My Idea

While watching the news this evening I had a little idea.  It's a little idea because it came from between the ears of a little, as in "one who does not matter," person.  I have a big body, but a small wallet.  These things do not combine to average each other,  so I remain a small person in the minds of all the very important folks who are smart enough to bring the country to ruin all by themselves.   I don't hold a grudge, so I'll share the idea with them. 

My idea is that we just might be able to solve all the problems we face if we engage in some creative imagination.  First of all, let's figure out just which problems we want to solve.  Maybe we should start with a couple of easy ones - let's say we try to fix our growing dependence on imported oil and, oh let's see, maybe we can fix the problem of people yearning for democracy in North Africa for starters.  Ya know, if we really work at it, maybe we can also fix the Federal deficit without much more effort. That should be enough for now, ya think?

I believe the reason we import so much oil is because we don't have enough in the United States and a whole bunch of people don't want to put any more holes in the ground around this joint.  Does that sound close enough for you?  What we need to do is somehow find a place where there are already a bunch of holes and make that place a part of America.  That seems like a sensible solution to me.  Wow!  That just gave me another idea!

How about we somehow combine the "no holes here problem" with the "I want to be free" desire on the part of all the peoples of North Africa?  Hold on to your hats folks, 'cause now, all of a sudden, two very hard to fix problems have just become one that is easy to solve.  I propose  (Drum Roll) The Annexation and Statehood of (51) Libya,  (52) Egypt,  (53)Iraq,  (54)Bahrain and (55)Yemen.  It's been a while since we've added a star to our flag,  and actually the only problem I can see is where do we put the new stars?  There are already five stars in the outer bands on both sides so we'll make the whole thing lopsided if we add a second row of five to either the left or the right of those that are already there. Can't put them in the middle 'cause the middle has only four stars. 

I tell you, this has the makings of a real disaster.  The only sensible solution to the energy and North African problems completely messes up our flag.  What a bummer.  Wait just a minute - let's think about the middle again.  It has four stars, and actually, a close inspection reveals that there are alternating bands of five and four.......hum........I have it!  Let's just annex four of the countries!  To heck with the fifth!  It's prolly filled with a bunch of terrorists anyway.  And, if it isn't, lets just evict all the terrorists from the four American ones and make 'em live in the fifth.  Now, we still have alternating bands of four and five. There.  Now it's fixed.

Let's review what we've accomplished.  America has a bunch of new oil.  No more importing the stuff.  Democracy is the law of the land in most of Northern Africa.  And, our flag is still the prettiest in all of the Universe.  Wow.  Not bad for a bunch of bloggers.

Oh - we were also gonna eliminate the deficit.  How should we do that?  I know!  Let's put all the dictators that now rule in that part of the world in jail.  We'll accuse them of some crime or other and take all the money as a fine.  If it's not enough, let's toss all the crooked bankers, traders and politicians in this country in the same clinker and take their ill gotten gains too.  Nah, that's a little much. 

Let's just slap their wrists and give them high ranking Government jobs.  That's the 'ol American Spirit!

Mud

Mud is one of nature's most contradictory inventions.  It's one of only several things that comes to mind that you can love and hate depending on what's going on in your life at the time.   Mud itself is pretty neutral, unless it happens to be located in the Big Sur area of California under a stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway.  If that's where it is, mud can be pretty malicious. 

All the mud that was there under the highway last week is now at the base of the cliff, with a bunch of asphalt mixed in, and if you listen really hard you'll hear it laughing at the folks who now must make a two hour long detour to avoid the mischief it caused.  I know for a fact the mud has been planning this particular road mayhem since the first drops of rain started falling a couple of weeks ago.  No way humans could have caused this mess - our highway engineers are way too smart to build a road where it can decide to take a swim one day.  Never happen.  

Mostly mud is some really tame stuff, and usually helps out when it can.  I remember the times when I was a child and I'd go out of my way to find a puddle of water with a bunch of dirt mixed in.  I'd make darn sure my little brother was really close to it and then jump right into the middle of the mess.  We'd both usually wind up wishing I hadn't done that, but I've never been able to stay clean for more than a few minutes.  Most of my shirt tail is always more outside my belt than inside it.  Sure, I make the attempt to be neat and clean, but for some folks that's really hard. 

College days were full of mud, we could always find a bunch of it to drive through in somebody's pickup.  One Halloween, a bunch of buddies and I loaded a pickup - I can't remember who's  -  full of unsold pumpkins from a local patch, and drove around town tossing them at other buddies cars.  They all started chasing us and we and wound up flipping the truck over into a muddy field.  There's nothing quite like a whole army of teen aged college kids running around an overturned pickup, slipping and sliding in the mud and tossing pumpkins at each other.   Even the cops were amused.  They tried not to chuckle while they told us to clean up the mess, but cops have their limits too, and one of them couldn't stand it.  He laughed so much he doubled over.  Not much we could clean up anyway.  Too much mud.

Also, while in college, there was a Freshman-Sophomore tug of war every year.  The mud puddle was between the teams and the losing side was pulled through it.  Of course the winners saw how much fun it was to be covered in mud and jumped in to the rescue.   That's how my nose got broken the first time.  One of the jumpers, wearing a size 48 combat boot, landed on it with enough force to make me miss a couple of classes.  Yeah, I know, any excuse is good for that. 

Some of my friends, in New Mexico, live in mud houses.  It's called "Adobe" there, and it's quite fashionable to live in them.  If the walls are really thick, it's called a "Double Adobe" and besides being chic, the mud acts like a heat sink and evens the hot daytime with the cooler night temperatures, and is an amazingly efficient energy free climate control system.

I tried to remember all these pleasurable mud experiences today as I carefully placed concrete pavers along one side of our house and under where we store the trash cans.  It didn't work.  Today's one of those days that I really hate mud.  If there were no mud I would not have had to save the trash cans from it and could have been doing something, ANYTHING, else except dinking around with heavy slabs of concrete.

Gone

A good man died last Saturday and the world is still spinning.  Joe Bageant put voice to my anger and concerns about how the world is being run.  I never met the man, but his writing made me know he was my friend and the drummer in the band that played music to which I wanted  to dance.

If you want to read what a real writer has to say, spend a day, or a week here.  http://www.joebageant.com/joe/archives.html

This is what a friend of his has to say.    http://www.joebageant.com/joe/2011/03/bageant-moves-on.html#tp

Rest in peace, Joe. You'll not suffer the pain and indignation you've felt at the way people treat each other, which you tried so hard to remedy, any longer.  I'll miss hearing from you every now and again.

Nicole

I am not a religious freak, but I'll tell you exactly what happened.  I don't know what to think; make of it what you will.

I was on the couch in the waiting room just hangin out until my physical therapist finished up the client before me, when she motored up and said "Hi - I'm Nicole."   She was young, and until she spoke and told me her name I was not sure if she was a boy or a girl.  Both legs and her left arm were atrophied from lack of use, and she controlled the motorized wheelchair with a kind of lever that was moved fractions of an inch by her right hand.  Her speech was slow and slurred.  But, it was easier to understand than my wife's, and it revealed her intelligence was unaffected by all else that was wrong with her body.  Living with Carolyn has taught me there is more to a person than physical health and common looks.  Handicapped and odd, out of balance physical appearance has nothing to do with "being." 

I told her my name and she joked that Forest Gump was her favorite movie.  I've heard the line a hundred times before, and gave my standard reply. "I like to tell people my name's Forrest Grump - I can get away with murder."  With some sort of sound that must have been a chuckle, she said I didn't seem Grumpy at all and asked why I was there.  I told her about my still unhealed wrist, cut to relieve carpal tunnel symptoms, and asked what had happened to her.  Had she been in an accident?  She said yes.  Eight years earlier, an automobile crash had taken away most of her ability to use her body but she had been given other abilities - she could see things better than before.

Nicole was sitting in the rear seat, on the driver's side, when a guy blew through a stop sign and hit the left side of the car.  The driver and the passenger in back, on Nicole's right, were both killed instantly.  Nicole was left in in a coma, in St. Charles Medical Center, for four and a half months.  She told me she was able to remember a lot of what happened while she was comatose.  She could hear the Doctors and nurses and knew when her family visited.  The family was amazed when, after regaining consciousness, she told them much of what had occurred around her. 

