Scratching to Escape

Summer is Coming.

2012-03-02T03:22:00.000-08:00

We've already had some days where it was around 80 degrees. In the near future, the temperature will rise into the mid 80's; then the low 90's and finally the mid to upper 90's. I don't look forward to this. I'm getting old and the heat kicks my butt. After a long day in the heat, there's not much left and even walking is a task.

Still Busy

2012-03-01T03:30:00.002-08:00

There aren't enough hours, or enough time to do something besides work.

Bleh.

Captcha Code

2012-02-28T03:59:00.001-08:00

I don't know why they went to something even humans can't figure out. The best way to describe it:

It Sucks!

I haven't figured out a way to change it, or turn it off, but I will.

Heated Rage

2012-02-27T02:52:00.000-08:00

“You missed your true calling, Stephanie.”

“Maybe, but I think I like this work better.”

“Dr. Carlson spent a few moments admiring the finesse ofStephanie’s hands as she sewed up the woman they just finished examining.”

“Why did you decide to not be a surgeon?”

“When I was in school, I worked in the hospital to help withexpenses. I ended up in the emergency department, where I observed the dailydestruction of drugs, crime and ignorance. I realized I didn’t have muchrespect for many of the people that came into the hospital and had some soulsearching moments to decide what I would do. After I worked a shift in the morgue, I realized I was fascinated byforensic pathology. “

“Well, the medical profession lost a potential greatsurgeon, but I gained a valuable assistant. “

“Thank you, doctor.”

“After you’re through, I need you to make slides of theliver and the kidneys. “

“It looked like she had a rough life.”

“I’ve seen this before. With her, I’d say she did somethingthat irritated her pimp. Somewhere in her past, she was beaten severely, whichis the reason for the healed facial fractures.”

“Are you leaning towards a drug overdose?”

“I can’t say for sure. The results from the toxicologicaltest will determine if my suspicions are correct. “

Dr. Carlson thought about the autopsy. The woman was young,although her physical condition betrayed years of drug abuse and neglect. Heridentification stated she was 29, but she was well on the way to the physicaldemise that led her to the morgue. Her liver, and kidneys were abnormal, whichindicated her body was past the point of healing; it was inevitable she woulddie early, although he felt there was more that only further testing wouldreveal.

“What was the significance of the tattoo?”

The doctor really didn’t know. The number “32” didn’t haveany significance, as far as he knew, but he felt there was more to the numberthan an individual whim.

“I really don’t know, but, maybe, time will reveal more thanwe know at this time.”

“What about next of kin?”

“I don’t think anyone will ever claim our victim. The policewill try to find someone, but I doubt anyone will come forward. Desperation would have led someone from thelife she led. I have the feeling she has nobody, or anyone that cared gave up onher a long time ago.”

“Someone did call this morning, although they didn’t leave aname, or number.”

“That was probably someone she worked with, or is verifyingher demise. If this was an accident, someone will be trying to settle theirthoughts. If not, then someone is satisfying their curiosity. A dead prostitutecan be a powerful tool for control.”

Stephanie was quiet after the comment. As she continued withher work, she thought of the circumstances in life that would lead someone towhere they died, without family to remember, or mourn. Then again, maybe herfamily mourned years ago. The thought left her sad.

Dr. Carlson thought of the young woman; only a few yearsolder than her assistant, but the contrast was remarkable. Stephanie was wellon the way to a successful, satisfying career; the young woman now refrigeratedin his morgue had lived a life of desperation that ended with what appeared asa terrible death. The circumstances of life seemed unfair, but the doctor knewthat there was always much more than appeared. People choose, whether they knewtheir choices, or not.

“Dr Carlson, I have a powerful urge for a Starbucks.”

The doctor was amused. His assistant didn’t care much forhis coffee. He didn’t either, but it was easily available and provided by thecity.

“Why don’t you go get us one, I’m buying.”

Reaching for his wallet, the doctor handed his assistant aten dollar bill. While he was shocked there wasn’t enough change to consider,he knew the cost was priceless in keeping his assistant in a good mood.Besides, he liked the coffee, even though it was expensive; it was worth thecost.

“I’ll be back in a half hour.”

The doctor watched is assistant leave and then returned tohis work. He had a lot on his mind; including the report that Nick was stillmissing. Nick was not only a good detective, he was a friend. They startedtheir careers nearly together. They had seen much more than many; their bondwas that society can harden, but not change the basic goodness of people.

A few minutes later, the door opened to the morgue. Thedoctor never looked up. He thought it was either Stephanie, or someone who wouldbother him with some new unnecessary paperwork. Neither, in his mind, was worthallowing the distraction.

“Dr. Carlson?”

The doctor looked up to find a man that appeared to be in hisearly forties. He didn’t know him, but there was something about his face thatmade the doctor uneasy. Maybe it was the total lack of expression, or his eyes,which appeared as lifeless and cold.

“How can I help you?”

“You can help by giving me the locket.”

For a moment, the doctor was confused; then he realized thestranger was asking about the locket that Nick left the night before.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Pulling a silenced automatic from his coat, the strangerstated: “I’m in no mood for games. Give me the locket and your death will bepainless.”

A few thoughts raced through the doctor’s mind, but morethan anything else, he wondered how this man knew he had the locket. Theramifications were sobering; few would know the fact Nick was missing. Withthis man threatening his life, the doctor didn’t feel Nick was missing bychoice.

“It’s in the filing cabinet.”

The man stared for a few moments, then said: “Then you needto get it for me. Move slowly.”

The doctor rose and slowly walked to the filing cabinetsadjacent to his desk. As he moved towards the filing cabinets, he thought ofescape routes, whether he should fight, or resign his fate. Although he fearedfew things, he found he was more fearful than ever felt since childhood.

Carefully opening the drawer, the doctor slowly reached intothe filing cabinet, grasped the object and suddenly turned. Instantly, he firedthe taser he kept for protection. The two barbs imbedded in the chest of hisassailant within seconds. The startled man fired one shot, which grazed thedoctor’s arm. The man fell to the floor and started convulsing.

The doctor held the trigger until he felt his assailant wasimmobilized and released the trigger. Releasing the trigger didn’t stop thepulsing of electricity, which he could hear. The pulsating snapping noisecontinued without his control.

The assailant was now groaning and trying to escape, but wastrapped by the uncontrolled spasms caused by the taser. As he struggled, the doctorsaw something he hadn’t seen since for years. A bluish glow surrounded the man,much like the Saint Elmo’s fire he’d seen while sailing as a youth. As he watched, the glow expanded, until italmost filled the room. The man was now almost immobile from the electricity,although he still violently trembled.

A bright flash blinded the doctor. At the same instant, ashock of wave of expanded, heated air threw the doctor against the wall of themorgue. Tentacles of electricity flashed, and danced, about the assailant. Thedoctor slumped to the floor; he could hear the continued release of electricityand felt his hair singeing. The discharge lasted a few moments more, and endedas abruptly as it started.

The doctor, now disoriented, and in pain, slowlylost consciousness. Before he faded away, he looked to where his assailant hadbeen. There was little left, except for smoldering flesh and the rising smokefrom the burned body.

I'm thinking this will eventually turn into a novel. What started as a short story, continues to develop in my mind, so I write the thoughts as they develop. Time will tell, but if the final result is a novel, I'm thinking I'll have to find a way to peddle the entire mess, which may involve removing the posts from my blog and never posting the last few chapters. Until then, I hope you enjoy my writing.

Busy

2012-02-24T03:01:00.004-08:00

So I don't have much time to write. My blog is working, although it's different because of a required update to make the damn thing work. They call it progress, I call it fixing things that aren't broken. Between Windows and the tons of bloat that is now part of any software, the resource waste is almost unbelievable.

Maybe Having Problems

2012-02-22T04:06:00.000-08:00

Either Google, or Internet Explorer had a problem. My problem was I couldn't post.

My first effort to update to the newest version of Windows Explorer left me with the information I either upgraded to the bestest version of Windows, or keep my Neanderthal version, which isn't supported. So, I'm trying Google Chrome for a browser, because Blooger (intentionally mispelled) likes Chrome because it's their bestest, newest version of a browser and allows them to peek into my world, I'm sure.

Anyway, this is my post and I'm still learning about the interface. I'm also learning how to use Google Chrome. If you hear my scream, or find my picture on the wall of the Post Office, you know why.

* Chrome is definitely faster, although getting used to the features will be a pain in the ass.

*Afternoon update: After playing with the buttons and navigating through the interspace, I've decided I like the changes. So, the coffee break is over; everybody go back to standing on you head.

*I'm beginning to wonder if the lack of visitors today is because of a fear of misery loving company, or because to most people, this is incredibly boring and they have something better to do.

There's Always Good News

2012-02-20T11:36:00.000-08:00

Except there isn't much to find today. After reading a news report about Baby Boomers, I realize I'm at the tail end of this experiment in breeding and will undoubtably be faced with limited, to non-existant retirement options.

Blech.

Scurrying In The Night

2012-02-20T03:08:00.000-08:00

Suddenly waking, Dr. Carlson lay in the bed trying to collect his thoughts. A bright flash, and immediate loud clap of thunder, made him aware of why he awoke. A sudden blast of wind, and rain, against the window reminded the doctor of the severe weather watches he’d seen before he went to bed.

Glancing at the clock, he realized the alarm was scheduled for ten minutes from the current time. Thinking he might snooze for a few minutes, his mind started racing, so he turned the alarm off and placed his feet on the floor.

He didn’t feel rested, but knew why: he’d worked late the night before, so he only had a few hours sleep. He briefly thought of the last few days before he went to prepare for his day. He wondered what this day would bring as he prepared his breakfast. The heavy rain pounded the window as he worked.

The trip to work was a crawl due to the weather and heavy traffic. Even after he arrived, he had to navigate through an accident scene in the parking lot. Somebody backed in front of another car. There was little damage, but both drivers were in a heated discussion as he slowly passed. What little he could hear made him decide the discussion was on who was at fault and who would be the first to call their attorney. Neither looked threatening as they argued under their umbrellas.

Dr. Carlson wasn’t in his department for a few minutes when he received a call: “Hi, Doc. Sorry to bother you on such a crummy morning, but I need your help. “

The doctor responded:” I’ll get my equipment and assistant. Where do we need to go?”

The police detective gave him the location; the doctor gathered his equipment and called for his assistant to meet him in the coroner van. They left the garage in the heavy rain and slowly travelled the partially flooded street to the scene.

As they pulled to the cluster of parked patrol cars, the rain suddenly eased off. Stepping from the vehicle, the coroner warned his assistant: “Pay close attention to everything. It’s easy to miss important details.”

As they walked to the body, the doctor carefully looked at the surroundings. The location was an abandoned group of metal buildings. At one time, these were locations of small suppliers that provided equipment to the now closed food processing plant a few thousand feet away. The entire area looked like a scene from an apocalyptic movie; the loss of the plant caused an economic blight, which was glaringly apparent.

“Hey Doc. I’m sorry to get you out in this weather.”

“It’s part of my job. What do you have?”

Holding up a roll of bills and a plastic bag, the detective continued: “You can see what we found. This really caught our attention.”

The doctor didn’t say anything; instead he walked to the body and started his examination.

Rivulets of blood flowed off the body and were diluted in the puddles that were around the body. Closer examination revealed a young man; at least the clothes had the appearance; there wasn’t much face left to confirm this initial assessment.

Feces on the body were a confirmation of the doctor’s immediate suspicion. There wasn’t much skin left on the face or hands. The lower body was pinned under a large light pole. The base of the pole was still attached to the base. The aluminum base looked as though it had been melted, which caused the pole to lean and fall.

“It looks like rats had a field day”

“Yes, but it’s my job to determine the state of their meal.”

“We found this roll of money. We haven’t counted it yet, but if it’s all hundreds, like the outside bill, there’s thousands here.”

The doctor looked at the locket in the bag the detective held and asked: “What’s in the bag?”

“It’s a gold locket and has an inscription: “Sarah’s Treasures.”

“Did the victim have any identification?”

“It’s Squeaky”

“Squeaky?”

“That’s what we call him. His name is Brandon Grainger. He has a long rap sheet of petty crimes. A high dollar attorney always posts his bail and pays his fines. In the last ten years, he’s been arrested a few dozen times.”

The doctor paused for a moment. The name “Grainger” caught his attention, but he couldn’t determine why.

The doctor continued his inspection of the body. Nothing was visible to confirm any foul play. Looking at his assistant, he instructed: “Let’s bag him and get him to the morgue.”

Looking about, the doctor thought of the possibilities of what brought the man to this point and his subsequent death. If he was killed by the pole, it would have been quick and merciful. If not, the death would have taken a long time and would have been excruciating.

After a wrecker lifted the pole, and an examination under the body, the officers helped them with bagging the remains. As they loaded the body in the van, the doctor thanked the detectives for their help and quickly climbed into the van to escape the heavy rain that had started again. As they drove back to the morgue, the doctor pondered over the name of the victim. Something was familiar about the name, but he couldn’t place why.

Later that evening, Dr. Carlson worked on his report as his assistant finished cleaning the room and placing the equipment back where it belonged.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Doc.”

“You have a good evening and be careful. It doesn’t look like the weather will let up.”

After his assistant left, the doctor continued with his report. He described the nature of the injuries and known physical condition of the now confirmed man that ended on his table. Although there were indications of drug use, the final toxicology findings would take weeks. What was known was confirmed with what the doctor found with the fingernail scrapings. The hairs, and blood indicated those of a rodent; the man had fought while the rats attacked. Unable to flee, he succumbed to the onslaught and eventually bled to death. His lower legs were injured, but the injuries were not the cause of his death. Due to his isolated location, nobody heard his cries or arrived to help prevent his death.

“How did the pole fall?” plagued the doctor’s thoughts. The base was melted, but what caused it to melt? It took a tremendous amount of heat to cause such damage, but there was no evidence of the source.

“Hey Doc.”

The doctor was surprised by the voice. Turning, he saw the lead detective from the scene. He approached the desk and handed the doctor the bag with the locket.

“I thought you should see this. We dusted it for prints, so don’t be worried about contaminating the evidence.”

The doctor took the bag and pulled the locket for examination.

As the doctor examined the locket, he was fascinated by the elaborate scroll work on the surface. Beautiful would be an understatement of the obvious hand crafted gold locket. The chain, like the locket, was gold and the tiny links were smaller than any he’d ever seen. This caliber of jewelry was hardly the keepsake of a person like the victim. Something like this acquired during a burglary, or robbery, was soon pawned for a few dollars in cash.

“Open it, and look at the photo.”

Carefully opening the locket, the doctor examined the photograph. The young man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place the face. On the cover were words inscribed in beautiful script: “Sarah’s Treasures”

“Don’t you recognize him?”

The doctor looked closer, but still couldn’t place the face.

“Do you remember that trial you just finished?”

The doctor paused, thought of the trial and the person in the photograph became familiar. The man was much younger than the photo he’d seen in the paper, but he recognized the dead husband of the old woman that was murdered. He’d been a successful business man in his day. His grandson still ran the business he started years ago.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“I don’t know what to think. How do you think this he acquired this locket?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We’re hoping you can help. You’ve been here most of your life. Maybe you can put some pieces together. Have you determined the cause of death?”

“I won’t get the final toxicology reports for a few weeks, but I don’t think they’ll reveal much, except whether our victim was intoxicated when he died. The rats are the apparent killers.”

“That’s a tough way to go, although it couldn’t happen to a nicer person; Squeaky was bad news. We couldn’t pin a felony on him, but we knew he had something to do with local organized crime. There’s no way he could operate so long without some useful purpose”

The doctor stared at the locket. He felt there was some important fact he was missing, but couldn’t put it in place.

“Think about it Doc. If something comes to mind, give me a call.”

“Thanks Nick. If you need the locket, you know where to find it.”

The doctor watched as the detective left and turned back to his examination of the locket. He was still fascinated by the craftsmanship and obvious worth. It would hardly be a gift. This type of jewelry lasted for centuries as an heirloom. The fact a petty criminal had it in his possession was baffling.

Dr. Carlson examined the locket for a few minutes and then went back to finishing his report. After he finished, he thought of the ending of his victim. For whatever reason, some tremendous source of heat weakened the base of the pole, which allowed the heavy light fixture to fall upon the victim. Trapped, the victim was unable to escape from rats, which took advantage of his inability to escape. His attempts to survive were futile. In the end, the rats removed enough flesh to cause tremendous blood loss from their prey. Weakened, he eventually died from their feeding.

The doctor was clearing his desk when a thought entered his mind. Immediately, he started searching through his files, until he found the information he wanted. He read the pieces of paper a few times before it all became clear. He now knew why the name of the young man was familiar. Grainger was the name of one of Sarah’s survivors.

Dr. Carlson rubbed his eyes for a few moments and then dug into the bottom drawer of his desk for his hidden bottle of scotch. After pouring a few ounces in the bottom of his coffee cup, he sipped and thought of what his investigation revealed. There were pieces missing, but the fact the young man had thousands in cash, and the locket of the dead woman, couldn’t be ignored, or thought as coincidence.

A long rumble brought the doctor from his deep concentration. The thunderstorms were building again, so he needed to leave before they arrived. After locking up, he was deep in thought as he walked to his car. He had a lot on his mind: the death of the young man, the locket and the strange fact the aluminum base of the light pole was melted. A bright flash suddenly brought a thought as quick as the lightning caught his attention. “Could lightning have struck the pole?” He didn’t know. He needed to do some research.

As the doctor drove away, he never noticed his instinctive reaction of turning on the wipers, when the first drops of rain hit his windshield. He was thinking about what he wanted to do tomorrow.

The loud ring of his cell phone broke his thoughts. Answering, he was asked by the voice on the other end: “Hey Doc. This is Eric George. Have you seen Nick? He said he was going to stop by on the way home”

“About two hours ago. He stopped by the morgue to check on the Grainger case.”

“He should have been here by now. He was coming for dinner and hasn’t showed. ”

“Maybe something came up.”

“He would have called.”

Thinking of lightening the mood, Dr. Carlson replied: “Maybe he had a hot date.”

Eric became somber: “I doubt it. After his divorce last year, Nick hasn’t been dating. The only person he’s seemed interested in is my sister-in-law and she’s here. We were all supposed to eat together.”

