In my column a week or so ago, I suggested doing away with Monday as nothing ever went right on Monday. We should start the day on Tuesday as with Wednesday coming up; we would be “over the hump.” Little did I know that on Wednesday the second day of May, a real wooly booger of a storm would hit.

I spent half of my youth in a cellar with a smoky old lantern waiting for a “cyclone” Mama knew was sure to come. Even today, when it thunders, I smell coal oil. Is this Global warming, or Global warning?

I stood in my back door late that Wednesday and watched five large trees blow down in my back yard. One fell across my garage and a large hackberry fell partially across my back porch. I thought for awhile I was being called to preach.

I thought of my old friend Cecil Holman, a mortician who also operated a grocery on Beaver Street for many years. I don’t know what brought it up, but one day Cecil told me, “I never did preach but I’m not too good to.” Me neither.

I had a lot of conversations with Cecil over the years and it was a bright spot in my day when I went by his store. One day, I was in the store and a kid about 3, not even tall enough to reach the counter top, reached up and laid down two pennies.

What you want, son?” Cecil asked.

“Tater chips” The kid said.

“Go on back home, son.” Cecil said. “You ain’t got tater chip money.”

There have been many times in my life when I didn’t have tater chip money either and I thought about buying the kid some. Cecil vetoed the idea. “That kid is in here a dozen times a day with his two pennies trying to buy tater chips. His mama doesn’t know he’s doing it.”

They didn’t break the mold when they made Cecil — it was already broke.

With the help of my son Jimmy, Brent Groom, two chain saws and my lady-friend, Bernell, who can do anything, we finally got the mess cleaned up and stacked out front for the city crew to pick up. The city requested the stuff be in 5-foot lengths but the storm didn’t know what lengths the city wanted. We did the best we could and a truck did come by and pick it up.

My garden is still flooded and the soil is washed off all my onions. Now, as I write this, the weather bureau is predicting more of the same.

To get our planet back to normal again, maybe everybody should sell two of their cars and let the kids walk to school. They won’t be the first to do it.

When I was a kid, I walked four miles through thick jungles with unknown vicious wild animals prowling all around me. In the winter, the snow was waist deep. Well, that’s what I told my kids. Didn’t everybody? Actually, it was only two miles.

When July comes around, we will be searching the sky for one little cloud that might bring some rain. In Texas, we all know it either rains too much, or not at all. It’s too cold, or too hot, too wet or too dry. Nobody I know owns a raincoat.

Still, few among us would want to live anywhere else. We’re tough.

We can handle it.

Harry Marlin’s column is featured every Tuesday on the Brownwood Bulletin’s Viewpoint page. E-mail him at