The All Important Washing of the Car...

During our last trip to Brandon to visit my family, My son and I went with my dad to wash the Chrysler, something that my father does religiously. And he doesn't skimp. Me, I'll take my vehicle through the big $8.00 wash at the HEB gas station and think I'm breaking the bank by not simply hosing it off in the front driveway with my power washer. My dad, concerned that his car might not be happy otherwise, goes with the $32.00 interior/exterior, lots of TLC business at the local Mister Car Wash.

Due to health issues, my father can no longer drive - at least for now - and so when I took him to the Publix (the Florida version of HEB) to get a few items, I noticed that the car was looking less than sparkling. I told him when I finished trimming a tree in the front patio of their townhouse, I would take the car down for some excellent care.

My mom had found a gift card that one of the grandchildren gave them for the car wash place, so I took it down and when I got to the part where the salesman shows you a menu of the fabulous car wash options, I at first thought of my own cheapskate self and was going to go with the cheapest $15 or $20 option. What that entails is, you drive your car really slowly through the parking lot while three guys pull down their zippers and piss on your wheels while several others point and mock you for being such a cheapskate, and finally, a guy at the end holds his hand out to collect the requisite tip as you exit the premises. I opted to set my sights a little higher.

As the salesman was explaining to me the difference between the $26.00 special and the $32.00 deal, I decided that getting the leather seats rubbed with some sort of cream and the few other things he mentioned like the tire treatment would be worth the extra six bucks, plus, with the gift card my mom found, who knows, it may all be covered. So I went for the gusto but still calculated how many times I could wash my own vehicle for that kinda money.

When I went in, it turned out the card was only good for $20 so I paid the extra $15 to cover the difference. As I was getting ready to walk out to go watch the washing of the car, something my dad takes great pleasure in - admiring his car as it is driven carefully into the automatic washing part of the treatment - a lady walked in and asked if I owned the silver 300. I nodded and she whipped out a twenty that she had found slipped in between the two front seats.

What are the chances of that? No, not having a twenty dollar bill slip out of my dad's pocket, but somebody actually returning it? Call me cynical if you will, but but either the lady who brought in the twenty either figured it was all a set-up to test her integrity, or what I hope to be the case, she was just a genuinely honest woman. I thanked her then walked out on the patio to watch her and the others doing the pre-wash treatment.

When I saw her get out of the front of the car where she had been vacuuming, I tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a five. I always have this debate with myself about who to tip, how much, and do I get better service if I tip one person over the other. Ordinarily, car washes like this will have a huge box at the end where you can leave a tip, then all the workers share the proceeds (after management removes an appropriate amount for taxes, service charge, management convenience fee, etc.), and I like that set-up. You can cough real loud or maybe stomp a foot to get people's attention, then they see you stuff a few bucks into the box, and now, everyone knows that you have made the obligatory tip.When the car made it through the wash, a team of at least 6 workers descended upon it with towels and glass cleaner and such and in a matter of a minute or two, the car was clean, dry, and serviceable. As the worker moved on to the next car coming out, the lead guy raised the red rag indicating that the car was ready. I walked over and handed him $8 which he quickly put in his pocket and handed me back my receipt. Just standing ten feet from the car, I was looking at the tires and thought they looked pretty dry for supposedly having been given the treatment. I mentioned this to the guy who had just gladly accepted my $8 tip and he asked to see my receipt again. I handed it to him and he says they forgot to put the code on the car and they would fix it up. And sure enough, after a few gesticulations toward the guy with the treatment, he ran over and began to treat the tires. As this was happening, the lead guy began to explain to me the 48 hour bird crap policy whereby if at anytime in the next 48 hours, a bird pooped on the car or some mud got on it, I could bring the car back for an exterior wash.

My mind wandered and I wondered about a 48 hour cream on the leather seats policy. Because as the guy treated the tires, I noticed that the dash and the doors and the leather seats all looked mighty dry. I interrupted the bird poop discussion and asked about the creamy seats. Again, Mr. $8 tip apologized profusely, then motioned for the cream girl to come over and get to creaming the car. I know this might sound a little cheeky, but the lady spoke no English other than the words Cream and Seats. But she was damn good at it.