Dr. Carlson had a feeling of foreboding. He knew enough about the detectives to realize Eric would never call unless he was really worried. Since they dealt with the worst of society, unexplained absences were cause for worry.

“Call me when you find him Eric.”

“Sure thing Doc. Bye”

Now worried, Doctor Carlson continued reviewing the last 14 hours as he drove. He felt he was missing something important, but didn’t have enough pieces to determine what that something was. Maybe tomorrow would bring more information. Maybe Nick found something and it would help put it all together.

A bright flash, and quick clap of thunder, reminded the doctor of the persistent weather system. The forecast was for the weather to remain disturbed for the next few days. He hoped it would be quiet and he could stay out of the weather. The way things were going, he was beginning to think there wasn’t much chance of this happening.

Eh?

2012-02-16T14:44:00.000-08:00

I have tinnitus. I hear a constant high pitched tone in both ears, with the left ear louder. The volume will change, and when it's quiet, the "ring" can be distracting.

So, why am I writing about this? It's distracting me today, which it does occasionally. I'll eventually push it out of my thoughts and ignore it once again. Until then, it's aggravating.

It's Foggy

2012-02-16T03:46:00.000-08:00

After the cold spell on the weekend, it's warmed and brought fog - dense fog like you find offshore. The forecast is for the fog to remain through mid morning - maybe- but there's no guarantee; it could last until the next front pushes it away on Saturday. Until then, it's dealing with crummy drivers that like to drive too fast in the fog.

Simple Economic Advice

2012-02-15T05:28:00.000-08:00

I live by simple economics. If I don't have the money, I don't spend what I don't have. Now, you can say you mortgaged a house and financed a car, so how does that apply? My answer: That was risk I undertook, with me as the only responsible party.

In the past, I could only afford rent, which meant I lived in a house, or apartment, that was within my price range. In the early days, that was an almost dilapidated garage apartment. It was cheap, but it didn't have air conditioning, was very small and really drafty in the winter. It wasn't much, but I got by. At that time, I had no choice. I could only afford the $50 a month, so that's where I lived.

My first automobile was a 1963 Chevy pickup with a six cylinder and 240 air conditioning (that's both windows open at 40 mph). Parts of it were held together with baling wire. I performed the repairs, even though I had no idea how. I learned as I went. I bought it for $300, which was all I could afford.

So, my advice to cities, counties, states and the Federal Government: Don't spend what you don't have and don't risk taxpayer money for any reason. This method worked for me and it will work for you. If you don't, you'll have nothing. If you don't believe this, why do you think businesses and people are moving away before the final economic collapse?

Alternative Energy

2012-02-15T03:42:00.000-08:00

It sounds real good, until you stop and realize it's a huge money pit, with the money thrown into the pit coming from naive investors and public funds. Even with this money, the companies that supposedly are developing this "green" energy are not surviving. Meanwhile, enough energy to last for centuries is sequestered by regulations, permitting and political discussion. From my perspective, the asylum is being run by the inmates.

Robots Are Scanning

2012-02-14T09:09:00.000-08:00

I received quite a few hits from a site I won't name. The reason I won't name the site because it has taken over Bing and absolutely nothing is linked through the search engine except marketing traps and glowing reviews of a product that few have tried, but are willing to tell you how wonderful it is. Otherwise, the visits to my site are robots looking for a way to sell something, which is okay - if you're a robot. I seriously doubt they're reading the content. If so, what part of my blog do you find interesting?

Update: Within minutes of posting this morning, I was bombarded with visits from the robots. I'm thinking they're on to me. I may need a phaser.

Fire Ants

2012-02-14T05:12:00.000-08:00

I found one on my coffee cup. This means they're foraging for food and found a way to get into the office. So, it's time for some poison and bait.

For those that never had experience with these critters, they can build nests in walls and you may find yourself covered with them while you sleep. They don't bite; they grab with their mandibles and sting like a wasp. The toxin is painful and can cause severe allergic reactions. At best, the sting leaves an irritating pistule. At worst, the result may be a trip to the hospital, or death.

Afternoon Epiphany

2012-02-13T13:51:00.000-08:00

We're doomed. How do I know? After researching some possible side effects from my medications, I realized I don't trust any of the sources, including the FDA.

Do you ever have the feeling you're riding on a bus, with a demented driver and no brakes?

I may forget....

2012-02-13T12:31:00.000-08:00

...but my stomach doesn't, so I need to not forget my Proton Pump Inhibitor medication and eat Taco Bell ever again.

This is not surprising.

2012-02-13T04:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, you find you're observing a slow motion train wreck. This usually happens with people, especially artists. It's as though their path to self-destruction is inevitable and you can only watch it as it happens.

Whitney Houston is the current example. Beautiful, an amazing voice and the ability to shine in front of thousands without effort. I can only say it's sad and I feel for her family. Losing someone to the ravages of substance abuse and an emotional illness is one of the most horrible things a family can face. All I can offer is prayers and the hope their grief isn't shattered by the viciousness of the media.

It's Cold

2012-02-13T04:10:00.000-08:00

It's not freezing cold, which is better than good. We rarely get below freezing and the chances of rain during that time are pretty slim, although it does happen.

In the late 90's, we had an ice storm. Before it was over, the ice took a heavy toll on trees and power lines. For a week, I didn't have electricity, except for a small generator, which was only good for a few lights and a small space heater.

The entire event was far from pleasant. Heating bottled water on a colander - with a candle -was hardly a soaking bath, although it was far better than no bath. My wife and I would take shifts: one would sleep and the other would keep an ear on the generator to keep it fueled. For the week, I never slept more than a few hours at a time and the final deficit required a 16 hour "nap" to recover and forget about cutting live oak branches in the night to preserve my electrical service drop.

When it was all over, I helped a friend remove two large trees from his house, which made me count my blessings. They'd awoken when the trees crashed into the house while they were sleeping. One tree had missed their son's bed by a few feet. I can only imagine the feeling of surveying the damage with only the dim light of a flashlight.

So it's cold, but far from cold enough to make me worry. I know some people are living what I lived years ago, and I don't envy their experience.

On The Road

2012-02-10T04:24:00.000-08:00

Pete sat in the small camp as the heavy traffic passed a few hundred feet beyond the trees and brush that hid the freeway. Deep in thought, he enjoyed the warm sun that felt good after the morning chill.

Pete was thinking of the pain in his gut. It was sharp today, which kept him from panhandling on the corner a mile down the road. The week before, he'd finally succumbed to the advice of his friend, Sid, and gone to the local emergency room. After a day of sitting, shuffling between tests and some stern advice from doctors, he slipped away in the evening and came back to the camp. Their diagnosis was incomplete, though they knew his liver function was not right and more tests were needed to determine the cause. Pete felt closed in and only wanted to escape.

Maybe he should eat. He thought for a moment, then decided to wait. It only hurt worse when he ate and he wanted to avoid the pain. Maybe it would ease off later.

Pete's thoughts wandered to Rhonda. They'd started on the road together over twenty five years ago. Both were first year college students and both wanted to "see the world" before they settled down and started their lives. After five years, the thoughts of settling down slipped further away. Their lifestyle was ingrained and they had lost the resources to escape. Neither had communicated with family for years and neither wanted to make the effort to return to the life that was now alien to both.

Pete remembered when she disappeared. It was a rainy night, she wanted some cigarettes and would only be gone for a short time. She never came back. At first Pete assumed she had just left, but soon realized she was the woman killed by a hit a run driver as she crossed an intersection. He's seen the report in a newspaper at a store where he was buying a beer. He knew he should have done more, but he, also, knew it really didn't matter. His world shifted that moment. He'd gathered his belongings and was hundreds of miles away within days.

"Hey Pete. I brought you something."

Pete looked up to Sid handing him a 44 ounce malt liquor. "Thanks" was his reply.

"I had a good day Pete. People were generous on the corner. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel like making some money?"

Pete replied: "Maybe. I'll probably feel better."

Pete opened the beer and took two long swallows. The cold liquid immediately burned and caused the pain to increase. Taking two more swallows, he laid back on his sleeping bag and waited for the buzz to dull the pain.

"You hungry Pete? I brought some cans of chili."

The thought of eating turned Pete's stomach. He wasn't hungry any longer. Taking another slug of beer, he answered: "Maybe later. I'm not real hungry right now."

Sid and Pete spent the next hour discussing nothing and watching the sun start to fade. Eventually both were just staring and Pete eventually nodded off. Sid looked at Pete to make sure he was asleep.

After he was satisfied Pete was sleeping, Sid rolled up his sleeping bag and made sure all his belongings were stored in his knapsack. Standing, he approached Pete and pulled his pocket knife from his pocket.

Sid stared at Pete and thought of his time in the army. Advance training had taught him how to kill a man within seconds. No pain, no screaming; just oblivion. He looked down at Pete. In a low voice that was almost a whisper he said: "That's not my job."

Reaching into his stash, Sid took a ten dollar bill, wrapped it around the knife and set it on the sleeping bag next to Pete. He made over a hundred today and he had his boot knife for protection. Examining Pete, he realized his skin was now a noticeable shade of yellow. It reminded him of an old man he'd met a few years before.

They called him old man, although he was probably only in his late forties. His life on the road, and alcohol, had aged him before his time. Sid found him dead one morning, so he flagged down a cruiser as it passed. Three days later, less all his belongings, he realized he never wanted to be involved with another police investigation. He'd done nothing, but the police wanted to be sure before they set him free. They wouldn't give him his belonging back. They'd said something about a health hazard.

Never looking back, Sid slipped from the wooded area and started walking down the shoulder of the access road. Holding out his thumb as he walked, he hoped to flag a ride and be a few hundred miles down the road by morning. He'd head south. Winter was coming and he wanted to spend it in the Keys. The dumpsters always had good food and there were miles of bridges to sleep under.

Sid knew there was one rule on the road, which was there were no rules. Glancing back one time, he pushed Pete from his mind and picked up his pace.

Shocking Statistic

2012-02-09T10:58:00.000-08:00

Twenty percent of the people in the United States rely 100% on the Federal Government for food, shelter, medical care and retirement.....and cigarettes and alcohol if you know the local grocer.

I have a lot to write about...

2012-02-09T03:23:00.000-08:00

...but there seems to be a short circuit between my brain and my hands.

Bleh

Recognition

2012-02-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

I've been nominated for a Liebster Award by Kurt P, which means a lot of things, but the significance of this award is rarely understood, until the history of the award is researched.

Apparently, in 1990, when bloggers were far and few between, a group of blogging brew masters in Germany became despondent when they realized their inspired thoughts were only revealed to a handful of people. After months of correspondence, which was tough, especially when the heavy snows of that season caused problems with the phone lines, they decided they needed to spend time looking for other bloggers to reward for helping in the effort to promote the drinking of good beer.

Over the next year, they found quite a few bloggers and decided to reward these bloggers for their efforts, but couldn't decide the best method to accomplish this task. Agreeing to meet in a secluded location, they spent a weekend deciding the method of recognition and the appropriate prize - or so they planned.

On Monday, three of the brew masters were in the local jail and all the rest were in various states of damage at the local hospital, except Liebster.

Liebster was somewhat of a perfectionist. His brew was perfect, or he fed it to the pigs. While this was best for his beer, it led to poor sales and drunken pigs, which had a peculiar taste and were not well received at the local auction. When he finally accepted a batch, the demand was great and his asking price was never refused.

So, Liebster, now faced with the fact the money for the prizes was gone to doctors and lawyers, felt obligated to honor the bloggers that were not well known, but offered much that was important. His decision, was to let these bloggers honor their fellow bloggers and do so with a method that can only be described as a pyramid scheme without money. Somehow, the original intent of brew master bloggers was lost over the years, which now leaves everyone in the pot for nominees.
So, here it is:

In honor of this fine tradition, I nominate the following three for this prestigious distinction and recognition, which I know I'm making light of, but it really is an honor....really, I'm not fibbing. I'm just frustrated because I can't find anything on the web on how this all started.

Le Ann- Who inspired my effort to blog.

Janie - Who has super powers and will zap you with lightning.

Farm Girl - Who doesn't blog much lately, but I'm sure that won't last forever.

So, how did I come up with these three? I took all my favorite links, pasted them in a spreadsheet, gave each a number and used a random access algorithm to come up the picks. No special considerations were taken, no animals were harmed in the testing and continued use can cause unintended consequences over time.

This Is Just Wrong

2012-02-07T10:57:00.000-08:00

I was listening to a news report, which stated that 1 out of every 3 people that work is getting food stamps. That means that 2 out of every 3 people that work are paying for food they don't eat. Considering I'm one of those 2, what's for supper?

And Another Thing...

2012-02-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

What's this crap about the economy rebounding? Where? Washington D.C.? Green Manufacturing and Tax Pit Inc.? It's not rebounding in my life. My salary is still frozen at a 2008 level, the cost of fuel is going up, the cost of groceries is going up, the cost of insurance is going up and I paid more in taxes last year. So, where's his rebounding economy?

Damn the lying politicians and press.

Why Are So Many Politicians Weenies?

2012-02-06T05:17:00.000-08:00

That's my impression. If they had to build, or repair, something, their soft hands would break out with blisters and they'd bemoan their fate in life. Meanwhile, some poor bastard gets up every morning, braves brutal weather and tries to make a living with his hands, while the politicians jet around the country doing what they do best: selling words. They're word merchants and the merchandise is crap.

Be Careful For What You Ask

2012-02-06T03:32:00.000-08:00

In the last month, we've received over 6 inches of rain, which is substantial, since that was probably more than we received in the previous six months. It's not enough to make up the deficit, but at this rate, that will happen and we'll end up with more rain than we need. After that, the complaints will be "When will it ever stop raining? We've had enough!"

Afternoon at The Office

2012-02-02T12:35:00.000-08:00

Darlene never looked up from her work when her boss said he was going to lunch and would be back in an hour. She knew it would give her an hour without interruption, which should allow her to finish most of the work she needed to complete for the afternoon. After that, she decided to catch up on filing and start her weekly reports.

In her late fifties, Darlene was in the early stages of starting retirement. Her finances were in order, but she was still undecided on when. She liked her job, but didn't like the location. As the only clerical employee for a small steel fabrication company, she knew it would take some time to train her replacement and this task would eventually lead to a point there was no turning back.

"Teency" was Darlene's mother's description of her daughter. At a shade over 5 feet and around 100 pounds, she was small by any standard. That was a deciding factor when her ex-husband was sentenced for putting her in the hospital. He received the maximum sentence and she was sure she wouldn't have to deal with him again for a long time. The marriage removed any thought of another. "Once bitten, twice shy" she'd tell her friends when they made efforts to find her another mate. She had no intentions of marrying again, or developing long term relationships that bound her to another.

As Darlene worked, she heard the fabricators leaving for lunch. In a few minutes, she'd be the only person there, except for the few workers that took a nap in the break room next to the shop. A few times, a few of the workers tried coming to the office to ask questions about their check, or insurance, but soon learned that was her time and to leave her alone. The automatic phone system removed her only assistant a few years before, so there was nobody else to help with these questions. If the employees had questions, they were to ask first thing in the morning, or after 3:00. Those were her rules and the owner didn't object.

Darlene was a little startled when the front door opened. Looking up, she saw two young men walk into the office. One walked to in front of her desk, the other stood inside the door and glanced around the room.

Before Darlene could say anything, the man in front of her desk spoke: "We're looking for a job." Darlene started to lecture the young men about not reading the sign outside that specifically stated all applications were through the local employment agency, but decided to not waste her time, or increase the time she had to smell the two men that reeked of sweat, filth and alcohol.

"We're not hiring. When we do hire, we go through an agency."

Darlene paid closer attention to the young men. Both had the wild eyed look of druggies and she didn't like their constant scanning of the room.

"Then give me your purse."

For a moment, Darlene wasn't sure she'd heard what he said, but when he pulled a large hunting knife from his pocket, she had no doubt she was being robbed.

Quickly glancing at the other man by the door, she realized he was staring at the security camera behind her desk. She hoped he's say something to his partner, and they'd leave, but he only said: "They have a security camera."

The man in front of her desk now had a panicked look on his face and spoke loudly : "Give me your purse and any money you have."

Darlene, now resigned to her fate, responded: "Okay" and slowly bent down to receive her purse from by her desk.

"This isn't good" the man by the door commented. "Now what?"

The man in front of Darlene's desk was now obviously agitated. Darlene spoke, reached into her purse and said: "Here's my wallet."

The man didn't have time to respond when Darlene pulled the small 380 automatic and placed two quick shots in his chest. He fell immediately onto her desk, as Darlene rose to face the man by the door. She was hoping he'd retreat, when he made a step towards her desk. Two more quick shots snapped the man's head forward and he slumped to the floor.

Darlene spent a few moments sorting her thoughts before calling 911 to report the incident. Her mind was still racing and the last 5 minutes were repeated over and over again. Realizing her ears were ringing, she thought of how loud the shots were in the small office. At the range, she always wore ear plugs, so the unexpected noise was a surprise.

Looking at the blood pouring on her desk, she thought for a moment of moving the body, but decided she needed to wait until the investigation was over. Looking around, she realized her decision on when to retire had been made. She decided to look carefully at her finances and determine if she could retire earlier than 62. She'd had enough and the thought of cleaning up the mess was unpleasant.

Dont ask me where these stories come from. They appear and I write them down.

Some People Don't Have a Clue

2012-02-02T04:13:00.000-08:00

About 20 year ago, I worked with a project manager that was the best representative of the "Peter Principle" I ever encountered. Over the year I worked around him, I slowly realized he was full of crap and as disengenuous as they come.

I ran into the project manager a few years ago in a grocery store. After the usual pleasantries, he asked how my father was. I replied: "He's fine" although he'd died a year before I met the project manager. As it turned out, the project manager was enjoying retirement, although I can't figure out how he earned that distinction.

Some people don't have a clue. I'm beginning to think I'm one.

Sometimes, You Get Caught In The Rain

2012-02-02T03:51:00.000-08:00

It was a hot summer afternoon; a little hotter than usual at our location between the tall trees that stretched down both sides of the highway. From my experiences, I knew we'd either be near, or under, an afternoon shower. In a perfect world, stopping and waiting to see would have been nice, but that was out of the question. We had a concrete wing wall to pour and needed to finish the forms.

