I can't get over this feeling that it's going to be a good year.
Despite my tendency to be cranky and maybe a bit old before my time, I do believe good things are coming.
Honestly, it's not something I can effectively describe or defend.
As you read this, I hope you can share my optimism and I hope that 2015 brings you health, happiness and peace.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Something Is Very Wrong
So, trending on Twitter tonight is #ShootThePolice.
I kid you not. Two NYPD officers were killed while sitting in their squad car today by some wonderful vigilante. Yup. There are people in Twitter calling him a hero.
Hero? He killed his girlfriend in Baltimore a few days ago. He was already a fugitive from justice. And then the coward shot himself when cornered by police on the subway.
Something is very wrong. The police are no longer members of the community. And members of the community believe the best way to respond is to block traffic... or loot.... or kill other police.
It's all wrong. Militarization of the police will not make our neighborhoods safer. But meaningless protests won't either.
I have no solutions. At least not right now. I'm sick over this.
I kid you not. Two NYPD officers were killed while sitting in their squad car today by some wonderful vigilante. Yup. There are people in Twitter calling him a hero.
Hero? He killed his girlfriend in Baltimore a few days ago. He was already a fugitive from justice. And then the coward shot himself when cornered by police on the subway.
Something is very wrong. The police are no longer members of the community. And members of the community believe the best way to respond is to block traffic... or loot.... or kill other police.
It's all wrong. Militarization of the police will not make our neighborhoods safer. But meaningless protests won't either.
I have no solutions. At least not right now. I'm sick over this.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Passion Play
Four years ago at a Sotheby's auction, a painting by Amedeo Modigliani sold for $68.9 million. At the time it was one of the most expensive prices ever obtained for a painting through auction. It was sold to an anonymous Russian middleman via phone representing an anonymous Russian buyer. A billionaire oligarch? A wheeler-wheeler dealer mobster? Putin? Who knows except that the painting, "Nu Assis Sur un Divan" (If my high school French holds up), "Nude Sitting on a Divan," completed in 1917 will probably never be seen by the public.
Last month my girlfriend and I trekked over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, sitting on the eastern edge of Central Park in Manhattan, a giant and regal home for history and art, perhaps the finest in the U.S. and one of the world's great museums, to see a display of Cubists, a show of the collection of Ronald Lauder, he the scion of the Lauder beauty products empire. We also found the gallery (there are dozens and dozens of them, a veritable maze of discovery in the great facility), which houses the great facility's only Modigliani (well, the only one on display). The gallery was empty, almost forgotten among so many other galleries with 10 centuries of masterpieces. Same model. Another nude.
The woman, Jeanne Hebuterne, was Modigliani's lover and mother of his child. She is the subject of much of Modigliani's work, his inspiration and passion. Getting within arm's length of the lithe figure of "Recumbent Nude," I easily transported back to their post-WW1 Paris studio.... the beginnings of modern art.... and, as a voyeur, could see and smell and hear the intimacy which inspired Modigliani. It is love of course.... sensuous, on fire and deep rooted with nothing else in the universe other than each other, a canvas and a brush painting with broad, maddening and determined speed, and in the end.... a sweaty clench and just desserts. For people with nothing there is great wealth, potential .... everything.... in love.
As it is sometimes with genius and focused determination, tragedy accompanies. Modigliani, an outcast from his well to do Italian family (as was Hebuterne with her family for taking up with the artist), remained poor, his art at the time never accepted. The great nudes, dripping with energy, passion and furnace heat, were traded for a month's lodgings, art supplies and weeks' worth of meals.
Hygiene and health were ignored and in 1920, three years after "Nude Sitting on a Divan" was finished, he died suddenly in a squalid room with only Jeanne at his bedside after contracting Tubercular Meningitis. He was 34. On the following day, his great love, heavily pregnant, inconsolable, broke free from the arms of her father and threw herself to her death from a fifth floor window.
Last month my girlfriend and I trekked over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, sitting on the eastern edge of Central Park in Manhattan, a giant and regal home for history and art, perhaps the finest in the U.S. and one of the world's great museums, to see a display of Cubists, a show of the collection of Ronald Lauder, he the scion of the Lauder beauty products empire. We also found the gallery (there are dozens and dozens of them, a veritable maze of discovery in the great facility), which houses the great facility's only Modigliani (well, the only one on display). The gallery was empty, almost forgotten among so many other galleries with 10 centuries of masterpieces. Same model. Another nude.The woman, Jeanne Hebuterne, was Modigliani's lover and mother of his child. She is the subject of much of Modigliani's work, his inspiration and passion. Getting within arm's length of the lithe figure of "Recumbent Nude," I easily transported back to their post-WW1 Paris studio.... the beginnings of modern art.... and, as a voyeur, could see and smell and hear the intimacy which inspired Modigliani. It is love of course.... sensuous, on fire and deep rooted with nothing else in the universe other than each other, a canvas and a brush painting with broad, maddening and determined speed, and in the end.... a sweaty clench and just desserts. For people with nothing there is great wealth, potential .... everything.... in love.
As it is sometimes with genius and focused determination, tragedy accompanies. Modigliani, an outcast from his well to do Italian family (as was Hebuterne with her family for taking up with the artist), remained poor, his art at the time never accepted. The great nudes, dripping with energy, passion and furnace heat, were traded for a month's lodgings, art supplies and weeks' worth of meals.
Hygiene and health were ignored and in 1920, three years after "Nude Sitting on a Divan" was finished, he died suddenly in a squalid room with only Jeanne at his bedside after contracting Tubercular Meningitis. He was 34. On the following day, his great love, heavily pregnant, inconsolable, broke free from the arms of her father and threw herself to her death from a fifth floor window.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Merry Christmas. Yes. I mean you.
Merry Christmas. I mean that sincerely.
I think it's perfectly ok that people say Happy Holidays. But I think it's sad that people are now afraid to say Merry Christmas for fear of being exclusionary.
Was Kramer right? Do we, in fact, need a Festivus? For the rest of us?
When someone says to me "Happy Holidays", all I want to say is ,"have a great Chrismakwaanzukkah"
Ever wonder if people in the Southern Hemisphere complain that all these holidays that are based on lights because it's so dark in the north have to suffer through songs like "Let It Snow" when it's smack in the middle of the summer?
So, if you're not a Christian (I'm not), instead of taking offense when someone wishes you a Merry Christmas, instead, smile and wish them a happy whatever you are celebrating. Or, just say "thank you. You too"
Happy Festivus everyone. Enjoy the snow. Or the sun. Or whatever you have going on.
I think it's perfectly ok that people say Happy Holidays. But I think it's sad that people are now afraid to say Merry Christmas for fear of being exclusionary.
Was Kramer right? Do we, in fact, need a Festivus? For the rest of us?
When someone says to me "Happy Holidays", all I want to say is ,"have a great Chrismakwaanzukkah"
Ever wonder if people in the Southern Hemisphere complain that all these holidays that are based on lights because it's so dark in the north have to suffer through songs like "Let It Snow" when it's smack in the middle of the summer?
So, if you're not a Christian (I'm not), instead of taking offense when someone wishes you a Merry Christmas, instead, smile and wish them a happy whatever you are celebrating. Or, just say "thank you. You too"
Happy Festivus everyone. Enjoy the snow. Or the sun. Or whatever you have going on.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Dick Measuring
I think life is simpler when it's based on objective evidence. When two guys swagger around, each claiming to be packing the biggest package, the resolution is simple: whip it out and measure.
But life is rarely that simple, or entertaining.
Although, strictly for entertainment purposes, I would not object to being present at a breast measurement contest, for everyone knows that the best tool for measuring is a pair of hands, namely mine.
But I digress.
Nope. Life is generally far more complicated, mundane and anything but entertaining.
It seems that everyone is busier than everyone else. How is that possible? And everyone is offended. The people who complain about not being invited to a meeting (FOMO), are the same ones who complain about too many meetings with too many people. (Chronic complainers)
But mostly, people complain about others not doing their jobs. It's ironic, because the ones who complain the most don't do their own jobs because they spend time complaining about the others.... or worse, trying to do the other person's job, which they aren't qualified to do in the first place.
So here is my simple solution.
Do your fucking job. If someone else fucks their job up... let them. It's just a job. Get the fuck over yourself.
As for dick measuring, I don't care how big yours is, I probably know how to use mine better.
And if you need a breast inspection, line starts at my desk. Step up ladies. Don't be shy.
Keep life simple and give yourself a reason to smile. Life is too short otherwise.
But life is rarely that simple, or entertaining.
Although, strictly for entertainment purposes, I would not object to being present at a breast measurement contest, for everyone knows that the best tool for measuring is a pair of hands, namely mine.
But I digress.
Nope. Life is generally far more complicated, mundane and anything but entertaining.
It seems that everyone is busier than everyone else. How is that possible? And everyone is offended. The people who complain about not being invited to a meeting (FOMO), are the same ones who complain about too many meetings with too many people. (Chronic complainers)
But mostly, people complain about others not doing their jobs. It's ironic, because the ones who complain the most don't do their own jobs because they spend time complaining about the others.... or worse, trying to do the other person's job, which they aren't qualified to do in the first place.
So here is my simple solution.
Do your fucking job. If someone else fucks their job up... let them. It's just a job. Get the fuck over yourself.
As for dick measuring, I don't care how big yours is, I probably know how to use mine better.
And if you need a breast inspection, line starts at my desk. Step up ladies. Don't be shy.
Keep life simple and give yourself a reason to smile. Life is too short otherwise.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Choices
Life is funny when you think about it. Simple funny. Everything we are and everything we will be is a direct result of choices. Some of those are not choices that we make for ourselves. There is really no luck, just the path that our choices have put us on.
I am traveling for association meetings for the next couple days. The meetings for our little group are in locations chosen by the chairman, which I will be the year after next. It was my choice to take my turn in the barrel. I am secretary this year, VP next year and Kahuna who gets to make everyone travel to locations close to MY home for a change.
Again, attending these meetings is my choice. I could beg off instead of driving the nearly 7 hours to this one. But, the relationships developed and the help and cooperation we give each other at other times of the year is worth the effort.
But, as I am apt to do it seems, I digress. This story is not about my choice to attend the meetings. At least not directly it isn't.
It is about the route I took to get here.
I have driven the first part of this route hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Since I was in college I have made choices as to the route and the choice boils down to a simple one that at some point all men make. Much like that Robert Frost poem, I have driven past this sign every time and chuckled and wondered at the choice it represents. Why did I Need to chose? Why can't I have it all? Questions we all ask ourselves.
Today it was time. Time to finally chose. Time to stop waffling! Which will it be? I am partial to both choices, being the well rounded fellow that I am.
On impulse, call it a mental coin toss, I made my choice. I took the road to the left. I am not sure that it was a road less travelled. I am not sure that in the end it will make all the difference, but, the choice was made!
Where did it lead?
Would you like to know?
I am traveling for association meetings for the next couple days. The meetings for our little group are in locations chosen by the chairman, which I will be the year after next. It was my choice to take my turn in the barrel. I am secretary this year, VP next year and Kahuna who gets to make everyone travel to locations close to MY home for a change.
Again, attending these meetings is my choice. I could beg off instead of driving the nearly 7 hours to this one. But, the relationships developed and the help and cooperation we give each other at other times of the year is worth the effort.
But, as I am apt to do it seems, I digress. This story is not about my choice to attend the meetings. At least not directly it isn't.
It is about the route I took to get here.
