Chloe that made me wonder if the advice my grandfather gave me all those years ago was what led me to study behavioral psychology in the first place.

Because you see that advice when observed in people has always proven to be right on the money – you can indeed tell the true nature and character of a person’s heart by their interactions with children, dogs and their elders.

You see Chloe is a special grandchild. Oh, I know everybody has “special” grandchildren and surely if you could have had grand kids before you had your children you would have skipped right over to the grandbabies.

However, Chloe truly is special. She was born with a heart defect that will one day have to be repaired but right now it is being controlled with medications. And if there was ever a grandfather who focused time and attention to ensuring that a granddaughter had special attention, love, compassion and care Joe Brinson personifies it.

Before Chloe was born and while his Momma was in the nursing home in her final decline it was Joe Brinson that took it upon himself to get donuts and bring them to the residents and serve them coffee. It was Joe Brinson that to this day despite the fact that his Momma has passed takes time to go by that nursing home to visit.



You see my friends; Joe Brinson is just a good ole Southern boy with this magnificent heart of gold. Now, he would never show you that yet just as my grandfather always said, “watch how he is with children, dogs and his elders” and you will know his true character.

Until next time.

Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
www.ARMSTRONGandAssociates.org

Giving thanks

Tybee Island, Georgia --- The sun has hidden itself behind gray clouds and there are periodic sprinkles of rain yet I could not be more thankful this Thanksgiving.

We had a good deer hunt at the farm this year. Marvin got him a 9 point buck. Two new and dear friends Bill and Matt got meat. Jeremy got to hunt. Mitch and Richard, Elmer and Logan, Farrin and Bennie all enjoyed the event. Logan, Elmer's 4-year old grandson actually grunted up his first buck for Elmer.

My friends are all well. Traci remains healthy and is having good checkups. My next checkup is January and I am feeling just fine. Kay came through her surgery and has recovered nicely.

Sadly, my Brother Bob is in the process of watching his Dad pass over this Thanksgiving and yet we all acknowledge and understand the cycle of life. Watching our parents move over is not easy even if we are prepared for it and I suspect that we never are.

Today, I am thankful for having dear friends such as Ann and Jim Knipe here at Tybee,who have invited me and Kay into their family, my own loving family, abundance beyond my expectations and for the privilege of living in the land of the free and the home of the brave --- a cliche for some --- a way of life for many of us.

May your Thanksgiving be as blessed as ours and May God Bless you and your family. May God Bless our troops and their families and keep them safe as well.

Until next time.

Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates

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