We'd placed the box culverts a few weeks before. After the general contractor finished their embankment around the culverts, it was our responsibility to place the concrete wings that held the embankment and protected the road from washing away. The creek wasn't extremely large, but the debris in the brush along the banks showed the water could be over a person's head when the creek was full.

Our concrete was set for 3:00 pm. We were finished with the forms by 2:00 pm, but I was checking braces and forms to feel comfortable about the pour. While I didn't expect any problems, making the rounds killed the time I would spend pacing and worrying. Concrete does that to you; especially after you've seen a large form give and lose a few dozen yards of concrete.

As I walked around the forms, I watched a patch of gray to the east. It was growing large in the hazy summer sky, so I knew a heat shower was brewing. Over the next hour, it grew larger and I could see the sky was almost black behind the tree line across the highway. Rumbles of thunder started as the first load of concrete arrived. I had thirty minutes to empty the truck before the finish up load arrived. As we placed chutes and backed the truck, the rumbles became louder and an occasional bolt of lightning would flash behind the trees.

As we placed the concrete in the walls, an occasional drop of rain would fall. At around 20 minutes into the pour, the wind suddenly gusted from the east, dust started billowing and torrential rain started falling. The shift of the storm to the east I hoped for was not to happen. The storm, now in full fury, was drifting over our location. We couldn't pour in the heavy of rain, so we all scattered to the various trucks on site to wait for the rain to end.

As I sat in my truck, I was thinking about the time limit on the concrete and how long it would be before I'd have to "eat" the remainder of the load. From my calculation, I had about 5 minutes left. As I was thinking, the finish up load arrived. After 10 minutes, I decided I needed to tell the driver of the first truck the concrete was too old and would be rejected by the project inspector.

Stepping into the rain was like walking under a waterfall. It wasn't letting up and the dark gray sky was a sign the rain wouldn't stop anytime soon. Cursing our luck, I walked through the mud on the shoulder to look at the concrete already placed. There wasn't much to look at, since the raging creek was over 5 feet deep and rising. Cursing my new discovery, I went to both drivers and told them they were done. One was leaving with one yard of concrete; the other was leaving with eight.

Rain was still heavy. The crew, now realizing it was pretty well over, loaded what tools were left and headed to the tool house. It was still pouring rain as we finished and headed home. Everybody was soaked and tired. The cooling rain wasn't pleasant any longer. The cool air from the thunderstorm dropped the temperature to the low 70's, so being outside was like standing front of an air conditioner while soaking wet.

As I drove, I turned the heater on full to warm up and dry off. I called my boss to tell him about the disastrous afternoon. He understood, we'd both been in construction for well over two decades. We'd fought these types of battles before, so it was business as usual. Still, it was a big disappointment.

After about a week, the creek finally drained and the water stopped running. It took two days to clean up the mess, replace the forms and prepare for the pour on the third day. It went without a glitch. Within a week we were through with that location and well on the way of having another ready to pour down the road.

Miley Cyrus and Mom Jeans

2012-01-31T11:43:00.000-08:00

According to a news report, Miley Cyrus was caught in mom jeans. I know there must be some importance to this, so I'll assume she acquired the jeans through some criminal act, or while shopping at Walmart; whichever is considered more heinous.

* - Update: Miley has broken her tailbone, according to another new report. I'm thinking a new movie, or album is the reason for these news stories. More headlines; more sales, although breaking a tailbone seems to be a little extreme for publicity. Then again, it probably won't get as much attention as her smoking something or saying words that gets Micky's mouth washed with soap.

All It Takes...

2012-01-31T06:45:00.000-08:00

...is thirty minutes each day, six days a week. That's all it takes to get six-pack abs, or huge arm muscles, or a tight butt. Of course, you have to be in perfect physical condition. If not, you'll die on the second day from a heart attack.

If that doesn't work, electricity is available to shock your muscles into a well toned condition. With this method, you can just sit in a chair and get six pack abs. I'm not sure what it does for your arms and butt - if anything - but it requires much less effort. I guess you can wear the belt wherever you want to improve, but it might present a problem if you're working on your butt and forgot you ate an extra spicy burrito for lunch. (I doubt the warranty covers that type of damage.)

If neither of those are enticing, they have a large girdle looking apparatus that makes it look like you exercise. The only drawback is when you take your clothes off. While you may not be disturbed, others might and I wouldn't recommend such a task without some type of warning, or disclaimer.

Of course, you can always buy one of those machines that are available for only three easy payments of $199.99 (That's $600 if you're challenged by math) plus shipping and handling. Chuck Norris has one, so it must be good. Right? Surely, Chuck Norris wouldn't be in business to make money on selling exercise equipment? The drawback of these machines is that you can spend substantially less on empty boxes to take up room in your closet, or garage.

I know people that have memberships to gyms. They pay a monthly fee to wait for their turn on some type of equipment. I think they get more exercise wiping the machines with antiseptic wipes than they do from using the machine. Considering the exposure, I think I'd forego six-pack abs if the trade is athletes foot, or Ebola.

I don't know what is the best way to exercise. In my past, I had plenty from building forms, or pouring concrete. I stayed in really good shape, although the hard exercise left aches and pains that are permanent. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think there's a point where the damages outweigh the benefits. If you don't believe this, find a current photo of Arnold Schwarzenegger without a shirt.

Enduring Losses

2012-01-31T04:05:00.000-08:00

I've lost two brothers in the last 5 years. Nothing can prepare you for the event and you find a feeling that life became incomplete by the loss. So, Ambulance Driver's loss touched a lot of raw nerves; especially since I know how he feels.

Remembering a Birthday

2012-01-30T07:19:00.000-08:00

Yesterday would have been my father-in-law's 95th birthday. I thought about him this morning and the few stories he told about his service during WW2. As told by him, he walked across Europe, starting in Sicily and ending on a transport ship to Great Britain.

As a radio operator, he saw, and heard, much of the war. If he was in combat, he never told, although from his rather low opinion of General Patton, he was well aware of the carnage of his campaigns. All in all, he never had much to say and I never asked.

One thing that always stuck in my thoughts was his adoption of a dachshund during his time in Europe. Although I don't know where he found "Fritz", he was almost in tears when he described leaving him with a family in France before leaving Europe for home. They were companions for a long time, but Fritz couldn't go home with my father-in-law, so he did what was best.

So, I sit here with my thoughts and wonder about the events of war that led a radio operator to caring for a dog. I can imagine him sharing his rations and fussing over the small dog like he fussed over other dogs later in his life. While it seemed like he was spoiling his pets, I think it was much more. He was remembering and missing a friend he knew he'd never see again.

The Longing For Home

2012-01-30T02:59:00.000-08:00

Case stared at the foliage on the trees and the birds as they flew about the courtyard. He recognized most, but they were unfamiliar and only added to the feeling of isolation that weighed heavily the last few days. Although the courtyard was full of benches, he was alone with his thoughts as he sat and observed the things he knew would lead to questions. Though he tried to concentrate, his mind wandered back to familiar things and events of the past.

A voice brought him back to the present: “Case. It’s time for the middle meal. Don’t you want to eat?”

Case looked to find Serena, his mentor, standing to his side. He’d heard her when she came from the door behind where he sat. He knew it was her, when he recognized her familiar scent. It was harshly chemical to his sensitive nose, but then most everyone had the odor of chemicals. It was part of his life now, so he was becoming more comfortable to what originally assailed his nose and almost caused nausea.

“I think so. I’m hungry.”

Serena had a worried look on her face, which was common when they spoke. Case spent a few minutes examining the tall, lithe woman that was now in charge of his education. Others in the dormitory commented on her beauty; Case found her to be spindly and ungainly; even though she moved gracefully.

Rising to his feet, Case was reminded on how tall Serena was. At a little under two meters, she appeared unnaturally tall, but she was considered normal by most. Case thought of the other adults he dealt with and realized it was probably so. Still, to Case, she was tall; as well as all adults.

“The doctors want to run some more tests after middle meal, Case.”

Case didn’t say anything. He knew the next few hours would involve a series of physical and mental tests, which irritated but there was little he could do to change the afternoon. The doctors would explain the rationality for the tests, but still Case would rather be somewhere else. Sometimes, he had the feeling they really didn’t care what he felt. They seemed obsessed by their tests and his discomfort was just something else to study.

After entering the cafeteria, Case spent a few seconds observing the occupants. Immediately, he knew all that were there. Those he knew were immediately recognized. Those he didn’t were briefly analyzed and categorized. Nothing escaped his attention and if asked, he could tell how many seconds it would take to reach any exit and what weapons were available for use.

Serena pointed to a table and they sat down across from each other. After they sat, the menu appeared above the center of the table for their review. Noting that little changed, Case passed his finger over the menu and chose his food. It was his favorites of food he detested. He’d learned to act like he wasn’t revolted, which Serena would comment: “I see you’re starting to like your food.” Case would offer a smile and consume his food with pretended exuberance.

Serena examined Case as they ate. At a 1.5 meters, he was shorter than he should be at 17 years of age, but what he didn’t have in height, he made up in width. Stocky didn’t describe the thick bundles of muscles. She remembered the photos taken when he arrived and was reminded of how Case was unusually muscled for his age. She knew the reason, but carefully avoided discussing this with Case. Her job was to help Case adjust to their society. Pointing out differences was counterproductive.

Case ignored the stares, and comments, as they left the cafeteria after their meal. He was accustomed to both and paid little attention. Their next stop was the research building, which housed the equipment and rooms the doctors used for examining Case.

Serena spoke as they walked to the research building “We have a few minutes, if you’d like to spend some more time in the courtyard”

Case thought for a second and responded: “I think I would.”

They stopped and sat at a bench near the entrance to the research building. After a few moments of silence Case commented: “The weather will change tonight.”

“How do you know?” was Serena’s response; hoping he would tell her he’d used his information access and studied the current weather information.

“I just know, like I know many things.”

Serena hid her disappointment, but knew it would take time to help Case. He’d endured a lot in the last six months and she needed to be patient. She hoped he could adjust and finally accept what was offered.

As they sat, Case thought of his parents and Carla. He remembered the first season they made the season trek together. It seemed like yesterday, but it was over one year ago. His parents were proud of his transition to citizen and Carla had promised they would spend a long time together. He smiled for a moment, which wasn’t missed by Serena’s constant attention.

“Are you remembering?”

“Yes”

Serena waited for more, but Case was silent after his comment. She felt frustrated, but accepted it was all she would get for an answer. She knew little about Case, which was frustrating. The doctors had given her a wealth of physical information, but she knew very little about his past and Case provided little information.

“Case, we need to go in. The doctors will be waiting.”

Case said nothing as they stood and proceeded to the research building. After entering, Serena left Case with the doctors and went to her office to update her records and suggestions.

Case spent the afternoon performing the tests the doctors prescribed. While they seemed enraptured by the results, Case was bored and constantly distracted by his thoughts. During one of the tests, he realized all was in place. It was time and his efforts would require concentration, without distraction.

Serena escorted Case back to his room in the dormitory after the tests. She reminded him of the time for evening meal and left to prepare for the meal that required everyone to dress accordingly and be on time.

After she left, Case started gathering his equipment and supplies. He had one hour to prepare and execute his plan. Carefully, he examined his plan one more time in his mind, pulled on his backpack and slipped through the ventilation vent to the equipment room. There, he climbed the short ladder to the access tunnel and was gone.

_________________________________________________________________________

“Doctor, I’ll expect a complete data record, but first we need to go over today once again.”

Serena stared at the director for a few moments, and explained everything she remembered happening over the last waking period. As she spoke, she reexamined her thoughts, but still could not find any indication of Case’s actions. After she finished, she quietly waited for the director to speak.

“From what we can determine, Case is on his way home.”

Serena was shocked for a moment. “How could he envision such a risky endeavor?” was her immediate thought. She thought of the distance, and time, he would be traveling and wondered what he was thinking.

Serena paused for a moment before asking: “Is there anything we can do?”

The director shook her head and commented: “No. He appeared at the ramp of the survey ship Pleiades requesting asylum, which was granted. The ship left with him on board”

Serena thought of Case’s home. She’d seen videos and still photographs, but they were woefully incomplete to the experience of actually being there. She admired the beauty, but knew a visit would be extremely unpleasant.

The director continued: “As you know, we abandoned the Hawking System almost 400 years ago. The unstable star of the adjoining system was considered too dangerous, especially after we thought it destroyed the settlers on Hawking. At one time, a return was considered, but the possibility of losing the precious resources for another portal was considered too great of a risk – until two years ago.”

Serena, noting the director’s pause asked: “What changed?”

The director continued: “To be blunt, we’ve depleted the available resources required for our technology. The Turner drives, and portals, require most of these minerals. If we don’t develop new sources, our entire civilization will be changed forever. That is why the Outer Planet Coalition granted Case asylum. They need these resources as much as we do.”

“We can’t force them to return Case?”

“No. While we have trade and manufacturing agreements, we have no sovereign power. In fact, they filed an official protest for our deliberate efforts to not share our information about Case.”

Both sat quietly for a few moments before the director added: “I think this has turned out better than we originally thought. We can learn more from Case’s society than we can from Case. Within a year, we will have scientists on Hawking, if they should allow our visit. I would like you to be one of the first.”

For a moment, Serena was horrified. The thought of a planet with higher gravity and the drastic seasonal changes due to the tilt of the planet didn’t appeal to Serena at all. That, and the dangerous wildlife, would make every day unpleasant, at least.

“I’d be honored, Director.”

“You may leave now, doctor. Your new schedule will be presented tomorrow; after first meal.”

Serena rose, thanked the director and made her way back to her room. She laid thinking for hours before falling into a troubled sleep. Feeling as though she failed only added to the sorrow of not saying goodbye to the young man she wondered if she would see again.

While she tossed and turned, Case lay in his bunk on the survey ship and planned the rest of his return home. The first part fell in place when he heard the freighter land. He knew he only had three hours from that time to be onboard, or wait another three months. As he thought, he remembered his surprise of finding the geological party. When they explained they were from Earth, he was even more surprised. Earth was almost a legend. After the centuries without contact, they decided they were isolated forever. After a few days with the party, Case contracted a virus. In a coma, and the party unwilling to leave Case, they left with him onboard. Although they were worried about his survival, they were more worried about their schedule and the possibility of creating a pandemic.

Case thought of Serena and her efforts to help him understand the laws that required his stay at the dormitory. He never thought the laws applied to him and grudgingly submitted to the examinations by the doctors that were fascinated by the genetic changes Case exhibited. Earth had assumed the settlers that were his ancestors had perished 20 generations before. Finding Case was a scientific opportunity unparalleled in history.

The director, unable to sleep, returned to her office to continue her preparation and to spend a few minutes reviewing her directive on the screen:

It is imperative you prepare a team that best represents our interests. Our current situation mandates we make every effort to prevent any errors in arriving at an equitable solution to our resource problem.

Our communication with the Outer Planet Coalition has ended with a meeting date to discuss how our current agreements apply to this new development. They, too, realize how precarious our situation has become and wish to be involved with developing communications with Hawking for developing trade. Although they suggested force, if necessary, we’ve advised against this possibility, especially since our limited information indicates this may lead to disaster. Research indicates the settlers are genetically and intellectually superior. As an ally, they can only benefit our race. As an enemy, their efforts could lead to our destruction.

Paula Deen Has Diabetes

2012-01-27T10:29:00.000-08:00

Okay. I know this isn't any earth shattering news, but considering how the press is trying to put a hypocritical spin on this, I feel Paula Deen is getting demonized by the narrow minded pinheads we call the mainstream media.

So, if you feel that someone with a probable genetic illness is a hypocrite because they have a skill to prepare wonderful dishes, can capitalize on a television show and you are judging because you can't comprehend the entire matter, then you are a narrow minded pinhead, too.

Local Shooting

2012-01-26T11:19:00.000-08:00

A local sheriff deputy was shot while in the process of transporting a juvenile this morning. Somehow, the 16 year old prisoner took the officer's gun and shot him twice in the chest. After the shooting, a short standoff ended with the prisoner surrendering.

The officer is expected to survive, which is more than good. How the juvenile offender took the gun hasn't been explained, and how the other officers restrained their urge to shoot is beyond me. I don't think I'd been very patient, or had the willingness to allow the obviously "mad dog" young offender to surrender. Then again, I'm not a police officer. That's probably a good thing.

State of the Union

2012-01-25T04:20:00.000-08:00

Wouldn't it be refreshing if the President spoke with candor? I do; especially if they said something like: "We've spent money like drunken sailors chasing whores, and besides being broke, the entire country is now in debt to the tune of more money than it makes." Or: "I know I've spent a boat-load of money on vacations and dicking around, instead of working, but I'm the President and I really don't care what you think."

We'll never see that from any sitting President, even though that's exactly what they do. I think it has to do with most Presidents don't get the job because of their honesty, or integrity. If they had either qualification, they'd know how to make the hard decisions, do their job and keep costs down.

Another thing: Every four years another group of Bozos is paraded in front of us and we're told this is the best they can come up with for a prospective President. What they really mean is that in all of the lying, thieving politicians they can find, this group can assemble the greatest number of PR people to put on a dog and pony show that even you might like. Meanwhile, the media and pundits put on their makeup, check their teeth and practice the lines they feel best show off their self-purported superior intellect and charisma.

So. What is the state of the union? From my vantage point, we have about twice as many politicians, bureaucrats and media whores that any healthy society can tolerate. I think it's time for a big cut in this cancer on our society.

After Almost Six Months...

2012-01-23T10:11:00.000-08:00

I'm still here. In a way, it's been an effort to see if there's a nitch for me on the internet; in another, it's been an experiment in what draws people to a blog site. All together, it's been interesting, and rewarding, so I'll keep plugging away.

I have to add it's, also, been like being in an aquarium at the mall. Lots of observers and few people to tap on the tank, although that may be good. I know how it irritates some fish.

The Hand of Fate

2012-01-22T06:28:00.000-08:00

Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Carlson wiped his eyes as he thought about the report he’d just signed. As a medical examiner, he’d signed many reports, but this one had been the result of some sobering events. Leaning forward, he went back to examining the group of reports he’d placed on his desk for examination.

The first victim that ended on his table was a judge. Besides being a judge, he was known for his paintings. Oil was his preferred medium. The slow drying paint allowed changes he couldn’t have with acrylics and he never felt satisfied with his effort with watercolors. So, he worked with oil and his paintings even were displayed in the local courthouse. Various criminal trials and local events were the subject. From his ringside seat, his perspective, and expert hand, the paintings were unique, and sought.