I have driven the first part of this route hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Since I was in college I have made choices as to the route and the choice boils down to a simple one that at some point all men make. Much like that Robert Frost poem, I have driven past this sign every time and chuckled and wondered at the choice it represents. Why did I Need to chose? Why can't I have it all? Questions we all ask ourselves.
Decisions, decisions!
On impulse, call it a mental coin toss, I made my choice. I took the road to the left. I am not sure that it was a road less travelled. I am not sure that in the end it will make all the difference, but, the choice was made!
Where did it lead?
Would you like to know?
Ok. Now what?
'The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth'
My normal go-to-bed routine was violently upset the other weekend with Robert outta town.
It's typically a snuggle-fest with my two Dachsies, each claiming space on our king-side bed by pressing tight to an upper thigh and under my arm during a last-minute on-line scan for drama, shout-outs and anything pressing.
Hey, wait a minute..... nine-tenths of the mattress is gone unused..... "Go find your own space!"
Never works.
This week on my own we (the pups and I) had a visitor, my parents' aging Dachsie. I babysat her for three days while mom and dad attended a convention. She's 12 years old and has my parents very well trained. The words matriarch and queen come to mind. Set in her ways. At home her throne by the front door is occupied, mostly in sleep, as she waits for the familiar sound of mom and dad.... her loyal subjects.... and their cars pulling up the driveway.
She caused a major ruckus after I helped her into bed by bringing along a half-chewed, cruddy piece of a rawhide bone she was attempting to dissolve with spittle and lazy chewing. No bones in bed is a standard rule for bed-sharing household canines, which is always quickly corrected if there's an attempted sneaky violation.
Little P left my flesh to get a sniff, or, as he does with his sister, snatch away the prize if given an opening, and the growling ....... 'RRRRrrrrrrrrrr'....... teeth-baring.......fur bristling...... and mean-dog looks (if that's truly possible with 12-pound heaps of fur) quickly escalated. Then they went at it, snapping jaws, in each other's face, the slimy two-inch piece of leather dropped to the blanket, and I quickly separated the two, a tiny cut on the top of my hand.
Little P, scourge and deadly hunter of the creature population that roam the backyard, undefeated in roughhouse battles with his younger and slightly larger sister, youthful, sinewy and the household Alpha dog..... backed away ears down, looking for the fleshy solace of my hip and petting hand. Battle lost to the smaller, twice as old, gnarly bitch.
A moment later Little P decided to find a place more comfortable, tentatively moseyed over to his cousin's territory at the foot of the bed, and rested his head on her loins. In a few minutes they were entwined, fur to fur, eyes closed, battle long forgotten.
I went back to the headlines, bored with The Ukraine, Gaza, Africa, the cowardly, idealogical battles by the dimwits we elected to Congress, humanity's zeal to kill itself with the food it eats and the land and air we call terra firma, the silly tension between we humans which diminishes love and everything else that is truly essential.
I look over my laptop screen. Fast asleep.
####
It's typically a snuggle-fest with my two Dachsies, each claiming space on our king-side bed by pressing tight to an upper thigh and under my arm during a last-minute on-line scan for drama, shout-outs and anything pressing.
Hey, wait a minute..... nine-tenths of the mattress is gone unused..... "Go find your own space!"
Never works.
This week on my own we (the pups and I) had a visitor, my parents' aging Dachsie. I babysat her for three days while mom and dad attended a convention. She's 12 years old and has my parents very well trained. The words matriarch and queen come to mind. Set in her ways. At home her throne by the front door is occupied, mostly in sleep, as she waits for the familiar sound of mom and dad.... her loyal subjects.... and their cars pulling up the driveway.
She caused a major ruckus after I helped her into bed by bringing along a half-chewed, cruddy piece of a rawhide bone she was attempting to dissolve with spittle and lazy chewing. No bones in bed is a standard rule for bed-sharing household canines, which is always quickly corrected if there's an attempted sneaky violation.
Little P left my flesh to get a sniff, or, as he does with his sister, snatch away the prize if given an opening, and the growling ....... 'RRRRrrrrrrrrrr'....... teeth-baring.......fur bristling...... and mean-dog looks (if that's truly possible with 12-pound heaps of fur) quickly escalated. Then they went at it, snapping jaws, in each other's face, the slimy two-inch piece of leather dropped to the blanket, and I quickly separated the two, a tiny cut on the top of my hand.
Little P, scourge and deadly hunter of the creature population that roam the backyard, undefeated in roughhouse battles with his younger and slightly larger sister, youthful, sinewy and the household Alpha dog..... backed away ears down, looking for the fleshy solace of my hip and petting hand. Battle lost to the smaller, twice as old, gnarly bitch.
A moment later Little P decided to find a place more comfortable, tentatively moseyed over to his cousin's territory at the foot of the bed, and rested his head on her loins. In a few minutes they were entwined, fur to fur, eyes closed, battle long forgotten.
I went back to the headlines, bored with The Ukraine, Gaza, Africa, the cowardly, idealogical battles by the dimwits we elected to Congress, humanity's zeal to kill itself with the food it eats and the land and air we call terra firma, the silly tension between we humans which diminishes love and everything else that is truly essential.
I look over my laptop screen. Fast asleep.
####
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Got Wood!
Every once in a while a day goes exactly as planned. A small percentage of those every once in a whiles they go better than planned. Today was one of those days. It poured rain all day yesterday. I had planned on cutting wood. Instead I spent the day in my shop. Put a new head gasket on the old Wisconsin engine on my homemade wood splitter. Sharpen a few chains for the saws and change the oil on my old '54 International dump truck.
I was hoping that the weatherman's prediction of a decent day today would hold true for once. By golly, he was right!
I was hoping for two loads, which is about 8 face cords of wood. Everything went just right. I got three! Only 10 or 11 more loads to go and maybe I can relax about winter heat. So, if I can get a minimum of two loads per day or 4 loads per weekend, I'll be done by the end of the month!
I was hoping that the weatherman's prediction of a decent day today would hold true for once. By golly, he was right!
I was hoping for two loads, which is about 8 face cords of wood. Everything went just right. I got three! Only 10 or 11 more loads to go and maybe I can relax about winter heat. So, if I can get a minimum of two loads per day or 4 loads per weekend, I'll be done by the end of the month!
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Thanks Joseph
We will look forward to your return. Don't get the assless chaps wet wading ashore. I am not sure the glue I used for the bedazzling is waterproof.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Celery
I have a weekend ritual that revolves around food... Perhaps a lot of my life revolves around food, now that I think about it.
Sunday morning I wake up early to see the cooking shows on television. There are several to choose from, one after the other from early morning to mid-afternoon. I like to watch. I can't touch, & I sure as hell couldn't eat.
I also love these & other shows like Come Dine With Me or reruns of Man V Food when I'm fasting or cleansing. There's something about them during these times in particular that I really enjoy. I suppose it's something in the line of discipline. I like to know that I have control over how I sustain my body. & I like to know that I have control over myself.
Yesterday Goliath & I were talking about food; I was off to make a mulligatawny, a curried Anglo-Indian soup. He decided that this was a potential blog subject & that I should write something "semi-vegan"... I suppose I could if I had a notion as to what to say.
So instead you're just reading as I blather on the subject of...
Recently while reading articles online about nutrition, as is my want, I came across a new word (to me): thinspiration. Its web definition describes it as: 'Photographs or other material intended to provide inspiration for anorexia nervosa as a lifestyle choice.' &, well, that's not good!
On further investigation, I discovered that a lot of the food related habits, restrictions, & rituals I have are eating disorder related... & yet I don't have one myself... & my soup was delicious.
My father suffered from an eating disorder, however, as I was growing up. He seemed to pinball back & forward between anorexia & bulimia. Starving, fasting, cleansing, purging, judging, weighing, & measuring. He did them all.
These things I do are clearly all just learned (& somewhat parroted) behaviours. & I don't like that one bit. I am all for making up my own mind on things. So I've decided to work on changing them one by one until they replaced with habits that my more sense... 'Cause I'm a stubborn little thing & I refuse just to follow blindly in any area of my life. (Rawr!)
But for now I'm off to make more soup. Celery today. Goliath's favourite. ;)
[All complaints with regard this somewhat pointless &/ or half finished
Blog post should be addressed to Mr Tree. It was his fault.]
Sunday morning I wake up early to see the cooking shows on television. There are several to choose from, one after the other from early morning to mid-afternoon. I like to watch. I can't touch, & I sure as hell couldn't eat.
I also love these & other shows like Come Dine With Me or reruns of Man V Food when I'm fasting or cleansing. There's something about them during these times in particular that I really enjoy. I suppose it's something in the line of discipline. I like to know that I have control over how I sustain my body. & I like to know that I have control over myself.
Yesterday Goliath & I were talking about food; I was off to make a mulligatawny, a curried Anglo-Indian soup. He decided that this was a potential blog subject & that I should write something "semi-vegan"... I suppose I could if I had a notion as to what to say.
So instead you're just reading as I blather on the subject of...
Recently while reading articles online about nutrition, as is my want, I came across a new word (to me): thinspiration. Its web definition describes it as: 'Photographs or other material intended to provide inspiration for anorexia nervosa as a lifestyle choice.' &, well, that's not good!
On further investigation, I discovered that a lot of the food related habits, restrictions, & rituals I have are eating disorder related... & yet I don't have one myself... & my soup was delicious.
My father suffered from an eating disorder, however, as I was growing up. He seemed to pinball back & forward between anorexia & bulimia. Starving, fasting, cleansing, purging, judging, weighing, & measuring. He did them all.
These things I do are clearly all just learned (& somewhat parroted) behaviours. & I don't like that one bit. I am all for making up my own mind on things. So I've decided to work on changing them one by one until they replaced with habits that my more sense... 'Cause I'm a stubborn little thing & I refuse just to follow blindly in any area of my life. (Rawr!)
But for now I'm off to make more soup. Celery today. Goliath's favourite. ;)
[All complaints with regard this somewhat pointless &/ or half finished
Blog post should be addressed to Mr Tree. It was his fault.]
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Oysters
I think oysters are a type of food that you either love or hate. Myself, I love them.
A conversation about food with Sonnet brought this story to mind.
My son and I had brought some oysters to the tavern owned by a friend and together with some he already had, his wife prepared them and we put them out on the bar. Deep fried with a bit of cocktail sauce, they were absolutely delicious. There was enough that several baskets full of deep fried oysters were placed on the bar and most everyone was enjoying them. Not everyone, but actually the majority. My wife and daughter were not interested in them and ordered some deep fried cheese curds instead. To each their own. Like I said, I thought they were delicious.
After we had dug in, another friend came into the bar with his wife. "Tom!" I said, "come over here and try some of these fried oysters! They are great!"
"Oysters!" he replied enthusiastically, "I love oysters! I make oyster soup every Christmas. I love raw oysters! I have never had deep fried oysters before!" He strode over, ordered a beer, and tried an oyster. "Wow! These are really good!" he said, "Nothing like I expected! They are light and almost buttery! Really Good!" as he ate 3 or 4 more, trying some with the cocktail sauce. "Sonya!" he called for his wife, "come over here and try some of these deep fried oysters! They are awesome!"
She walked over and picked one out of the basket, dipped it in cocktail sauce and took a bite. She looked at me with an eyebrow raised as Tom polished off three or four more, and said, "These are good, but they are not oysters are they?"
I laughed and said, "Sure they are! Rocky Mountain Oysters! Beef testicles!"
