Bill Waller Archive

Those of you have read my columns know that I have a natural aversion to technology and change.  One of the things that I have grown to love though is YouTube because of all of the handyman lessons that are on the videos.  It is a great way for the less handy among us to learn how to fix something and save a buck or two.

In the last three years, I’ve made repairs on the washer and dryer.  I replaced the heating element in the dryer and had to buy a set of dogs for the washer.  Who knew washers even had dogs?  The latest repair took me back to the washer.  After replacing the easy and inexpensive part, I checked it, and it had the same symptoms, draining and clicking without spinning.  Two repairmen and YouTube advised me that the source of my woes was the washer’s transmission.  I was told that it was time to purchase a new washer.  My bride has to have matching machines so it was time for a new dryer too.

Our old washer and dryer had lasted 17 years before being pronounced dead.  That was the last time we were in the market, and things sure have changed a lot in those 17 years.  Now washers do not have an agitator.  There are front loaders and top loaders, but no agitators.  My wife said that we needed a front loader.  The salesman told me that you have to keep the door to this dag blasted thing open to prevent it from getting moldy and nasty inside.  Now I have to check it for wayward critters that might be nesting in there before I start the laundry.  In addition, we are now to clean the washing machine with a special cleaner once a month.  The salesman asked how long we have had our current machines.  I told him 17 years.  Then he told me not to expect 17 years from this washer.  He said that the average life on one of these washers is just 5 years.  The cost of the new washer was considerably higher than what we had paid back in the day.

With all of the persnickety characteristics of the new washer, it is rated Energy Star, High Efficiency, and whatever other label that the environmentalists can put on the darn thing.  It is the greenest white washer that I’ve ever seen.  However, I cannot figure out how a washer that will be placed in the junk pile every 5 years is more friendly to the environment than my old 17 year old water hog.

Once the washer and dryer were delivered, it looked like two space ships had landed in the laundry room.  During the spin cycle, the washer sounds like it is about to take off.  Their shape looks very modern, they have about as many lights as our Christmas tree, and they make chime melodies when starting and stopping.

It is not all bad.  I have seen a noticeable difference in how clean our clothes are compared to the water hog.  The laundry gets done a lot quicker too.  My son couldn’t wait to run a load every time the machine was emptied, but that only lasted until the newness was over.  We have come a long way since the old scrub board, wash tub, and lye soap.  That cannot be denied.  I’d be a little intimidated to lift the hood and check the transmission on the new washer, but that too may be a plus.

Written by Bill Waller. Mr. Waller is a author and contributor local blog, Southwest Georgia Politics. He enjoys writing, traveling, and researching history. He currently resides in Albany, Georgia.

The ol’ gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be.  That popular folk song that we sang when I was in school used to make me worry about getting older.  That poor old mare could no longer kick the whiffle tree because of age.  In many of my columns, I have used the five words, “…when I was a boy.”  In my attempt to explain how the culture has changed, you may think that I am obsessed by my age.  That is not true.

A lot of people seem to fight their age.  You see t-shirts on old men that say, “Growing Older Is Mandatory, Growing Up Is Optional.”  There are countless ads for women that tout age defying make-up, and fashion magazines show us the latest trends that will make us look younger and thinner.  It has become a priority in our nation to either be young or to appear much younger than your true age.

However, there are definite advantages to being older.  I view the world differently as my mind has matured.  I know that I am not as bulletproof as I once thought I was which often leads to healthier decisions.  When my sons want me to try their Ripsticks, skateboards with two wheels rather than four, I opt out.  That does not mean that I have decided to crawl into a small dark space, fearful of the world, and wait for my funeral.  Absolutely not.  Life is for living.  It is important to get out there, but it is also important to be wise in our adventures.

Fresh out of college, I wanted to be a stockbroker.  I interviewed at several places before I landed a job with a brokerage firm.  One of the places where I interviewed told me to find another job and come back when I had more business contacts and gray in my hair.  It is true that people lend credibility to others that have more life experiences.

Our friendships grow deeper with age too.  Life has a tendency to give us all similar challenges.  Having a few friends that share this journey with you is important.  We can share ideas about children, jobs, and marriage.  We have a common history based on stories that we reflect on and laugh about.  These friendships are much more valuable than the superficial friends that surrounded me in my youth.

As we get older, we fall into a certain rhythm in our lives.  We don’t wonder aimlessly trying to figure out who we really are.  Instead, we work to improve our authentic selves.  There is a sense of peace that comes with that.  You can begin to live the life you truly want after you have taken the time to learn who you really are.

It is true that there are times when I wish I were still young and bulletproof, but the reality is that I am enjoying my life.  Rather than fight this new stage, I am embracing it.  Maturity makes us happier and wiser.  Instead of getting older, we are getting better.

Written by Bill Waller. Mr. Waller is a author and contributor local blog, Southwest Georgia Politics. He enjoys writing, traveling, and researching history. He currently resides in Albany, Georgia.