Dr. Carlson wondered what led to the unfortunate accident that claimed the Judge’s life. He was found in his studio with a blow dryer next to his side and a finished painting of a trial he’d presided over. The theory was he was trying to accelerate the drying of the paint for some unknown reason. Maybe there was a buyer, or he had somewhere to bring the newly finished painting, but the reason didn’t matter any longer. The blow dryer cord caught on the leg of a chair and the judge must have pulled the cord and bared the hot wire. When he continued to manipulate the cord, he contacted the wire and was electrocuted. Age probably was a factor. The judge died when his heart stopped. He wasn’t found until the next morning.

Dr. Carlson knew the judge. His years as examiner led him to the judge’s courtroom on numerous occasions. Although he never particularly cared for the judge, he knew his dislike paled in comparison to many of those that passed through his courtroom. He was known as being arbitrary. Some decisions seemed ruthlessly cruel and others seemed like only a slap on the wrist for crimes that required stiffer punishment. Many thought his decisions were made by greed and nothing else. This was never proven and now the point was moot.

The next victim was another local legal figure. His death started Dr. Carlson’s mind to wondering. Since he was the defense attorney in the trial the judge painted, the coincidence was remarkable. So was the tragedy that led to the death. The attorney was killed while fueling his late model Suburban. Some thought his cell phone caused the spark; others felt it was static electricity. The result was he panicked when the nozzle caught fire and he was hung in the hose as he tried to run. With gasoline pouring on the attorney as he struggled, nobody could get close and pull him away. Witnesses only could watch as the attorney burned in fire that eventually burned the entire fueling island. His wife, who stepped into the store for a soft drink, was still in the hospital. A doctor friend said she required constant sedation. Without the medication, she’d scream in horror and fight the restraints that kept her from self mutilation.

The next two victims were what finally brought Dr. Carlson to his compulsion to review every case to see if he was missing something. They were supposedly not friends, but while walking from a restaurant, they were struck by lightning. Unlike some deaths of this type, they were all burned beyond recognition. Dental records were required for identification. Since the accident was an “act by God” there was no investigation, while Dr. Carlson had feelings there might be more. One was one of the jurors from the trial and the other was a local political agitator that was a constant presence at the murder trial that resulted in a hung jury.

Dr. Carlson stopped to think about the trial. The murder victim was an elderly woman that was murdered by a burglar. He was the medical examiner and was shocked by the brutality of the murder, even after over thirty years of observing mayhem. The woman had fought ferociously, but was eventually killed by the burglar; a powerful young man known by local law enforcement for his numerous previous arrests. While they were confused by his variance from his typical crime, they assumed he was desperate for money. Maybe he’d lost his contacts for his usual strong arming and harassment. His typical crime was of violent enforcement for a local crime organization and his victims were usually those that made the unfortunate mistake of borrowing money. The evidence seemed to be unimpeachable, but when the trial was over, the young man was still not convicted. The jury couldn’t reach a unanimous decision and the prosecutor hadn’t made an effort for another trial.

Dr. Carlson remembered his testimony at the trial. He described the crime as the murder unfolded. The old woman had fought desperately, which was evident in the defensive wounds, but was eventually overcome, bound and tortured until she died. The open safe in her bedroom was empty, which led to the assumption that something of value, which was thought to be money, was removed by the murderer. Since the young man that was arrested flashed money right after the event, nobody went beyond the obvious and the trial was built on that evidence. Dr. Carlson had begun to wonder if there was more; especially after he researched the grandson of the woman. He was a local businessman that was vocal about the crime in the area.

Looking back at the last report, Dr. Carlson thought of the last person that was now refrigerated in the next room. She was the most bizarre victim. She’s died of massive blood loss. The event that led to the blood loss was what stuck in Dr. Carlson’s mind. Her left arm was gory even to the doctor. The ends of her fingers were burned away and the rest of her arm was a multitude of open wounds and tattered flesh to her shoulder. Caught in a thunderstorm, she’d raced to her car to open the door when lightning struck the car. The heat burned away the ends of her fingers and the massive electrical shock caused such violent contractions in her arm, the muscle and tendon tore from the bone and whipped through the skin. He was in the hospital signing papers when she arrived. Emergency professionals fought to save her life, but she’d lost too much blood. A conversation with one of the EMT’s that brought her in revealed she was delirious the entire trip to the hospital. She’d screamed “No!” in terror until the loss of blood made her too weak to scream. The EMT was shaken and horrified by the event.

He remembered the young woman from the trial. Since the prosecutor was pushing for the death sentence, the local opposition to this practice was present in front of the court house for the entire trial. At the end, when the grandson of the murdered woman made a brief statement, this young woman had shouted through the entire statement and shook her sign. When the businessman told her she was wrong, she spit at him and laughed. His only reaction was to say. “May you all burn in Hell.”

Finishing his thoughts, Dr. Carlson returned the reports to the files and tidied his desk. It was now dark outside, and he needed to get home while the rain had stopped. Walking to his car, he examined the sky to the west. Lightning laced the huge thunderstorms, which were forecast to move into the area overnight. Tomorrow was to be more of the same.

Driving away, Dr. Carlson wondered: “Is it over?" He doubted it and had the feeling he needed to get some rest. Tomorrow promised to be busy.

Orange Vests

2012-01-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

Wearing orange vests started with highway work. First it was recommended and then mandated in contracts. It was a good thing, since it does make moving targets more visible; especially at night. (Yeah, I know that sounds cynical, but after hearing a driver tell a trooper he didn't see a crash truck with a bazillion flashing beacons, I don't see the real benefit.) This has expanded to other types of working folks, including workers at retail outlets.

Anyway, I've noticed convenience store workers wearing vests, so I asked a worker about the new apparel. They, too, are mandated to wear the vests, while working outside the store. So now, like me, they can be asked where the PVC glue is found, if they're wearing the vest, while shopping at Lowe's.

You might want to buy one just for kicks. The look on people's faces is priceless, when you tell them PVC glue purchases require a contractor's license, or they stopped selling 2 x 4's..

Laryngitis

2012-01-16T11:39:00.000-08:00

I've had it for last few days. I sound like the old wrestlers from the 60's that were clotheslined so many times, they almost lost their voices. It makes me feel like Ivan Putsky, or Jose Lothario, or Paul Boesch. If you recognize those names, then you're older than dirt.

The Sparrow

2012-01-15T12:45:00.000-08:00

Staring silently, the woman wondered about the small visitor that huddled on the small brick ledge outside her kitchen window. It appeared two days ago; a small brown bird that she only knew as a sparrow. Although she didn’t realize it, she had grown fond of the small bird that braved the elements outside her oasis of warmth. Concerned, and compassionate, she had placed a crumbled bread crust on the ledge. Although it scared the small tenant away, it soon returned to feast on what she normally threw in her garbage.

As she stared, she thought of her friend Beverly. She wouldn’t find anything strange about her behavior. If fact, she’d applaud the effort. Although they were the same age, Beverly seemed to relish life with a vigor that was only a memory. Much had changed in the last ten years and the changes weighed heavily on the elderly woman that was feeling trapped in her home.

She despised the winter. The freezing winds, ice and snow wrapped her life in a depressing gray. The garden she loved was dead and covered with the remnants of the last snow. Heavy clouds forecast more of the same and the thought only deepened her gloom. The short warming was over and tonight would bring heavy snow.

She thought of her children. Paul, after years of working, finally became a partner in a law firm in Miami. Rhonda was in Houston. Teaching at the university level was always her dream and now a reality. Both were successful and both mentioned her moving to be close. She always declined the invitation. She loved her small home and few friends that remained. She was determined to spend the rest of her life near her memories and be buried next to the husband she lost.

A strong gust of wind interrupted her thoughts. The whistle in the eaves brought her attention back to the small bird in the window. She watched for a few minutes and realized it wasn’t moving. Standing, which usually caused the bird to fly away, didn’t change the posture of the tiny tenant. Slowly opening the window, caused a small movement, but the bird didn’t attempt to flee. Without hesitation, she reached, grasped the small bundle of feather and placed it on the counter. She realized the tiny bird was alive but very weak. Going to her closet, she soon returned with a shoe box and some newspaper. She placed the bird on the newspaper, found some bread to crumble and filled a jar lid with water.

Over the evening, she constantly checked on the bird. She would see some signs of movement, but noted the bread and water remained untouched. Finally, it was time for bed. She thought of covering the shoe box but decided it would only frighten the bird. She went to bed with the hope the bird was only stressed and would be better in the morning.

When she awoke the next morning, she realized the muffled wind was due to the heavy snow that fell outside. Feeling morose, she slowly got out of bed and looked through the edge of the curtains to see the snow was already heavily drifted against the houses in the neighborhood. The remains of her garden were completely covered. Her spirits sank as she realized it would be another day of wondering if spring would ever arrive. Suddenly remembering the bird, she hurried to the kitchen to check on her patient.

Silently, she approached the counter. She didn’t want to surprise the sparrow; only to have it fluttering in panic around her kitchen. She had no idea what she would do if that happened. Maybe, if it did, she could just feed it until spring. Then, she could open the door and allow it to leave.

Quietly peering over the edge, she was immediately saddened. The tiny bird was lying on its side. She knew that all her efforts were futile and the bird had died during the night. She felt defeated and wondered why she had waited so long to check on the bird.

As she observed the tiny puddle of brown feathers, she remembered her husband. He was a strong and determined man. A cabinet maker by trade, but his work was described, by more than one, as art. Always in demand, he wouldn’t bow to the schedules of architects and home builders. Only when he was satisfied with his work would the cabinets reach the customer. Nobody ever complained, or regretted the wait. His efforts were beyond exceptional and the demand permitted him to work to the end.

She remembered the last set of cabinets. He’d seemed more preoccupied than usual, but she decided it had to do with his age. He had avoided lunch, which concerned her, since his appetite had fallen off during the last few weeks. “I only have a few more hours and I’m finished” was his reply when she stuck her head in his shop at noon. When it became late, and she realized he hadn’t been in for hours, she went to his shop; only to find him doubled up in pain on the floor.

The doctors were more than kind, but their diagnosis was unpleasant to report. Pancreatic cancer, which she now knew was incurable, had been ignored for much too long. They assured her he wouldn’t suffer. Her questions of treatment were answered with warnings of suffering without any success. In a short month, her husband had faded away. He took his last breath while staring into her eyes. For a moment, she saw the old glimmer and smile, which faded as she watched. Her son and daughter made it to the funeral, but she’d been alone at his last moments.

Years of grief suddenly overwhelmed. Staring at the small bird released a flood of sadness she denied for too long. Sobbing, she rocked in the chair and allowed the grief to finally come. She, again, wondered why he never said anything about feeling sick. She, also, thought of the guilt she felt when she realized his quick passing was a blessing. Watching him suffer was devastating to her soul. If he had lingered, she didn’t think she would have survived; she knew it would have ruined her financially. These thoughts filled her with more sadness and prolonged her tears.

After awhile, she stopped, wiped her tears and thought about the last few days. What little joy she could find had now ended and she wondered how something that seemed so insignificant could affect in her so profoundly. She thought of how she had slowly allowed the despair of age to wrap her in a suffocating blanket. She had given up and was waiting for death. For a second she was infuriated. How could she not notice how pathetic she had become?

Inspired, she thought: “I need a bird feeder”. In wonder of her thoughts, she said to herself: “I’ll call Beverly. She’s always telling me I need to get out more. She’ll know where to buy a bird feeder.”

Standing, she said the small bird. “Well, you deserve a proper burial, but it will have to wait until spring.” Finding a small freezer bag, she wrapped the sparrow in a napkin and placed it in the freezer. “I’ll bury you in the lily bed.”

Determined, she started making plans. She had things to do and people to call. “I’ll call Paul and Rhonda. That will get their attention. They’re probably dreading a call.” Laughing at her treachery, she suddenly felt younger than she felt in years. Looking out the window, she noticed the snow had stopped and the sky was brightening. Thinking of the sparrow, she suddenly felt guilty. She carefully cut up half a loaf of bread and threw it out the kitchen window. Feeling satisfied, she sat and looked in her book for phone numbers. She realized she’d forgotten them all. “Never again.” She whispered and smiled at the thought.

Sometimes Courtesy Is Unnoticed

2012-01-13T16:49:00.000-08:00

As I was driving, I noticed a car was trying to leave the side street on which I planned on turning. I had the feeling they were in a hurry because the nose of the car was almost in the intersection. Usually, this means a driver is pushing to get out and make the turn as soon as possible....but not this time.

I slowed to allow them to turn in either direction. There was plenty of room, so to be courteous, I gave them some more time to make their driving experience more pleasant. They didn't move, so I finally reached the intersection and was forced to either turn, or wait for a group of cars that had just left the traffic light down the road.

As I turned, I examined the car as I passed. The driver, who was huge by any standard was eating an ice cream sundae and chatting with her passengers. There she was, wedged between the steering wheel and seat, that was pushed as far back as possible; conversing and grazing. I wasn't a blip on her radar; ice cream was on her mind. A meteorite could have struck the middle of the hood and she wouldn't have noticed.

I guess I was a little amazed. I like ice cream, but not that much.

Hiatal Hernia

2012-01-12T16:11:00.000-08:00

I haz one. I didn't know it, until tests during a hospital visit, which revealed the hernia and explained heartburn that was becoming a problem. Medication for GERD stopped the heartburn, but either things have changed, or something new has developed.

For the last few days, it's felt as though I swallowed a large pill and it stuck in my throat. Added to this annoyance is occasional hiccups, which only aggravate the discomfort. So, I'll watch the symptoms, see if they disappear, or make plans to pursue treatment.

It's hell getting old. It's definitely not for sissies.

Blah

Sometimes...

2012-01-11T18:32:00.000-08:00

...there's no inspiration. Today is one of those days. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Bleh.

No

2012-01-09T18:29:00.000-08:00

That's my name for a new political party. The party of "No". Here's how it works:

No, you can't have any more money for government. In fact, you spend too much, so your budget is cut by 50% for starters and taxpayers will get a 50% reduction in their taxes. If you don't like that, we'll go to 75%. It's up to you, but the answer is still no. No new taxes, no new entitlement funds, no raises, no inflation, no more borrowing, no more regulations, no more waste, no more vacations for any elected official, no more government intrusion and no more whining. This is the real world. If I have to cut, learn to live on less money and learn to adjust my budget for higher living costs then the government can too. In fact, since they're all public servant, they can make bigger cuts, learn to respect the people that generate their salaries and do so without so much as a whimper. If you don't like it, then quit. I wish you would.

First Beer

2012-01-06T19:03:00.000-08:00

It was blistering hot. I was with my brother and a friend and we were planning on bow fishing in the borrow ditches along the oil field road that ran through the mostly dry salt water marsh. Only the channels and low spots held any water, which were full of alligator gar.

We were in the friend's '55 Chevy. It was 1973, so the car wasn't quite 20 years old. Built like a tank, and dependable, it was perfect for the task at hand. Our goal was to waste another summer afternoon doing things that held no real importance, but occupied our young minds with new adventure. We were searching for the larger gar that could reach lengths of over 7 feet. The limited amount of water was known to trap these monsters and we felt there was a chance today might bring one to skin and sell. The meat would sell for 25 cents a pound. The big gars could have more than 100 pounds of meat and $25 was a lot of money when gas sold for 20 cents a gallon.

The marsh was mostly miles of cracked mud with an occasional oasis of salt grass. Heat waves washed away the horizon in a rolling, oily ripple of distortion. Dust devils raced along the oyster shell roads. The dust, as we travelled, hung in a swirl as we travelled looking for our prize. Eventually we stopped at a favorable location. The heat rolled in as we opened the doors.

Nothing really prepares you for that type of heat. Within minutes, as the humidity prevents sweat from drying , everything you wear becomes soaked with sweat. A hat keeps the killer sun from burning your skin, but nothing prevents the sweat from running into your eyes. Eventually, you realize that wiping away the sweat, and dust, only chafes. The pain from the burning sweat becomes tolerable. It's better than the blisters from constantly wiping your eyes.

The spot didn't reveal anything but a few small gar. We decided to move to another location, which proved to not have any large gar either. We were now really thirsty, but our young minds hadn't contemplated the necessity of water. We had nothing to drink.

We decide to head on home, but we'd drive slow and scan the ditches as we left. Since we were over three miles into the marsh, this would take some time. I was beginning to think of how good a cold drink of water would be. As time went on, I was ready to call it a day and forget about bow hunting. We had peppermints, which helped with thirst, but only made it tolerable.

We were about halfway back to the entrance, when our friend spotted a car on a side road that belonged to someone he knew. My vote of forgetting about the stop was ignored, so we pulled behind the car and approached an old man I'd never met.

He was sitting in a lawn chair, fishing pole in hand and an ice chest by his side. He exchanged pleasantries with our friend, introduced himself and then asked something that I'd never been asked before: "Would you boys like a cold beer?"

I'd tasted beer before. I didn't like the taste, but I was thirsty. When you added the fact I was only 16, desperate for liquid, and honored the old man would make such an offer, I accepted. My brother and friend - just as thirsty - didn't hesitate either. He handed us all a Schlitz from the cooler and took one for himself. I noticed the ice had rock salt on top to make the beer colder.

The old man tapped the top of the can and opened his beer. Following his example, I did the same and took a sip. The beer was cold; real cold; so cold, there was slushy ice in the first sip. It was nectar of the gods. I took a quick gulp and downed the rest. The old man eyeballed me for a moment, and then asked: "Would you like another beer?"

I hesitated. After all, I'd never drank anything in my life and here I was drinking beer.

"Sure. Thank you very much."

I savored the second beer. We all shot the breeze, talked about fishing and then it was time to leave. We said our goodbyes, how it was to meet each other and we left. We only stopped for a few minutes to examine an alligator that was around 12 feet long. It looked dead as it lay on the bank. My brother opened the door to throw a rock and the alligator disappeared. I blinked and it was gone. Bubbles rose to the surface from the fresh stirred bottom My brother never stepped out. He closed the door and our friend pulled away.

The sun was extra bright as we travelled home. There was a buzz to the air and my mind examined the new feelings that beer could bring. I decided I really liked beer and have ever since.