She could also remember her talks with God.

God had asked her, in one of the firsts of their talks, if she wanted to stay in Heaven with Him, or return to Earth.  He told her He would not be easy on her if she chose to come back.  It was going to be a hard life, filled with a lot of suffering and pain.  Her condition would be almost unbearable.  But, He said, if she would use it to help, he'd give her a gift to take back with her.  By now, you know her choice.  She came back.

We talked more, mostly I asked about her conversations with the Lord and she explained more of what they discussed.  Amazingly, after the three shots of Jack Daniels it took before I decided to speak of this, I can remember little of this part of the conversation.  I know I felt comfortable with her, even though she was crippled beyond belief and was almost half a century younger.  Her courage and love of life and living, even when facing such horrible deformity every day she woke, made me stare with awe and admiration.  Her spirit was strong, almost beyond understanding, and gave meaning to the tone of what she said, the words weren't all that important.  Her emotions saying them and the soothing effect they had is what mattered.  We spent another ten minutes together and then she told me her ride home was just around the corner and that we did not have a lot more time together.  "I can see you're suffering and need help.  Talk to God.  Do it every night.  He wants to listen to you and can help."  Just then her driver walked in and she said goodbye and was gone. 

I had told her nothing of the situation in our home, nothing of Carolyn's condition.  I had said nothing of a personal nature about my life. There were no windows she could use to see the location of her driver.  There is no way she could have known of the trials we are experiencing, and for the life of me, I can not figure out how she knew the driver was near. 

I am a spiritual person but not a church goer.  I believe in a higher power and a higher existence, but have begun to wonder how a Great Being would allow what is happening to my wife to continue.  At times I am furious that Carolyn must suffer through the life she has been given.  I would not wish her condition on a child molester.  It seems Nicole darted into my life at just the right time to give me a sorely needed boost. 

Did I, like Nicole claims to have done, hear from God today?  I wonder.

Update:  A friend of mine called today and we discussed this at length.  His feeling is that I met and talked with a "Saint." 

Dinner at the Neighbors

Our neighbors are becoming more than just people who wave a greeting as we pass.  We had dinner with the ones directly across the street this evening and found them to be good conversationalists with some very interesting experiences.  She works with special needs high school kids, he currently designs and repairs jewelry for several local shops.  Before moving back to the states, he spent many years as a language and skills instructor in the heart of equatorial Africa.  We talked at length about his perceptions of the African peoples and the general mess that is the nature of most political and social structures in that region.

One of his insights was there is no real sense of community there.  People just have no concept of group effort to benefit the entire community.  They will hunt in packs, but co-operation to build roads or wells or sewer systems is unheard of.  Life is hard and individual need trumps group benefit.  All effort needs immediate reward, instant gratification.  Planning today for future needs is not only nonexistent, it really is beyond the imagination.  He spoke knowledgeably of Voodoo and Magic, and compared that mind set with European Christian values. 

He told the story of a dictator who was ousted, after plundering the nations wealth, and who was replaced with a crusading native with dreams of democracy.  The citizens tired of him, with his foreign notions, and replaced him with another democratically elected President.  This person also quickly fell from the peoples favour, again because he tried to instill European ideas of equality.  Who was next in the line?  The people elected the ousted Dictator!  The one who stole everything from them at the beginning of this tale!  Once again they're under his guns. They are more comfortable with a Devil they understand than with someone who tried new ideas in hopes of bringing better conditions to their lives.  After his election, he banned democracy.  It was an interesting conversation.

Two of her daughters were present, but his three boys and her other two children live elsewhere.  The daughters and their boyfriends, whom we met, were smart, outgoing and courteous.  Carolyn's difficulties were met with understanding and grace.  No special treatment nor condescending attitudes at that table, she was a treasured guest who belonged there. 

You just never know who you're gonna get when a move is made to a new place.  It seems we've been fortunate.  With any luck at all, we'll soon meet the neighbors in charge of improving the weather and will be able to request one or two minor changes - like, ya know, some Sunshine?

Snow Day

Today I really wanted to find a new airport I suspect is in the area.  There must be one somewhere beside the highway and very close to the Deschutes river because an airplane, in landing configuration, flew right over me at an estimated altitude of 200 feet as I quietly motored along the road toward home yesterday.  His engine was not making a lot of noise and, with the flaps fully deflected , a touch down was certain within a half mile or so from where the Guzzler was guzzlin.   First thing I did upon arriving home was to look for my sectional charts.

I've flown this area before, so there just happened to be an old, out of date, dog eared chart stuffed inside my dusty flight bag.  It's the kind of thing that gets tossed out the window in case of an inflight emergency.  The FAA deducts SERIOUS Brownie points if they find an out of date chart in your bag while investigating anything out of the ordinary.  I believe "Toss old charts out the window" is the first or second item on the emergency check list.  Maybe I'm wrong - I'll have to check. 

The chart was unfolded in short order and there it was!  Right where I imagined it to be.  Beside the highway between Redmond and Sisters, just west of the river, was an airport located at 2920 feet above sea level with a 3000 foot long runway.  Next to the airport was a symbol noting that it is a private, not public, facility.  That means ya have to know somebody, or call somebody to use it.

I love finding new pilot places.  Even though there probably is not one soul I have met before at this airport, it's full of friends.  I'll be able to pull up a chair and spend the day swapping tales with the local hanger rats.  We'll look at airplanes, those capable of flight and those that are being rebuilt, discuss the relative merits of droop tips and wonder out loud about how they're ever gonna replace leaded Av gas.  Then reality sank in.  I can't spend the day doing that anymore.  There are more pressing issues around this household now.

Besides that, it was snowing again this morning, and there aren't all that many guys that leave the ground in small planes when that's happening.  I've been there, done that, and it won't happen again.  Little airplanes don't fly all that well with a couple thousand pounds of ice on the wings.  I learned that the same way I've learned most things in this life - the hard way.   So, instead  of parading around the tarmac, we took Muffy to visit his friend, Rodeo, in Sisters.  Oh yeah, Carolyn got to visit her sister and mom, and I got to visit with Richard at the same time.  A much better reason to convert gasoline into heat, motion and noise than most.

We worked on a new jig-saw puzzle I brought with us, ate dinner and had a great time.  Family is important to Carolyn and me these days, and I'm glad we made the move to be closer to hers.  The old song says "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."  It snowed today and that did not keep us from enjoying the day God gave us.


Authors note:  I have not flown since moving and ALL my charts are now out of date.  If, sometime in the future, I am able to resume spreading my wings, the dust will be removed from my flight bag and the charts will be replaced before the wheels lose contact with the ground.  Most pilots, myself included, are sticklers about current charts.  We have to be sticklers about most things.

We're Still Here

Must have been a slow news day around this joint today.  Our local rag sent a photographer to the Tai Chi class we attended last week, and sure enough, today our names and picture were blazed across this small town in varying shades of gray.  Fame is so easily achieved these days.  All we had to do was show up and perform our tag team version of this ancient Chinese martial art form and Zap!- Pow!, we're in the paper, in the row right behind our instructor. 

Another example of the slow day was exhibited by our local TV station.  During the entire evening we were given teasers about radiation from Japan being detected right here in Oregon.  Tune in at 10:00 for the details.  I did, just to see what they had to say.  The item came on about thirteen minutes into the program, and after several commercials, which are the entire reason for the news.  Ya gotta suffer through the attempt to lighten your wallet BEFORE receiving anything from them, even if it is of questionable value.

Surprisingly, unlike the network news, they were pretty honest about what was found.  There were traces of radioactive Iodine found in air quality samples along the coast. But, after we were told that, we were also told that a person would have to be subjected to exposure for 80,000 years at the low level detected before any health risk at all would be expected.  Don't know about you, but I'd hate to be subjected to anything for 80,000 years, even life itself.  The tragedies we endure during our present short span of years is quite enough for me.