The bar pretty much erupted and Tom, caught very much by surprise in mid bite of what was probably his tenth slice of "oyster" glared at me, finished the piece and stormed out of the bar. I think even Sonya was laughing at that point. He collected himself outside and returned shortly and called me a bastard. I am sure he believed I was too, until I bought him a beer.
I love the other kind of oysters too.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Purge
Between crises, work and other daily chores, my wife and I have been doing a bit of Spring cleaning. Yes, I know it is late summer (what summer?) going on fall, but still....
We started in the garage. A trailer load of what the hell is it went to the dump. A truck load of why the hell did we keep this went to the local twice around shop. Several wheelbarrow loads of holy shit I forgot I had this were sorted cleaned and properly stored. Before we knew it, we could actually see the floor! Holy Mackeral! You mean we might be able to keep the motorcycles in the garage rather than in my shop?
A pain in the ass, but worth the effort. We literally went through boxes that we had not opened in over 20 years. Most of what was in them had value....not necessarily to us anymore, but either donation or future yard sale value. I found several tools that I knew I had, but had no idea where they were and finally had gone out and bought a new one...so now I have two. I found a metal box with college papers in it including a couple letters from my grandparents. Unfortunately they were mildewy and smelled...I laughed a bit reading them and nearly cried thowing them in the stove...but that is the way it is.
I have always been a "saver." Much like my grandparents and parents were frugal and made do with what they had, I have always seen potential in what some people might call junk. Hell! I farm with junk...and do ok too!
I have three old skid steer loaders. Two of them run and one is strictly parts. The two that run need various things and should probably be classified as projects. I had plans for them! I have not used them for probably 5 years, but I had plans! About a month and a half ago, my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number. It turns out that this person had seen one of the skid steer loaders behind my shop and tracked me down. "Would you be willing to sell me some parts off your junk skid steer?" I was asked. Now to be honest, nothing pisses me off more than some guy who thinks he is God's gift to negotiation and just because there is a bit of grass growing around something it must be junk. "No, and it is not junk. If you would have trespassed a bit further you would have seen that."
"Oh...Uh....well I only looked. Would you sell the whole thing?" he replied, not getting the hint. "No. I have three of them. I might consider selling all three, but not just one and certainly not parts off one." "Ok...how much?" he asked. "I gave him a price. A high price in my own opinion, but remember, I never planned on selling them in the first place. "Oh...Uh....are you sure you won't just sell me some parts?" was the response. "Nope." and I hung up the phone. That was the end of it...or so I thought.
About a week ago, the phone rings and it is the same guy. "Would you still be interested in selling your skid steers?" he asked. "I suppose. " I replied. "How much did you want?" he asked. "I already told you." I responded. "Uh yeah, but how much will you take?" he asked. "Exactly the amount I told you....in cash." I replied. "Well, It is going to cost me probably $500 to come get them and get them home and I was wondering if you could do something to help with that?" Wait a minute? Why is where this guy lives my problem? Why does this idiot think that is a valid negotiating point? "Nope." I replied, "Cash money, no negotiating, you want them and I don't need to sell them. I will help you load them up though and that is it." "OK, I will be there Saturday afternoon."
So I guess I have sold 3 skid steers....the only problem is that the dumbass is coming with a covered trailer....I should not have offered to help him load....
The honest truth? I probably never would have gotten around to fixing them. I am roughly doubling what I have invested in them and I can use the space. I can always use the money, but getting rid of something that could still be usefull is not an easy thing and snooping trespasser piss me off. However, it feels good to not have the projects hanging over my head.
A clean garage, some space in the yard and a few bucks in the pocket. Damn...what could I buy to fill that space in the garage and the shop? It will have to be something useful...Maybe if I sold one of the tractors...I would have space for something really big...and rusty...and cool...
We started in the garage. A trailer load of what the hell is it went to the dump. A truck load of why the hell did we keep this went to the local twice around shop. Several wheelbarrow loads of holy shit I forgot I had this were sorted cleaned and properly stored. Before we knew it, we could actually see the floor! Holy Mackeral! You mean we might be able to keep the motorcycles in the garage rather than in my shop?
A pain in the ass, but worth the effort. We literally went through boxes that we had not opened in over 20 years. Most of what was in them had value....not necessarily to us anymore, but either donation or future yard sale value. I found several tools that I knew I had, but had no idea where they were and finally had gone out and bought a new one...so now I have two. I found a metal box with college papers in it including a couple letters from my grandparents. Unfortunately they were mildewy and smelled...I laughed a bit reading them and nearly cried thowing them in the stove...but that is the way it is.
I have always been a "saver." Much like my grandparents and parents were frugal and made do with what they had, I have always seen potential in what some people might call junk. Hell! I farm with junk...and do ok too!
I have three old skid steer loaders. Two of them run and one is strictly parts. The two that run need various things and should probably be classified as projects. I had plans for them! I have not used them for probably 5 years, but I had plans! About a month and a half ago, my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number. It turns out that this person had seen one of the skid steer loaders behind my shop and tracked me down. "Would you be willing to sell me some parts off your junk skid steer?" I was asked. Now to be honest, nothing pisses me off more than some guy who thinks he is God's gift to negotiation and just because there is a bit of grass growing around something it must be junk. "No, and it is not junk. If you would have trespassed a bit further you would have seen that."
"Oh...Uh....well I only looked. Would you sell the whole thing?" he replied, not getting the hint. "No. I have three of them. I might consider selling all three, but not just one and certainly not parts off one." "Ok...how much?" he asked. "I gave him a price. A high price in my own opinion, but remember, I never planned on selling them in the first place. "Oh...Uh....are you sure you won't just sell me some parts?" was the response. "Nope." and I hung up the phone. That was the end of it...or so I thought.
About a week ago, the phone rings and it is the same guy. "Would you still be interested in selling your skid steers?" he asked. "I suppose. " I replied. "How much did you want?" he asked. "I already told you." I responded. "Uh yeah, but how much will you take?" he asked. "Exactly the amount I told you....in cash." I replied. "Well, It is going to cost me probably $500 to come get them and get them home and I was wondering if you could do something to help with that?" Wait a minute? Why is where this guy lives my problem? Why does this idiot think that is a valid negotiating point? "Nope." I replied, "Cash money, no negotiating, you want them and I don't need to sell them. I will help you load them up though and that is it." "OK, I will be there Saturday afternoon."
So I guess I have sold 3 skid steers....the only problem is that the dumbass is coming with a covered trailer....I should not have offered to help him load....
The honest truth? I probably never would have gotten around to fixing them. I am roughly doubling what I have invested in them and I can use the space. I can always use the money, but getting rid of something that could still be usefull is not an easy thing and snooping trespasser piss me off. However, it feels good to not have the projects hanging over my head.
A clean garage, some space in the yard and a few bucks in the pocket. Damn...what could I buy to fill that space in the garage and the shop? It will have to be something useful...Maybe if I sold one of the tractors...I would have space for something really big...and rusty...and cool...
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Heart of Darkness
Nearly 12 years ago I gave my best friend and teammate the trophy I won in the girls’ county basketball tournament. I scored a bunch of points but it was her acrobatic dribbling through double coverage and dazzling passing which set up easy shots that allowed our team to win in an upset.
We have been best friends for nearly all of our 29 years, toddlers together rattling the bars of the playpen while our moms drank coffee; in each other’s class throughout elementary, middle and high school; the same basketball camps, playground and school teams from a young age on; cheerleaders together for Pop Warner, JV and the varsity football teams; secrets, thrills, our “crushes”, first kisses and concerns shared in whispers over the years. Never jealousy, disagreements or anything near an argument except over boys.
And while we went our separate ways when we graduated, attended universities in separate states, pursued different career paths and settled down 1,000 miles apart, rarely a week would pass when we didn’t talk or said goodbye on FaceTime with four quick air kisses like always...... “Chimps in love,” we giggle and usually add mad monkey snorts.
It was for me an entire new set of feelings and thoughts when a few months ago she was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. I’ve visited her three times since her double mastectomy and between the surgeries and the near-lethal witches brew that doubles as chemotherapy, the toll on her is stunningly apparent. Long gone is the perky comet of a girl with the quick-fire mouth eight inches shorter than me but always much bigger who just a June before jumped on the table at my wedding, demanded attention and delivered words about being great friends.
Wisps of hair on a bare scalp have replaced long, thick brunette locks; dull and deep-set eyes without a sparkle stare back; constant nausea, many times intense and overwhelming despite a bevy of anti-nausea drugs; headaches, sores where the flesh is most tender, a dizzy tired and the inability to do nearly everything is her chemo-routine.
I try to give her mom a bit of time to herself but she and her dad dare not let go for a single second.
I’m capturing this experience for my first blog here not because of the obvious drama but to admit I am a coward.
I have never stared into death’s face up close.... the only funeral I ever attended was a grandparent when I was seven.... and frankly never experienced real hardship. I have been very lucky to be born into my place. Perhaps without a silver spoon but damn close. I have seen affliction, pain and struggle with my online friends, many times wrongly offered input, every day read about the pain and suffering on a global scale, but never cry. Gaza, Ebola, the Ukraine, starvation, disease? Outrage today but yesterday’s news tomorrow.
But now I cry thinking about my friend, a single person on this planet.
From what I read the statisticians from Sloan-Kettering and Cancer.Org say there’s a 72 percent five-year survival rate. Just great, a worse than one in four chance of living. My husband, who sees and participates in the battle for life every day and is familiar with and understands every molecule in my body and brain, says to believe in and concentrate on the other half of the equation, a three in four chance of survival. Yet, no matter how much input, expert advice and love heaped on me it is for me to understand and it is for me to learn to cope and create meaning from darkness.
“Life goes on,” he would tell me with his clinician’s thinking if I was anyone else. He’s right of course. I need to get to that point. I just can’t do that.
When I catch my breath, the absurdity of the American health care system wraps its tentacles around my throat. My friend has very good health insurance as a government worker. Her father is a small business owner and her parents live in a town with upscale demographics. But fighting cancer the best way possible is absurdly expensive in the U.S. and the best treatment (yes, my international friends, there are levels of treatment depending on wealth including no treatment at all to a sickeningly growing number) is stupefyingly outrageous. The post-chemo regimen of Genentech drugs, not yet approved by her insurance, is $115,000 (that’s just for the tablespoons of fluid that will be administered bi-weekly by IV); the plastic surgery to reconstruct her breasts is north of $100,000, not covered by insurance. With each trip to the hospital, every nurse and doc who touches her, and each time to the pharmacy there’s a percentage that’s not covered and the devil must get his due.
She and I will play basketball together.... matching shots in O-U-T next summer in my driveway on the rim above the garage. We will laugh, go to the beach, share cloying margaritas at loud restaurants and dance up a sweat late into the night ..... and not a single empty breath will pass that is not filled with too many words.
####
Monday, September 15, 2014
September
I love this time of year. It's still warm, but the air gets crisp.
The leaves are still green, but they are just a bit raspier in the breeze.
Of course, this is a northern phenomenon, so for those of you in warmer climates, close your eyes and use your imagination.
There's a sense of wonder this time of year. What will school be like? Will football be the same with all the new rules? And thank God for football for those of us who can no longer hope for baseball playoffs.
What will Halloween be like? Will there be a lot of kids?
How much snow will we get?
I love this time of year because leaving the windows at least partially open 24/7 is a reality.
And being naked is that much more comfortable.
