Hot Air Success

Well, the hot air balloon rides went off Friday morning and yours truly was one of the fortunate ones. I was #13 in line and went up and came down without a hitch. The tethers let us ascend about 40 feet, which was enough to take a shot or two of the surrounding mountains. Several people took photos while I was on the way up, but I haven't been able to get my mitts on any of them. So here are some shots I took of the affair.

A Missed Anniversary Ride

We were scheduled for a tethered hot air balloon ride this morning in our front driveway, but the event was canceled due to a forecast of high winds. So our anniversary ride was not to be. If all goes well, we will try again in the morning. As we understand it, the balloon is owned and operated by the only licensed parapalegic in the world. There is no gondola, we will be in a chair of some sort, one rider and the operator going up together. Should be fun! We will try to post photographs of the affair.

Drumming and Learning

If I could take my computer into the shower in the morning, I'd have some interesting things to write, as that's where my mind tends to wander. So how long before some enterprising individual markets such a device? Anyhow...
I was down to ASU this afternoon for a music program. There are several students learning how to apply music to group therapy and I volunteered to participate. There were 11 of us from Westminster Village with a wide range of interests. One fellow brought his guitar; his wife had bought it for him 3 years ago and he was waiting for his 90th birthday to begin lessons (next year), as he is too busy these days. One person has Parkinson's disease; most were curious about the program. I wanted to find out if I have the ability to learn to play the guitar. Today was a get-to-know-each-other session. We formed a circle and beat on some drums, sang some songs, talked and beat on some drums. I enjoyed it! Our bus took us there and brought us back, there is no charge for the program, so whatever happens will be a wonderful experience. Of course, if I find a natural skill for playing the guitar, there will be the expense of the purchase of one guitar, but I'm willing to take the chance. After all, we are helping the students, right?

Some Personal Statistics

It occurred to me this morning that Grandma and I have been living in Scottsdale, Arizona for 21 years, having moved here in February 1990. That’s over 25% of my life, 26.25 to be exact. So I started figuring out the other places by percentile. I lived in Batavia, New York for my first 10 years, which is 12.5% (I’ll be 80 in July, so I’ve assumed the full 80 for these calculations, in case anyone wants to check my arithmetic). College in Stillwater, Oklahoma for 4 years comes to 5%. After Grandma and I were married, we lived in Ontario, New York for 12 years, which calculates to 15%. The rest of my life was in Rochester, New York and suburbs, which accounts for 41.25%. So now when anyone asks where I came from I can safely say Rochester for about 41% of my life. How do your statistics add up?

Similes

Don't you just love similes? As nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. As easy as pie (is pie really that easy?). As black as coal. As soft as a newborn baby's skin. As smooth as glass. As stiff as starched Levi's (from Life 101). I'm sure you have favorites.

More About Art

I thought I'd try to clarify some things from my last post about art before anyone is turned off from trying watercolor painting. First off, it IS possible to correct some "mistakes." Mistakes in quotes because sometimes they turn out to be better than what the artist wanted. You see, watercolor paints have a life of their own - left to dry, they will do whatever they want, and the end result is usually very pretty. The problem I created for myself was that I became impatient and tried to make a correction before the paper was dry. The result was that I damaged the paper surface so that I couldn't paint over the area without making it worse. Not just once, but twice! So the obvious lesson is to have more patience than I had. I'm trying to remember that for the future.

Ain't Art Wunnerful!

I've been struggling with a painting of a bouquet of sunflowers based on a photo I took last summer when we met Rick and Jilda Watson for the first time. The first attempt had some things I didn't like, so I tried to do some erasures and wound up damaging the surface of the paper. The second attempt used a slightly different perspective, but I'm still not happy with one area. I will press forward, though, trying to avoid the earlier corrective mistake. I'm also working on a watercolor for our newest great-grandson, Roman, born last December 24th, which I hope to get to him sometime before his teen years. Assuming there aren't too many corrections.