What has not really been reported through the whole disaster that has befallen Japan, is how well everything involving nuclear power worked.  Depending on how you measure it, this quake was the third or forth largest EVER recorded.  It was at least 7,000 times stronger than the recent New Zealand quake that destroyed much of Christchurch.  The reactors stood through the quake.  The reactors stood through the tsunami.  The containment vessels have mostly held up through the partial melting of the fuel rods the last several weeks.  Even though these plants are forty years old, the company that ran them cut corners affecting safety, and, there was inadequate storage for spent fuel rods, the reactors stood.  Most of the leakage that has occurred was purposely caused in order to relieve pressure build ups, and the amounts released into our atmosphere are so minute as to be almost insignificant.  Too much radioactive Iodine for you?  Wait a month (32 days) - 15/16ths of the isotope will have decayed. 

What else is not being reported is there have been over 500 above ground tests of bombs which released radiation and ionizing elements from detonations totaling the equivalent of more than 478 megatons of TNT in the years between 1945 and 1980.  These releases amount to literally BILLIONS of times more than those of the last two weeks in Japan. Ya wanna know something?  We're still here.  Mostly we're victims of the linear no-threshold hypothesis of the last forty years.  People used to believe, when they heard thunder,  the Gods were angry.  I think it's time to revise our safety standards - the one we use mostly makes life easier for the bureaucrats.

The most interesting lesson I have learned from the recent news is this.  The media will exaggerate the most mundane of events so as to sell more product.  When the event concerns something that matters, like the one in Japan, nothing is sacred.  If it isn't scary enough, they will find someone who will scare you.  If you really want to be scared, just stand beside a busy freeway and look at the massive amount of metal hurling itself toward you at 75 miles an hour.

I must be a little slow.  Two weeks have passed since the quake and this should be old news by now.  Maybe tomorrow will be a regular news day and there will be something else reported that will keep me scared and in line. 

Growing

The Maple tree in the front yard had a real, honest-to-goodness leaf on one of it's branches today!  I've been inspecting all the trees on the property regularly for the last week or so and it makes me feel great to see the first sign of green on the brown and barren branch.  There are ten trees planted on the property, but I have been watching only nine of them.  The tenth is a beautiful Blue Spruce that requires no confirmation of it's health.  It is a magnificent green-blue all year round. 

We bought the house towards the end of October and did not move in until December.  At that time of year we expected the leaves to be either turning color or brown and they were. The season gave no clue, and since it was a bank owned property, I have no idea how long it had been sitting vacant with the lawn, trees and plants untended.  This first Spring is a little worrying, because I can see portions of the lawn that have completely died back, and there are four Birch trees that show varying signs of distress.  I'm pretty sure two of them are not gonna make it, and the western half of a third one is not looking well at all.  The fourth one?  It's a toss up.  There is some sort of activity going on, but it is well behind it's brothers in neighboring yards.

All the shrubs have been trimmed, one of them is budding out, and there are four rose bushes in one corner of the back that have been pruned, in anticipation of a bouquet for Carolyn.  Appropriate fertilizer has been spread in various places and I'm hoping for the best.  We enjoy being outdoors, and even though Carolyn is having more and more difficulty, we hope to spend time on our simple, but ample, deck this year.  

The BBQ is ready for us and for the victory dinner I have planned with the neighbors, but I still have to set up the table and chairs.  They are in the garage,  feeling lonely and unused,  patiently waiting for my hand and wrenches to bring them to life.  They need not worry, it's gonna happen soon.  This spate of forty degree highs is forecast to end this week and the temperatures are expected to rise into the upper fifties and lower sixties the week after.  That will for sure bring life to our outdoor haven and joy to our hearts.

When the family at home was a little larger, we were able to notice the kids started stirring a little earlier in the day, and began staying out a little later when the calender showed it to be the end of March.  There was a fresher, springer motion in their steps this time of year.  It's wonderful to be surrounded by healthy, living, growing things and springtime polishes and renews the spirit.

Battle Ground

Carolyn had an appointment today and, since she no longer drives, that meant we had to leave Muffy in charge of the house.  He's a great watch dog.  Whether it's a butterfly or a gorilla that violates our boundaries, the alarm goes off.  One of these days I'll be happy he's so protective, but not today.  I'm mad at the little animal. 

Several weeks ago we stuffed him in the garage and while we were gone, he turned himself into a grease ball.  A few days later, we relented and allowed him access to the back yard.  He ran away.  I countered by installing a charged wire around the entire yard.  Well, almost all the way around the yard. I left an opening in front of the gate because I use it the way God intended a gate to be used - I roll trash cans through it on their way to the curb for pick up. 

That's where the clever dog has launched the last several attacks.  If any of you readers just happen to have Colin Powell's phone number, please give it to me.  My mutt is persistent, able to locate any potential weakness in the enemy lines and bold enough to carry out a successful campaign even when facing a much larger, smarter and better equipped opponent.  He needs to be promoted to General and I'm betting ol' Colin can tell me just who I should contact to make it happen. 

The first time he was on his own, after the wire was in place, we returned to find a very subdued dog waiting at the sliding patio door.  The first battle went to the side with two legs.  The next time we left him, we returned to find he had managed to dig under the gate.  Our neighboring kids had given him shelter and promptly returned him to us.  I had planned to lay a concrete paver walk way along that side of the house anyway, so I started that project with the first three rows, including one directly under the gate.  HA! - Dig those!

He did.  Right along a four inch opening between the fence and a concrete slab at the garage door .  He's a really small dog, under all that fuzzy hair, but I had no idea he could squirm through such a small opening.  I dropped a row of bricks on edge in that space.  They fit perfectly.  No way he's gonna get out again, right?

Wrong.  Today, when we returned from our appointment, he was trapped in the garage.  The door between it and the back yard had somehow closed, leaving him with no way out.  My chest expanded in pride.  I had won.  He was right where he should be and the war was over.  That feeling of pride lasted until I met my neighbor while inspecting the trees in front for new leaves.  The neighbor informed me Muffy had stopped by to say hi and that after the visit, he had been put in the garage and the door closed.  DagNabIt! 

I inspected the yard for about forty minutes and found no sign of forced exit.  No low spots, no tell tale pile of freshly dug dirt.  No bricks or pavers had been disturbed.  Did the dog suddenly develop superpowers?  Had he learned to jump a tall fence in a single bound?  I looked again at the latched gate.  I wiggled it.  Then I wiggled the bottom.  There!  That's it!  Even though it was latched shut the bottom could be pushed out about four inches.  There was plenty of room for a small escapee to flee captivity. 

It's fixed now, but I'm not holding my breath.  We'll see what happens next time we have to leave.  One good thing about the whole adventure is we're getting to know the neighbors better.  They have seen real effort on our part to keep the mutt out of their lives, and are pretty understanding.  I'm gonna reward them all with a victory dinner at the end of the fight.   As soon as I win.

Octopus

After making a move, I've found it's a lot of fun to discover new things about the new place.  Part of the fun is you never know when you'll find a new gem, and you can't tell before hand where you're gonna find it.  Our household took a TV timeout this weekend which meant I had time to read the newspaper. 

Our local rag is the Redmond Statesman and it's always good for the soul.  Every now and again I get a chuckle after reading some item such as the one involving a "young female loitering outside the 7-11" late at night.  Turns out it was much worse than the prostitution that would automatically be suspected in such an instance.  She was waiting for midnight, when she would turn eighteen, so she could buy some cigarettes.  Another youngster corrupted by slick advertising.

The Bend Bulletin, published in our much larger neighboring town twenty miles to the south,  was the source of my new found knowledge this week end.  There's a column entitled "Yesterday" in that paper that tells of what occurred on today's date in the past.  I'm sure  there's one in your local rag, and if there isn't, there should be.  It's a fun read in a way-too-serious world.  Seventy-five years ago last Sunday, there was an event in my new hometown of Redmond, that was told over the "press wires" all across this great land of ours. 

One Mr. Jack McDaniels found an octopus in a mountain spring, some 300 miles from the Pacific Ocean, just outside of town.   There was much consternation amongst the learned men of the time.  Was this a new species of freshwater octopus that had never before been cataloged?  Had the creature crawled over 300 miles of river and stream beds, somehow learning to live in freshwater after leaving the Pacific, only to be captured and killed at the hand of our hero, Jack?  Inquiring minds were puzzled. 