It's a good time to reflect on the summer past, and start making holiday plans.... or at least pre-plans.
A friend asked me to post something happy. I suck at following directions. I hope this fits the bill. :)
The leaves are still green, but they are just a bit raspier in the breeze.
Of course, this is a northern phenomenon, so for those of you in warmer climates, close your eyes and use your imagination.
There's a sense of wonder this time of year. What will school be like? Will football be the same with all the new rules? And thank God for football for those of us who can no longer hope for baseball playoffs.
What will Halloween be like? Will there be a lot of kids?
How much snow will we get?
I love this time of year because leaving the windows at least partially open 24/7 is a reality.
And being naked is that much more comfortable.
It's a good time to reflect on the summer past, and start making holiday plans.... or at least pre-plans.
A friend asked me to post something happy. I suck at following directions. I hope this fits the bill. :)
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Everyone Bitches
I was just sent a link to an amusing blog: http://empireofjeff.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/the-100-hamburger/
I agree with his attitude... and the premise.
I agree with his attitude... and the premise.
But, like every other conservative who's angry at liberals, he's actually missing the bigger problem with the economy.
The increasing cost of goods is not due to increased labor costs. Of course there's an impact, but that's actually not the big problem. The increasing cost of goods is due to increased real estate costs and increased fuel costs. Additionally, large corporations are able to reduce costs with automation of every damn thing added to optimization of manufacturing and off shoring.
It means that joe blow uneducated guy is competing with recent college graduates for that same burger flipping job, because jobs that pay the bills just aren't available.
The unemployment rate is far higher than the stats will show because just about everyone making less than 60 grand a year is under employed, not to mention the fact that 60 grand used to be a good salary. Now, for anyone making that or less is barely scraping by.
I agree that there are too many people in this country that have their hand out and expect someone else to solve their problems.
But bitching about those folks is NOT the solution.
The banks have more control than ever. Why?
- money became "cheap" in the 90's and real estate prices outpaced income growth by 3 times over a ten year period.
- in that same span, college tuition has significantly outpaced income.
And the fed's response? Make money easier to borrow.
And the banks' answer? THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
So we spend more and more money on real estate (residential and commercial). We spend more and more on college tuition, which has an increasingly bad return on investment as jobs are harder to find.
Public companies no longer function for customers or employees, they function for shareholders.
Even non-profits like many hospitals end up with increased virtual costs due to the expectation if bond-holders for capital improvement projects.
Are there good for nothing's out there who don't deserve more than the minimum wage?
Yeah. Probably.
Have unions outlived their usefulness?
For the most part, yes. Unions are now as corrupt and political and generally as ineffective as the morons in Washington. Do some people need the protection of unions? Yes. But there are VERY few unions that effectively protect their members.
But the real problem is not with the folks on the ground. It's not with illegal immigrants stealing all the jobs that no self-respecting American would dare stoop to perform (please note tongue firmly in cheek). The real problem is the banks and pretty much everyone in Wall Street which has turned otherwise functional companies into irrational and desperate Scrooge's.
And lest I be accused of being a liberal and a supporter of the idiot in chief, I am not. Liberals refuse to admit that Democrats are in the money as much as Republicants. With all due respect Mr. President, it's time you grew a set and started acting presidential. The next time you whine about how the Republicans are gumming up the works, im gonna throw a brick at my TV.
Grow some stones. Stop pointing fingers and negotiate compromise. Stop listening to the polls and stop checking with your inept White House staff. YOU sir are in charge.
Do your job and stop giving us shit to bitch about.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Coming full circle (Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!!!)
Almost two years ago I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, a neurological condition that I believed to be the root of any & all ills in my life. If you don't know what AD/HD is though I'll wait here while you google it.
.
.
.
Since then however I have not only learned to accept it, but to a certain degree embrace it. So much so that I didn't imagine I'd ever write about it again... Until last Thursday night.
Some backstory is relevant... Well, the backstory IS the story.
I was busy at work one Friday, looking forward to home time & the impending weekend when along came a young man. During our conversation he told me that he had written his first ever computer program, in a morning, that very morning no less!
I recall this meeting as though it were yesterday... I recall saying how I wished I could do as he did, how I wished I could do (pretty much) anything, but I didn't have the concentration... I didn't have the means to express myself… He then asked me some very non-leading questions & at the end of the conversation said, "It sounds to me as though you have Attention Deficit Disorder. Google it."
So, last Thursday I had two appointments, both ADD related. The first I didn't mind, it was Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, the second was a group thing at my local support centre. I was only going for friends I'd met there because I hate talking about myself & that's such a big part of it.
I arrived late, from one meeting straight into the next, my stomach churned as I realised the introductions were heading my way.
"Hi, my name is 'Sonnet,' I'm thirty-five years old & was diagnosed with ADD a couple of years ago... What would you like to know? ... Ask me questions or there'll just be silence". *blushing*
The whole time I've been on this journey I've cast my mind back often to that day, to the nameless man & to how he changed my life forever, to the answers he led me too.
They asked their questions; I answered some & avoided the rest with the finesse I'm known for, (apparently.) *winks*
Everything moved on; as everything tends to.
I have attended these meetings on & off since I found the centre, I've often, if I'm honest, wondered what was in it for me. I felt the whole thing was rather repetitive. But last week I realised that I was no longer there for myself, I was there for the new people, & when asked my thoughts, I said as much.
Others spoke after me, of course. But one person stood out. He has been affiliated with the centre for a long time, over ten years now. He was succinct & interesting, & educated about the subject... He spoke with such flair & passion that I was drawn to him.
At the end of the evening, just as I was about to leave this same person approached me, curious as to whether we had met before. If some years ago, one Friday afternoon we had spoken on the subject at hand. He described the when & where... & I knew it was him.
Perhaps you don't see the significance, perhaps you don't understand what happened inside me at that moment. & that's okay. But all these years I've thought about that hour I spent in his company, trying to remember any clue as to who he was... & now I've met him, I've hugged him!
There is another meeting this week. He will be there. I feel almost giddy every time I think about it. I know I'll have to make a real concerted effort not to follow him around like a hero-worshipping doe-eyed oddball... I am so excited about seeing him again that I'm honestly not sure what to do with myself.
Must appear cool, calm, & collected.
Must not tell him I love him.
Must, MUST not get arrested for stalking!!!
.
.
.
Since then however I have not only learned to accept it, but to a certain degree embrace it. So much so that I didn't imagine I'd ever write about it again... Until last Thursday night.
Some backstory is relevant... Well, the backstory IS the story.
I was busy at work one Friday, looking forward to home time & the impending weekend when along came a young man. During our conversation he told me that he had written his first ever computer program, in a morning, that very morning no less!
I recall this meeting as though it were yesterday... I recall saying how I wished I could do as he did, how I wished I could do (pretty much) anything, but I didn't have the concentration... I didn't have the means to express myself… He then asked me some very non-leading questions & at the end of the conversation said, "It sounds to me as though you have Attention Deficit Disorder. Google it."
So, last Thursday I had two appointments, both ADD related. The first I didn't mind, it was Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, the second was a group thing at my local support centre. I was only going for friends I'd met there because I hate talking about myself & that's such a big part of it.
I arrived late, from one meeting straight into the next, my stomach churned as I realised the introductions were heading my way.
"Hi, my name is 'Sonnet,' I'm thirty-five years old & was diagnosed with ADD a couple of years ago... What would you like to know? ... Ask me questions or there'll just be silence". *blushing*
The whole time I've been on this journey I've cast my mind back often to that day, to the nameless man & to how he changed my life forever, to the answers he led me too.
They asked their questions; I answered some & avoided the rest with the finesse I'm known for, (apparently.) *winks*
Everything moved on; as everything tends to.
I have attended these meetings on & off since I found the centre, I've often, if I'm honest, wondered what was in it for me. I felt the whole thing was rather repetitive. But last week I realised that I was no longer there for myself, I was there for the new people, & when asked my thoughts, I said as much.
Others spoke after me, of course. But one person stood out. He has been affiliated with the centre for a long time, over ten years now. He was succinct & interesting, & educated about the subject... He spoke with such flair & passion that I was drawn to him.
At the end of the evening, just as I was about to leave this same person approached me, curious as to whether we had met before. If some years ago, one Friday afternoon we had spoken on the subject at hand. He described the when & where... & I knew it was him.
Perhaps you don't see the significance, perhaps you don't understand what happened inside me at that moment. & that's okay. But all these years I've thought about that hour I spent in his company, trying to remember any clue as to who he was... & now I've met him, I've hugged him!
There is another meeting this week. He will be there. I feel almost giddy every time I think about it. I know I'll have to make a real concerted effort not to follow him around like a hero-worshipping doe-eyed oddball... I am so excited about seeing him again that I'm honestly not sure what to do with myself.
Must appear cool, calm, & collected.
Must not tell him I love him.
Must, MUST not get arrested for stalking!!!
Friday, August 22, 2014
2D people
Internet friendships are interesting, occasionally exhilarating, & often very strange things.
I'm pretty shy. A reasonably well-known fact. I usually sit back & wait for people to come to me... wouldn't want to interrupt... But when friendship is solid, when love is cemented I'm right there front & centre of the battlements.
I miss my best friend. Is that juvenile to say? I couldn't care if it is. She has real life things to deal with, a life I only read of on screen.
I miss her. . .
I'm pretty shy. A reasonably well-known fact. I usually sit back & wait for people to come to me... wouldn't want to interrupt... But when friendship is solid, when love is cemented I'm right there front & centre of the battlements.
I miss my best friend. Is that juvenile to say? I couldn't care if it is. She has real life things to deal with, a life I only read of on screen.
I miss her. . .
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
When There's Injustice...
So, a young man, unarmed, is killed by the police.
It's a tragedy. An honest to God tragedy. Things like this shouldn't happen. A mother has outlived her son. Something needs to change.
But things like this have happened before. Civil disobedience just doesn't seem to have an effect.
The logical conclusion is to have a protest. Yes. Of course.
But protests are ignored. So, the next logical step is to riot. Exactly! Target the offenders! Riot against the police department!
No?
Wait! You want to loot your own community? You want to steal from your neighbors?
I don't understand. Why is this ok? Not that I am advocating attacking the police. But at least that I could begin to understand. Frustration makes us do irrational things.
But why is there not an uproar about the inappropriate response for the community?
In a much more benign case, there was also a story of employees who, in support of the CEO who had been ousted by the board, decides that walking off the job was a good idea. And customers joined them! And now the company is on the verge of default because thin margins have been compromised... because there's no business.
People are dumb as fuck and we shouldn't accept it anymore.
It's a tragedy. An honest to God tragedy. Things like this shouldn't happen. A mother has outlived her son. Something needs to change.
But things like this have happened before. Civil disobedience just doesn't seem to have an effect.
The logical conclusion is to have a protest. Yes. Of course.
But protests are ignored. So, the next logical step is to riot. Exactly! Target the offenders! Riot against the police department!
No?
Wait! You want to loot your own community? You want to steal from your neighbors?
I don't understand. Why is this ok? Not that I am advocating attacking the police. But at least that I could begin to understand. Frustration makes us do irrational things.
But why is there not an uproar about the inappropriate response for the community?
In a much more benign case, there was also a story of employees who, in support of the CEO who had been ousted by the board, decides that walking off the job was a good idea. And customers joined them! And now the company is on the verge of default because thin margins have been compromised... because there's no business.
People are dumb as fuck and we shouldn't accept it anymore.