When all ways said and done, the car really did look good. I've always felt really weird about those people who hover over their vehicle making sure that every speck of dust is removed, every minor spot on the glass is wiped and such. But geeze; as my brother told me later, for $35 and and another $13 in tips, they should have had some guy standing next to me with an umbrella and a fan, much less making sure they cleaned the car.

My dad walked outside to check on his baby and in spite of his health issues that wouldn't allow him to take the 300 for a spin, I could see a sparkle of pride.

That's worth $48.

Strange in Valrico: Santa on Vacation...

Right next to my hometown of Brandon is another small but growing town called Valrico, Fl. It seems that over the years, the place has just merged into one extension of Tampa, and thus, requires the shopping amenities available to such a populace.

And lucky for us, because we do what everyone does when vacationing in Florida; we go to Wal Mart.And as it turns out, so does Santa Claus. Yes, kids, it may sound strange, but Santa shops at Wal Mart just like the rest of us.

The Salute...

There couldn’t possibly be more to our short trip to Florida last weekend, could there? Well, only if you count the real reason we went.

I had mentioned that my daughter is in town from New Jersey and my son just graduated from UTSA and commissioned in the Air Force. Well, my parents were planning to attend the festivities and such but my dad had some technical difficulties that made flying to San Antonio too much of an ordeal. I’m happy to report that he is recovering remarkably well, but travel is just not in the cards right now.

During the commissioning ceremony at UTSA, my daughter gave my son his first official salute. This tradition is especially memorable when the first salute is given by a family member, and several years ago, my son had asked my father, a retired Air Force Chief Master Sergeant, if he would give him his first salute. Needless to say we had to go with Plan “B”, but I’d say my daughter was pretty thrilled to be the stand-in.

But there was still something missing, so we took the party to my parents’ house!

After arriving in Florida, we all headed to my parents house and suited up for some pictures of the big event. We took a lot of pictures but being there and seeing my dad’s eyes light up with pride was something pretty special.What he didn't know was that my son had a Silver Dollar to present him following his first official outdoor salute.The tradition stems from a time when officers were assigned an enlisted man to help them with their uniforms and such. The officer would pay the enlisted guy a dollar a month for the service. Now, it is a tradition that when officers in any service are commissioned, they give a silver dollar to the first enlisted member to salute them. So, my daughter got one during the official commissioning ceremony, and my dad got one for our home made outdoor ceremony.

And what did I get after paying for the trip to Florida?Well, I got the satisfaction of this picture that was taken while I was saluting my son, and I think this one will end up in a frame on a wall.

The Brandon Report: A Short Trip Down Memory Lane...

My wife will tell you that I can be somewhat long winded when I attempt to provide you with detailed accounts of trips we might take, and I’m afraid that this just may be one of those that exceed your standard Two-Minutes and Back Button (TM&BB) reports. It isn’t that I need an audience to take a drive down memory lane; as I told my older sister over the weekend, I have frequent recurring dreams of my hometown of Brandon, and they are pleasant, so don’t expect much more than some pictures and maybe a little commentary to go with them. So if you can handle that, I’ll tell you a little about the place.

Of course, I love San Antonio and in the previous twenty-something years since leaving Brandon, my wife has asked me repeatedly if I ever thought of moving back to Florida, and I always responded with a convincing “no!” Something changed this time around, and to be honest, I started thinking about how nice the place is. Granted, we would have to somehow overcome the need for real San Antonio food, probably trading our cravings for Tex-Mex for fresh seafood and Cuban fare, but my wife certainly knows her way around the kitchen and we’d probably survive.

During previous visits, my kids endured trips down memory lane where I would point out my high school, the McDonald’s I worked at and our old house. In spite of seeing these places and briefly recalling great memories, it was the overwhelming growth of Brandon that always convinced me it was all a lost cause. I mean, why move to some place that is overwhelmed with traffic issues, just because there are fond memories?

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When we moved to Brandon in 1976, it was as though we had moved out into the proverbial country. This is a picture of the house my parents had built. It seemed bigger at the time. And back then, the driveway could hold six cars if properly maneuvered. I suppose the new owners don't have the same skills.