Several days later the puzzle was solved.  A friend of Jack's, who remained nameless, had captured the creature in the ocean off the coast of California, packed it in brine, and transported it by automobile to the Central Oregon spring.  It was left there to be discovered by an innocent Jack.  The nationwide commotion  it's discovery caused was thoroughly unanticipated and the guilty party was hiding in complete embarrassment.  This has to be one of the all time best examples of an out of hand practical joke I have ever heard.  I'm still laughing about it as I write this!  

There is a subtle lesson in the tale, one that becomes apparent only if a person has enough time away from more pressing frightful matters at hand, to be discovered.  Tiny things are often missed because of the nonstop daily bombardment we must withstand.  The lesson? 

This event occurred in March, 1936.  Americans were still suffering the effects of the Great Depression.  The mighty Babe Ruth had gone hitless in his final game the year before.  Hitler and Germany were on a worrying rise to power. 

Even though Americans had suffered terribly hard times and were facing many worries, we could still find time to play a joke.    

They're Rioting in Africa

Well, let's see.  The world has survived another week, thank Goodness.  There are 1,580,000 more souls on the planet than there were last Friday.  Wisconsinites finally managed to find a judge willing to slow down the BS in that state until it could be done, or not done, in a legal manner.

Saudi Arabia is killing it's citizens and those of Bahrain and Yemen is doing the same to it's folks. Which is OK, so long as your name is not Kadaffyduck.  If your name is Kadaffyduck we'll bomb you for doing that.  Karzai  says his country has been patient but will we please just go home?  Japan is ready to explode, figuratively and literally. 

The Chinese are buying all the Iodine pills, Health Care costs too much so we have to take it away from the poor.  Egyptians are losing the war after winning the fight and the Israelis are poking the Palestinians with a sharp housing stick. 

Inflation in this country is starting to scream, veggies up almost 50% over last year.  That's OK - I guess I'll just eat cake.  That worked out well in 1789.  The weather is crazy, last week, temps in the fifties and sixties - right now I have a inch of snow on the ground.  Nuts, I tell you, NUTS. 

If I were Sheldon Harnick, I'd write a song.  I'd get The Kingston Trio to sing it, get rich and buy a whole island somewhere in the middle of the Society Islands.  My wife and I would live there with no TV, no computer and no telephone.  Of course we'd have blenders and a CD player.  A guy needs his Daiquiris and music in the South Seas.

The news is terrible and it's coming at everyone faster than a RPG.  I need a break.  We all do.  I'm gonna spend more time with my wife for awhile and less in front of the news and computer.  We're gonna disappear for the weekend.  See ya Monday.  Cap'n Kirk out.

Spelunking

There are a series of openings in the earth located in a mostly vacant part of town between downtown and the airport.  Everyone in this area calls them "Redmond Caves" but after exploring them today, Carolyn and I have decided not to give them such lofty status.  We think a more apt description would be "The Redmond Dugouts."   

In reality, the openings, all five of them, are part of a lava tube that suffered a roof collapse around 80,000 years ago.  Native Americans used them as shelter for the last 5000 of those years but, naturally, they gave them up when the Pale Faces arrived.  We somehow convinced them modern wood and brick homes that require heating and cooling systems are better than naturally occurring ones that maintain a habitable temperature without ducts and gas meters. 

There's an old joke, most of which slips my creaking, rusty memory, that goes something like "When Indians ran the country there were no taxes, the men hunted and fished all day and the women stayed home to raise the kids."  It's point is to question whither we of European descent have improved the place or not.   In my estimation, the jury is still out on that one.  If you think a crime ridden, drugged out society that has enough food to allow most of its members to be overweight is a good thing, then maybe we have improved on what we found in the New World.  For sure we can sit on our backsides a whole lot more than the Native Tribes could.  I guess that's a good thing.  Especially for a fatso with high blood pressure like me. 

Each one of these five openings have a name, and a couple of them are really cute.  There's Redmond Cave, No Account Redmond Cave, Cave Next Door, Lions Cave and Insignificant Redmond Cave.    Now just how did one of them come to be called "No Account?"  Maybe, during the 1880's - you know, the days when John Wayne rode the range with a gun blazing in each hand, some lyin', cheatin' good-fer-nuttin' card shark hid out in it after shooting the local nice guy during a card game.  I'll bet that no account shark didn't get away with it - the cave is way too small to be a great hideout.  And the "Insignificant" one? It's real obvious that it's aptly named.  We couldn't find that one.  Didn't even know where to look.

The best part of these caves, all of them, is you can go spelunking without a lantern or flashlight.  Unless you get real ambitious or are super skinny and can wiggle into crevices and cracks much smaller than the ones needed to allow my ample body to pass, daylight provides enough light to explore.  I'm glad we went, mostly because we needed some exercise, and the forty acre BLM and City owned park is a great example of the natural, rugged place we live. 

We Pale Faces have managed not to destroy it's character.

The Barber

Usually a guy's barber winds up being a cross between his Doctor and his priest.  I remember the very first barber I chose.  I was in high school, and his name was Bill.  He was a wise old guy, probably all of forty-five at the time, and he gave me good advice on every subject from girlfriends to how to correctly make a turn at high speed.  Even after leaving town, for the next twenty years or more,  I'd schedule visits home so they would occur around the time I needed a hair cut.  He was that important to me and I cried the day I learned he had died. 

The Barber Shop is a place a guy can sit and chew the fat with other guys, talk about the game, the teams, the weather and any number of subjects without having to explain to females what is being discussed.  I imagine the Beauty Shop provides the same space for the softer and gentler sex.  It's no wonder I am happy to have found just the right place to get my hair cut.  I needed a hair cut and todays visit proved just how valuable a good barber can be to a man of any age.

There are two chairs and two barbers in the shop I located last month.  When I walked in today, one chair was occupied by a young man who's age I estimated to be in the late teens.  Even though the other chair was vacant and welcoming my arrival, there was another teenager sitting in the row of chairs against the wall where, at a busier time of day, customers would wait and shoot the breeze until it was their turn at bat.   I motioned to the waiting youngster, asking if it was his turn, but he just waived it off and I took the vacant station.

Introductions were made by the barber who was cutting the young mans hair and I was told the kid was getting all spruced up for his first job interview, which was an hour or so later in the day.  I commended him for getting cleaned up for an interview and wished him luck.  The conversation continued and after a while I discovered that his friend, the one seated by the wall, already had a job at the place he would be interviewing and had recommended him to the boss for the position.  Both of them had a lot on the line.  One, his reputation and good judgement.  The other faced the starting gate of his career.  As time went by, the friend pulled a neck tie out of his pocket and struggled to tie a Windsor knot in it for his buddy to wear.

Several attempts were made to tie the knot, but all ended in failure.  The first couple resulted in severe knots of some type but not the kind needed.  Later attempts produced the desired knot, but the lengths of the tie were all wrong.  The front, wide end of the tie, was always only three or four inches long and the narrow, back end of it reached below the waist.  Neither the barber nor I wanted to interfere, and neither of us laughed or smiled at what was a sincere, but horribly uninformed effort.

Instead we offered words of encouragement, telling the young man how hard it had been for us to learn the same knot many years ago and in general told him he was on the right track.  After another half dozen tries he gave up and asked the barber for help.  The knot was explained and tied in a few seconds and both teens grinned.   Hair in order, the first teen retired to the bathroom, tie in hand, to change into a white shirt. He came out looking clean, crisp and ready for work.  We sent good luck wishes with them as they left for the interview.  The first interview is the toughest. 

After they were on their way, we talked about our hope that a teen who was willing to put in the effort to look presentable would in fact get the job.  We talked of our first interviews and about the long road ahead of them.  For the next fifty or so years, a wife, family, good and bad times were all in their future.  The jobs would come, and then be lost.  Homes would be bought and sold.  The barber and I will be long gone by  the end of that time, but I'm sure the barber will be remembered. 

He tied the tie that started the career.

Vocabulary Lesson

It rained today.  Actually, it rained ALL day long.  Since we are not yet natives, that means we were trapped inside the house. 

No telling how long a guy needs to live here before he gets used to the fact that human beings will not melt if they venture out in the middle of a downpour, but I'm sure it happens eventually.  I'm fairly sure of this 'cause I saw the neighbors walk to the corner mailbox and back to their houses with wet mail in their wet little hands. 