Appreciating What We Have
My home town has a fairly high number of seasonal residents. Most of these seasonals are well off. Some of them are seriously beyond well off. One of these beyond well off couples (he is the owner of a very successful business in Chicago and she is the CEO of a relatively well known internet company) more or less struck up a friendship with my wife and I. Not because we run in the same circles or any such...far from it...but because they have horses and we have horses. There is really no comparison to the levels of "having" horses, but it was enough to start a conversation between my wife and the wife of this couple. Discussions about economic development and contribution to the community started the conversation between myself and the husband of this couple.
We have always led a fairly simple life. Satisfying but simple. I would not change it. We rarely go "out" to supper and the once a month or so that we do is usually to a local special where it is more a social event than supper. We were at one such event, spaghetti night, and had sat down at a table when the couple I am discussing came in the door. They looked around the room and saw us and came over and asked if they could join us. Of course they could. We talked about mundane items and had a good meal and, to be quite honest, I never thought a thing of it. It was a nice evening, but not anything particularly special or exciting.
About a week later, my wife came home laughing. She had run into the couple in the grocery store and all they could talk about is what a good time they had eating spaghetti with us. They raved about it. We were both amused, but more than a bit flabbergasted. Silly. A simple meal and mundane conversation with a couple of beers....nothing to rave about.
The following week, I ran into the fellow myself, and spaghetti night was still the topic. Again, silly. I told my wife that night that maybe we should have them over for supper some Saturday evening. She agreed and the next time she ran into them, arrangements were made.
They came down to our house that Saturday evening and had brought what was probably a very expensive bottle of wine. My son and I had been salmon fishing on Friday night, so the supper I was making was fresh salmon filet cooked on the grill. Very simple...salt, pepper and a bit of dill weed with butter. We had new potatoes dug from our garden. Again, simple, cleaned, boiled with the skins on and drizzled with butter and a bit of salt and pepper. We had green beans and snap peas from the garden that were just slightly stir fried so they were hot, but still had that fresh garden crunch. We had home made ice-cream and fresh cherry pie (from our trees) for desert. In addition to the wine that the couple brought, I had home made cherry wine on the table.
It was a good meal. A hearty meal, but again nothing special or out of the ordinary...at least for us.
I don't think we even uncorked the wine that the couple brought. They absolutely raved about the food. At one point, the fellow said that he could not go to the best restaurant in Chicago and get as good a meal. I felt pretty good as did my wife, but we were still a bit confused by the level of the compliments.
Then it became apparent. The fellow made a comment, "I wish I knew how to grow potatoes!" A bit later, he told us that neither of them had ever been fishing. The light bulb turned on! The meal we were eating for the most part, was entirely home made. Simple certainly, delicious? definitely, but the fact that we had caught the fish, dug the potatoes, picked the beans, peas and cherries and made the wine and ice cream ourselves was something they simply had not experienced. Elegant? No way. Good? Without a doubt!
They were experiencing something totally mundane to us, but that they had never had before. With all their resources, they had no idea how to grow a potato.
It was a bit of an eye opener. It was also an excellent lesson illustrating the fact that having everything can also mean having nothing. And, I still have an expensive bottle of wine, unopened in the cupboard....
We have always led a fairly simple life. Satisfying but simple. I would not change it. We rarely go "out" to supper and the once a month or so that we do is usually to a local special where it is more a social event than supper. We were at one such event, spaghetti night, and had sat down at a table when the couple I am discussing came in the door. They looked around the room and saw us and came over and asked if they could join us. Of course they could. We talked about mundane items and had a good meal and, to be quite honest, I never thought a thing of it. It was a nice evening, but not anything particularly special or exciting.
About a week later, my wife came home laughing. She had run into the couple in the grocery store and all they could talk about is what a good time they had eating spaghetti with us. They raved about it. We were both amused, but more than a bit flabbergasted. Silly. A simple meal and mundane conversation with a couple of beers....nothing to rave about.
The following week, I ran into the fellow myself, and spaghetti night was still the topic. Again, silly. I told my wife that night that maybe we should have them over for supper some Saturday evening. She agreed and the next time she ran into them, arrangements were made.
They came down to our house that Saturday evening and had brought what was probably a very expensive bottle of wine. My son and I had been salmon fishing on Friday night, so the supper I was making was fresh salmon filet cooked on the grill. Very simple...salt, pepper and a bit of dill weed with butter. We had new potatoes dug from our garden. Again, simple, cleaned, boiled with the skins on and drizzled with butter and a bit of salt and pepper. We had green beans and snap peas from the garden that were just slightly stir fried so they were hot, but still had that fresh garden crunch. We had home made ice-cream and fresh cherry pie (from our trees) for desert. In addition to the wine that the couple brought, I had home made cherry wine on the table.
It was a good meal. A hearty meal, but again nothing special or out of the ordinary...at least for us.
I don't think we even uncorked the wine that the couple brought. They absolutely raved about the food. At one point, the fellow said that he could not go to the best restaurant in Chicago and get as good a meal. I felt pretty good as did my wife, but we were still a bit confused by the level of the compliments.
Then it became apparent. The fellow made a comment, "I wish I knew how to grow potatoes!" A bit later, he told us that neither of them had ever been fishing. The light bulb turned on! The meal we were eating for the most part, was entirely home made. Simple certainly, delicious? definitely, but the fact that we had caught the fish, dug the potatoes, picked the beans, peas and cherries and made the wine and ice cream ourselves was something they simply had not experienced. Elegant? No way. Good? Without a doubt!
They were experiencing something totally mundane to us, but that they had never had before. With all their resources, they had no idea how to grow a potato.
It was a bit of an eye opener. It was also an excellent lesson illustrating the fact that having everything can also mean having nothing. And, I still have an expensive bottle of wine, unopened in the cupboard....
I hate gluten-free vegans
Y'know what I want? I want to want a beef burger. Cooked just right; with fried onions & cheese, pickles, ketchup, & mustard. No salad. Let's not even give a nod to healthy eating. The bap (or, bun, or whatever you American types call it) has wheat flour in it, & the sauce is all oozy. I'd need fifteen napkins just to get through with any semblance of dignity.
I want ice-cream. Mint choc chip was always my favourite. Or truthfully, I want key lime pie... But in saying that I'm not really one for sweets.
I want to swim in a vat of pasta sauce like a happy little noodle. That's it that's the very thing, to come back in my next life as gnocchi, or as a pizza. God but I miss proper pizza...
*sips green smoothie*
*pouts*
(rant over)
I want ice-cream. Mint choc chip was always my favourite. Or truthfully, I want key lime pie... But in saying that I'm not really one for sweets.
I want to swim in a vat of pasta sauce like a happy little noodle. That's it that's the very thing, to come back in my next life as gnocchi, or as a pizza. God but I miss proper pizza...
*sips green smoothie*
*pouts*
(rant over)
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Reality Bites....
Since when did we become old?
When did it ever matter what we wrote about?
I have spent many months away from EP and honestly I am glad. It has given me the chance to wake up again and be in my reality.
Reality....what is reality? Reality is living each day as it comes...sometimes our reality definitely sucks ass...but it does not have to. I have spent a good part of the last three years wallowing in my own self pity...being sucked into depression and beating myself up for being human....but I have spent the last several months rebuilding myself....figuring out that it will only be myself who drags my ass out of the hole....that I dont need to allow other to tell me who I am or what I should or should not be doing.
It will only be myself...myself who writes that book and publishes it...myself who starts that blog that will become other peoples daily read...
Me , Myself and I....
This is what I have spent this time away on....fixing me.
Loving myself...
I am me and slowly I am getting back to that girl who I used to know so long ago...the one I lost along the way...
I can , without a doubt, say that all if you helped me through to this point. You all reminded me of that girl...gave me courage to express her through writing and led me back to the place I needed to be to find her....
So I write this...as a tribute...to that Jagged Little Pill I was hiding and as a tribute to you guys.....who helped me to find my path back ...to me!
I have missed you tremendously and am so happy to be able to be here!
When did it ever matter what we wrote about?
I have spent many months away from EP and honestly I am glad. It has given me the chance to wake up again and be in my reality.
Reality....what is reality? Reality is living each day as it comes...sometimes our reality definitely sucks ass...but it does not have to. I have spent a good part of the last three years wallowing in my own self pity...being sucked into depression and beating myself up for being human....but I have spent the last several months rebuilding myself....figuring out that it will only be myself who drags my ass out of the hole....that I dont need to allow other to tell me who I am or what I should or should not be doing.
It will only be myself...myself who writes that book and publishes it...myself who starts that blog that will become other peoples daily read...
Me , Myself and I....
This is what I have spent this time away on....fixing me.
Loving myself...
I am me and slowly I am getting back to that girl who I used to know so long ago...the one I lost along the way...
I can , without a doubt, say that all if you helped me through to this point. You all reminded me of that girl...gave me courage to express her through writing and led me back to the place I needed to be to find her....
So I write this...as a tribute...to that Jagged Little Pill I was hiding and as a tribute to you guys.....who helped me to find my path back ...to me!
I have missed you tremendously and am so happy to be able to be here!
Monday, August 11, 2014
It's none of your damn business
I've hit a bit of a hiccup with this blogging malarky. Well, in truth I've been here in this bothersome little spot since almost the very beginning of this venture. & as this place was set up for us all to communicate what is on our minds I thought I'd scribble a quick something on the matter of not having a clue what to write about.
Mr Foxx suggested something inane, so I suppose I'm living up to that pretty well. But in truth, I'm flummoxed. Because to write about what is going on in my life right now would be much too personal, & as the title would suggest...
Perhaps though, this will be all the ice breaking we need... Only one way to find out.
Mr Foxx suggested something inane, so I suppose I'm living up to that pretty well. But in truth, I'm flummoxed. Because to write about what is going on in my life right now would be much too personal, & as the title would suggest...
Perhaps though, this will be all the ice breaking we need... Only one way to find out.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Simple Farmer? Simpleton Maybe....
Farming ain't simple. Much like spell checking the word "ain't." Cycles are important to farming for obvious reasons. Right now I am in the "Hay Cycle.
Usually the "Hay Cycle" is where I decide that I must be a simpleton farmer and not a simple farmer. Who but a simpleton would put themselves through this?
1. The hay is getting close to where it is ready to cut.
2. Time to service the old haybine and grease the 54 zerks, lube all the chains, adjust the cutter blade and stone guards. Gotta tune up the engine and fix the flat tire. While crawling under the haybine to grease, get stung by bald faced hornets who have built a nest. Then change the oil in the old farmall that we use for raking, lube the rake, replace a couple tines.
3. The plan is to cut tomorrow, rake the next day and then start baling after that. No time to service the two balers (square and round) until tomorrow after cutting or the next day after raking.
4. Forecast changes (fucking weatherman) beautiful tomorrow, but rain the two days afterwards. Postpone cutting until after the rain
5. Can't cut, so service the balers. Clean, grease, adjust timing on the knotters on the square baler. Polish the duckbills on the knotters. Take a couple old bales and break apart and feed them in by hand to insure everything is working properly. Timing chain is skipping...replace timing chain. Clean, grease, adjust the belts, fill the lubers on the round bailer...can't test this one, requires too much hay. Weld cracked opener pin on the door lift.
6. Everything is ready. See number 4.
7. Finally cutting. First field goes well, second field goes well, third field is a bitch. Third field is thick and some of the hay has lodged (gone over and matted) in the rain from two days before and keeps binding the sickle so I have to stop and get off the machine and pull it out of the sickle and guides by the handful.