Polls, the Media and Horse Manure

2012-01-06T16:58:00.000-08:00

I listen to talk radio on the way home from work. Usually, if the host doesn't interest me within a minute, I'll switch to another show or listen to music. Today, one host inspired this post.

The host was explaining that some polling company had polled around 1000 supposed voters and asked the question: "Should anyone caught texting, while driving, lose their license for a period of time." Of the people polled, half felt they should and the other half felt they shouldn't. The demographics showed that age played a big part of the data. The majority of older folks felt they should and the younger felt the opposite. So, after the data was crunched, it was half and half.

My opinion is that this is horse manure. First, how can they determine if the respondent is actually a voter? The poll was by telephone, so the only thing they could depend on was the honesty of the person they talked to. The same goes for age. Otherwise, the data is horse manure, yet the host was using the data as if it was authoritative and correct.

Another thing that bothered me was the fact the issue of texting while driving was considered a subject that merited attention. While I'm sure there are people that are involved with accidents while texting and driving, I'm not convinced it's a big problem like the media would like me to believe. My personal experience in driving - and I have over a million miles behind the wheel - tells me that driving too fast and following too close is a much bigger problem. So, what are we going to do about this? Mandate governors on cars? Mandate radar detection systems that slow a vehicle down to prevent following too close to the car in front? Take away licences from those that drive this way? Lobotomy for repeat offenders?

Anyway, I'm tired of the talking heads of the media, pollsters and the horse manure they peddle daily. If they really want to talk about something important, talk about the fact that inflation, sorry fiscal policies and lying politicians have just about ruined this country. Expand this subject to include the millions of derelicts that milk the public tit and are never punished for their complete disrespect for law and lack of decency. That's important, in my opinion. The rest is mostly fluff and an obvious effort by the media, pundits and politicians to bask in their self-importance.

Blech!

Dear Gina:

2012-01-06T11:45:00.000-08:00

I know we've never met, and I'm sure you really get into the Facebook social networking stuff, but I don't want to hookup with you. I hope you don't take this personally, and by no means do I want you to think I'm trying to embarass you on a public blog, but this really needs to stop. I'm tired of clicking delete in my spam file. It's one of those time things: you're wasting my time and I find such things irritating and rude.

Sincerely,

Jess

Some Days Work Out Better Than You Know

2012-01-05T07:54:00.000-08:00

The highway I usually travel to work was the scene of a 40 car pile-up this morning. Bits and pieces are being reported about what happened, but it looks as though heavy fog and smoke reduced visibility to nothing, which led to the accident. So far, four serious injuries are part of the 24 reported injuries. The photos starting to appear show mayhem.

On a good day, that section of highway is complete madness. Due to a large refinery expansion, thousands of extra workers travel the highway every morning and evening. The speed limit is 65 at night, but that's only for those willing to be run off the road. It's not unusual for traffic to travel at 80 mph and higher. Weaving in out of traffic is common and the safe distance to travel behind another vehicle is ignored by many. So, it's dangerous on the good days and treacherous on the bad. Today was bad and I'm glad I took a different route. From the time the accident was reported, there was a good possibility I might have been involved.

Final tally as of this evening: 79 vehicles involved, 54 sent to the hospital, 4 critical patients and 18 moving violations. To add insult to injury, I barely made an exit due to stopped traffic I could see ahead on my way home. It was bumper cars on an overpass, with part of the railing in the outside lane on the cross street below. Traffic, as usual, was gridlocked in an intersection because people just couldn't wait, or find another route.

An Electrical Question

2012-01-05T04:47:00.000-08:00

I've read some articles over the years about how electrical suppliers were required to buy back any excess electricity you happened to have left over after your windmill, or whatever, generated more than you required. I can see the rational thought in this process, but haven't quite figured out the mechanics.

My house has a 200 amp service, which is supplied from a transformer that is attached to a pole. The electricity supplying the transformer is of a substantially higher voltage than my house can use, but the higher voltage is necessary to tranport the amount of electricity to more than one customer. This is the standard procedure, since the higher voltage allows smaller wire to "push" the electricity over further distances. Still the wire size is fairly large compared to all wiring in my house, except for the main feed. To add insult to injury, anything I'd generate for my house would be of the wrong voltage, so I'd have to use a tranformer to convert the voltage to the correct voltage for the grid and tie into the higher voltage cables, which are inaccessible to me as a consumer.

A windmill is an expensive critter to own and operate. Besides the subsstantial cost for construction, the additional wiring, converters and maintenance are well beyond what I'd be able to tackle. On a still day, or during downtime for maintenance, I'd have to be able to use the grid for electricity, so what I have would still be necessary. Otherwise, much of my electrical system would be repetitive and this would be expensive and there's no way I could justify the expense due to the fact I would lose money.

Generators are handy. They can supply everything I need for electricity, but since I've dealt with them before, there's no way I can use one at a cost that's less expensive than what I buy from the electrical supplier. I've done the math, so buying a large generator, making the necessary connection to the grid and selling it back to the supplier would be a huge loss over time.

Solar might be an option, but I don't think I have enough acreage, or money, to justify the expenditure to gamble on the possibility of selling electricity back to the supplier; especially if I consider nothing could be sold at night.

Hydroelectric is out of the question. I have no water source.

So, now to my question: Has anyone ever actually sold electricity back to the supplier?

Seven Left to Go

2012-01-04T04:18:00.000-08:00

This cat survived two attempts of euthanization by an animal shelter, so they decided not to go for a third attempt. I'd say the cat earned its life after the first attempt, but then again, I don't run an animal shelter. I don't think I could.

Spreadsheets

2012-01-03T15:10:00.000-08:00

I use spreadsheets at work. Some are simple; some are full of macros, elaborate formulas and multiple sheets. When they work as they should, they're more than handy. When they don't, and need careful scrutiny to determine where the problem is hidden, the final effect may be feeling like my brain has turned to mush.

I think I should wear earplugs this evening. That way my brains won't leak out on the drive home.

Mini Meme

2012-01-02T10:26:00.000-08:00

Lee Ann is responsible for this post. It's a meme with the first sentence of the first post of each month for 2011. Since I started in August, I don't have a full year

August -I was told by a friend, a few months ago, that I needed to write more.
September -I've used computers since the mid '80's.
October - This is a view from the cab of a 60 ton rough terrain crane.
November - I was in a lumber store this afternoon and was a little surprised by the ignorance of one of the clerks.
December - The newest news reports have reports of rape, robbery, assaults and other activities in the OWS locations throughout the country.

All in all, I'd say it looks like a conversation with someone with severe ADD or Rain Man.

In the Garden

2012-01-01T08:33:00.000-08:00

The night insects were almost deafening in the cool, still night air of the Texas Hill Country. With no moon, the stars were a blanket of jewels in the clear sky over the single frame house that stood in the middle of acres of open pasture. A small cattle pond sat in one corner of the pasture. Unused by cattle for years, the grassy banks held hundreds of frogs that chirped their mating calls into the night.

Arthur slept on the screened porch of the house he inherited from his grandfather. After an ugly divorce, he moved in with the aging father of his father to “get back on his feet”. After a few months and the loss of his parents to an automobile accident, he realized fate had led him there for a reason. After a year, he couldn’t think of leaving. His love for the old man, and the strong self-imposed obligation to see him pass with dignity created a bond that only death would break. He still grieved. He wished he‘d spent more time with him during his youth.

A low growl instantly woke Arthur from his sleep. Reaching down, he put his hand on the head of Blossom and quietly shushed the black Labrador. She was quiet for a moment, but soon startled growling again as she stood to look toward the yard outside the screened porch. Art raised his head and looked through the screen. As he looked, Blossom stopped growling and returned to her spot on the floor next to Arthur’s cot.

Arthur continued to stare, but nothing was moving. He enjoyed the cool night air. As night fell, the dry Hill Country air lost heat rapidly and would eventually migrate to the south. Towards dawn, the breeze could almost feel cold. Until then, the slow movement of air wouldn’t even move a leaf.

After a minute, he placed his head back on the pillow and looked out towards the sky. He found Scorpio to the south. He thought for a moment and determined it was around midnight. Reaching over, he scratched Blossom behind the ears and thought of the day she appeared on his steps. She was thin with tender paws; her ears were laced with scratches from briars she encountered while running through the underbrush. A trip to the vet and an inquiry in the local paper led nowhere. For whatever reason, she was to be part of his life and had been so for the last eight years.

As he drifted off to sleep again, Blossom alerted him with a low growl. At that moment, it became completely silent. No insect; no frogs and the eerie silence made the hair stand on the back of his neck. Slowly, he rose up in the cot, sat on the edge and peered into the darkness. A brief flash of light lit the sky towards the south. A nocturnal thunderstorm towards the coast was building at the boundary between cool and warm air. The silence was deafening, until the screech of a night hawk broke the stillness. As though by signal, the night filled with sounds once again.

Arthur reached and found his night vision goggles on the floor. He’d always wanted a pair, but never felt he could justify the expenditure – until the last few days. Blossom had barked for the last few nights from her place on the porch. His efforts to find the cause were futile, but somebody was out there. The ripest of vegetables were disappearing from his garden during the night.

Peering into the dark brought a new world to Arthur. Across the pasture was a small herd of deer. They were as clear as in the day, although the green light made the appearance surreal. He scanned the pastures, looked to the drive for a vehicle and ended his scan observing his garden.

At first, Arthur saw nothing, but a slow movement caught his attention. It looked like somebody stooping in one of the rows of tomatoes, but after a moment, he realized it was too small. At that point it rose and stood on two legs. Arthur’s initial reaction was that it was a really big raccoon, but that was impossible; raccoons never grew that large. Further examination revealed a small bag. Whatever it was held a small bag and was filling it as it moved down the rows of Arthur’s garden.

Silently, the harvester continued with its task. Every choice was scrutinized before being picked. Occasionally, it would pause and look around; only to continue with removing vegetables from Arthur’s garden. There was a purpose to the harvester. Arthur silently stared as it worked.

Arthur jumped when the freezer on his porch started. In the still night, the sound seemed deafening. Fearing it would cause Blossom to start barking, he turned to find her asleep. She stirred for a moment and turned her back to the warm air from the bottom of the freezer. Turning back towards the garden, he found the harvester staring toward the house. Arthur froze.

The harvester spent minutes staring at the house. Arthur, who now was a little frightened, silently observed the creature in the night. What he was observing was bizarre; an easily rattled person would believe they were hallucinating. The thought had crossed Arthur’s mind, but he felt there was something logical about what he was seeing and could easily be explained.

After a few minutes, the harvester continued with its task. Arthur watched as it continued through his entire garden. Much was being explained; the loss of only select vegetables now made sense, although the “sense” was far beyond what he expected. He began to wonder how he would handle the situation.

After almost an hour, and the addition of more bags for the harvest, the harvester stood, grabbed all the bags and tapped the side of its head. Within moments, it rose and accelerated from the ground. Arthur looked up, but there was nothing to see. For a moment, he felt he saw a shadow. Removing his goggles, he stared into the night sky. The stars were brilliant, but nothing moved, or seemed unusual. The freezer stopped running and Arthur realized the night was silent once again. The chirp of a cricket broke the silence and the night sounds returned.

Disturbed, Arthur didn’t fall asleep until the eastern sky started lightening from the approaching dawn. His mind raced until that time. He was trying to decide what he’d tell his girlfriend Karen before she arrived in the afternoon. Their relationship seemed firm, but he didn’t feel comfortable with telling her of what she saw.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Karen found Arthur leaning on the fence to his garden the next afternoon; a bag of green tomatoes on the ground at his side. Their plan was to fry the tomatoes with the catfish fillets Arthur had frozen in the spring. He turned and smiled as she approached.

“Hey, I thought you were going to let me pick the tomatoes?”

“I know. I felt like working in the garden, so I went ahead and picked the best tomatoes. I didn’t want you to be tired when you helped me cook.”

Karen smiled and stared at Arthur’s eyes.

“You look tired”

Arthur paused for a moment and answered: “I am. I didn’t sleep well last night. I had a lot on my mind.”

Karen became a little worried: “Are you okay?”

Arthur reached and hugged Karen: “I’m fine and I’ll be finer if you’ll stay tonight.”

Karen laughed and replied: “But, you have to make breakfast.”

Arthur hugged Karen tighter and said: “I think I’ll grow a late season garden this year.”

Karen was a little surprised by the comment. Arthur never seemed that interested in gardening. It was more of her passion and she relished the moments they spent in the garden together.

“Okay. So what are you going to plant?”

Realizing he had no idea what to plant, Arthur replied: “I don’t know, but I have the feeling you have some ideas.”

Karen just smiled and grabbed his arm. “C’mon. We need to go get busy.”

As they walked to the house, Arthur felt as though they were being watched. Glancing up revealed an empty blue sky. Suddenly, he felt as when he decided to stay until his grandfather passed. It was a feeling of peace and purpose; a feeling of determination with the goal of doing something kind and important. He glanced at the sky one more time before they entered the house. He thoughts were on tonight. Would they return? What would he do?

I'd feel like a derelict...

2011-12-31T15:08:00.000-08:00

...if I didn't write anything at this time of year, so I will.

The last year was full of pitfalls that were totally unexpected. My mother suffered serious health problems, I lost a brother and the total economic climate sucked. That was the bad part. The good part was that I feel I've endured some things that would have taken a greater toll in the past. Maybe that's what age and wisdom bring: Patience and endurance are far more than just important.

So, there's a new year creeping into our lives. I have no idea what it will bring, but I'll face it with optimism and hope. I have no real predictions, although I do feel the winds of change. What they bring will be important and life changing.

Happy New Year and may the next year be better than any you ever experienced.

A Suggestion

2011-12-30T14:01:00.000-08:00

I have a suggestion for supermarkets. I'm sure they'll ignore the suggestion, but I think it's a very good idea:

Before anyone can take a basket, they are required to count to 20. After that, if they have more than 20 items in their basket when they go through the 20 item, or less, line, a trapdoor opens and they're whisked away (in a tube like at the bank) to the place where they first received their basket.

Of course, this would need to be videotaped so their surprised expression could be placed on the evening news for everyone to see.

Definitions

2011-12-30T07:12:00.000-08:00

I was looking at the search keywords that lead people to my blog, This one caught my attention:

define "gimlet ass"

I haven't found any definition, but if I do, I'll post it.

Today, I'm Irritated

2011-12-29T11:03:00.000-08:00

I've been sitting and thinking about a few things that really piss me off:

-Politicians rarely do their job. Entrusted with money that's supposed to be only for what's absolutely necessary - as dictated by those that pay taxes - exorbitant waste is reported daily and the culprits are politicians. God has a special place in Hell for most of those critters.

-The Federal Reserve screws with the money supply, which lowers the value of the dollar, which reduces the spending power of my paycheck, which means all my efforts to improve my financial condition are wasted. God, in my opinion, should reserve them a place next to the politicians.

-I pay way too much for the gasoline in my pickup. Included in this cost are taxes (see politicians above) extra fees for ethanol (which is subsidized with tax dollars) and the unseen costs due to regulations by the jackbooted EPA.

-Food prices are steadily increasing. Part of these increases are due to the shifting of corn as a food product and allowing better prices for farmers through subsidies, which are paid by tax dollars, or tax breaks, which are directly attributed to the mandate of the use of ethanol, which wouldn't exist on the market without the crooked efforts of the government.

So, these things piss me off. Those and the fact that the government never trims their spending. Instead, they push their grubby little hands deeper in the pockets that are running out of money. In my mind, the government is the problem, not the solution. I don't think I'm the only person with this my opinion. In fact, I think the majority of the people that pay taxes in the U.S. feel the same.

Be Careful Today

2011-12-29T05:30:00.000-08:00

A news report this morning described a terrible accident that happened yesterday. A woman lost control of her car, crossed the highway median and crashed head-on into a pick up truck. The driver of the truck was killed instantly.

Years ago, while working on a highway project, I needed to speak to the inspector about a problem. I stopped at the field office and was informed he was up at at the scene of a wreck. Part of his responsibilities were to make reports of such occurences, so he went to the scene to examine any traffic control problems or road conditions that might have contributed to the accident.

I found him standing on the shoulder of the access road. Emergency vehicles were still on site, but there were no ambulances, wreckers and only enough officers to control traffic. People were walking up and down the shoulder with plastic bags and latex gloves on their hands.

I asked what happened. He explained two college girls were killed. Their car crossed the median and collided head-on with another car. Both died instantly. Why they crossed the median was not evident, but it was later reported they were going back to school and had driven a long distance before the accident. It was assumed the driver fell asleep and lost control.

I asked what the people were doing with the plastic bags. He answered: "Picking up pieces". I then noticed one of the workers bend over, reach down and pick up a piece of bloody flesh. I told the inspector I'd find him in about an hour. He nodded and told me he'd be in the field office.

So, be careful today.

Reflections

2011-12-27T18:30:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer - The following post is fiction. Resemblance to anyone living, or dead, is coincidental and unintended.

Ryan Brown carefully examined his reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls of his bedroom. Obsessed with his appearance, he never left for work without ensuring every detail was without flaw. He would start to leave, but two or three trips back to the mirrors were necessary to satisfy the compulsion that ruled his life.

His walk was short. The shop where he worked was only a half block from the small apartment he rented for years. Using his key, he opened the door to the shop that specialized in hats only. His employer, an eccentric older man, was adamant on how his store was run. Although he never ran the shop, no detail was to be overlooked. A moment of neglect by Ryan to keep the mirrors clean caused a tirade during a visit that was not only embarrassing, the threat of losing his job kept him late that evening cleaning the mirrors over and over until his obsessive compulsion left him exhausted in the early morning hours. His return home was only to change and spend the obligatory time in front of the mirror to guarantee his appearance was without flaw. He buried his seething hate; it corroded his soul and ate at his sanity.

Customers were few. The shop was not self-supporting but the owner didn’t need the revenue. His wealth was massive; the shop was a hobby and allowed tax write-offs that prevented him from giving to charities, which he loathed. On any day, only two or three customers would appear to buy the finest of products offered by the shop for men and women.

A woman entered the shop early one morning that Ryan disliked immediately. Besides the constant chatter, which he found annoying, she handled the merchandise far more than he liked. To aggravate this dislike, she constantly touched the mirrors in the shop and marveled how easy it would be to walk into one if she wasn’t paying attention.