My mail is still in the box.  One or two examples of people not melting does not necessarily mean that I will not melt in the rain, and I'm not taking any chances.  Not in this crazy world.  You just never know - they may be using some special greasy coating, available in a few select stores that only natives know about, that makes them rainproof.  Next time it sprinkles I might poke my head out from under the eaves and take the first trial step but don't count on it.  I look rugged as they come but deep inside I like to be warm. And dry.   My bark is much more menacing than my yelp - don't have any bite at all. 

Speaking of barks and yelps, since we were trapped inside, it was the mutts turn to entertain us.  Our living room has a bay window which overlooks the front sidewalk. Thirty some odd years ago I converted several old wooden wine boxes into CD storage racks and we have arranged these on the floor in front of the bay window.  Sounds pretty terrible, but I thought they looked kinda cool thirty years ago and now I would not be home if they were missing.  Funny how that works.  It takes a strange collection of stuff to make a home.  And, everybody has their own idea of just what that is.     

 Muffy, the mutt, likes them too, and his hind end fits comfortably on the board that runs along the top.  When he sits up there he has a commanding view of All That Occurs in front of our place.  Like a Captain on his bridge, or the nosey neighbor who lived across the street in our old home town,  he knows what's happening in his small world. 

He waited and watched.  Sure enough, a cat walked by and he made some kind of high pitched whinny noise as he jumped off his perch and ran for the door.  Fat chance I was gonna let him out.  Non-native dogs may also be subject to the Melt.  He continued to make the noise for a while, but then lost interest, or maybe the scent, and returned to his station.  A little later, he let out an honest to goodness growl and ran for the door.  I looked up and noticed a horse sized dog in our front yard.  I'm betting this is one of the animals that have been nice enough to leave presents out there.  The size seems about right. 

We played ball with him for a while and then tug-of-war.  After that it was time for his nap.  I'm betting he gets paid a whole bunch and has better retirement benefits than the Wisconsin new hires because when he woke up he went back on watch.  It didn't take long before he started barking and kept on barking until I came to investigate.  This time there were some kids, probably on the way home from school, walking by.   

The Lord kept us inside all day so Muffy could teach us how to interpret his various sounds.  But about the time it started to get dark, the rain stopped.  I started to head down the street for the mail but thought better of the idea.  Ya know, the sidewalk was still wet.  Maybe the natives have this special non-skid greasy stuff they put on the soles of their shoes to keep their toes from melting.

The mail will be there in the morning.

Personal Safety

No matter that probably more than 10,000 died in the quake and waves that followed.  No matter that a few people are dying buried in the rubble as I write this.  No matter that more will freeze to death without shelter and power to protect them.  Let's get worked up over a couple of reactors that have not yet caused one death - and at this point probably will not cause any.  What should be concerning us now is the tragic loss of human life.

Author's Note:  The following three paragraphs are absolute snark.

I think we're worrying about the wrong thing.  This whole mess was caused by an earthquake.  That produced a tsunami.  The tsunami blew out the power plant.  Why focus our thoughts on the power plant?   I say we should find a way to defeat the earthquake.

If folks in Tokyo had listened to Bucky Fuller and built the reactors (and houses and stores and factories and everything else) in a really big balloon and floated the whole works above the earth, a measly 9.0 earthquake would have been fun to watch.  Earthquake,smerthquake, I'm going about my business anyway.   On second thought, tornados may be a problem

Or, Triton City, another of Bucky's ideas that was built on the ocean.  Earthquakes don't much bother people in boats so long as they're a mile or more off shore.  And tsunamis?  One of those is only a couple of inches high in deep water - ain't no biggie.  Oops, I just remembered.  Hurricanes and cyclones happen.

My point is this.  We can not control this planet nor mother nature.  What will be, will be.  And, we have very limited ability to quantify risk.  Honestly, which do you think is the more risky behavior - living across the street from a nuclear power plant or driving a mile to work and back every day?  My vote is the latter but we do this everyday without a second thought.   Let's play Personal Safety again.  Which is the more risky - building more nuke plants or more coal fired plants?  We're gonna need to build something or just let civilization drop back to the hunter-gatherer stage. 

Even if the final result in Japan is a Three Mile Island style melt down, and even though we live downwind from Japan, my personal choice is nuclear.  I don't imagine this will be a Chernobyl.  There was no containment vessel at that site.  We've learned some lessons.  Coal is FOR SURE gonna mess up the air I breathe. Let's learn from this and build to higher standards.  At this stage our technology allows no other options.  Solar, wind and geothermal cannot provide us with our needs. Hydro plants are even more politically charged than nuclear.  Wringing our hands and getting mired down is not helpful at all. 

Let's bury our dead, all of whom's death came at the hand of natural causes beyond our control, and commiserate with the survivors.  After that, let's tell the oil companies to get out of the way of biological research.  They're the ones just sitting on the real answer, at least until something from Star Trek comes along,  production of petroleum by algae.

That's just my prospective at this time, on this day.  The world has become so complex I am no longer as sure of my thinking and answers to knotty problems as I was in the past.  I no longer have any confidence at all in my ability to cope with anything the world tosses in my general direction.  I have no intelligent method of dealing with the problems we face in this household much less the ones we are facing as a spieces.  I'd love to hear other views.

Spring is on the Way

Saturday was another gorgeous day.   We had mild temperatures and the sun played with the clouds most all day long.  It was a great day to spruce up the lawn and flowerbeds in anticipation of spring planting. 

Lawn and garden work has not taken a lot of my time in the recent past.  New Mexico is a desert and I felt obligated to save the water there, as did most of my neighbors.  We had more water than much of that state but even so, I viewed it as a special commodity not to be used for such frivolous stuff as a lush Kentucky Bluegrass  lawn.  More importantly, besides being wet, water is expensive in a desert.  To me it was much more pleasurable to hop in the airplane and spend the money converting gasoline into noise and altitude than it was to watch grass grow and then use the lawn mower and edger to make noise.  Those two tools have seen very little use in the last couple dozen years so I 'spose part of this years spring dance should include a visit to a mower mechanic.  In my opinion, pulling the cord on a piece of machinery without result is right up there with bubblegum on the soles of both shoes.  I don't much like when either happens. 

A week or so ago I decided I'd plant a vegetable garden this year just to see if I'll be able to coax the plants to produce in this climate with it's short growing season.  So, I started cleaning last years debris from the lawn and beds this morning.  By afternoon,  even after filling a hastily constructed compost pit, there were seven large, black trash bags filled to bursting with left overs.  A trip to the nursery department of the local Lumberbox allowed me to pick up a bunch of seeds and starter trays.  The clerks were sort of sneaking quick glances at me as I shopped - I chalked it up to spring fever.

When I got home and read the planting tips on the packets it finally dawned on me that the clerks were not suffering mild cases of trappedinsideitus - they were wondering about my sanity.  I'm not supposed to plant these little gems until late April or early May!  Oh well, I have room to store the stuff in my nice clean garage and meanwhile I'll till, fertilize and play in the dirt until then.  Maybe I'll invite my brother in law over and we can use the seed packets as chips in a poker game.  "I'll see your turnips and raise an arugula."  Sounds like fun to me, but then again, I'm easily amused.

Playing outside in nice weather is something I enjoy.  I've been known to sit outside and vegetate for hours at a time.  It's going to be nice to have a for-real green lawn and colorful flowerbeds in our new place.  I've missed these things for too long. 

Mendin' Fence

Remember when Ronnie the Great was prez?  He used to spend a lot of time on his ranch in Southern California clearing brush and mendin' fence.  At the time I thought it was pretty cool that we had a real cowboy in the oval office and I even wore a cowboy hat so I could be just like him when I was boot scootin' at the local dancehall.  Turns out  it was all a sideshow and the guy sitting on the throne was just the first of a slew of corporate owned posers.  Still, I was impressed by the guy's image, and that image remains in my hard to reprogram mind.  That's why I wore my cowboy hat today.