8. 6 more fields to cut, but need to get this stuff raked and baled first.
9. Raking is uneventful. Pleasant in fact, until I blow a tire on the rake. Stop, remove, take back to the shop and replace. Start again.
10. The hay is dry enough to bale.
11. Forgot that one of the wagons had a flat. Remember when I go to hook on to it with the tractor and baler. Fix the tire.
12. Square baling. The baler keeps missing ties on the right side. Remember that I did not put in fresh twine. Last years twine has deteriorated from the humidity. Fresh twine fixes the problem. Bale 250 square bales (two short wagons) and park and cover the wagons in case the weatherman is wrong again. Trying to find a kid who will stack bales on the wagon, even at $10 per hour is nigh on to impossible. The price of video games I guess.
13. Round baling. This baling can be done without help, and goes quite well until I blow a hydraulic hose on the tie. Remove hose, go to shop, crimp a new one, install hose and fill with hydraulic fluid. Unload baler and mark the bale so that it does not get fed (I will use it as bedding) due to being sprayed with hydraulic oil.
14. Repeat steps 1 through 13 until all fields are done (hopefully, but not likely, without mechanical issues)
15. Load and haul round bales home.
16. Throw square bales up into the barn mow and stack. It will be 100+ degrees and dusty...fun.
16. Hope the cows and horses are fucking happy.
17. Enjoy a big thick steak dinner.
Ok. I could probably go to the store and buy a steak. Does this make me a simpleton? Very likely so.
Farming is not my "career." I am an electrical engineer. Most days farming is pretty satisfying. Some days I wonder "what the hell am I thinking."
The whole venture for me (we always had animals when I was growing up and I helped on several local farms) started with 40 acres of my own land and a love of old rusty iron and tractors. Put the two together and hey, I'm a farmer. Not really though because I am probably just a step above hobby farming. I am far from well off and the equipment I have is old. I enjoy maintaining it and running it...most of the time. It keeps me out of trouble, for the most part.
Usually the "Hay Cycle" is where I decide that I must be a simpleton farmer and not a simple farmer. Who but a simpleton would put themselves through this?
1. The hay is getting close to where it is ready to cut.
2. Time to service the old haybine and grease the 54 zerks, lube all the chains, adjust the cutter blade and stone guards. Gotta tune up the engine and fix the flat tire. While crawling under the haybine to grease, get stung by bald faced hornets who have built a nest. Then change the oil in the old farmall that we use for raking, lube the rake, replace a couple tines.
3. The plan is to cut tomorrow, rake the next day and then start baling after that. No time to service the two balers (square and round) until tomorrow after cutting or the next day after raking.
4. Forecast changes (fucking weatherman) beautiful tomorrow, but rain the two days afterwards. Postpone cutting until after the rain
5. Can't cut, so service the balers. Clean, grease, adjust timing on the knotters on the square baler. Polish the duckbills on the knotters. Take a couple old bales and break apart and feed them in by hand to insure everything is working properly. Timing chain is skipping...replace timing chain. Clean, grease, adjust the belts, fill the lubers on the round bailer...can't test this one, requires too much hay. Weld cracked opener pin on the door lift.
6. Everything is ready. See number 4.
7. Finally cutting. First field goes well, second field goes well, third field is a bitch. Third field is thick and some of the hay has lodged (gone over and matted) in the rain from two days before and keeps binding the sickle so I have to stop and get off the machine and pull it out of the sickle and guides by the handful.
8. 6 more fields to cut, but need to get this stuff raked and baled first.
9. Raking is uneventful. Pleasant in fact, until I blow a tire on the rake. Stop, remove, take back to the shop and replace. Start again.
10. The hay is dry enough to bale.
11. Forgot that one of the wagons had a flat. Remember when I go to hook on to it with the tractor and baler. Fix the tire.
12. Square baling. The baler keeps missing ties on the right side. Remember that I did not put in fresh twine. Last years twine has deteriorated from the humidity. Fresh twine fixes the problem. Bale 250 square bales (two short wagons) and park and cover the wagons in case the weatherman is wrong again. Trying to find a kid who will stack bales on the wagon, even at $10 per hour is nigh on to impossible. The price of video games I guess.
13. Round baling. This baling can be done without help, and goes quite well until I blow a hydraulic hose on the tie. Remove hose, go to shop, crimp a new one, install hose and fill with hydraulic fluid. Unload baler and mark the bale so that it does not get fed (I will use it as bedding) due to being sprayed with hydraulic oil.
14. Repeat steps 1 through 13 until all fields are done (hopefully, but not likely, without mechanical issues)
15. Load and haul round bales home.
16. Throw square bales up into the barn mow and stack. It will be 100+ degrees and dusty...fun.
16. Hope the cows and horses are fucking happy.
17. Enjoy a big thick steak dinner.
Ok. I could probably go to the store and buy a steak. Does this make me a simpleton? Very likely so.
Farming is not my "career." I am an electrical engineer. Most days farming is pretty satisfying. Some days I wonder "what the hell am I thinking."
The whole venture for me (we always had animals when I was growing up and I helped on several local farms) started with 40 acres of my own land and a love of old rusty iron and tractors. Put the two together and hey, I'm a farmer. Not really though because I am probably just a step above hobby farming. I am far from well off and the equipment I have is old. I enjoy maintaining it and running it...most of the time. It keeps me out of trouble, for the most part.
Sausage Taco
It's Thursday. Let's talk about food.
As much as I enjoy discussions about shampoo and the Lone Ranger, as we close in on the weekend, food is more compelling to me.
There are few meals better than a sausage taco. Of course, this type of meal shouldn't be rushed. Assembling the meal is important to ensure that the taco has all the necessary condiments prior to applying the sausage. It's worth the wait when you are intent on what you want.
Some have said that not only should the taco be prepared properly, but that the sausage can also be prepped with a couple of melons, or oranges, or even grapes. To each his own I say.
Others have suggested that serving chocolate with sausage can be a good dessert as well.
Either way, I just like talking about food. And when the opportunity is right, enjoyed a prepared meal is one of life's great joys.
Know what I mean?
As much as I enjoy discussions about shampoo and the Lone Ranger, as we close in on the weekend, food is more compelling to me.
There are few meals better than a sausage taco. Of course, this type of meal shouldn't be rushed. Assembling the meal is important to ensure that the taco has all the necessary condiments prior to applying the sausage. It's worth the wait when you are intent on what you want.
Some have said that not only should the taco be prepared properly, but that the sausage can also be prepped with a couple of melons, or oranges, or even grapes. To each his own I say.
Others have suggested that serving chocolate with sausage can be a good dessert as well.
Either way, I just like talking about food. And when the opportunity is right, enjoyed a prepared meal is one of life's great joys.
Know what I mean?
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
A Blatantly Racist Joke in Honor of Elizabeth Warren, or Fauxohontis.
The Lone Ranger was ambushed and captured by an enemy Indian War Party.
The Indian Chief proclaims,
"So, YOU are the great Lone Ranger... In honor of the Harvest Festival, YOU will be executed in three days."
"Before I kill you, I grant you three requests. What is your FIRST request???"
The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse."
The Chief nods and Silver is brought before the Lone Ranger who whispers in Silver's ear, and the horse gallops away. Later that evening, Silver returns with a beautiful blonde woman on his back. As the Indian Chief watches, the blonde enters the Lone Ranger's tent and spends the night.
The next morning the Indian Chief admits he's impressed. "You have a very fine and loyal horse, but I will still kill you in two days. What is your SECOND request???"
The Lone Ranger again asks to speak to his horse.
Silver is brought to him, and he again whispers in the horse's ear. As before, Silver takes off and disappears over the horizon. Later that evening, to the Chief's surprise, Silver again returns, this time with a voluptuous brunette, more attractive than the blonde.
She enters the Lone Rangers tent and spends the night.
The following morning the Indian Chief is again impressed. "You are indeed a man of many talents, but I will still kill you tomorrow. What is your LAST request???"
The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse. Alone." The Chief is curious, but he agrees, and Silver is brought to the Lone Ranger's tent.
Once they're alone, the Lone Ranger grabs Silver by both ears, Looks him square in the eye and says,
"Listen Very Carefully!!!! FOR... THE... LAST... TIME... I SAID...' BRING POSSE'"
This place apparently needs a bit of lightening up. *wink*
The Indian Chief proclaims,
"So, YOU are the great Lone Ranger... In honor of the Harvest Festival, YOU will be executed in three days."
"Before I kill you, I grant you three requests. What is your FIRST request???"
The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse."
The Chief nods and Silver is brought before the Lone Ranger who whispers in Silver's ear, and the horse gallops away. Later that evening, Silver returns with a beautiful blonde woman on his back. As the Indian Chief watches, the blonde enters the Lone Ranger's tent and spends the night.
The next morning the Indian Chief admits he's impressed. "You have a very fine and loyal horse, but I will still kill you in two days. What is your SECOND request???"
The Lone Ranger again asks to speak to his horse.
Silver is brought to him, and he again whispers in the horse's ear. As before, Silver takes off and disappears over the horizon. Later that evening, to the Chief's surprise, Silver again returns, this time with a voluptuous brunette, more attractive than the blonde.
She enters the Lone Rangers tent and spends the night.
The following morning the Indian Chief is again impressed. "You are indeed a man of many talents, but I will still kill you tomorrow. What is your LAST request???"
The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse. Alone." The Chief is curious, but he agrees, and Silver is brought to the Lone Ranger's tent.
Once they're alone, the Lone Ranger grabs Silver by both ears, Looks him square in the eye and says,
"Listen Very Carefully!!!! FOR... THE... LAST... TIME... I SAID...' BRING POSSE'"
This place apparently needs a bit of lightening up. *wink*
It's Not About Religion. It's About Money
Disclaimer: this blog isn't a fun topic and it's a potentially polarizing topic. But it's been bugging the hell out of me, and I have a compulsion to share.
What's happening in Israel is wrong. Simply put.
Under no circumstances is it ok to disenfranchise, enslave, punish, or imprison someone simply because of what they believe, or don't. And yet this is exactly what the Israeli government is doing to the Palestinians.
Israel has used terrorist tactics for decades, but that's ok because they are considered allies to the the US, the UK and others outside the Middle East. Hamas is a terrorist organization and should be wiped from the planet. But the reason it's so easy for them to increase their membership is because it seems to be the only means of discourse that Israel respects.
Internationally agreed border are simply ignored. Israeli only roads are illegally build across Palestinian land and Palestinians have plates on their cars that make them easily identifiable by the police. Anyone happen to recall when Jews were forced to wear armbands?
Palestine never had a state. This is true. But it's a red herring argument. This is how the Palestinians have chosen to live for thousands of years. The individual farmers do have documentation of ownership of the land, but because they aren't Jewish, it's irrelevant.
It's called apartheid and it's wrong.
And why is it allowed to occur? Why does no one else stand up for Palestine? Money.
There's money to be made. Palestinians, culturally, are not interrsted in thriving economies. So roads are built cheaply. And then, without conflict, where will the weapons manufacturers sell their goods?
I saw footage of a Rabbi who said something to the effect that while God did decree the land to the Israelis, it's not something to be taken for granted and it's something that must be earned by having high moral character.
According to ancient scripture, while the Jews were driven from Isreal by others, the true reason is that they had abandoned morality and civility. They no longer deserved it.
Subjugating another people is not moral. Israel does not deserve the land, even according to their own scripture.