An Adventure

The first school trimester at Michigan State College ended in the middle of December (1948), so Bill Cass, one of my 13 roommates, and I decided to hitchhike home. Bill was from Frewsburg, in southwest New York state, and I was from Rochester, so we could travel together to Buffalo before going our separate ways. Because of the cold winter weather, I was wearing a sweater, my ROTC winter coat covered by a top coat, with a scarf wrapped around my neck. As was the custom in those days, neither of us wore a hat.
We started out in East Lansing by riding with a family as far as Port Huron. Our good fortune continued as we were picked up by a trucker who took us to Hamilton, Ontario. It was early evening when he let us off. Shortly thereafter, we were picked up by a hockey player who was going as far as Buffalo. Bill hopped into the front seat and I settled into the back seat and promptly fell asleep, expecting to be awakened in Buffalo. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to a pleasant female voice telling me to wake up for breakfast. More surprise when I opened my eyes to find it was a nurse in the St. Catherine‘s Hospital. And I with my right arm taped to my chest. Bill was in an adjacent bed.
The story, as I found out later, was that the car skidded on some ice and slid into a steel light post, hitting about where my knees were. The ambulance crew thought at first that I was dead because of all the blood - caused by numerous cuts from window glass when my head hit. I suffered a broken collar bone; more severe injury was avoided probably because of all the padding I was wearing. I was asleep, then probably knocked unconscious by the blow, then sound asleep again in the hospital bed. I did have the sensation that I saw the lamp post coming at us, but it’s a very vague impression. The driver had a bump on his forehead and Bill had gravel in his hands as the result of being thrown out of the car when the door was flung open from the momentum.
My parents were notified and came to bring me home, where I went to visit the doctor for further treatment. He checked the x-rays, noting that the bones had shattered at the break, then left the room. I heard the sound from the basement of someone sawing wood, wondering what remodeling he was having done, when he walked back into the room carrying a piece of plywood. He had sawed it into the shape of a T and taped it to both shoulders and across my belly. “There,” he said, “that should hold it while the bones knit.”
I wore the brace for a bunch of months, including a train trip back to East Lansing to turn in my ROTC uniform and pack up my clothes. Believe me, it’s not very comfortable to wander through life with a piece of plywood taped to one’s back. It eventually came off, and the break did knit, but to this day there’s a bump at the break.

Saturday Livin'

Grandma and I finished our 30 minute walk after breakfast, then showered and got down to important stuff. Grandma composed a confirmation letter for some donations to the Westminster Village Foundation, then had some planting and harvesting to do on her Facebook farm, while I rewrote an article for our newsletter about our mascot alligator. After it gets to the final stage I'll post it here. My plans are to settle back and watch some football this afternoon and evening. Hope you have a great day!

Red Cellophane?

Last night, I had a dream about making red cellophane. Now I have no idea where that came from. Is there any significance? Can anyone help me here?

Happy New Year

I hope you all had a great 2010 and that the new year brings you good health and financial security. May all your resolutions be fulfilled and please don't send your shed weight my way.

Art

Here's my latest watercolor.

Goin' Fishin'

Howdy, Billyjoe, how y’all doin’?…Saturday?…Fishin’?…with Jimbob? Wall, bring your beer and your ownself over here ‘n sit down so’s I kin tell y’all what really happened.

Twas last Saturday when me ‘n Jimbob went down to the crick with our fishin’ poles, can a worms, foldin’ chairs and cooler fulla ice ‘n beer that was so heavy we hadta stop ever little while to rest up and so we didn’t really get at the crick so early as we thunk we‘d a done when we stepped offen Jimbob’s porch at six o the clock thet morning’. See, here we were a walkin’ along the road a tryin’ to hold onta our poles, our can a worms, our foldin’ chairs and still carry thet thar cooler thet grew heavier each step. Jimbob finally thunk out our problem and declared we oughta put everthang atop the cooler ‘n then we’d a been able to hustle right along, so we done it, but we kept gittin’ out of step with each and the other and thangs kept a slidin’ off, so we took to countin’ out our steps just like them thar soljers done we seed one time on the RCA Telley Vision down at Mr. Grandin’s country store. It sure helped for a good bit, but it turned out the cooler was a mite heavier, so we stopped ever little while to rest and the little whiles kept gittin’ closer and closer to each and the other. The one thang thet saved us was thet Mr. Franklin, who usually drives to town of a Saturday for provisions and a beer or two with his ole buddies at the Ragged Bear saloon, right here where we’re a sittin’, came chuggin’ along in his pickup truck thet had seen better days twenty yars ago, seed us a struggling’ with our gear ‘n cooler ‘n ast if we didn’t think he could help us out by letting’ us ride in the back seein’ as how he was goin’ past the crick that thar morning’ but neither one of us could reckon why he was goin’ that direction because he always went to town for provisions ‘n a beer or two. Bein’ wore down ourselves, we allowed as how we’d be happy to hold down the back end of thet thar wore-out old pickup truck, so we quick-like threw our gear and cooler in the back ‘n then hauled our own selves in, ’n all the while Mr. Franklin kept thet truck a movin’ slow-like down the road. Now I don’t recommend you go right on out ‘n try to jump into a movin’ pickup truck jist to see how hard it is, but I’m a telling’ you it’s like tryin’ to jump onto a slow movin’ freight train which I know you’ve tried onct or twice in yer lifetime.