Carolyn had an appointment this afternoon which meant our mutt, Muffy, would be minding the store on his own.  Well, the last time that situation arose we imprisoned him in the garage and came home to a greasy monster.  Long story, but after that incident we figured we give him a little more room this time.  We left the door open so he could seek shelter in the garage or fun-in-the-sun in the back yard.  Pretty nice of us, don't you think?  Ungracious beast that he is, Muffy was neither pleased nor impressed with our kindness.  In fact, he decided to run away from home in search of new masters who would take him with them even if they were going to a Black and White Ball.  Luckily one of our neighbors captured him by using a piece of bacon and then left a note on our door.  She saw us drive in and brought him home before we could hang our coats. 

I hate to be a bother to our neighbors so I left him in Carolyn's care and went in search of an electric fence.  We've dealt with this behavior in other dogs and know it can be cured in one day.  All that is required is  proper motivation, and a charged wire works very well.

We have a really neat store in this town, "Big R."  It's full of guy stuff, everything a King Ronnie wannabe could ever want.  I can find guns, jeans, saddles, feed, tractor parts, windmills, boots, hats, hardware and electric fences in that place along

with more useful stuff than I could ever want.  It took only ten or twelve minutes for me to arm myself with an energizer, wire and standoffs that would persuade Muffy to guard the house rather than realize his hobo dreams.

Seven minutes later I was in the back yard mending the fence.  I nailed the standoffs to the fence posts, ran the wire, mounted the energizer and plugged that baby in.  I couldn't resist the urge to touch the wire just to make sure it wouldn't injure Muffy, and it was set just right.  It delivered a tingle that was unpleasant but didn't knock me on my butt. 

Although I'm all grown up now I still think it's way cool to be able to answer, in my best  s l o w  cowboy immitation,  when asked what I did today, "Aw,   Ah spent the day mendin' fence."  

Birthday

Today was my birthday.  I've made it through another year, and what a year it has been.  My last birthday, which seems to have been about two decades ago, was spent in New Mexico and I was in the middle of a full court press to get a house I was remodeling finished up. 

We had just gotten a diagnosis from Carolyn's doctor and it changed all of our plans.  Have you ever had to stop everything and switch horses, saddles and reins in the time it takes a crocodile to snap?   Most people have, and to tell the truth, so have we.  This was just the first time we tried doing it in our mid sixties and, believe me, that makes a difference.  So, all my buddies knew I was in trouble and volunteered their time to help finish the remodel project so it could be sold.  Thanks, guys.  I hope someday you will know how much it means to be rescued.  The only way you'll know just how grateful I am is to be there yourself.

All the other anchors holding us in the safe port of Los Alamos were cut and the ropes that tied us to them were allowed to sink.   We bought a new house and started saving boxes.  I retired and when the time finally came to load the truck, a different set of buddies stopped in to help.  The first bunch who helped with the remodel weren't able to pitch in.  Most of them were still in physical therapy and the others were limping badly.  There was such an abundance of assistance I was beginning to think all my too-old-to-be-rowdy-friends were trying to kick us out of the state!   The emails and phone calls we have been getting from them on an almost daily basis remind me of just how wrong I was to even imagine that.

A friend of 20 years jumped into one of my cars and drove it to Oregon so I would not have to leave Carolyn alone.  I climbed into the truck, which had another car on a trailer behind it, and we were gone.  As we were on the road between Chama, NM and the Colorado border we saw a double rainbow.  I've seen these before and usually the second one is a little indistinct.  This one was for real.  Both rainbows were vivid and bright.  New Mexico, a state that had been so kind to us, was saying goodbye and wishing us well in our new home.

All the belongings were piled into the new garage, weeks were spent trying to untangle the pile, we have located new stores to fill our needs, and new Doctors and diversions have been found.  All in all it has been a very good year.  Our friends made sure we survived.  The next year will be another challenge, as will the  ones that follow.  We will muddle through them the best we can, knowing just how many are rooting for us. 

To everyone who said "Happy Birthday" to me today, and to all who have held our hands during this last year, THANKS!

Perfect

Carolyn had a good day today so we went out to play.  There was a partially cloudy sky and the temperature was in the low 60's.  We jumped into the Guzzler Deluxe and headed for one of our favorite spots in this area, Clines Falls. 

There was one other car in the parking lot and as we drove by a bearded guy standing beside it lifted his hand and waved.  He was feeding the pair of swans we saw there the last time we visited.  We continued along the road which makes a loop around the perimeter and started working our way back up the single road that is both the entry and exit.   On the way in I had noticed a little footpath, it obviously was not a government construction, that looked like it led to the edge of the Deschutes river.  I thought it might be nice to explore this part of the park.

We pulled off the road when we were near the footpath and got out, Muffy in the lead.  He's always in the lead even though he has no clue where we're going.  He'll look back every so often and correct his course if we've made a turn.  Sorta reminds me of humans - some of them just love to lead even if they don't know where to go.  But sadly,  the humans usually are not smart enough to look around and make changes.

We started down the path that had been created by several hundreds of people before us and made it to the bank of the river with no problem.  From there, the views were out of this world.  Before us were some rapids that sparkled in reflected sunlight and, for the first time, we could see the falls.  There were two falls, one about six feet in height and the other about four feet high.  We took in this view for several minutes and then headed for a large flat rock about forty feet further down the path. 

I helped Carolyn climb up the rock, joined her and then pulled a couple of Cran-Raspberry Oat Bars out from my pocket.  We sat on that rock for ten minutes or so eating the mostly healthy snack and listening to the sound of the water crashing over the rapids and the falls.  When we had finished, I asked Carolyn to remember the sights and the sounds of this place.  I wanted to be certain she remembers our day there for the rest of her life.  It's something I plan on reminding her of when she can no longer make her way down this path.  It was very difficult for her today, and will be even more so as time passes.

We walked back up to the road, again with Muffyleading the way but not having to look back this time.  He knew our perfect forty-five minutes were over and that we were headed back home.

Crazy by the Dozen

Wow.  It's gettin' a little weird out there.  Here's a lady that swiped some poor guys foot after an auto accident so she could feed her dog!   http://www.nbcmiami.com/news/local/Medic-Sued-For-Swiping-Foot-From-Crash-Victim-117577194.html?dr

Now I realize the economy is a little rough these days - OK, I'll agree, it's totally screwed up.  But this lady had a job that should have paid enough to allow the purchase of some dog food.  I'm beginning to believe that for every one percent increase in the world's population there's an increase of three percent in the population of people without a clue.  You've seen and maybe even met them.  Sometimes they get paid to clean your teeth.

This highly educated professional should have been taught in school that it just isn't right to use someone else's credit card to buy something.  He was clueless enough to stand around and wait for a pizza but he never got it.  The cops arrived before the pizza.  He would probably do better next time if he tries to get away with a burger to go instead. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/41953908/ns/us_news-weird_news/   I wrote about the price of groceries just the other day but this good Doctor had over two hundred and fifty bucks in his wallet when he was hauled off to the pokey. Crazy clueless. 

I'm not sure, but I think cluelessness is a relatively modern affliction.  It used to be that people actually needed some minimum level of brain function to survive and reproduce.  All that is required in these times is to have had a mother at some point in your life.  There's plenty of food and clothing just laying around so very little in the way of attention span or gray matter is really necessary for existence.  The proof of the truth in that statement is easily obtained in any newspaper you happen to hold in your hand.  That assumes, of course, you are able to read. 

The two examples above were of highly functioning individuals whom you would have never expected to be clueless.  But, cluelessness also is exhibited in varying degrees ranging from occasionally clueless to hasn't got a clue and, at a lower level, Alicia Silverstone clueless.  Beyond that is hopelessly clueless and finally, down right dumb.

I fall somewhere in the "Hasn't got a clue" range of the spectrum.  This is because I still have hope even though all the evidence says "hopeless."  Charlie Sheen just barely fits in the "hopelessly clueless," avoiding "downright dumb" just  because his bank account is larger than mine.  He must have done something right somewhere along the way.  Picking a well to do and well connected father usually means you escape being in the lowest category.

Cluelessness makes life kinda fun most of the time, and I enjoy it in myself and in others.  Every now and again I find myself sort of spastically jerking my head and thinking to myself  "What?" when I hear or see something a little strange.  Then, I'll usually quietly chuckle to myself.  Go to an American Civil War re-enactment or to a Society for Creative Anachronism event some day.  You'll enjoy it even though it's obvious these people really mean it.  If given the choice, they'd hop in a time machine - and not come back.

