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The Fisher of Stories


Hi there. My name is Travis, and I run this blog. We’ve probably met before, you know, at that convention that one time in Querqe.

You get it?

I’ve been gone a while, so I’m making jokes.

Please don’t leave yet, I swear I have a legit blog going on here. But real quick, let me get you up to speed. We’ve had the kids about 2 months now, and things are going great. We love them, they’ve adjusted rather quickly, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I figure you guys are going to want a picture, so here you go:

This isn’t them, obvs. You have to wait 4 more months for that. However, they are every bit as cute as this.

At this point I probably have one or two people still actually reading this. Lauren and Mandy, thanks, and keep going.

Today at work I helped my department head move from an office in one town to one a couple of towns over. She had accumulated quite a bit of stuff in her office, and we loaded a some of it into a couple of trucks and headed out. When we got to our destination, I started unloading the trucks. There were quite a few heavy items, and I’m notorious for being a “fewer trips is better” guy, so I tend to overexert myself on lifting, carrying, pulling, etc.

I love to watch people. Before you get that crawling feeling at the base of your spine, know that I prefer to watch them fully clothed. I think people are, among many other things, fascinating, and I love observing their individual behaviors. I discovered Chat Roulette a few weeks ago, and I honestly had a blast observing the 3 people on there who didn’t have their penises out. Fortunately, this morning provided me with an opportunity to observe some people who were fully clothed and all too helpful.

When I walked up to the entrance the first time with a heavy load in my arms, I was trying to figure out how to open the door, and a gentleman of about 45 walked up and opened it for me. I told him thank you, and continued on. A few minutes later, I walked to the door with another heavy load, and a pregnant woman jumped out of her seat and ran to open up the door. Smiling, I thanked her, and continued on my way.

I had one major load left, and as I was carrying it to the door I realized that I was going to be able to open the door on my own this time. However, just through the door, I spotted something that absolutely thrilled my heart. A handicapped African American lady of about 60 struggled to her feet, grabbed her cane, and walked over to the door to open it for me. We kind of opened it together, and I walked through, thanking her politely.

Three trips to the door, three people being kind. The office I was at is an Unemployment Office. It is the place people go when they’ve lost their job, they are looking for a job, or are just generally down on their luck. People usually aren’t in good moods at the Unemployment Office. They aren’t kind, they aren’t thinking of anything but their situation, and they are usually stressed out and dealing with wounded pride. I’ve been in the office, I know how it feels, and I can’t say I blame anyone for feeling like that.

However, three people – two of them in “conditions” – went out of their way today to commit a simple act of kindness that reminded me of why I love the human race. The fact that people are basically good. We may not all believe in the same God, we may not all be having a great day, but deep down there is a good person in all of us. A person who loves their fellow man, who wants to help out when they can, and who knows what the right thing is and tries to do it most times. I’m not saying we’re all perfect, and I’m not saying even the kindest person is going to grab every opportunity that comes their way. As much as I say I hate people, I still believe in the basic good.

To the three people that helped me today: You inspire me, and you give me hope for us humans. May we all learn to be so considerate.

Thank you.

I’m not a funeral guy.

Also, if you want something funny here today, go away. Yeah, I know that I’m a funny guy, at least funny looking, but the truth is, sometimes I need to be serious.

The Missus’ best friends grandfather passed away a few days ago, and the funeral was yesterday.

The man was 87 years old.

He was a pilot in the Air Force, and he loved flying. As they listed his accolades and honors, I felt something stirring inside me. It took me a moment to figure out what it was, and then I identified it. It was pride.

This man served his country, and he lived to tell about it.

They told a story about how in his final days, when his mental facilities were failing him, he sat up in his hospital bed, and pretended he was flying an airplane. He told one of the grandkids to “move the table” in the hospital room, so he could land the plane. He loved flying so much, it became his escape from his sickness.

The Air National Guard was at the funeral, and they gave him military honors. I was enraptured by the precision of it all, and the genuine respect in those young mens eyes as they folded the flag and gave it to the widow of an American Soldier.

Towards the end of it all, I was surprised to find not only a lump in my throat, but a lump in my calf as well. As I wondered why my leg was cramping, it hit me. I had been standing at attention the entire time. Without even realizing it.

Now, I am the last person you’d expect to do anything military. The concept of me at attention is probably baffling you. But there I was, back straight, hands to sides, knees locked, eyes straight ahead.

As the gun shots went off in salute, I experienced a moment of total and unadulterated pride. Pride in being a part of this country. Pride in the men and women who daily get up and help keep safe my life and my freedoms.

I guess you could say that the reality of Veterans Day really hit me yesterday. I realized that these people SHOULD have a day where they are honored. To be truthful, it should be more than one day. Each one of us should spend a little bit every day just being appreciative of the sacrifice that is made. Not just the sacrifice of  life, but with time, with body, and with mind.

I try not to repeat myself too much here on this blog, but today I want to say a real thank you to our country’s service personnel. As Thanksgiving approaches, you can be sure that they will be mentioned in my prayers, and they will be thought of often.

Thank you.


So here’s the thing. I gripe a lot about my old high school (where I work) and I make fun of it a lot. However, a few of them get a big Classy from Travis tonight.

A few days ago, a young lady was killed in an airplane crash in Tulsa. You probably heard about it on the news, or read about it in the paper. One of my followers, Ed over at Ed’s Funny Pages, actually turned to his wife and said, “Geez, I hope it wasn’t Travis.” Thanks for that, Ed.

Anyway, the young lady that died played volleyball for the Metro Christian volleyball team in or around Tulsa. This team, still grieving the loss of their friend and teammate, showed up to play the game they had scheduled with us. That in itself gets applause from me, because that took a lot of strength to do.

One of our volleyball girls named Taryn decided that the young lady that died deserved some last respects, if you will. Our girls painted her jersey number on both of their arms, and they gave the other team a card and flowers.

I will repeat that. THE OPPOSING TEAM GAVE THE TEAM THAT LOST A TEAMMATE FLOWERS. That’s right, I typed it in caps, because they deserve it. I have never heard of this happening before in my life.

Folks, in this age of ZERO sportsmanship, parents yelling at referees, fights in the stands, and insults hurled from player to player, our girls stand tall. I cannot fully convey how proud I am of them, and they make me proud to have graduated from and to work at that school.

Here’s what I propose. I have a few readers, and a few followers. Not many, but a few. If you’ve read this post, and you think what they did was classy, I want you to post a comment. I want you to let them know how classy this was. I want to run out of room on my page for this post alone. Encourage them. Encourage THIS behavior. If you are reading this and go to school there, proudly proclaim it. Let’s do this folks. Let’s let our Lady Mustang volleyball team know how proud of them we are.

And that, my friends, is real.

(here is a link to the newspaper article that was written about them)

Editors Note: I don’t blog again until they get 25 comments at least. I really feel they should be shown this support. It HAS to be encouraged. Come on folks, let em have it.