The morning progressed without the woman making a purchase. Her annoying chatter, now accentuated by her unwillingness to leave, had Ryan aggravated to distraction. As lunch approached, and passed, he found he couldn’t concentrate. The jabber of the woman became a noise that pounded in his head; torturing him to beyond reason – until it stopped.

Ryan heard what sounded like a tapping on the shop window. Finding nobody outside the shop, he approached the small mirrored alcove that allowed customers to admire their selection before purchase. Instantly, in a blind rage, he went to admonish the customer that had, obviously, crossed all lines of decency and was tapping on the mirrors he hated so much.

She wasn’t there, although he thought he heard her muffled voice in the distance. Stepping into the alcove revealed nothing, until he saw something from the corner of his vision. Turning quickly, he again found nothing there, but the insistent tapping continued and he could now hear the woman pleading to be allowed to leave. Again, he saw something in the corner of his vision. Turning slowly, he could see her on the edge of his vision, tapping at the mirror as though she was looking in a window. When he completed his turn, she was gone. Horrified, he ran from the shop and didn’t stop until he reached his apartment.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The older of the two detectives knocked quietly, but forcefully, on the door of the landlady of Ryan’s apartment.

“We only have a few questions.” The older detective asked, after showing his badge and being shown into the small apartment.

“The first officer to arrive reported you called the police after other renters complained of a constant pounding in Mr. Brown’s apartment.”

“Yes. I knocked on the door and he wouldn’t answer. After hours of the constant pounding, I had to call the police.” She was still frightened. Recalling the night before was causing her to tremble.

“Is this the first time you had a problem with Mr. Brown?”

“Yes. He’s been here for years; always quiet; always paid his rent before it was due.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Brown?”

The question startled the landlady. She realized it had been a long, long time since she actually saw Ryan. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her renter, or had spoken to the young man that made her nervous.

“I don’t remember.”

She did remember how they found Ryan: filthy, sprawled on the floor; his outstretched foot kicking at a cabinet with a knife precariously balanced on the edge. Mumbling, and crying; one hand reaching toward the cabinet; the other outstretched, as though he was doing everything to keep it at a distance; a shard of mirror in the palm bleeding profusely.

“He will be okay?” she asked. She had a bad feeling, especially with detectives visiting her apartment.

“I’m sorry, but he died early this morning.”

Suddenly curious, she asked: “Was he ill?”

The young detective answered: “The doctors think it was a combination of blood loss and malnutrition.”

“Did he have any enemies?”

“I really don’t know. I do know that nobody ever visited and the only time I saw him leave was to go to work, or a short trip to the market. “

The older detective spoke: “When was the last time you saw him leave for work?”

She had to think for a moment. She really couldn’t say. As she thought, she realized the shop had appeared closed for a long time; maybe months.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought he was taking time off from work. It’s been a long time since the shop down the street appeared opened.”

The young detective responded: “The shop that you named on the police report last night?”

She nodded and said nothing.

The older detective rose and said: “That’s all the questions we have for now. We’d like you to unlock the apartment so we can look around.”

She stood, went to a keyboard and handed the key to the detective: “Here’s the key. I don’t want to go back to that room right now.”

Showing them out, she remarked: “It’s the first door to the right on the second floor.”

Opening the door revealed much of what was in the initial report. Now that there was a death involved, the detectives needed to make a more thorough investigation and determine if there was something more than what appeared.

The apartment was small. Coagulated blood was pooled on the floor. The cabinet doors were open and empty. Several trash bags were piled in one corner. A few empty plates were in the sink. The fixtures appeared to be covered with paint, or putty.

The rest of the apartment appeared unused. The bathroom and bedroom were neat, everything placed, yet there was a layer of dust that indicated a long time without use. Other than dust, the mirrors were unblemished and without fingerprints.

“I don’t see any sign of a struggle” were the first words from the older detective.

The younger detective responded: “The door has no sign of forced entry and the windows are locked. I didn’t find any medications in the cabinet, except for aspirin and the bottle was almost full.”

“What do you think?”

The older detective sighed: “I think we need to get back to the precinct, fill out a report and take an early lunch. Later this afternoon, we’ll see if we can find if he had any family.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Are you buying?”

They left, stopped at the landlady’s apartment, gave her the key and handed her a card for a service that cleaned crime scenes. “That’s all we need. We appreciate your cooperation.”

As they left, the young detective pointed down the block and remarked: “That’s the shop.”

The older detective never looked. After years of dealing with dead end cases, he never wasted his time with curiosity. He was tired, retirement was only three years away and he suddenly had the urge for a Reuben sandwich, which they sold around the corner from the precinct.

“How does a Reuben sound for lunch? If we hurry, the sauerkraut will be fresh and the corned beef just sliced. “

The young detective glanced in the passenger side mirror and suddenly turned to look at the shop receding in the mirror. For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing inside the front glass. When he turned, there was nothing to see.

“If we’re finished early enough, the rye will only have been out of the oven for an hour. Damn, I can taste it now. Can’t you drive faster?”

Continuing My Big Number Research With 10,000 Hits Daily

2011-12-27T14:16:00.000-08:00

I'll see what that post title lures to my site. I'll know at 10:00 am tomorrow. That's the time when the Russian and Google robots seem to prowl.

Chasing Fiction

2011-12-27T14:04:00.000-08:00

I noticed a television program that has a crew of experts that roam around the world looking for things such as the Loch Ness monster and elves. I'm a little mixed about the show.

They were using a set of cheap walkie-talkies for communication on the show I watched. I know it was a short segment of the whole show, and there was probably an explanation, but give me a break. I've run into a box store and purchased the same set of walkie-talkies and had over fifty in change from a hundred. Where do they get their cameras? Walmart?

The Power of the Thermostat

2011-12-26T17:57:00.000-08:00

Thermostats are switches. Nothing more; nothing less, although they're far more in most homes. The power wielded by the user is ruthlessly abused in the wrong hands.

I've had arguments with people over thermostats. They're uncomfortable, so they set the thermostat to a position that's unreasonably different than the current setting and then become adamant their relief will come faster than changing the temperature setting by only a degree or two. My logical explanation that this isn't true falls on deaf ears. Anger arises and everything I've learned is dismissed. In some situations, I've been ridiculed. Otherwise, they don't want to be confused by the facts; my knowledge is useless and I'm foolish to think that physics, electrical engineering and common knowledge have proven that the thermostat is a switch and has no magical power to rapidly change the temperature in a room like a throttle on a powerful engine.

When you move the control on a thermostat, a circuit is completed, current is supplied to a contactor, a blower motor starts and either an air conditioning, or heating unit, starts. At this point, air is moved over a heating plenum or the evaporator coils on an air conditioner. Changing the setting to some ridiculous setting, such as 80 in the winter, or 60 in the summer only changes where the entire operation ends. It's not like there's some special extra part of the system that turbocharges the system and creates more cold, or warm air. I'm right about this. Do some web research or read a book or go to a technical school and take a course to become an expert. You can't prove me wrong.

Another thing: When you diddle the controls with your grubby little fingers, you change much more than you realize. In you effort to selfishly change the temperature of an entire house, the temperature of everything in the house will need changing to completely balance the system. Your little effort to become instantly comfortable may mean 24 hours of increased utility costs. Even then, the final effect may mean the changed temperature is uncomfortable for everyone else in the house and their frustration may lead to their diddling with the thermostat and starting the entire cycle over again.

So, why am I writing about this? I can't win the argument with many people, but I can complain in writing. That adds credence to my argument and, more or less, insults those foolish enough to argue with me about this subject. Call it throwing down the gauntlet. They're wrong and I'm right and the argument is over......I win!

Merry Christmas - and I hope Santa Has an Umbrella

2011-12-24T16:05:00.000-08:00

It's raining and the forecast if for the rain to continue through Monday.

I think this is the first Christmas I can think of being a long rainy event. Considering the long drought, the constant wishes for rain and the fact that it is Christmas, maybe Santa is rewarding us for being good during the year. We'll take it, although some may not feel the same.

Somewhere, where it's a little colder, the snow will bring a white Christmas. I've only seen one, but it had a certain magic that would have been more memorable if I had been a child. Still, it was one of the best experiences in my life. With that in mind:

Merry Christmas to all that happen to wander into my little corner of the internet.

The Lament of the Concrete Sawyer

2011-12-23T17:21:00.000-08:00

I learned to saw concrete by the method common in the late seventies: "Here's the saw. These are the controls. Get to work and don't screw up." It wasn't a completely new experience; I had watched the process, so I wasn't completely unfamiliar with sawing concrete.

We were pouring a new street. Four lanes of concrete was the final result, but it required long days of preparing for the eventual concrete pour on Friday. Usually, it was a single lane of concrete approximately a thousand feet in length. The pour started at daylight and lasted until around 2:00 pm, except for me.

Concrete is guaranteed to do two things: get hard and crack, which requires controlled cuts in pavement for the cracks. The cuts are usually around a quarter of the way through the concrete and an eighth of an inch wide. After the concrete is completely cured, the joints are cleaned, a backing rod is placed and the joint is sealed to prevent water infiltration. The sealant is flexible, so that the concrete can expand and contract without losing the seal.

After the first pour on the project, I was asked if I knew anything about sawing concrete. Young, fairly energetic and not really wanting to go back to setting paving forms, I agreed to place the saw joints in the concrete. The job, which is called "green cutting" required marking the proposed location of the joints with a chalk line and sawing the concrete, which due to the concrete thickness, was two inches in depth. Another hand helped me start the sawing process by helping pop chalk lines. Eventually, I learned how to remove the need of a helper; they could be unreliable and not hold the line in the right place.

The concrete at the first of the pour was set to the point I could run the saw on the surface without marring the finish. The saw, which was common at the time, was a 65 horsepower saw manufactured by Target. Self propelled, heavy, awkward and loud was the only way to describe the saw. The big Wisconsin engine had it's own peculiar bellow that was unmistakable. To this day, I could pick the saw out with my eyes closed.

I propelled the saw to the first joint location. Stopping the engine, I placed the diamond blade on the arbor. The 14 inch blade was heavy, and had signs of wear. The diamond segments were half worn, but the blade would last for a few pours, if I insured the right amount of water was on the blade and didn't try to "bulldog" the saw. Low water, or pushing the blade would cause the blade to wear too fast, which meant hundreds of dollars were wasted by a negligent sawyer.

I hooked the water line to the saw, opened the valve on the water truck pulled next to the pavement, started the saw, adjusted the throttle and pushed the control to lower the blade to the pavement. I was not in line, so I wrestled the heavy saw back and forth until the blade was right over the line. I opened the water valve on the saw and lowered the blade to touching the pavement. Adjusting the gauge, I lowered the blade to two inches and eased the direction control forward. I was now a sawyer, whether I liked it or not. Considering I had 1000 feet of paving to saw, with the paving joints every 15 feet across the 12 feet of paving, it was time for me to get busy. I worked until dark and finished the next morning.

Over time, I learned how to speed up the process. The saw became more familiar and I learned shortcuts for sawing. The saw became a cumbersome appendage, which I would move without thought. The mindless repetition of sawing allowed hours of time to think, so the distraction of sawing was soon eliminated by instinct. I became an expert, which has it's good points, but it was tedious, which is not my strong point. Sawing became drudgery and the only thing I liked was the overtime.

I eventually taught someone else to run the saw. There was a bridge to build and I had the most experience with such things, so my sawing days ended until years later on other projects. It's an honorable trade and the pay is good if you have the experience, but sawing always involves long, strange hours. I know some that relish the job and they're poetry motion while they saw. Me, it's not my favorite, but I know that it's a skill I can still peddle if required. Hopefully, I never have to make that decision.

Over 10,000 visits

2011-12-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

I'm still experimenting. So far, there seems to be a correlation with numbers in the title and site visits. I'll keep you posted.

Sand Trout

2011-12-22T04:36:00.000-08:00

I could see the jetties from the main platforms when I worked offshore. They were a dark line on the horizon. When the weather was rough, the waves would break on the jetties and send plumes of spray dozens of feet in the air.

In the Winter, stong southeast winds will cause extra high tides, which will allow conditions where the jetties are right under the surface. Inexperiened, or ignorant boat skippers will find they've made a terrible mistake when they run their boats on to the jetties. The relatively shallow water allows most of the boats to be visible for years if they come to rest on the outside of the jetties.

I was watching the jetties on a January afternoon. A front had passed a few days before and the sky was a sheet of gray, which signaled an approaching weather system. The wind was dead calm, which made the Gulf almost completely flat. If it wasn't cold, someone could think it was summer, when the Gulf was usually calm.

I could see a small boat approaching. It had navigated through the small boat gap in the jetties and was heading towards the main platforms. As it approached, I realized how small it was. This was odd, since it was an unwritten rule that small boats didn't head into the Gulf during the winter. The rapid changes, and strong winds could stir up swells over 10 feet high or a chop that was over 5 feet. Even in the summer, the guidelines dictated not heading to the Gulf if the wind disturbed the leaves on a tree early in the morning.

After about three quarters of an hour, the lone boater pulled his small flat-bottomed boat to the living quarter platform, dropped anchor and proceeded to rig his fishing pole. Within a minute, he baited his hook, dropped it in the water and winched it a few turns after it reached the bottom. He slowly raised and lowered the bait which caused an instant strike. Quickly, he reeled the large sand trout into the boat, re-baited his hook and repeated the process.

Over the next hour, the fisherman caught around 30 healthy sand trout. Satisfied with his catch, he pulled his anchor, fired up his motor and was gone. I watched as he headed straight back to the gap he had come through only two hours before. Within the hour, he had passed through the gap to the safety inside the jetties.

I never saw that happen again while I worked offshore. Not that it didn't. Unless someone was really paying attention, they'd miss the entire episode. I'm thinking the fisherman knew exactly when and where to go, which allowed him to fill his freezer with another year's catch of sand trout. Still, he took a risk. If his motor failed, and the weather changed, his final lonely hours would have been fighting to survive the wicked waves and cold.

10,000 Visitors and More

2011-12-21T16:50:00.000-08:00

I had an abnormal amount of visitors today. Quite a few were from robot servers hunting for revenue. I'm thinking there is something about placing large numbers, such as 10,000, and adding "visitors" to the title that tickles a search function in the code.

If I can't figure out a way on making money on my research, Ill let you know if it worked.

Reading the Instructions

2011-12-21T04:55:00.000-08:00

We were wrapping up a project, which was building a small pre-engineered metal building in an industrial facility. The only thing left was the roll up door. The building was a kit, so unlike many buildings we built, the roll up door was our responsibility. I preferred a subcontractor for this task, but that wasn't the situation this time.

I'd watched doors assembled a few times, so it wasn't like I was completely ignorant. Still, I spent some time reading the instructions and followed the steps as explained. It was fairly simple, but there were some warnings about dangerous things that could happen.

After fastening the brackets, we placed the heavy sectional door on the brackets and proceeded to start tensioning the spring, which is designed to offset the weight of the door during opening and closing. I was concentrating on keeping the pipe wrench from getting loose and smashing my hand against the frame, or whipping around and hitting me in the face. Since I was on a scaffold, my attention wasn't on one of my helpers.

One caveat in the instruction was to NEVER remove the banding around the door, until the spring was tensioned. Since the door weighed hundreds of pounds, removing the band would allow it to unroll, which wasn't a good thing; especially if you're under the door.

I didn't like the method we were using to tension the spring, so I loosened the spring and climbed down to re-group. I felt we needed to have someone on the other side to help in the operation, so I was in the process of doing just that by moving a scaffold to the other side and finding another wrench. I didn't pay much attention to the helper, who was asking about some tin snips.

As I moved about around the door, the helper found the tin snips and with the best intentions to be productive, snipped the band around the door. Instantly, the door unrolled and slammed against the floor - missing me by inches. I was speechless for a moment and then looked at the helper. I didn't need to say anything. The sick look on his face meant he realized how bad he screwed up.

Anyway, instructions are important; so is communication. If I had spent a few moments explaining the entire process, the helper would have had a better feel for the importance of not removing the band. Not that this would have prevented the accident, since the helper wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but at least the right methods would have been applied.

You live and your learn. In my profession, learning can be lethal.

Over 10,000 visitors...

2011-12-20T18:29:00.000-08:00

...stopped by my blog since August, when I started my journey into the blogosphere. That's more than the populations of many towns, so the number is significant; at least I think it is. Some are regulars, many probably came by mistake and a few are only electronic efforts by computers to look for revenue. Still, I think a "thank you" is necessary.

Thank you. I'm honored by the visits.

Rolling Along

2011-12-19T17:59:00.000-08:00

We were setting forms for a large headwall on the end of a concrete box culvert...kinda. The crew was setting forms and I was using my powers of observation to determine their progress. They were using their powers of telekinesis to wish me away. It must have worked.

Something caught my attention. I don't know if it was something I saw out of the corner of my eye, or a noise, but I looked up to see a complete tire and wheel from a semi coming down the center of the highway. It was pretty well staying right on the centerline and approaching at around 50 mph. I told the crew "Heads up", which caused them to look up to see what was happening. Those that didn't realize what was happening figured it out quickly from the pointing and comments.

We all had a few of those moments when you really don't know what to do. Should you move? Or, should you just stand still and see what happens? We all chose the latter and watched the wheel travel past, veer off to the shoulder and bounce into the woods; taking a few sapling down in the process. We stared for a few moments and looked down the highway to see a loaded semi limping to the shoulder. Since I was the closest person with any authority, I climbed in my truck and went to see what I could do.

The rig, since it had lost the front left steering tire, could only pull to the left, so the driver had pulled his rig onto the shoulder in front of a closed diner. As I pulled in, he was just climbing down and starting to survey the damage. Meanwhile, the old man that was selling vegetables in the empty parking lot was still staring at the truck and down the highway. He had a ring side seat and was thanking his lucky stars that the wheel didn't travel straight in his directions. He wouldn't have had any time to react; the wheel could have been the last thing he ever saw.

In the next few moments, a state trooper whipped into the parking lot, bailed out of his car and that's when things got strange. I expected him to immediately see if anyone was hurt. I was wrong. He proceeded to tell the old man to move his vegetables. He went on to explain this wasn't the first time and he was through with warnings about his vegetables on the state right-of-way.

His face red with anger, the trooper continued giving the old man the fifth degree, while walking in circles. When he headed towards his car, I got back in my truck and left. I'd seen all I wanted to see. As strange as things were progressing, I didn't want to find out how strange they could be. If he wanted to know anything, he could find me on the side of the road about a quarter mile away.