One of the great things about San Antonio is, you can drive twenty minutes in any direction and find yourself out in the country. In Brandon, at the time, it was not uncommon to see people riding horses through the sub-division on the way to the store; we enjoyed a mostly quiet, smog-free existence in minimal driving distance of the beaches of Clearwater and cities to the south and the malls and of course, the Buccaneers of Tampa.

When you are younger, everything seems bigger, mostly because you are on foot or on a bicycle. And when I return to the places where I spent hours on end, riding bikes with friends, I recognize that we probably never really rode more than a few miles in any direction.

Roads that were dead ends now enter into new neighborhoods that have been built over orange groves and cattle pastures. And yet, just across the street from Brandon Senior High School is the same empty corner that always had horses or cows grazing.

And speaking of the high school… It was over crowded when I attended. The school only had three grades – 10^th through 12^th; but as sophomores, we attended the afternoon session – from noon until 5PM. Once we became juniors and seniors, we attended school from 7am to noon. Double Session is what they called it. At the time, Brandon High was the largest school in the state of Florida and supposedly, the third largest in the country (in terms of student population), and “The Streak” was already well underway by then. Now, there are at least 4 or 5 high schools serving the same area, and just this year, The Streak ended.

Between our old house in Woodberry Estates and the school which is only a mile or two away, there is a Lakewood Drive. On bicycles, it was a killer in either direction. We would try to get as much speed going down the hill as possible to help make the ride up the hill in the other direction easier. It worked a lot better in a Camaro!

At the corner of Lakewood and Limona, the Limona Cemetery made for a nice short cut. My wife always thought if I died I would want to go back and be buried there, but I never really thought of it. It’s a nice enough place I suppose.

Down Limona Road is the turn. Perhaps this turn is why they built the Limona Cemetery where they did. Surely, I wasn’t the only 17 year-old in the history of Brandon to drive too fast on slick streets and cross the double yellow line and plow head on into another vehicle, right? Thankfully, in terms of head-on collisions, the injuries weren’t as bad as they could have been; by now, I suspect my parents insurance rates have returned to normal and the lady in the other car invested her settlement wisely.

But more importantly, I learned one of the life-lessons that has guided me as a parent, on that day at the curve on Limona Road in Brandon; that damage to a car is simply an insignificant byproduct of being young and stupid, and yelling or being mad is simply an unproductive exercise during a stressful situation. My father is always calm in his demeanor but I guess I expected some craziness that afternoon. Instead, he calmly made sure I was okay, and called the people in the other car to make sure they were okay and to offer whatever assistance he could. Then he simply told me that this was what insurance is for. It may not mean a lot to other 17 year-olds, but that experience would mold my view of stressful situations for a life time (at least this far). My kids have not had the benefit of growing up just around the corner from my parents, but I suspect in a way, they have felt the presence, regardless.

If you can make it beyond the curve in the road, there is a convenience store located just on the other side of the railroad tracks. By San Antonio standards, I suppose it is odd since we have a Valero on every other corner, but this was (and as far as I can tell, still is) the closest little store to our house. We would ride bikes or sometimes walk along the railroad tracks looking for discarded Coke bottles to turn in for the deposit. The other day when I drove by for my own private trip down memory lane, I wasn't surprised to have to wait at the crossing for 4 or 5 minutes as a train passed slowly by. I cannot tell you the depth of stupidity that I have witnessed at that single railroad crossing, either from kids playing "dodge the train" or adults in cars not wanting to wait playing "dodge the train".

Today, the convenience store looks a little tacky, but who knows? It occupies the same physical location as it did before, but in my dreams, it is a different brand - maybe Stop 'n Go or something similar. I just know that as the finances of a kid mowing yards at $5.00 a whack, I spent a lot of money there.

Of course, I graduated from mowing lawns on my sixteenth birthday and began my one year tour of duty at BranMac, the nickname for Brandon McDonald's. Just like the high school that was overwhelmed with students, BranMac was overwhelmed in volume. The next nearest McDonald's was in either Ybor City or Plant City, I think. I honestly believe that the hard work I put in for a dime above minimum wage there would make military basic training and the supposedly high stress jobs I would hold over the years, a breeze.If the phrase "six and twelve on the turn" gives you chills, you should know that we routinely doubled that. Back when a Big Mac was maybe 85 cents a copy, we were routinely doing multiple $1,200 and $1,400 hours. BranMac was a finely tuned machine and we had something that I challenge you to find at any fast food restaurant today, and that was pride. We must have been so seriously brainwashed by the managers that we genuinely respected, a group of us guys purchased personalized T-Shirts and challenged other stores to grill competitions.

