Monthly Archives: August 2015

Freed

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In battered tennis shoes we shuffled through leaves of gold and red. A wooded area on his family’s land. Kenny pointed to a brown clump of dead vines gracing a tree stump. End-of-Summer rains hadn’t arrived and we easily crossed the creek bed to reach them. I grinned. Yeah, these oughta smoke well.  A few pocket knife maneuvers and we…

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The Creason Effect

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The people who influence you are The people who believe in you                                                      – Henry Drummond Three brothers of the same household believed in me. Each played an influencing role. Each introduced me to something…

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A gravel parking lot where two streets met hemmed in our little white church. Inside I scooted my trousered bottom cautiously along an unpolished church bench – taking care to dodge the occasional splinter. I gave in at times to a curious temptation – running my finger-tips along the bench’s underside. A braile-like search yielded my prize. A random trail…

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Trading Distraction

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Distraction. That which divides the attention, diverts or draws away the mind; prevents concentration.    Jerry Lout! What are you looking at out there? You come right up here.  Elementary school. I limp through my life distracted. Not all the time. But more of the time than desired. Ask Ann, my wife. Occasionally my distractions serve a handy purpose. Even therapeutic. A quiet…

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Medical Interlude. My bride.

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To all who follow or check in on the Jerry Lout memoir narratives. ‘Running Life’s Race with a Limp’. A momentary break in the flow of postings. Thank you for taking in the following explanation. An overseas follower and great friend writes, ‘Your blog seems to be limping the past several days’. My short-version of the week’s happenings. What is…

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Baptized

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And now we welcome two brothers – the Lout boys – to the waters of baptism. Our lady minister, dressed in white and smiling, beckoned my older brother and me. Sister A was standing in a cattle pond fifteen feet from shore. The foreman of the ranch attended our church. In summer months he supplied this venue for those ready…

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Dancing with snakes. fear and beyond

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My only real dance with a snake happened at our farm when I was around twelve. Our horse, Bill featured in the opening act. Aside from the dance affair, I knew other serpent encounters growing up . . . I was ten and enjoying one of our family’s rare outings. We cabined at a clearing along the Neosho River. I…

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