Here, Billyjoe, let me git a round….Barkeep, two more here….Thank ya kindly.

Now whar war I? Oh yeah. Well when we got right near the crick, Mr. Franklin slowed down thet old pickup a mite so’s me ‘n Jimbob could drop off our gear ‘n cooler ‘n then jump down our own selves, so we done it and were mighty glad to see we hadn’t lost any of our bait nor spilled anything outten the cooler. We knowed the spot we wanted to settle into to fish and were mighty happy to see it weren’t taken up by anyone else, so we set up our foldin’ chairs, rigged up our fishin’ poles, popped a top ‘n settled down to some fine relaxin’ in the shade. Twarn’t more’n two or three beers later when Jimbob had a bite ‘n scared the bejesus outta me the way he sprung up outta his chair and hollered out “I got one” only it wasn’t no keeper, so we settled in agin to relax. Wall, time went on her merry ole way ‘n me ‘n Jimbob caught a bunch a keepers ‘n swapped room in the cooler, beer fer fish. It was gittin’ on toward supper time when Jimbob declared it was ‘bout time to pack up and head fer home so we done started to do just that. The troubling’ part about the packin’ up was what should we do with thet thar cooler full of fresh caught fish in with all that ice when Jinbob declared thet we oughta let some of thet ice thet had melted down to just plain water out of the cooler so we took the top off and proceeded to tilt the cooler to let the water out when one or the other of us - Jimbob said it was me, but I knowed it was Jimbob - let go and the whole dad-blamed kit and kaboodle landed in the crick. Lucky for us we had sense enough to let go afore we-uns was swept along with the fish and the water and the ice into the crick. To make a long story short…

Well, Billyjoe, thank ya kindly for this‘n. I do ‘ppreciate it. My mouth was beginning to feel like a cotton boll. Be my pleasure to git the next one.

Now y’all’re probably wonderin’ what come next so I’ll try to git through it without pointing’ any more fingers at guilty parties. Turns out we didn’t need to keep any bait ‘cause we’d used all but one or two of them worms so we took pity on ‘em and let ‘em go in some grass down near where Jimbob - I mean - where the fish and ice and such were lost. Of course, the cooler bein’ empty wasn’t no problem to carry no more, so we could set off for home at a pretty good pace and I reckon Jimbob was mighty hungry ‘bout then ‘cause he started off mostly at a trot and kept a step or two ahead of me all the way so it was just blamed hard to keep up a conversation with me doin’ all the talkin’ and Jimbob just a hustling’ his ownself off towards home. Didn’t even say Howdy when we git to his house, so I just moseyed on home my ownself and had my supper. T’other day, I seed Jimbob comin’ down the road ‘n when he seed me he crosst over to keep from Howdyin’ me head-on like usual. Not very neighborly, I’d say, considerin’ we’d gone in halves on the bait ‘n the beer, even if Jimbob did catch most of the fish.

Now, can I buy y’all one for the road, Billyjoe?…My pleasure….Did y’all have a good weekend?

Immigration - A World-wide Problem

The Arizona Republic is running a series on immigration around the world. You can read the articles at www.azcentral.com/immigration/immigration-index.html#. The problems are not local to the United States. I highly recommend the series.

A week or so, Rick Watson posted on his blog - Life 101 - a photo of his snowy yard and mentioned that I had given he and Jilda a painting of the scene. So here's a look at it. I titled it "Jilda's Deer at Dawn". Can you see the deer?

Reasons

In his new book INFINITE QUEST, John Edward posits that the only reasons we do something are FEAR and LOVE. Looking back, I can see where fear has affected my decisions. Hopefully, yours are all in the love category.

I Wonder

I wonder if the people living as the Ice Age was ending ever thought about global warming.

Happy Thanksgiving

To all our family and friends, Happy Thanksgiving. And to everyone else out there, Happy Thanksgiving. We hope you are all having a good day, and that you have many, many nore.

Facebook and Communicatimg

I was born in 1931 and grew up to participate in the growth of electronics devices and their spread into our daily lives. From manual typewriter to IBM Selectric to Apple IIe to IBM Pc. All the way through Windows to 7. The Internet and e-mail. And here we are now with iPods and iPhones and iPads and Kindle and Nook and who knows what’s next.