I went back to the job site and told the crew what I'd seen. They made a few comments and went back to work. I stayed on site until the trooper drove away and then left to go about other things I had on my plate. I told the crew to get the wheel out of the woods, which they did....it took two of them to wrestle the heavy wheel out to the shoulder. That's were it was when I left that evening. It was gone the next morning. I don't know where it went, but I'm just about sure it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

All We Are and Shall Be

2011-12-18T15:05:00.000-08:00

Today was one of those winter days when it's still and the high clouds are a sign of a weather change. These type of days seem to give me long moments of introspection, which led to thoughts about legacies.

I was thinking of a great-grandfather. He was probably born after the end of the Civil War, so his father lived during the war. He had a farm in Illinois that was considered huge at the time. At 180 acres, it required the entire family to help with the chores. My grandfather, for whatever reason, left to fight the first World War and eventually ended up on the Gulf Coast. He didn't stay to inherit the farm. I never knew the reason he chose the path he chose. He never said and I never asked. He's gone, so the question will remain unanswered forever.

Anyway, back to legacies: my great-grandfather's final legacy was his farm was sold after his death and the house that held so many memories was bulldozed. All that is left of him and his children are a few pieces of furniture and memories that will become substantially thinner after my demise. Time will progress and only dust will remain. The summation of generations will be as inconsequential as a limb falling from a tree on a windy afternoon.

In a way, it all fits, but in another, it makes me realize that I need to pass something on to future generations. I don't want to fade away forever after a short conversation at a future family gathering. I don't exactly know what to do, but I'm thinking writing will be the path. Maybe a book, or a collection of memories to give to heirs. Who knows, but it's time to get started.

Presidential Debates

2011-12-16T19:01:00.000-08:00

I've caught part of the Republican President candidates last night. It was interesting, but like all before, it was another scripted show with the contenders, standing in makeup, posturing and answering the questions from self described experts who formulated the questions to show their intelligence.

I wonder how they would answer my questions:

What are you going to do about the no-ass congress members that abused their power, wasted taxpayer money and will live the rest of their lives on my dime?

Will you turn the dogs loose on the former administration and find where the bodies are buried?

Will you fly around in a small airplane, instead of wasting millions of dollars to fly a Boeing 757 around like a taxi?

Will you tell every S.O.B. that's in charge of every agency to cut their staff and budget by 50%?

Since you'll make a million on your memoirs, will you refuse a salary and pension?

Will you tell the rest of the world we aren't their parents and they need to take care of their own problems?

When it comes down to brass tacks, will you have the nerve to send the military to kick some ass?

I have a lot of questions. I have the feeling they'll all remain unanswered.

So Now What?

2011-12-16T12:45:00.000-08:00

If you examine the problems with "Fast and Furious", it doesn't take you long to realize that some serious law breaking was undertaken by the United States government. Not only were laws broken, higher officials either turned their backs on this illegal activity, or were directly involved with the criminal operations. To add insult to injury, the highest officials of the United States government in the justice department are either stonewalling, or directly making an effort to hide information that ties them to the operation.

So, now what? A special prosecutor? It's not looking much like that will happen. Anyway, that's a horse crap excuse for rooting out rotten politicians. Too many of the people that should still be investigated still have their hands in the process. With one lying and the other swearing to it, there's no justice or preservation of the rule of law.

Congress can impeach Eric Holder. Whether their cojones are large enough for this task is the big question. So far, chihauhaus have them beat in that department.

Construction Travelers

2011-12-14T17:52:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered where they get the workforce to build large buildings and industrial facilities? It's construction travelers, which are a huge group of people, with special skills, that travel around the country to the big projects and work until they're completed, or their particular skill isn't needed any longer. Some are union, some aren't. They may have a home, where they stay until another project starts, or they may live in a travel trailer they pull to each location.

Besides working these huge new construction projects, many work what are known as "turn arounds", which are maintenance, or repair projects. Usually, these last a few weeks, or months and the work schedule is twelve hour days, seven days a week. The money can be very good, but the trade is limited family time and a toll on health. Working that many hours without days off isn't sustainable. What few times I've worked those hours left me completely apathetic in less than a month.

Still, they're out there and working every chance they get. They know every day is one day closer to unemployment. It can be a hard life, but you'll find few that are slackers or not good at their trade. You have to be. If not, you're the first to go when the culling starts. If there isn't any other job in sight, it can be a sobering experience to be in a strange town, with strangers and not enough resources to move on.

So, why am I writing about these workers? They are a very important part of the work force that makes the United States happen. There's no community that requires people with their skills at any one time, so they need places to go. They're a valuable resource and their skills aren't found by searching universities or work centers. All the bureaucrats in Washington D.C. couldn't replace a dozen of these workers. They know where the jobs are, but their jobs require a vibrant economy. If attrition reduces their ranks, the time needed to replace them is too long, which requires either taking a chance on unskilled workers or filling their ranks with people from other countries. You may never notice them, but they're the reason you have plastics for your computers, gasoline for your cars and the electricity that keeps the critters away at night.

Retail Sales Forecasts

2011-12-13T07:47:00.000-08:00

I've arrived at the opinion that retail sales forecasts are determined by throwing dice. If you read the job number statistics, projected sales reports and other boilerhoused documents used for arriving at these forecasts, you realize the projected numbers are created from data that is as reliable as dice. So, a smart man would throw some dice, or flip a coin to make the determination. I know I would; why waste the time?

What really amazes me is that these numbers are even considered news. Every year it's the same doom and gloom up to Christmas, which leaves some retailers patting themselves on the back and others damning the economy. Neither has a clue of why they were successful, or not, although the news media always reaps some benefit. News is money, whatever the source.

The Night I Found a Car

2011-12-10T17:57:00.000-08:00

Late one night, we had just finished detouring traffic, placing new temporary lane markings and moving a few dozen concrete barrier walls, when I found a car. Not that it was a perfectly new car; it has a few scrapes and dents that were probably not there a few minutes before.

Night traffic on the interstate can be light; especially at 3:00 am. That's the reason most interstate repairs are done at night. In the day, the traffic can back up for miles, which leads to frustration, road rage and way too many calls to the local highway office. When you add the increased number of accidents, the best solution is to mandate lane closures are performed at night. Besides the lessened traffic flow, the officials are sound asleep, so they don't receive any nasty phone calls.

I was making my final return to the start of the setup to verify everything was placed correctly. This involved about a four mile trip, since the area was rural and there were few places to cross to the other lanes. The approach to the setup was near an entrance ramp, so as I climbed the slight grade and reached the top of the ramp, I found a car. It was skewed in the left lane at the end of the taper, so it was out of traffic. I pulled into the lane, climbed from my truck and approached the car. It was empty.

I thought for a few moments, then started looking. Since the section of elevated interstate was at the start of a bridge, the first thought I had was that the car hit the rail, spun around and the driver was thrown over the railing. I walked to the rail, shone my flashlight around, but didn't find anybody. There was water below, so I started wondering if the driver had drowned in the water below.

I heard a car approaching and found a sheriff deputy pulling into the lane closure. Somebody had seen the car hit the rail and called. I explained what I had found, we made another look around and the deputy called a wrecker. The wrecker arrived within minutes, pulled the car onto the flatbed and left, with the deputy right behind. I made sure the barrels were straight and left to join the crew as they readied everything for the next shift.

I never found out what happened. I did read the paper to see if there was a drowning, but nothing was reported. I guess it was a drunk that figured it would be easier to explain leaving their car on the highway instead of spending the night in jail. It was that, or outstanding warrants. Either way, the driver, obviously, didn't want to explain their situation to the law. Still, I'm curious. I wonder what happened.

Exit Ramps

2011-12-09T19:26:00.000-08:00

This evening, I had one of those moments that make you wonder if you will make it home.

I took a usual exit ramp. Everything was fine; the pickup in front was exiting smoothly at a safe speed....until they decided to turn right at the bottom of the ramp. That's where the moment started. I had nowhere to go, the car that had the right of way in the right lane was oblivious of what was happening, so I had to slam on the brakes and watch the cars in my rear view mirror do the same. The truck darted behind the car and I was able to accelerate from the cars rapidly approaching in my rear view mirror.

For a few moments, I was ecstatic, relieved, alarmed and pissed off enough to find the driver and beat them with a stick.

Decency and Departure

2011-12-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

I've followed a few blogs for years. Tractor Tracks has been in my favorites for a long time. I don't remember how I found the link, but her stories about construction caught my fancy, and I've been a fan ever since.

She lost an important family member, call her the matriarch of the family, which left a large hole in her life that can only be filled by the passage of time. From reading between the lines, she was a fine, descent person, loved and admired by many.

Sympathy is all I can offer, although it never seems to be enough.

December 7, 2011

2011-12-07T03:38:00.000-08:00

It's Pearl Harbor day. For those that know what that means, or were alive during the event, today should remind that the world is a dangerous place. For those that don't, do a little research.

A Little Rain

2011-12-06T04:18:00.000-08:00

We had about one inch. Some places received up to two inches, but they were on the wet side of the slow moving front that took all weekend to pass. When if finally reached the local area, the front accelerated and the amount of rain was substantially less than forecasted. Still it helped. I think we're only about 28 inches behind at this point.

Other than that, I'm busy and have little time to write.

Oh, well.

Fuzzy Math

2011-12-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

From what I've read, if a person stops looking for work, they're not included in the unemployment data. Otherwise, they're not unemployed, even though they are. I'm thinking this is a good way to determine how I pay my bills. Not enough money? Simple answer: I don't have enough money, but since I don't, you don't have to count the money I don't have towards paying the bill. So, you've been paid, even though you don't receive the money I don't have. It all works out; problem solved.

Now, I see there's a really good offer on big screen televisions. I'll have to convince the sales staff they're getting paid, which they can use to leverage their unpaid boss into giving them their commission with the money they never received. A sixty inch screen looks to about the right size.

Something To Brighten Your Day

2011-12-02T08:05:00.000-08:00

Soap operas, especially one with the name "Diary of a Single Mom" must be very important. So important, nearly one million dollars of stimulus money was ~~pissed away~~ spent to help with production costs.

I feel warm and fuzzy inside knowing our government is making wise and important choices when they spend the money they borrow without our consent.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

The economy and construction market haven't been very healthy this year, so a frugal Christmas is in order, unless you live in the White House and spend money borrowed from China.

Go Enjoy!

It will warm your heart, if you're a thief, politician or both.

Some Days...

2011-12-01T04:00:00.000-08:00

...I have a lot of things to write about. Unfortunately, I don't have the time on those days.

Bleh!

Meanwhile, in Spleenville, entire books are written. I'm not only impressed, I'm envious.

For a Few Minutes, I Lost My Composure

2011-11-26T18:51:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I spent the better part of an entire summer working long hours on a highway project. It was a large patch job, which meant we repaired sections of paving over an entire area. My crew placed road closures, worked with concrete saw crews and tied the rebar for the patches. Most of our work was at night, which was the best time for sawing hot concrete. In the day, the concrete would expand and "slam" shut on the concrete blades as they sawed. Slam was the best description. When the paving slammed shut on a blade, it felt as though someone hit the paving with a sixteen pound sledge hammer right next to your foot.

We were on the last month of the project and my temper was short. Between the constant problem of dealing with aggressive motorists and drunks, I had little patience for anything. I'd had enough and I was ready for the project to wrap up and return to working days.

One evening, right at dark, we had a section of interstate to close and prepare. I was setting up the advance warning signs, which meant driving on the shoulder to the locations I had marked earlier in the evening and placing the reflective signs on temporary stands. I constantly watched the traffic in the rear view mirror. I wouldn't open the door and get out of my truck until I knew I had a break in traffic. I parked my truck behind the location so I had some protection if a careless driver slammed into the rear of my truck.

I placed the last sign, returned to my truck, checked traffic and pulled into the outside lane. There was a car coming, but it was far away and I had time. Within moments, a car was close behind my truck; so close I couldn't see the headlights. The driver was laying on the horn and wouldn't change to the outside lane. I continued accelerating and the driver wouldn't budge. I was almost to highway speed when the car whipped to the left, pulled to the side of my truck and crowded my lane. I slowed and the driver forced me to the shoulder. That's when I snapped.

Before my truck came to a complete stop, I pushed the parking brake to the floor and was out the door as the truck skidded to a stop. The car was right in front of me and I could see there was a passenger beside the driver. Within seconds, I reached in the back of my truck for a hardwood table leg I had found on the shoulder a few days before. I picked such things up to throw away later. If left on the shoulder, a passing truck could hit the object and turn it into a missle.

The driver opened the door, stepped out and found me standing there with my club. The shocked look on his face meant he realized he had just written a check his ass couldn't cover. He was a big fellow, but in my state of mind, he didn't have a chance. He knew this, so he started running his mouth about his wife (the passenger) was late for work and I had pulled in front of him as he was trying to get her there on time. I asked if he wanted to go to jail, or something else. He cursed me, climbed back into his car and sped away.

I stood and stared for a moment when I was startled by a voice: "Are you okay?" I turned to find two members of my crew, out of breath and pumped up with adrenaline. They had run a thousand feet when they saw the event unfold. I didn't realize I had some backup. It felt good, especially when I started working over the thoughts of what I would have done if the driver had pulled a gun. All I could say was: "The crazy bastard cut me off." and mumbled something about he was late for work.

They climbed into my truck, we went to set up the lane closure and the rest of the night went without incident. I half expected the motorist to come back to cause trouble and kept a close eye on traffic during the night. Nothing happened, which was good. My temper was still short; maybe shorter. I just wanted the job to be over. I'd had enough.

A Late January Afternoon

2011-11-26T12:29:00.000-08:00

Light rain pelted him as he ran from his car to the porch. The cold wind scattered leaves in the yard and sped the low clouds across the winter sky. He quietly opened the door and walked to the kitchen. The smells and warm air reminded him of the past. A faint hint of breakfast still lingered. For a moment, he thought of his childhood and preparing for school. He'd catch a ride with his father on such a day. He allowed the memories to pass. His father had been gone for decades.

Time stood still in the old house. Memories hung on the walls or sat in special places on shelves. The photographs stuck to the refrigerator were moments in time captured forever; the young children now adults and scattered by the winds of change. Their faded photographs were testimonies to special moments, or graduations.

His mother was at the kitchen table. She had placed her head down to take a short nap. He paused for a few moments then gently shook her arm. She awoke, stared for a moment then lit the room with her smile. "This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting you."

He raised his voice and asked: "How are you feeling?" It was a question that he asked out of habit. He knew the answer. Age had trapped her mind in a body that refused to allow her to rest. They had discussed this a few times. While she was ready, he knew her passing would be the start of his own. At that time, his own mortality would not be an occasional thought to push to the side for another day.

She answered: "I'm okay." paused for a moment and asked: "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure. You stay there, I'll make a pot."

As he made the coffee, he thought how things had changed. At one time, his mother would always have a fresh pot. She never made coffee now. Coffee was for special occasions. He measured the grounds, placed the coffee in the machine and added the water. After making sure the switch was on, he sat across from his mother and asked if she had anything new to report.

"Nothing is new."

"Have you heard from anyone?" He always asked the same question. Visits were rare and she spent a lot of time alone watching television or reading the paper. She would dabble in her office, but she didn't have the ability to concentrate as in the past. Mental tasks were tedious, but she still persevered. She refused to be beaten by life.

"I heard from an old friend from high school. They had lost my phone number and found it again. They were checking to see if I was still alive." She laughed and added: "I told them it's not much of a life, but I'm still here."

He smiled, although the words broke his heart. He'd finally accepted that all that was left was the waiting. It made him sad to watch her fade. He knew she was ready to pass on, since the dignity of life was slowly disappearing. He felt a stab of anger. It all seemed so unfair. Everyone else in his life had passed suddenly; watching the slow event of her passage was excruciating. Her time left was like a dead limb on a tree; the amount of time before it fell was a mystery.

"Are you hungry?"

He hesitated, then answered: "A little. What do you have?"

"I have some leftover roast, rice and gravy. We can heat it and I'll make a salad"

"Let's have some coffee first. I'm enjoying the visit"

The coffee machine was gurgling and spitting the last of the boiled water. He rose and flipped the switch to off. It lasted longer if it wasn't kept on the hot plate. He knew she would have some more later, or tomorrow morning. If she didn't it would sit for a few days, until she poured it out. In the past, when she drank more coffee, he would smell the pot before he ever accepted any coffee. Sometime, it would be days old and stale. He wondered if that was why she stopped making her daily pot. She couldn't remember if it was fresh and hated the thought of wasting the coffee.

They sat, sipped their coffee and discussed politics. Neither was happy about current politics or the state of the economy. She was disappointed with the stock market, since her retirement income was supplemented by dividends. She was concerned she wouldn't have enough and drops in the market would cause her to worry.

She rose and opened the refrigerator. He responded by rising and offering "I'll help." Quickly looking at the shelves, he spotted the small roast covered with clear wrap. Pulling it from the refrigerator, he hunted for the rice and gravy. He opened and smelled the containers. It all smelled fresh, but he still asked: "When did you make this?"

"Last night. It's "cow butt", which brought a glint to her eye. "Cow butt" was the term his brother had used for rump roast. The story behind the term was one of her favorites and part of many conversations at family gatherings.

He removed lettuce from the hydrator and handed it to his mother. She had started slicing a small tomato that was on the counter. As she worked, he looked in the refrigerator for old containers. In the past, he would ask how old something was, which always brought the same answer: "It's still good." He didn't ask any longer. He would open the containers, smell the contents and throw things away when she wasn't looking. He knew she could barely smell and taste. She might take a chance, but he'd do everything he could to remove the opportunity.

After heating their servings in the microwave, they sat and visited, while they ate. He ate slowly, to match her pace. He relished the time and the taste reminded him of Sunday dinners, when the entire family would share a meal. There were few left now. Without grandchildren and their families, there were usually only two or three during a gathering. Large gatherings were few and would soon only be memories. She wasn't physically able to prepare a large meal, refused to allow anyone else to perform the task and was uncomfortable about others doing the same for her. She was tenaciously independent and determined to be so until her death.

They finished their meal and started clearing the table. He put the food back in the refrigerator, while she placed the dishes in the sink. He offered to help with the dishes, which she refused. She would wash them later; not while they were visiting.