Now, most of you know that I don't believe in the book of fables. I'm merely pointing out that there is something intrinsically wrong about what Israel is doing.
And until there's no money to be made, it will continue.
What's happening in Israel is wrong. Simply put.
Under no circumstances is it ok to disenfranchise, enslave, punish, or imprison someone simply because of what they believe, or don't. And yet this is exactly what the Israeli government is doing to the Palestinians.
Israel has used terrorist tactics for decades, but that's ok because they are considered allies to the the US, the UK and others outside the Middle East. Hamas is a terrorist organization and should be wiped from the planet. But the reason it's so easy for them to increase their membership is because it seems to be the only means of discourse that Israel respects.
Internationally agreed border are simply ignored. Israeli only roads are illegally build across Palestinian land and Palestinians have plates on their cars that make them easily identifiable by the police. Anyone happen to recall when Jews were forced to wear armbands?
Palestine never had a state. This is true. But it's a red herring argument. This is how the Palestinians have chosen to live for thousands of years. The individual farmers do have documentation of ownership of the land, but because they aren't Jewish, it's irrelevant.
It's called apartheid and it's wrong.
And why is it allowed to occur? Why does no one else stand up for Palestine? Money.
There's money to be made. Palestinians, culturally, are not interrsted in thriving economies. So roads are built cheaply. And then, without conflict, where will the weapons manufacturers sell their goods?
I saw footage of a Rabbi who said something to the effect that while God did decree the land to the Israelis, it's not something to be taken for granted and it's something that must be earned by having high moral character.
According to ancient scripture, while the Jews were driven from Isreal by others, the true reason is that they had abandoned morality and civility. They no longer deserved it.
Subjugating another people is not moral. Israel does not deserve the land, even according to their own scripture.
Now, most of you know that I don't believe in the book of fables. I'm merely pointing out that there is something intrinsically wrong about what Israel is doing.
And until there's no money to be made, it will continue.
Monday, August 4, 2014
The Great Down Under
Now that we have a visitor from the Southern Hemisphere , I shall post a blog in her honor.
When exactly did everyone decide that it was best to go completely bare down there? I'm not complaining precisely. This is just of mild curiosity.
Many women seem to complain about the pain needed for establishing the bare patch as well as the maintenance, which would seem to be counter-productive, unless they get as much out of it as us men. In which case, why the bitching?
Maybe that's what life is all about. If there's nothing to complain about, then there's nothing to talk about?
Maybe.
I will say however that I do very much appreciate the effort, regardless of the complaint level. It's no so much the visual, as it is the taste.
That said, during the winter, it's also welcome to have some foliage in order to trap the scent. There's benefit to that as well.
So Kat? As the winter approaches, feel free to let's things grow. I won't hold it against you.
When exactly did everyone decide that it was best to go completely bare down there? I'm not complaining precisely. This is just of mild curiosity.
Many women seem to complain about the pain needed for establishing the bare patch as well as the maintenance, which would seem to be counter-productive, unless they get as much out of it as us men. In which case, why the bitching?
Maybe that's what life is all about. If there's nothing to complain about, then there's nothing to talk about?
Maybe.
I will say however that I do very much appreciate the effort, regardless of the complaint level. It's no so much the visual, as it is the taste.
That said, during the winter, it's also welcome to have some foliage in order to trap the scent. There's benefit to that as well.
So Kat? As the winter approaches, feel free to let's things grow. I won't hold it against you.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Happy, Happy, Hap...Hap...Happy Birthday
To everyone's favorite luscious Brooklyn beauty! Maybe she will come out of her shell and join us here! Married life? Pshaw!
Happy Birthday Vivi! All the best from your friends!
Happy Birthday Vivi! All the best from your friends!
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Since we have been talking about religion a bit.....
Outhouses
Some of you may already know this, because I am sure that I mentioned it in a story or blog on EP, but I grew up using an outhouse.
All this talk about time and age tends to bring these things back and per the title of this blog, I have a compulsion to share.
To this day, my parents have and maintain a very nice outhouse. Yes, they have indoor plumbing, and they had it early on when I was growing up, but we only had the one bathroom in the house and in the early mornings it was generally occupied and that left either a tree or the outhouse to do your business in. I can remember waking up on a cold, snowy winter morning and running out to the outhouse in only a pair of winter boots and my skivvies. You took care of business quickly. It was cold. There was (and is) a small coal stove out in the outhouse that I do not remember ever being lit, but there it is. The outhouse at home was actually quite plush by outhouse standards. Maple flooring, a smooth two holed maple seat with maple lids. Very nice tongue and groove maple paneling and two small windows that opened. It was built, I would guess, somewhere around the turn of the century and was far removed from the caricature outhouse with the moon in the door. Although there was a stack of JC Penney catalogs next to the seat in case the toilet paper ran out.
Our outhouse was clean. There was a bucket of quick lime that was used liberally and it was swept out, wiped out and generally sanitized probably more often than most indoor toilets. The worst job was the yearly "fall cleanout." A removable panel on the back of the outhouse was unscrewed and a shovel and wheelbarrow was employed to "lower the pile." The fact that we had an indoor toilet diminished the amount that had to be removed, but it was still done yearly.
In addition to the outhouse at home, the service garage that I worked in (and mentioned in my own blog) had no plumbing other than a hose bib for filling radiators and washing cars. There were two outhouses. One on each side of a small storage building in back of the garage. Men's and Women's. Being as progressive and inclusive and politically correct as we were brought up to be, a lack of use by the general public made it efficient to lock the door on the "Men's" outhouse and turn the "Women's" outhouse into a unisex or "gender neutral" outhouse. One less place to clean.
Once again, these outhouses (later reduced to one) were clean. They were cleaned daily, by me! I had to use them! They were limed as needed and swept out and had been built in such a way that you could easily hose them out once a week in the summer. The outhouse at the service garage was not as plush as the one at home, but it was just as clean and the lime kept odor down even on the hottest days.
One thing is true about outhouses, and it was certainly true for all of ours, they attract bugs. Even with a bit of insecticide, they still attracted spiders and the like and bugs attract snakes and snakes and bugs tend to attract skunks. A regular point of inspection was to insure that a skunk had not dug its way into the outhouse in order to find a tasty treat or a snake. Sitting down over a skunk would not be a pleasant experience.
Outhouses were a fact of life for me and my family growing up and hence, not out of the ordinary or even anything you really thought about. I own the service garage that I grew up in and there is still no plumbing there. The outhouse is still clean. It was always funny to me when someone would come into the garage looking to use the restroom and I would point them out back. It was a 50/50 chance that they would actually use it no matter how clean it was. Eventually, I got to the point where, when asked, I would simply say, "there is no plumbing here." Once again it was a 50/50 chance whether the person asking would believe you.
Having a "public" outhouse led to numerous (I think) funny stories.
For a while, we began having a problem with someone stealing the roll of toilet paper as well as the spare roll from the outhouse. Nothing more frustrating than going out to the outhouse to take care of business and having no TP. We got to the point where we would take a roll out with us and finally got to the point where, if someone wanted to use the outhouse we would hand them a roll, much like you would get the key at a more modern service station. My dad, who has a good, but dry sense of humor, one summer filled a bucket with dry corn cobs and set it on the seat with a little sign that said, "help yourself."
As I noted, some people would use the outhouse and some would turn up their nose and go somewhere else. Behind the garage, we had a very large lawn area with large spreading beach trees and, being a tourist area, it was not uncommon for people to stop on their bicycles and have lunch or relax under the trees for a while. I remember one such time, a woman in a group who were sitting under the trees got up and went to the door of the outhouse and peeked in. She went in and closed the door. I was working at the work bench in the back of the garage and had a clear view of the back yard and the outhouse through the windows. Suddenly, I heard the most blood curdling scream you can imagine and the door of the outhouse came flying open and out she came with her pants around her ankles, falling to her knees and crawling away yelling "RATTLE SNAKE." You will remember that I told you that the bugs inherent in any outhouse attracted snakes and such. This was one of those times. a 3 foot long Pine (or Fox) snake had crawled into the hole, the bottom of which was a good 6 feet from the hole in the seat. If you are familiar with a fox snake, they look quite similar to a rattle snake and actually shake their tail (no rattle) when disturbed. One of nature's mimics you might say, but they are actually quite shy and harmless. I had seen him before on my own trips to the outhouse. Can you imagine this poor woman carefully sitting down to do her business and looking down the hole between her legs to see an even more frightened snake? I just about had to use the outhouse myself I was laughing so hard.
Numerous times we would have salesmen who would stop at the garage who would open their van and want to sell us spark plugs or oil filters or other shop supplies and invariably every summer there was at least one janitorial supply salesman that would stop to sell us cleaning supplies for the restroom. They always looked dumbfounded when I asked if they carried deodorizing shovels.
One thing I always wanted to do in our "Public Gender Neutral" outhouse was to wire a PA speaker under the seat. I had visions of someone going into the outhouse to do their business and just at the right time I planned to say over the PA, "Would you mind moving over to the other hole? I am trying to paint down here and you are blocking the light!" That would have been hilarious, but alas, I never got around to it.
Outhouses have been made "illegal" around here now and unless you have one that is grandfathered, there is no chance of installing one. I am not sure why anyone would want to, but since I still have mine, I maintain it, as do my folks, so as not to lose it. They really don't need theirs any more since it is just the two of them, but I have no other alternative at the garage. There is a lock on the door now, because it is no longer public, but yes, the bucket of corn cobs is still there.
All this talk about time and age tends to bring these things back and per the title of this blog, I have a compulsion to share.
To this day, my parents have and maintain a very nice outhouse. Yes, they have indoor plumbing, and they had it early on when I was growing up, but we only had the one bathroom in the house and in the early mornings it was generally occupied and that left either a tree or the outhouse to do your business in. I can remember waking up on a cold, snowy winter morning and running out to the outhouse in only a pair of winter boots and my skivvies. You took care of business quickly. It was cold. There was (and is) a small coal stove out in the outhouse that I do not remember ever being lit, but there it is. The outhouse at home was actually quite plush by outhouse standards. Maple flooring, a smooth two holed maple seat with maple lids. Very nice tongue and groove maple paneling and two small windows that opened. It was built, I would guess, somewhere around the turn of the century and was far removed from the caricature outhouse with the moon in the door. Although there was a stack of JC Penney catalogs next to the seat in case the toilet paper ran out.
Our outhouse was clean. There was a bucket of quick lime that was used liberally and it was swept out, wiped out and generally sanitized probably more often than most indoor toilets. The worst job was the yearly "fall cleanout." A removable panel on the back of the outhouse was unscrewed and a shovel and wheelbarrow was employed to "lower the pile." The fact that we had an indoor toilet diminished the amount that had to be removed, but it was still done yearly.
In addition to the outhouse at home, the service garage that I worked in (and mentioned in my own blog) had no plumbing other than a hose bib for filling radiators and washing cars. There were two outhouses. One on each side of a small storage building in back of the garage. Men's and Women's. Being as progressive and inclusive and politically correct as we were brought up to be, a lack of use by the general public made it efficient to lock the door on the "Men's" outhouse and turn the "Women's" outhouse into a unisex or "gender neutral" outhouse. One less place to clean.
Once again, these outhouses (later reduced to one) were clean. They were cleaned daily, by me! I had to use them! They were limed as needed and swept out and had been built in such a way that you could easily hose them out once a week in the summer. The outhouse at the service garage was not as plush as the one at home, but it was just as clean and the lime kept odor down even on the hottest days.