At the encouragement of my children, I opened an account on Facebook, just to see what all the fuss was about. Almost immediately, children and grandchildren wanted to be my “friend” which I became. That was it for a short while, until I started to figure out how to leave messages, look at their photos and comment on their postings. I really didn’t spend much time at it. Then I found that I could look at all the people they had listed as their friends, so I began collecting more and more friends; I’m up to 21 at last count. But the more I look at Facebook, the more I wonder about the art of communicating. Whatever happened to good old handwriting, where every word was spelled out? Where we waited anxiously for the Postman to deliver the notes and letters and cards? Where there was time enough in this world for all that to take place?

It seems that we are in such a rush these days to let everyone - well, just our Facebook “friends” - know that we just took a shower, or we’re going to the store, or Johnny looked at me funny do you think he really likes me. Why? Don’t we have time to sit down and compose a reasonably intelligent paragraph? LOL (whatever that means). And don’t get me started on the profanity I see from some of my descendants!

Piano

I was watching a program about Michael Feinstein the other day. Michael has always loved the music of George and Ira Gershwin and in his twenties worked with Ira to catalog his musical archives. During one of Michael's visits to a musical historian/collector, I noticed a player piano in the background. That brought me back to 1942 when my parents rented a house at 17 Bly St. in Rochester, NY. The owners had left a player piano for us to use along with several rolls of music. I remember sitting on the bench and listening to "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" while the keys jumped up and down. There were other songs we played but that's the one I loved.

Front Pages

If you'd like to know what news is on the front page of a newspaper in a city one of your relatives lives in, just go to: http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/flash/ and you can find out. Because our family is spread out, I look at Rochester, NY; Hartford, Conn; Charlotte, NC; Melbourne, FL; Tampa, FL; Birmingham, AL; San Antonio, TX; and Las Vegas, NV. I also check on friends' locations in Naples, FL; Omaha, NE; and Cedar Rapids, Iowa. There are maps for countries all over the world. So read away!

Trains

My first recollection of a train ride goes back to 1941. My father was in a hospital in Rochester, New York, which is where my grandmother (my mother’s mother) lived. I don’t remember how we got to Rochester, but I do remember taking the train back to Batavia, New York, where we lived. It’s only a 30 minute drive by car, so probably took less than that by train. When we arrived at Batavia, my mother had my brother and me wait outside a nearby diner while she went in to arrange a taxi ride home.

Several years later, we had moved to Rochester. It was during World War II and we didn’t own a car. My father wanted to visit his brother, Gene, in Corning, New York, so we boarded a Lehigh Valley train for the trip. The station was on Court Street, adjacent to the Genesee River; the building is now a restaurant. The first part of the trip took us along the Genesee River, then turned to the southeast through Rochester Junction. It was a beautiful ride through the hills and valleys. On one side was a slope down to a creek through some trees; opposite was looking at the side of the hill until we switched seats and could look up through the forest. I don‘t remember seeing any wildlife. I do remember the train didn‘t go very fast, which is great for sight-seeing. (I’ve tried to follow the route on Google Earth, but much of the track bed has disappeared.) Uncle Gene’s house was on Bridge Street, near the train station. We stayed overnight, and I remember the breakfast that Aunt Nellie fixed - pancakes with real maple syrup and home-made pork sausage. The smell and taste are right there with the visual recollection.

Another Quotable

"Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self." Cyril Connolly, author

My Plea to the Candidates

This is the letter I wrote that was published today in the Arizona Republic:
I, for one, am tired of all the negative campaigning that is going on all around us.
Where has the civility gone? I don't care how much of a villain each candidate claims their opponent is, I want to hear from each candidate just exactly what they stand for, not who they're against. We all know who they're against.
If we believe what they all say, the bottom line of their vitriol is that neither is worth voting for. Please, please, please, give us something positive to consider before we enter the voting booth.

Quotable

"The only reason for being a professional writer is that you just can't help it." - Leo Rosten

Corny

According to my Book-of-the-Day calendar, we should all read "The Cornbread Gospels" by Cresent Dragonwagon. Learn the difference between northern and southern cornbread, then try out some of the more than 200 recipes. Let me know which is your favorite. So have it, folks!

Weather or Not

It rained this morning, about 14 hours after the weather forecaster on TV told us that our Monsoon was over for this year. By now, we know that that announcement is usually followed in a few days by some rain. And when they announce, around this time of year, that the Monsoon is still with us, that we won't see rain for another 3 or 4 months. They might as well throw up their hands and admit it's a toss-up. But I admire their perseverance.