He poured them both a cup of coffee and sat once again at the table. She asked about his family and his work. In the past, he would seek her advice on both and they would have have hours of discussion. She was a good sounding board for thoughts. Her experiences in life offered valuable information, but those days were gone. He answered: "Everyone is fine and work is good." He didn't want to burden her with any problems he might be having. She had enough to worry about, without adding his worries.

"I need to be going" he said as he rose from the table. "I need to wash my hands first."

He went to the bathroom and washed his hands. He left the bathroom and made his usual cursory tour of the house. He looked for anything that seemed out of place or showed signs of future problems. He ended up in the living room and paused to stare out the window. For a moment, the late afternoon sun broke through the heavy clouds. The wet limbs of the oak trees appeared as poured gold, which glistened as the wind moved the branches. The light soon faded and the dreary, deep greys of a late, rainy winter evening returned.

He returned to the kitchen and spoke: "If you need anything, you know how to find me. I always have my cell phone close; even at night."

"I know. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He knew those days were over. The only thing she could really do for him was to be careful and never forget he was there if she needed him. "Not right now. If there is, you know I'll ask"

She rose, he hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll love you, Mom" she responded: "I love you, too. You be careful and come when you can."

He carefully locked the door when he left. He knew he'd remember the last few moments forever if needed. They might be the last moments he ever spent with her, so every detail was important.

As he drove away, he glanced back towards the house. The porch light had come on and lit the wet walk in front of her house. He thought of how times had changed. Families were now scattered. While the Internet kept everyone close, it was a pale reminder of reality. Those short moments of communication didn't represent the myriad of moments known as life. He felt sadness for a moment, but quickly shifted his thoughts to work, home and the thousands of things that occupied his thoughts. His time would eventually come, but not now. There were too many things to do and not enough time for the tasks.

Turning on the radio brought a song from high school. He fondly remembered riding down the beach, the windows down and his entire life a long journey into the future. For a moment, time slipped away and he was young again.

Bad Drivers

2011-11-25T17:38:00.000-08:00

I've only been in a few automobile accidents in my life and only injured in one. I didn't know I was injured until after the accident. My brother, while driving from a parking lot on a corner, t-boned a car that was cutting the light. He was accelerating to merge with the traffic that had the right of way and the car was hauling ass to cut the light. After it was all said and done, I realized later that I had hit my head on the dashboard, which caused a small cut on my scalp and one hell of a heachache.

So, this evening, while leaving the same parking lot decades later, I witnessed another driver cutting the light. This time there was no accident, but it only brought back what I witnessed earlier today.

I was the second car at a traffic light at a highway intersection. The intersection is a controlled intersection, but about as dangerous as they can get before the highway department funds an overpass. There's too much high speed traffic, with drivers making the mistake of running the caution light. The accidents have been horrific. One accident left a pickup truck crushed to a third of the orginal length and the driver of the tractor-trailer injured. The truck driver thought he could make the light and the driver of the pickup truck was one of those drivers that floors the accelerator when the light changes.

So, I was waiting behind this pickup. The lady driving the truck was in an animate conversation on her cell phone while she angrily puffed on a cigarette. A motorcyle turned the corner and gunned the accelerator, which, I guess, triggered some instinctive response with the driver ahead. She started through the intersection as though the light had changed. The driver of the grey sedan coming from the right slammed on their brakes. The woman ahead continued on; oblivious of what she was doing, which was good. If she had so much as tapped her brakes, the grey sedan would have slammed into the passenger side of the pickup. Since she didn't slow her progress, the driver of the grey sedan managed to skid past the end of the pickup and continue on their way, while honking their horn in anger.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking of what I had just witnessed, shook my head and want on about my business. It was just another one of rare close calls, or was it? After seeing the fool run the light, I realized it's not a good day to be driving. I think I'll stay home and suppress those urges for an ice cream sandwich.

Black Friday

2011-11-25T16:53:00.000-08:00

I think Black Friday was a way for retailers to try and make an assessment on future sales for the holidays. It makes sense: manipulate your customers with sales, decide what you need to balance your inventory and try to empty the shelves by the new year. Sales are maximized and the retailer pays less on inventory taxes.

So, the idea was good, but now the term Black Friday, in my opinion, is synonymous with lunacy. If you don't believe this, read the news reports. Between the fights, pepper spraying and shootings, the average consumer will now weigh the few percent in savings to survival. There's no logic in getting a tremendous deal on a big screen television if it will only be watched by family members, while they grieve and ignore crummy holiday reruns.

Maybe I'm wrong, but if I am, Black Friday isn't a good day to shop. It's better to avoid any shopping until the day after Christmas, when the retailers realize their mistakes and try to dump their entire inventory before the first of the new year. Family members will understand, especially when they realize your holiday personality was so much better because your didn't have to shop with the lunatics. Celebrate Christmas as the holiday of peace shared with families. Wait until after Christmas for the madness and end the madness by getting drunk on the last day of the year.

I Am The 1/1,000,000 Of A Percent

2011-11-25T05:42:00.000-08:00

Roughly, that's what percent of the population I represent. What's most important about being such a small percent of the population is that I am as important as all of the rest combined. Otherwise, not matter how much they grind their teeth, moan, complain and posture on their higher importance, it's not so. My rights are never to be infringed upon - in theory.

So, the 99% bunch, as much as they like to assume they have some special significance, are individuals, with the responsibilities that come with the rights of every individual. Their special needs end at the end of their nose. If they can't handle the responsibility of living in a nation where everyone is only hampered by the lack of initiative, then there are other places in the world that may offer them a better opportunity. I doubt they'll find a place that's as bountiful as the United States, but if they go, at least somebody else will get to read about their whining.

Thanksgiving Is...

2011-11-23T18:12:00.000-08:00

- Cloudy, still mornings. The lingering smoke of burning leaves wafting in the first stirrings of a gentle breeze.
- Warm kitchens with the bustle of preparing a feast.
- The hugs and smiles of distant relatives.
- Children laughing.
- Sharing thoughts.
- The mellow burn of brandy.
- Tastes, and smells that only fit one day of the year.
- Short, peaceful naps.
- Crisp late Autumn afternoons with cirrus clouds and the brilliant rainbow of a sun dog.
- Quiet moments of introspection.
- Gathering pieces of the past.
- Reluctantly ending the day and closing the box of memories until next year.

Happy Thanksgiving.

-

They've Left...For Now

2011-11-23T11:02:00.000-08:00

For the last few days, I've received multiple site examinations from a Russian web address. What they were looking for is beyond me, but I doubt it was people with a curiosity to know more about my blog. More than likely, it was some type of spam. If it wasn't spam, then I apologize to the visitors. Next time leave a comment.

It Is the Season

2011-11-21T03:01:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is almost here. It's the real start of the holiday season, which will be much different than in the past.

Years ago, Thanksgiving was either my grandparents, or parents house full of family. There were grandparents, parents, sisters, brothers, aunts uncles and cousins packed into a house with little room to sit and eat. The feast was the traditional bounty of turkey, dressing, potatoes, vegetables, sweet potato casserole, cranberry salad and desserts that included pumpkin pie, cheese cake and banana pudding.

This year will be much different. All my grandparents, my father, aunts, uncles, many cousins and two brothers are gone. The rest have scattered in the wind and have other obligations. This leaves only me, my mother, my wife and a brother to share Thanksgiving this year. It will be a small gathering, but it won't be less important. We'll share the day to be thankful for what we have and each other.

So, I wish everyone the blessing of Thanksgiving. Everyone has something to be thankful for. Share it with the people you love.

If You're Wondering...

2011-11-19T06:07:00.000-08:00

...about the economy, I'll put it in perspective. The city of Port Arthur, Texas unemployment is at 14.4 percent. Washingon D. C. is around 5 percent and the U.S. Congress have had an increase in income. Otherwise, if you're expecting any help from the people you elected, don't expect much. They live in an area that has no idea how bad the rest of the country is struggling and are getting fatter.

Meanwhile, Port Arthur can go suck eggs as far as Obama and Washington are concerned. The only bright spot in years was removed when the pipeline to Port Arthur, and the promise of more new jobs ended. When you add the fact that most private sector workers haven't seen a raise in years, the situation is bleak.

Bleh.

Added note: I was reading the Port Arthur newspaper, which had a story about a local citizen's petition to repair the roads. A substantial portion of the budget for road repair was reallocated to build parks, softball fields and concession stands. The citizen wanted, at least, the money that was budgeted to be used on the roads, which isn't nearly enough for the needed repairs.

The only description I have is that this is Washinton D.C. on a smaller scale. The politicians, and bureaucrats, misused their power, failed to be fiscally responsible and the taxpayers suffer most because they pay the bill, besides being abused by the people they elect. Meanwhile, the city is literally falling apart. The city streets can only be described as deplorable.

Measuring Things

2011-11-17T17:43:00.000-08:00

When I first started in the construction business, the initial layout, and controls were placed by a survey field party. This usually consisted of 3 or 4 men that used a multitude of different instruments to place offset points and information on location and elevation.

Usually, there was a party chief, that coordinated the work, recorded data in a field book and used the transit to establish lines and elevations. The rest of the crew had various tasks, including hacking through brush, or wading swamps to establish open areas for sighting and placing controls. In some locations, the crew would wear a pistol, or carry a small shotgun to supplement their brush hooks and machetes. This allowed protection from the "critters" that included snakes, feral animals and alligators. When the day was over, the crew may return home with whelps from insects, a substantial accumulation of filth and the knowledge that the next day may be worse; it all depended on the location. Horror stories were told by all. Cotton mouths, alligators and red wasp nests left memories that most would want to forget.

Measuring distances and angle would usually involve a "chain" and a transit (I describe these at the bottom of this post). The crew chief would use both to determine locations. The information was either recorded or used for stakeouts. If a stakeout was involved, the crew chief used trignometry and calculus to determine the correct distances and angles. The old timers did most of their calculations using tables, a pencil and a scratch pad. Whatever they did was recorded in their field book. Laying out a curve involved pointing the transit in a certain direction, calculating the angles and distances to the points and the crew pulling the chain. When the point was determined, a stake was driven and a nail placed in the top for future reference.

Today, a single person can do everything a field party could do with one instrument. A GPS surveying instrument, when it's used in open areas, can accurately record, or determine any point needed. Satellites are used to determine the points and the results are accurate to within a quarter inch, or better. They do have limitations, especially around structures or heavy growth. The required number of satellites to accurately determine a location requires a fairly open unobscured view of the sky. Poor weather, inversions and satellite problems can cause problems.

If enough points are known, or a single GPS transceiver can be placed in an open area, a total station can be used. The lower end total station requires an operator and a rod man. The rod man has a prism pole, which is the reflector for the total station. The higher end total stations are "robot guns" These total stations will seek the rodman, who has instumentation on the rod. The rod instrumentation is coordinated with the total station. A single person can use the instrument to complete surveying. Information is sent from the total station, which reflects off the prism and is returned back to the total station. There's even combination GPS robot guns that use the best of both technologies. The highest end is a three dimensional instrument. Instead of one point being shot and recorded, thousands are recorded and an accurate true three dimensional image can be recorded without a prism.

For years, a total station was on my "wish list" of things I felt were necessary to purchase. Unfortunately, it took a long time until the right job happened and the instrument, and software were necessary. Since then, I've learned to use the total station and the software involved. It's been a learning experience. Where in the past, I would have to spend hours using everything from mutliple measuring tapes, trigonometry and some creative methods to find points, I can now use the total station to gather, or transfer information in minutes.

More information:

A chain is a ribbon of hardened steel with babbit placed every foot of the length. A mark is scribed in the babbit, which reflects the even foot that was calibrated where the chain was made. At a certain temperature, and measured poundage of pull, the accuracy is certified. If a measurement is incorrect, the user either didn't use the right data to determine how hard to pull the chain, or the wrong temperature. Lengths can be up to 1000 feet, which means careful rolling when finished and a cleaning when necessary. Measurements require determining the right pull for the temperature and using a scale attached to the chain to pull the correct amount.

A transit is a telescope, with crosshairs, that measures azimuth and vertical angles in degrees. A compass in the middle determines the direction, and tables are used to determine the deflection of magnetic North to true North. Directions are in degrees, minutes and seconds. The markings on the better instruments requires a small magnifying glass to accurately determine the angles. When placed over a point, the tripod is manuevered and leveled over the point using a plumb bob. Setting up over a point can be an almost flawless manuever or a frustrating repeat of the steps until the tripod, and transit are in a position where when it's leveled, the plumb bob is right over the point.

A total station has an electronic distance meter, records angles and software for interpretation. Information is either collected or produced by the operator. The prism is on a special pole that can be leveled over a point. The rod height, which is adjustable is recorded by the operator during the data collecting. When being set up, known points are recorded for the instrument to "know" where it's located or new points are collected and preserved for future reference. The telescope on the total station is used to sight the prism, so the information is all coordinated. Since the total station is only as smart as the operator, recording the wrong rod height, or height of the sighting point on the instrument can lead to innacurate readings. There is an optical plumb bob for setting up over a point.

I'll stop here. I could go on for many more paragraphs, but that will have to wait for future posts.

Pipeline Politics

2011-11-15T05:09:00.000-08:00

From what I've read, the Obama Administration decided to not do anything about the fight to allow the pipeline from Canada to Port Arthur, Texas. Otherwise, the jobs it would create and perpetuate will never happen or end. The environmentalists are pleased, but cautious and Canada will bring the oil to market, with China being the prospective customer.

This hurts me personally. The economy Obama is affecting is the local economy and it's suffering due to his apparent lack of concern. The future local economy looks dim and the double digit unemployment will probably go up over the next two years.

You don't hurt the economy of the United States, unless your loyalties are to another country. I doubt Congress investigates, but it's their job and not doing anything is as irresponsible as the cowardly acts of the Obama Administration.

The more I think about this, the anger becomes worse. These political hacks and environmentalists complain, while writing their rants on computers with plastic cases and wearing underwear with synthetic elastic to hold it around their puckered butts. Bastards. The entire bunch is no good. Leave and may your search for another country be full of pitfalls and disappointments equal to the problems you created.

Afternoon Coffee

2011-11-14T16:10:00.000-08:00

At around 3:00 this afternoon, I checked the coffee pot, saw there was at least a cup left and decided to have a cup. Since the pot is programmed to shut off to keep from ruining the coffee, I put it in the microwave.....for too long. It boiled over and made a mess, so I cleaned it up and put some cream and sugar in my coffee. It was the perfect mix, so I went and sat at my desk, started working, reached for my coffee and knocked the cup over on top of my computer. I cleaned that mess, checked to make sure it didn't get into the computer, rinsed my usb hub in fresh water and left it to dry overnight. I'll check it in the morning.

So, no coffee. Maybe that's best. At the rate things were happening, the next step would have been choking on a sip, falling over backwards and ending up in the hospital with a concussion.

Electricity and Other Things That Confuse

2011-11-12T06:34:00.000-08:00

I'm not an electrician, although I'm enough of an electrician to know when electrical things are not behaving as they should. Yesterday evening, my mother called to tell me she was having a problem. She went on to explain her kitchen light went out and the washing machine had quit. I left work and made a beeline to her house. I found exactly what she described, so I started looking.

A quick check of the washer indicated the gear box, or motor were broken. When I pulled the knob to make the spin cycle start, the lights dimmed and I could hear the motor loading up. The kitchen light was a puzzle, so I went to the breaker box to check.

None of the breakers were thrown, so I checked the voltage, which led to the start of the confusion. One leg was 121 volts; the other was 134 volts. I went into the house and unplugged some appliances and went and checked again. The voltage was now 128 volts on one leg and 124 on the other. I went back to check the washer. When I started the spin cycle, it wasn't such of a drain, but it still wouldn't start. I had a hunch, so I checked the microwave, which I thought was on the same circuit. It started, the lights dimmed in the kitchen and the lights in the dining room became brighter. This is strange, so I called a neighbor who is a retired master electrician.

We went through the process of what I had already completed. We went outside, checked the voltage at the main and found much of the same as what we found at the breaker box. I went back to the breakers and turned them all off. Now, the voltage was 126 volts on both legs. We went back to the breaker box and started turning on breakers. As we started flipping on breakers, the voltage became uneven again on the seperate legs. He watched the voltage as I went in the house and tried the washing machine. He reported the voltage on that leg dropped to 114 volts, but that the lights had become brighter in the garage. We did the same thing with the microwave, which was on a different circuit. Again, the voltage dropped, the lights in the kitchen became dimmer, the lights in the dining room became brighter and he reported the lights in the garage became brighter, also.

We talked about the problem. As we were talking, the heater came on. When he went to check the washer, it started and completed the spin cycle. After a little more discussion, he confirmed what I was suspecting, which is that there is something wrong with the neutral. We checked connections at the main and the breaker box. Everything was tight, so it's down to either the house neutral (Unlikely. Why would it suddenly have a problem?) and the power company neutral (More likely. The wiring in the neighborhood is old and the last two hurricanes weren't the best thing for the power grid)

I called the power company this morning and now I'm waiting for one of their representatives to arrive. I hope he makes a quick glance, has a "ah ha" moment and goes right to the problem. As far as the kitchen light: it's flourescent, so I'm thinking it's the ballast, if anything at all. I'll wait until after the other problem is fixed before I made the determination.

Update 1: The problem is the neutral to the pole, or the neutral on the poles. The lineman was a troubleshooter and alone. The crew to handle such things will arrive in the next hour or so. The will probably bring a small machine, which will allow them to complete their work.

Final outcome: They changed the service wire from the weather head to the pole. Everything is round again. The washer is working as it should; the microwave is working as it should and the voltage is reading 125 volts on each leg for 250 volts across both legs. The only problem left is the kitchen light. First thing is to go buy some new bulbs to make sure the simplest problem is not the only problem. After that, it's either trying to find a new ballast or replace the fixture - whatever is cheaper.

Conversations With Veterans

2011-11-11T10:13:00.000-08:00

I've had many conversations with veterans about their time serving the country. Some of the conversations have led to stories that include incidents of being stabbed in the leg by a "dead" enemy soldier and a night in a fire base during the Tet Offensive. They were close to death, while the majority of citizens they were serving slept in a warm bed and carried on with their lives.

So, today is their day and it's a good thing to thank them for their service.