I drove by BranMac a few times during our weekend and noticed they had remodeled. My dad tells me that in a single day, they demolished the entire structure so they could build a new building. I didn't bother to stop by - and maybe I should have - but I couldn't bare the thought of potentially bad service at one of the finest establishments in the company history. Ray Kroc wouldn't have it, and neither would I.

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On Sunday Morning I drove my dad and my son down to the car wash to get my dad's little baby, a Chrysler 300, a much needed (whether it was really dirty or not) bath. There is something about a clean car to make things right and my father was simply aching to get the car spiffied up. There is a certain sense of satisfaction that comes from forking over $30.00 and knowing that, barring any rain or unexpected puddles, you are driving one sharp car, all the way home. We discussed the car wash operation and the staff attending to my dad's 300 took great interest in the fact that I was goofy enough to take pictures of a car being washed. If they served food, they'd still be shaking their heads.

In spite of the massive growth in the area, Brandon still has lots of wildlife. We drove by a bank with an ATM machine out front and a group of Sandhill Cranes seemed to be organizing a bank heist. And they would have gotten away with it...

And I think that helps with why for the first time in years when my wife asked the inevitable question - would I move back - I suddenly felt like if a job presented itself, I would. In spite of the massive growth, I felt like the traffic moved, the result of some master plan that involved building beautifully landscaped parkways paralleling the main road through Brandon, State Road 60 or Brandon Blvd. I never felt overwhelmed by the traffic and more importantly, I didn't feel as though I would see vandalized street signs or tagged privacy fences. And that was enough to make me consider it.

I've traveled extensively, lived in several different countries and several states all over the U.S.; I live in San Antonio because I love it here. It never hurts to take a little trip down memory lane though, and I have come to the conclusion that I may need to do it a little more often.

Lunch Report: Shells in Clearwater...

We had no intention of going to the beach in some sort of a "get wet, get sand on ourselves, get sunburned" type of fashion, but it was worth a drive over to Clearwater just to show off the place to my daughter's husband who had never been to Florida before. Make no mistake, there are loads of more finely tuned beaches within the price of gas, but I have always had a fondness for Clearwater, and it is easy.

We all agreed that we were ready for lunch and with the help of Garmin, decided on Shells.

You can't come to Florida and not get yourself some seafood, and this was as good a place as any. We opted to sit outside at Shell's Bridge Bar on a deck with a Tiki Bar. There was a light but solid breeze that kept it somewhat cool, but thankfully we had an umbrella for shade.Our waitress Angie, was Johnny on the spot with iced teas and some incredible, warm and very soft rolls that were simply awesome. I think they could have brought us a few baskets of the rolls and sent us on our way, and we would have all been pleased.

But we ordered lunch and got even more of a treat.Our son-in-law got the Fried Seafood Combo which is loaded with an assortment of shrimp, calamari, coconut shrimp and catfish. With the fries, you could feed a small family of vegans.My wife and daughter shared the same combo but opted for whitefish as opposed to the catfish. My son ordered up a Beer-battered fish and chips platter and he described it as being "Sorta like Long John Silvers, only good."

I got another one of the platters that contained whitefish, bay scallops, shrimp and clams. The plates came with an incredible Cole slaw with a surprise - mandarin orange slices mixed in with it. Who comes up with these little twists? Good choice. As our waitress said, it makes the Cole slaw almost like a dessert.Speaking of the waitress, we had a seasoned pro who worked the entire Bridge Bar area almost unassisted and pulled it off without a hitch. She was quick with a refill of tea, knew all the daily specials and was quick to make suggestions when anyone hesitated with the ordering.

And I darn near stiffed her on the tip. Let me explain. You may recall me complaining about my crappy cell phone that has a mind of its own. I know, I probably should have replaced the stupid thing months ago, but I just haven't. And, since I use the handy Tip Calculator that comes complimentary with my cell phone service, it is often jacked-up just like the rest of the phone.