I have to blame all of this on my blacksmith friend Lyn Belcher.  Mr. Belcher had a blacksmith shop in downtown Sasser, Georgia, and I often enjoyed going there.  The ambiance was nice.  He had created a rustic look in his showroom to display his metalwork, and he had Bluegrass music piped in via satellite.  I talked to him one day about the music and he said that he considered Bluegrass to be about the only true American art form for music.  Conversation turned to the old show Hee Haw, and he told me that reruns are still being played on RFDTV.  I could not wait to go home and check out Bluegrass Junction and RFDTV.

Unbeknown to me, the blacksmith had planted a seed that would eventually grow into a wild hair.  Now I am not talking about the kind of wild hair that you might find growing out of a mole on the back of your aunt Bertha.  I am talking about the kind of wild hair that constantly nags at you to go somewhere or do something.  This wild hair was not on me.  This untamed lock was growing on my son.

Since we have started listening to Bluegrass, he has had a desire for a banjo.  It must grate on him night and day because about eighty percent of our conversations together somehow turn into, “…if I only had a banjo.”  These wild hairs are not uncommon, and I suspect that they run deep on my side of the family.  Someday I am going to turn my old popup camper into a teardrop camper, get my old MG-Bs running again, restore an old sailboat that I have stored in the in laws’ yard, etc.  So I know a thing or two about wild hairs.

In trying to do some research on banjos, it appears that there are several different styles.  Some have four, most have five, and a few have six strings.  Some are open backed and are used for clawhammer style.  Some have a closed back and are used more for a Bluegrass/Earl Scruggs style of picking.  Some are inexpensive and some will cost about the same as a new car.  There are even one stringed instruments called Canjos and three stringed banjo ukuleles.  Neither of these last two will satisfy the bug.

My son has gone off on other tangents in the past.  One time he wanted to play the bagpipe so we got him the practice chanter and a year of lessons on CD and booklet.  There are not many people in our area that teach the bagpipes.  A few months ago, he wanted to make his own arrowheads.  Following advice from the blacksmith, I am starting to see a trend here, we collected a bucket of flint by the river.  That bucket has been in the garage for several months.

It is important for kids to try new things.  What would have happened if Earl Scruggs never got a banjo?  It could become a skill that he carries with him for the rest of his life or it could become a decoration for the corner of his room waiting on “someday.”  We are still pondering what to do with this new obsession and wondering if extra hold gel might tame this wild hair.  It sure would be a lot cheaper than a banjo!

Written by Bill Waller. Mr. Waller is a author and contributor local blog, Southwest Georgia Politics. He enjoys writing, traveling, and researching history. He currently resides in Albany, Georgia.

Among all of the great staples of Spring is Field Day!  In the last two weeks, I have seen many Field Day pictures posted from area schools.  My own son counted down the days until last Friday when the students at his school left the books in the classroom and hit the fields.  His class had some of the traditional Field Day activities like hurdles and tug-of-war along with new things that involved water, lots and lots of water to be more specific.  There was a wet sponge volleyball game, over and under with a wet sponge, leaky pipe, and a host of other great games and activities.

I attended Field Day with my son.  I have been going now for many years.  Things are a little different than when I was growing up.  When I was a boy, no parents came out to watch their son and/or daughter play.  There were no water sports, and ribbons were presented to the winners throughout the day.

I remember wanting to win a ribbon very badly.  The truth is that I smell about the same now as I did back then when it comes to sports—I stink!  Once after the Field Day activities, I found a blue ribbon on the ground.  I picked it up, and I thought about how cool it would be for me to tell everyone that I won the ribbon.  There was no name or activity on the back.  My conscious took over as I was concocting my story.  I knew that somebody at my school worked hard to earn that ribbon and for me to keep it was not only selfish but it was just plain wrong.  I gave the ribbon to my teacher.

There is a trend today to award trophies to all of the children that participate on a team.  This must have been born out of a fear that we cannot crush the fragile egos of our children.  In trying to protect them, we are sending a bad message to the future of our country.  We are telling them that everyone is entitled to an award and that hard work and dedication are about the same as just showing up.  One of my favorite movie lines is from the Incredibles.  The villain from the movie was going to give out super powers to everybody.  Then he said, “When everybody is special, then nobody is.”

Whether we think we are protecting the egos of our children or just shielding ourselves from having to explain why everyone did not get a trophy, we are devaluing achievement.  When everybody gets a trophy, then a trophy does not mean anything.  In some sporting events, I hear that they do not even keep score now.  I tried to do that with a small soccer game that we did with the Cub Scouts over the weekend.  The goal was to play for thirty minutes.  The score did not matter, yet one of the first grade Scouts knew how many goals each team scored at the end of the game.  What is the point of playing if you don’t keep score?

This year’s Field Day was more about fun (and apparently getting wet) than the ribbons.  However, there are teachable moments that are lost when we do not reward hard work and achievement.  If we do not pass those lessons along to our children, then the ones that may suffer in the future could be ourselves.

Written by Bill Waller. Mr. Waller is a author and contributor local blog, Southwest Georgia Politics. He enjoys writing, traveling, and researching history. He currently resides in Albany, Georgia.