One thing is true about outhouses, and it was certainly true for all of ours, they attract bugs. Even with a bit of insecticide, they still attracted spiders and the like and bugs attract snakes and snakes and bugs tend to attract skunks. A regular point of inspection was to insure that a skunk had not dug its way into the outhouse in order to find a tasty treat or a snake. Sitting down over a skunk would not be a pleasant experience.
Outhouses were a fact of life for me and my family growing up and hence, not out of the ordinary or even anything you really thought about. I own the service garage that I grew up in and there is still no plumbing there. The outhouse is still clean. It was always funny to me when someone would come into the garage looking to use the restroom and I would point them out back. It was a 50/50 chance that they would actually use it no matter how clean it was. Eventually, I got to the point where, when asked, I would simply say, "there is no plumbing here." Once again it was a 50/50 chance whether the person asking would believe you.
Having a "public" outhouse led to numerous (I think) funny stories.
For a while, we began having a problem with someone stealing the roll of toilet paper as well as the spare roll from the outhouse. Nothing more frustrating than going out to the outhouse to take care of business and having no TP. We got to the point where we would take a roll out with us and finally got to the point where, if someone wanted to use the outhouse we would hand them a roll, much like you would get the key at a more modern service station. My dad, who has a good, but dry sense of humor, one summer filled a bucket with dry corn cobs and set it on the seat with a little sign that said, "help yourself."
As I noted, some people would use the outhouse and some would turn up their nose and go somewhere else. Behind the garage, we had a very large lawn area with large spreading beach trees and, being a tourist area, it was not uncommon for people to stop on their bicycles and have lunch or relax under the trees for a while. I remember one such time, a woman in a group who were sitting under the trees got up and went to the door of the outhouse and peeked in. She went in and closed the door. I was working at the work bench in the back of the garage and had a clear view of the back yard and the outhouse through the windows. Suddenly, I heard the most blood curdling scream you can imagine and the door of the outhouse came flying open and out she came with her pants around her ankles, falling to her knees and crawling away yelling "RATTLE SNAKE." You will remember that I told you that the bugs inherent in any outhouse attracted snakes and such. This was one of those times. a 3 foot long Pine (or Fox) snake had crawled into the hole, the bottom of which was a good 6 feet from the hole in the seat. If you are familiar with a fox snake, they look quite similar to a rattle snake and actually shake their tail (no rattle) when disturbed. One of nature's mimics you might say, but they are actually quite shy and harmless. I had seen him before on my own trips to the outhouse. Can you imagine this poor woman carefully sitting down to do her business and looking down the hole between her legs to see an even more frightened snake? I just about had to use the outhouse myself I was laughing so hard.
Numerous times we would have salesmen who would stop at the garage who would open their van and want to sell us spark plugs or oil filters or other shop supplies and invariably every summer there was at least one janitorial supply salesman that would stop to sell us cleaning supplies for the restroom. They always looked dumbfounded when I asked if they carried deodorizing shovels.
One thing I always wanted to do in our "Public Gender Neutral" outhouse was to wire a PA speaker under the seat. I had visions of someone going into the outhouse to do their business and just at the right time I planned to say over the PA, "Would you mind moving over to the other hole? I am trying to paint down here and you are blocking the light!" That would have been hilarious, but alas, I never got around to it.
Outhouses have been made "illegal" around here now and unless you have one that is grandfathered, there is no chance of installing one. I am not sure why anyone would want to, but since I still have mine, I maintain it, as do my folks, so as not to lose it. They really don't need theirs any more since it is just the two of them, but I have no other alternative at the garage. There is a lock on the door now, because it is no longer public, but yes, the bucket of corn cobs is still there.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Dogma
Kit had a post dealing with religion on her blog and it made me think of this joke I once heard. I can't tell you where it came from so I can't give credit where credit is due, but it fits well I think. You can swap any group, sect or what ever where ever you like in the joke and it still fits. It is funny and also not, Unfortunately.....
Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump.
I said, “Dont do it!”
He said, “Nobody loves me.”
I said, “God loves you. Do you believe in God?”
He said, “Yes.”
I said, “Are you a Christian or a Jew?”
He said, “A Christian.”
I said, “Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?”
He said, “Protestant.”
I said, “Me, too! What franchise?”
He said, “Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region.”
I said, “Me, too!”Northern Conservative†Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912.”
I said, “Die, heretic!” And I pushed him over.
Being Lutheran, it would have been too much effort to go through all this and we would have just kept walking...
Anyway, being as religion and politics are generally meant to be off limits in friendly respectful blogs, I figured I would break the rules....just because that is me.
Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump.
I said, “Dont do it!”
He said, “Nobody loves me.”
I said, “God loves you. Do you believe in God?”
He said, “Yes.”
I said, “Are you a Christian or a Jew?”
He said, “A Christian.”
I said, “Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?”
He said, “Protestant.”
I said, “Me, too! What franchise?”
He said, “Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region.”
I said, “Me, too!”Northern Conservative†Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912.”
I said, “Die, heretic!” And I pushed him over.
Being Lutheran, it would have been too much effort to go through all this and we would have just kept walking...
Anyway, being as religion and politics are generally meant to be off limits in friendly respectful blogs, I figured I would break the rules....just because that is me.
Humor
There's nothing quite like a smile. A smile can say so many things.
A smile can say "I'm happy". It it can simply mean approval.
It can say "I love you." The list goes on.
But some people are reluctant to share. Not a problem with the authors here and maybe even some of the readers. But some people prefer to hold back.
Humor is the ice breaker. Humor gets people smiling. It allows people to be comfortable smiling, even when they might otherwise choose not to, or even have good reason not to.
There is joy wherever we look. Humor helps us find it.
So, when I make fun of you or poke at you or tease you, maybe I just want you to say that you love me. Or maybe you're just an idiot.
A smile can say "I'm happy". It it can simply mean approval.
It can say "I love you." The list goes on.
But some people are reluctant to share. Not a problem with the authors here and maybe even some of the readers. But some people prefer to hold back.
Humor is the ice breaker. Humor gets people smiling. It allows people to be comfortable smiling, even when they might otherwise choose not to, or even have good reason not to.
There is joy wherever we look. Humor helps us find it.
So, when I make fun of you or poke at you or tease you, maybe I just want you to say that you love me. Or maybe you're just an idiot.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Time
Time.
Four little letters that tend to mean so much, but are so ignored.
All this talk about prostates, hemorrhoids and failing vision (none of which presently are afflictions of mine) have me thinking about time and how fast it actually goes by.
Yesterday I was in high school. Full of piss and vinegar and loaded for bear (or perhaps "bare" is more appropriate.
Yesterday afternoon I was graduating college, which was a blur of work, fun, study and.....and....wait....I know I am forgetting something....
Last night I was starting my second job after college. Not taking shit from anyone and moving up the ladder because I did my job and did not play politics.
At about bar time this morning I was quitting my job and moving home to a new job that I had been waiting for for years. Two little kids and a wife that worked just as hard (actually I would argue harder) than I did.
This morning my kids are graduating from the same high school I graduated from yesterday. We are full of hope for them both. Tech school and college bound. Excited. Full of my own memories from college...wait...now I am nervous.
At lunch, my nervousness proves to be prophetic and hopes for education are pretty much smashed. But life in general (minus this issue) is still pretty damn good.
At supper, I reconnected with a several old friends who I have never actually met but who mean the world to me.
Simple things are sometimes the most satisfying. We all need a bit more time to appreciate them.
Four little letters that tend to mean so much, but are so ignored.
All this talk about prostates, hemorrhoids and failing vision (none of which presently are afflictions of mine) have me thinking about time and how fast it actually goes by.
Yesterday I was in high school. Full of piss and vinegar and loaded for bear (or perhaps "bare" is more appropriate.
Yesterday afternoon I was graduating college, which was a blur of work, fun, study and.....and....wait....I know I am forgetting something....
Last night I was starting my second job after college. Not taking shit from anyone and moving up the ladder because I did my job and did not play politics.
At about bar time this morning I was quitting my job and moving home to a new job that I had been waiting for for years. Two little kids and a wife that worked just as hard (actually I would argue harder) than I did.
This morning my kids are graduating from the same high school I graduated from yesterday. We are full of hope for them both. Tech school and college bound. Excited. Full of my own memories from college...wait...now I am nervous.
At lunch, my nervousness proves to be prophetic and hopes for education are pretty much smashed. But life in general (minus this issue) is still pretty damn good.
At supper, I reconnected with a several old friends who I have never actually met but who mean the world to me.
Simple things are sometimes the most satisfying. We all need a bit more time to appreciate them.
Getting Old... The Irony
When I was younger....
Ok. Wait. Let's be clear about this. I'm 46. By no means does that make me old. By my calculations, based on my family's history, I have at least 35 more years on this planet. And considering that I've been an adult for about 35 years... Is say that makes me at least 15 years away from old.
Ok then.
When I was younger, I didn't have to worry about my prostate, or hemorrhoids, or flipping up my glasses to read a damn menu. Nope. I took it all for granted.
But I was also clueless. I was so clueless that I took chances that I never should have taken... and most of them paid off.
And how is it that I never noticed how many beautiful women there are in the world? Damn.
Do I regret only having bedded one of them? No. Life is to short for regrets. But if I knew then what I know now...
But I guess that's my point.
It's been said that youth is wasted on the young. No it isn't. The young are too dumb to realize what they have and they need the cover of healthy bodies and naive confidence.
It's a good thing.
And thank God for young youthful bodies. At least the female ones. :)
Ok. Wait. Let's be clear about this. I'm 46. By no means does that make me old. By my calculations, based on my family's history, I have at least 35 more years on this planet. And considering that I've been an adult for about 35 years... Is say that makes me at least 15 years away from old.
Ok then.
When I was younger, I didn't have to worry about my prostate, or hemorrhoids, or flipping up my glasses to read a damn menu. Nope. I took it all for granted.
But I was also clueless. I was so clueless that I took chances that I never should have taken... and most of them paid off.
And how is it that I never noticed how many beautiful women there are in the world? Damn.
Do I regret only having bedded one of them? No. Life is to short for regrets. But if I knew then what I know now...
But I guess that's my point.
It's been said that youth is wasted on the young. No it isn't. The young are too dumb to realize what they have and they need the cover of healthy bodies and naive confidence.
It's a good thing.
And thank God for young youthful bodies. At least the female ones. :)
Community Sharing
Ok. What's this all about?
The answer is simple, and fairly typical from me: whatever you want it to be about.
It was Kit who gave me the idea when she posted her own blog, which is more or less geared towards the life of a high functioning aspie. Come to think if it, I should check her most recent post.
Anyhoo... this blog space is meant to be a community space for those of us that need to or have a compulsion to share. It's a place to vent, tell jokes, make friends or editorialize about life...
There are no rules other than the implied expectation of respect. If you want to invite someone, have them send me an email.
Sounds simple. Let's give it a whirl.
The answer is simple, and fairly typical from me: whatever you want it to be about.
It was Kit who gave me the idea when she posted her own blog, which is more or less geared towards the life of a high functioning aspie. Come to think if it, I should check her most recent post.
Anyhoo... this blog space is meant to be a community space for those of us that need to or have a compulsion to share. It's a place to vent, tell jokes, make friends or editorialize about life...
There are no rules other than the implied expectation of respect. If you want to invite someone, have them send me an email.
Sounds simple. Let's give it a whirl.
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