Goodness knows I was happy to come across the little tales at the beginning of this post.  Not much else in the news today made me chuckle. 

Gasoline

I filled up the Guzzler today.  It's getting to the point I stop and top off the tank after every sixty miles or so.  If I find myself driving right by my favorite Plum Fierce station and the gauge reads three quarters or less, why wait?  Someone will just add a nickle to today's price by tomorrow afternoon.  Plain silliness if you ask me.  Haven't we fought two wars over the course of the last ten years just so gas prices won't go up?

 I'm absolutely astounded our government still allows calls to be placed on oil futures without demanding 100% payment of today's price of all the oil involved in the contract at the time it's placed.  That would stop any speculation.  Let the traders put their money where our young mens lives have been given. 

Instead, we're being primed for ANOTHER war, that of "helping the Libyans" by bombing the tar out of the antiaircraft batteries and enforcing a no fly zone.  I saw discussion today of the costs involved, between 1 and 9 billion per year depending on how it's accomplished, followed by an explanation that it would be cheaper to engage in this manner than it would be to pay the higher price for gasoline at the pumps.  The world is upside down.  Bomb the Libyan countryside so Qudaffyduck can show pictures of dead women and children to the rest of the Arab world but let the traders roll in the dough. 

We've been spending billions,  sacrificing young American men, and paying bribes to foreign corrupt politicians for more than a decade and I say we're not getting our moneys worth. I'm just a little peeved about it all.  I'd write my Representative but he's too busy kissing wealthy butts to care.  I'd write my Senator but he's too busy kissing wealthy butts and putting the blame on the guy in the other party to listen.  Writing the President won't help much - all he'll do is make a speech about it.  No action from that figure.  Mattel could never pay a dividend selling Obama GI Joes.  None of our fearless leaders have a clue how we got in this mess and no body in the whole universe is smart enough to get us out of it.  And anyway, all of them are too busy with Continuing Budget Resolutions to handle other problems. 

It's hard to believe, but good intentions and sincere people, duped by the greedy, got us here.  Aw, heck with it.  I think I'll go design a real zero point energy generator.  That's got to be easier than fixing what we have.

On second thought, I'm gonna fill a tall glass with ice cream and root beer and afterwards just go to bed.  Tomorrow's another day, bringing with it another chance to occupy myself with a different matter.  Maybe the whole thing will go away by itself.  Goodness knows the more we try to fix stuff the more broken it gets.  Tonight I'm ready to be beamed up.  This planet is well done and we need a whole new world to mess up.

Where are the Aliens when ya need 'um?  I want a ride.

Ya Gotta Eat

Have you gone grocery shopping lately?  I went today and I'm telling you, it's a good thing I know the phone number to my credit card company and just happened to have had my wife's mobile phone with me. That's right, I wanted to buy a head of lettuce and a tomato so I called and had my credit limit raised.   It's a good thing my FICO score is in pretty decent shape.  I hate being hungry.

The lettuce was 3.98 for one shriveled looking head.  The tomato was 2.99 per pound but since I bought one tomato I have no clue what it really cost.  Did I buy a pound?  A pound and a half?  It was a pretty big tomato.  I wonder why they sell an ear of corn by the each but sell tomatoes by the pound?  And please, don't get me started on the price of an ear of corn.  I'll start asking you to tell me why the government thinks it's cool to burn corn in our cars instead of in our bodies and I'm not sure there's anyone smart enough to answer that.  Not even you.  I know I can't.

So what did I do about it?  Instead of getting upset with subsidized ethanol, I started planning a way to subvert the governments effort to drive me to the poor house, or at least into a smaller sized pair of jeans.  I happen to think I look just fine wearing Cowboy Cut Wrangler jeans with a 30 inch inseam and a 38 inch waist size.  At least I look successful.  At 3.98 for a head of lettuce it takes a lot of success to wear jeans that big.

I'm gonna plant a garden!  I stomped around the back yard and found the perfect spot for it.  The yard faces westsouthwest so it's almost right - someone once told me I needed a southwest exposure for the best results in a cold climate.  I figure I can put it right next to the house and cover the plants at night to keep heat in and freezing temps out.  I should be able to extend the growing season by several weeks if I do this. 

Also, I'm gonna buy a bunch of Ball jars, lids and what all so I'll be able to can any excess I have and eat it all winter long.  I already possess the proper pressure cooker to make it happen.  I'll have to build more shelves in the garage so I can store the vast quanities of food I'm gonna grow.  Or maybe I'll just toss the forty year old trophies from my failed Sports Car Racing career.  They've been packed since the Lord left mount Sinai shortly after speaking with Moses and I've mostly forgotten what they look like anyway.  That'll free up enough space to store a winters worth of food.

So.  Here's the plan.  First I'll go buy a bunch of seeds and a couple of those starter trays with 48 or however many little individual cells so I can start the seeds indoors.  I'll also have to check out a library book or two to tell me when to plant them.  I already have a bunch of potting soil I carted a thousand miles from our old home in New Mexico.  Might as well use it for something.  Next I'll wait to see if the seeds turn into plants.  If they do, I'll tear out some ornamental shrubs that are in the bed next to the house and transplant my baby seedlings. 

If the seedlings actually grow and produce real food, we'll eat what we can.  Then I'll buy the canning supplies and make another trip to the library.  Only after that will I toss the trophies and thumb my nose at our governments puny effort to bankrupt me.  Ha!  That'll show them!

What can possibly go wrong?

Fly Like An Eagle

This weekend all my flying buddies are in Casa Grande, Arizona.  All except one.  As I write this the guys are sitting in the hot tub, beer in hand, telling each other about the flight down there from Los Alamos, Santa Fe or Albuquerque.  Ya know, I can't believe I learned how to spell Albuquerque.  It took YEARS before I could get it right without looking. 

There's a gathering of pilots and airplanes going on there that starts on Friday morning and lasts until Sunday afternoon.  Although there used to be a lot more planes and pilots than there are now, a lot of guys still hop in their airplanes and fly in from all over the western states this time of year.  I've even met folks from as far away as Kentucky while attending this get together.   There are, I believe, several  different conditions which have combined to cause the declining numbers. 

The price of gas at first just made everyone fill every seat - no more of the flights with two guys in a four seater.  The FAA allows guys to pitch in to cover the gas but not much else.  And, gas has gone from around two dollars a gallon to well over five bucks for the same amount over the last four years.  When you consider an airplane burns anywhere from 41/2  gallons an hour for a slow, two place version to between 9 and 15 gal. per hour for a four to six place marginally faster model,  you can understand why more guys pile in these days.  It costs around $50.00 - $85.00 an hour just for the gas to spread your wings like an Eagle. 

Making sure all the seats were full worked for a while, but mechanics wages have also learned to soar - from 25 bucks an hour to around 70 bucks in the last few years.  And, an airplane must have a rigorous inspection performed by one of these mechanics every year.  Also, every time somebody crashes one, the FAA looks carefully at what happened  and sometimes determines every one of the same model aircraft will need to have parts replaced.  The rulings are called Airworthiness Directives and these little presents from the government can run several thousands of dollars.  Every aircraft owner I know dreads opening up any correspondence from the FAA.  It usually means the wife won't get a new car in the near future.

Insurance is another big deal.  It'll run about $1100 a year for an average everyday slow mover.  That doesn't sound like a lot but when you figure most guys fly around 60-100 hours every year it adds another 15- 20 bucks an hour.  How'd you like to pay 20 dollars for insurance every time you put in an hour on the freeway?  Oh yeah - don't forget the hanger.  That'll run another 200 bucks a month just for a place to park your bird.

It all gets to be pretty expensive so a lot of guys who are missing from Casa Grande these days have just given up and quit flying.  Also, we're all getting older every year, and there are not all that many youngsters to replace the old guys who follow the Sun and fly West beyond the horizon each year.

These days instructors are afraid of lawyers, and want to be sure they won't be sued if a new pilot bends the plane and kills himself, so it takes new guys a lot longer to get their wings. It's taking the youngsters around 60-80 hours of instruction at 30 bucks an hour for the teacher and 160 bucks for the plane, to get their license.    When I got my ticket I soloed in 8 hours and took my check ride with the minimum 40 hours under my belt.  The plane, gas and instructor cost me $10.50 an hour back then.