So, when we got the bill, my wife asked me how much the total was so she could use her phone (which works) to give me a tip amount. I know - we could have avoided all this had I simply demonstrated as much interest in mathematics in school as I do eating. The long and the short of it is, I told my wife the total, she heard a different number and thus, gave me a lesser tip amount than what I think the outstanding service deserved.As we were driving away, everyone totally stuffed and ready for a nap, somehow the cost of lunch came up (I think it was about $78.00 for the five of us) and my wife said, "That's not what you said." Suddenly, I was horrified with the thought that after having such good service, we looked like total cheapskates. My wife had told me a Tip amount of $10 and I left $12.00. I guess, technically $12.00 is fine but I would ask this of those of you who might find yourself in Clearwater, FL and get a hankering for a seafood platter. If you go to Shells, can you give an extra buck or two to Angie, and let her know we appreciated her service.

Strange in 33511...

It doesn't matter where I go, I always see things that just make me wonder what people are thinking. Take my home town of Brandon for instance. We were driving down the street and happened upon this bus stop advertisement.I'm sure this is a nice lady who could put you into the home of your dreams but what I find strange is that she took the time to go to Glamour Shots, get herself a spiffy new scarf (complete with bolt through the throat), put on all the family jewels and busted out the war paint, but couldn't put down the cell phone long enough to take a picture.

Silver Creek in the Morning...

I have pretty vague memories of spending time at the home of my Great-Grandparents in Tampa during 1970 or 71. My dad was in Vietnam and had moved us back to be close to my mom’s family in Florida, and I think my mom was happy to have the help by letting a few of us kids spend the night over on Otis Ave from time to time. I was only in maybe the first or second grade but the things I remember most involved the sounds of the neighborhood and the wildlife.

Besides the normal assortment of birds, there were some squirrels that would come up onto the front porch and take peanuts from my great grandfather or if he wasn’t out, they would jimmy open a drawer on the porch where the peanuts were kept.

In the mornings, I can recall sitting out on the front porch and even though we were in a neighborhood of homes, if you shut your eyes, it seemed like you were out in the country. I suppose back then, there weren’t a lot of air conditioners kicking on or little Japanese vehicles with those goofy sounding mufflers to spoil the atmosphere.

I’m a firm believer that sounds and smells can take you back to a different place in time and for a few minutes anyway, this Sunday morning, I felt like I had been transported back to those mornings in Tampa.

Did I mention that my great grandmother wore a wig and at night she would take it off for bed and that really scared the bejesus out of me?

One of the huge selling points on our house was an upstairs balcony overlooking the front yard. But even though we moved here in late ’99, my wife and I had never bothered to go sit out there and read the paper while enjoying morning coffee.

I’m not sure what I expected, but I do know that when I get up in the middle of the night to walk out on the back deck and let the dogs sniff around for skunks, Mr. Possum and the occasional raccoon, I can hear traffic off in the distance; usually those obnoxious Japanese cars with the goofy mufflers, or perhaps the equally obnoxious sound of the rumbling exhaust on my son’s truck. But either way, the sound from the front of the house was totally different.

We sat on lawn chairs, equipped with the Sunday Express-News and fully charged cups of coffee and let the little dog come out to sniff around. I expected to see some traffic or maybe a lawn mower and weed eaters getting started up, but as I sat there reading a review of some important biography in the SA Life section, there was nothing but just a calm silence interrupted only by an occasional bird flying by, or a squirrel taking up a better position on a tree to see what we were doing on the balcony.

For just a brief moment, as I raised my eyes from focusing on the paper in my lap, I gazed up out into the trees of the front yard and I could imagine the calm morning air at the start of a beautiful Florida day. For a moment, I thought I could her my great grandfather working on some project in his shop behind the house.

Like some sort of suppressed memory it was as if I was hearing nails being bent after every few blows with the hammer and an extraordinary number of “Oh, Shits” coming from the back.

“Granddaddy, is that you?” I closed my eyes to take it all in.

And then I realized it was my next-door neighbor Eric, hammering on the fence in his backyard.

Oh well. I guess it’s the small things that make living in Silver Creek nice.