I started this rant by saying all but one of my buddies would be there. This morning I learned a good friend, one with whom I have swapped many tales of derring-do, suffered a massive stroke earlier this week.  He and I have shared this particular rant several times, and I'm sure he'd jump right in and talk about all the stuff I've left out if he could.  We don't know if he'll make it or not, and if his body gets through this, there's no telling what will have happened between his ears.  I hope, for his sake, that if his mind is gone, his body goes as well. 

Around this house we've learned that some things are worse than just easily crossing over.  This year we've watched several friends and a couple of family members just sort of wither away, sometimes in pain, sometimes not even knowing what is happening.    At our age, there's a huge problem with having lots of friends and family.

You start to lose them.

If I Had a Hammer

Ah - the old Peter, Paul and Mary song of my youth.  But really, it's the old Weavers song that Pete Seeger wrote just after I traded diapers for short pants.  He was talking about the plight of labor, Peter, Paul and Mary were talking about civil rights.  Trini Lopez did it for the money.  Me?  I'm just talkin' about the tools in the garage.  No intellectual, on the leading edge, big thinker am I.  It's all I can do to get from here to tomorrow without losing my place.

We bought a new floor lamp today to replace one that was broken beyond belief during the move.  I put it together and placed it where it was needed to shine a little more light on my nightly read.  Doing that required me to move the couch just a little to the left.  It was OK with me, but Carolyn's eye is more discerning than mine and she immediately noticed the picture above the couch was no longer centered.  She wanted it moved just a half inch or so.  Well, I'm perfectly able to do something that complicated by just pulling out the Leatherman I carry everywhere I go, opening it to the pliers function and using it to pull the nail from the wall.  Since it was such a small move I did not require a tape measure and in fact, I just folded the Leatherman and used the side of it to pound the nail into its new location.  Job Finished. 

About an hour later I looked at the picture and wondered to myself just why I have so many hammers in the garage.  Sure didn't need one today.  I seldom use more than one or two of them and sometimes I just pick up the closest rock or wrench or Leatherman to do the job.  I went out to count them.  I have eleven hammers out there. 

There are three framing hammers, two air powered ones, two mallets, a tack hammer, a welders hammer - the kind with the cool coiled wire handle to keep you cool when it's in your hand,  a 4 pound maul and a 10 pound sledge.  Ya know, I even have an anvil mounted on a stand outside along the side of the house.  Fat chance I'll ever use that thing - I have no forge.  It was just a cool deal I saw at a garage sale one day.  Besides the anvil, with my wrists in their current condition, I'll probably never again use that ten pounder.  If I do, the Doctor will have me committed soon after taping me back together

Some days I believe I'm the poster child for American excess.  I've used every stinkin' one of these hammers at one time or another, but I think mostly they've been loaned to friends.  Do I really need eleven hammers?  Does anyone who does not use them to make a living need that many? Well, the American answer so far is yes. 

I'm afraid that's all about to change and when it does I'm gonna miss them.

Dog Days of Winter

I'll bet you looked at that title and said, "Huh?  Didn't he get that a little wrong?"  Nope.  Dog days of winter is what I meant.  We have had temperatures in the upper forties for the last two days and it has remained above freezing during the night.  That means the snow has melted and we can see actual lawn and dirt - and dog poop.  So, this morning I spent a couple of hours with my Super Dooper Pooper Scooper and a couple of plastic grocery bags I recycled all by myself.  I believe Super Dooper Pooper Scooper is the real name of the handy thingamabob I use.  The name is much cuter than it's function.  Back and forth I patrolled, always on the look out for a new pile.  The back was done and then on to the front. 

We live on a corner lot so the front is a little larger than the rear lawn.  Also, the poops were much larger.  The neighbors must be fond of horse sized doggies and I'm sure they congregate at our place to take care of business.  The job in this area required two bags.  Of course, the neighbors waved and smiled as I toiled.  Ha - just wait til I see them cleaning their yards - I'll be sure to smile and wave at them.  I bet the horses congregate over there too.      

I also had to spend a lot of time with our mutt, Muffy, today.  That's him, there on the left.  He needs a hair cut in this picture, and usually he forgoes the part in the middle of his head. 

Since he was imprisoned in the garage while his master and I went to our Chinese Torture class for some exercise today, he made good use of the time by working on the Guzzler Deluxe.  Or maybe he spent time trying to  improve the job I did on the freshly greased rails that support the rollers for the door.  Or it could have been he was the referee  in a greased pig competition.

Actually, I not really sure he was working.  He may have been trying to escape for all I know.  I am sure he got a bunch of grease in his hair.  It was in his tail, on all his paws, behind an ear, where he must have scratched, and all along one flank. I enjoyed the movie "Grease" but we have a newly installed carpet so I do not enjoy the dog "Grease."  A bath was in order.

Anyone who owns, or has owned, a dog  has always wanted to be wealthy beyond millionaire status.  Way beyond.  Why?  Because it's nice to be able to afford to pay someone else to give the dog a bath.  Since we do not have that kind of cash stashed in our mattress, I am the designated doggie bather in this household.  That's in addition to my main job, that of Pooper Scooper Wielder. 

So, another hour and a half went to the dogs applying shampoo, rubbing and cursing and then using the scissors to remove the oily substance from his body.  Thank Goodness he fits in the sink and that we have one of those spray doohickeys that can be pulled out to spray where ever it's needed the most.  Then came the towels, hair blower and brushes.  After today, we're ready for the Eukanuba National Championship.  Too bad it's not being held until December 17th this year, and it's on the other side of the country. 

Maybe we'll imprison him again on the 16th of December and.........

  

Found It!

It's really hard for me to stay on track.  Some folks call that Adult Attention Deficit Disorder but I prefer to say I get distracted.  So many things interest me that I hate to spend a lot of time on any one of them for a prolonged period.  I'll be in the middle of preparing my tax returns when a peculiar insect will make itself present on the other side of the window above my desk.  That is something I must investigate at once.  If I wait til I reach a stopping point, it may have disappeared and it might take another 66 years before it's twin reappears in my life.  I can't wait that long.   

Now I know what you're thinking.  "Why don't you just move the desk or close the blinds?"  Of course, you're right.  That would work in the example I just gave but what about when I'm driving to the store and on the way I see a really interesting outcropping of rocks?  That's happened lots of times and again I must investigate.  Or, maybe I'll just pull over and write a sticky note to tell myself to come back.  Please don't tell me to close the blinds while I'm doing 65MPH.  I don't think that'll work more than once.

Usually these little distractions manage to occur wthout causing severe turmoil in my life, and somehow I muddle through them and accomplish my original goal.  Sometimes, though, these distractions cause silly little things to ripple through my life for several days or even weeks.  Have you ever done something really smart only to later discover it was a dumb thing to do?  I shoot myself so often in so many ways I now use rubber bullets.  Hospital stays are very much less expensive if they do not involve holes in your body.  The usual cause of the smart/dumb things I do is distraction.

A perfect example of a little smart/dumb thing is The Salt Shaker.  I've been known to fill the salt shaker, set the lid on top of it without twisting it into place and then stop and put the salt away.  That's smart, putting away the salt, isn't it?  Meanwhile something else happens that grabs my attention and I wind up with a plate full of salt at the next meal time.

For almost a week now, I have been dealing with a BIG smart/dumb action.  The kind  that keeps bugging me till it's over.  You see, I lost my drill and that's a real bother.  I love that drill.  It fits my hand and together it and I have created many holes.  I can look around my house and see a ton of them, and every time I have looked at one this last week I've wondered where the drill is hiding.  Maybe I'm suffering ADD and obsessive/compulsive behavior.  Ya think maybe I'm a basket case and can claim some kinda disability on my taxes?

Today I decided to go ahead and replace a balky garage door opener.  I bought the new one a couple of weeks ago and opened it up to make some measurements to be sure of the fit.   Since the floor of the garage was a mess at the time, I did the smart thing and gathered up all the tools I would need, placed them in the box and closed it up until I could clear the floor.  I opened the box today to start the installation.

I found my drill.