Writing

I've been reading "Letters of E. B. White" Revised Edition, revised and edited by Martha White, his granddaughter. Mr. White is one of my favorite writers, having written "Charlotte's Web", "Stuart Little" and "The Trumpet of the Swan" as well as compilations of his many essays from "The New Yorker" magazine. Mr. White was born in 1899. In January 1929, he wrote to his brother Stanley about writing. Here are some quotes from that letter:
"I discovered a long time ago that writing of the small things of the day, the trivial matters of the heart, the inconsequential but near things of this living, was the only kind of creative work which I could accomplish with any sincerity or grace. . . The rewards of such endeavor are not that I have acquired an audience or following as you suggest (fame of any kind being a Pyrrhic victory), but that sometimes in writing of myself - which is the only subject anyone knows intimately - I have occasionally had the exquisite thrill of putting my finger on a little capsule of truth, and heard it give the faint squeak of mortality under my pressure, an antic sound."
"One nice thing about either writing or drawing is that it is both a direct and an uncertain way of making a living. To write a piece and sell it to a magazine is as near a simple life as shining up a pushcart full of apples and vending them to passersby. It has a pleasing directness not found in the world of commerce and business, where every motion is by this time so far removed from the cause and the return, as to be almost beyond recognition."

I heartily recommend you pick out anything written by Mr. White and spend some time with it. It will be well worth your time.

Art Stories - 3

Art class at Mt. View Park included drawing, so I bought some Prismacolor pencils and a pad of drawing paper and struck out on the path to find a suitable subject. At the library, I found a book of Andrew Wyeth's painting of a neighbor, Helga. This is a reproduction of one of his paintings in which she is fully clothed; most were nudes. As I remember it, Mr. Wyeth kept the paintings from his wife for quite a while; she did find them out and there was some talk of an affair, but I don't remember the details. Anyway, here is Helga as reproduced in colored pencil - done in 1992.

Art Stories - 2

After moving to Arizona, I took lessons in ceramics and spent many happy hours decorating ceramic pieces for the family. One piece was entered in a ceramics show and won first place. The cost of shipping the pieces to the east coast became prohibitive, so I switched to some art classes sponsored by the City of Scottsdale. I puttered around with pencil and watercolor, looking for a comfortable medium. One day the instructor brought in some photos she had taken on a trip to Hawaii and one struck me. So I pulled out some magic markers and a small piece of watercolor paper and started scribbling. This was the result.

Me and Xerox

I was thinking this morning of some of the odd tasks I was asked to perform during my tenure at Xerox Corporation. One day I was called into our Department head's office with my manager. Oh no, not the ax! No, not that. I was handed a round trip airline ticket to New York City - first class, of course - and a canister of film. The instructions were very specific: take yon canister to such-and-such a film developing company, ask for Mr. so-and-so to have the film developed. Oh yes, don't let the film leave your eyes. It is very confidential. Okay, chief!
So off to the Rochester airport, on to NYC and the film developing company and the gentleman-in-charge with film canister clasped tightly to my breast. Upon reciting the instructions, the gentleman-in-charge looked at me as though I was some escaped lunatic. After a second or so of consideration, (I informed him that I had brought cash payment) he took me to the bowels of the operation where I could follow the progress of the film right up to entry into the darkroom, where I was stopped short and told to wait until the film came out of the development solution. Well! That wasn't part of the deal as far as I was concerned. My protest fell on deaf ears, so I acquiesced and waited impatiently until the film came into view. I was asked to identify the strip of film and was able to determine that it contained one of our Engineering aides standing next to a piece of equipment. After paying the bill, I walked outside, firmly clutching the developed film, hailed a taxi and departed for airport, Rochester, and Xerox. Mission accomplished.
I later learned that the film was a demonstration of a new faster copier that we had developed (the Xerox 2400). The reason for the trip to NYC instead of using the local Kodak developing facilities is that we and Kodak had become competitors in the copy machine business and our management didn't want the film to wind up in our competitors hands.
Ah, those were the good old days!

Today's Chuckle

From today's Arizona Republic, today's chuckle:
"Economists estimate that it costs around a quarter-million dollars to raise a child from birth to 18 years old. And for that investment, you get a lifetime supply of critiques on your parenting."

July 31st Already?

What happened to July? It was a month ago that we were on our trip to Florida, so where did the time go? We had a great visit with our grandson, Jamie, and his family in San Antonio. Andrew is 12, Corbin is 7 and lovely Juliana is almost 4. We walked along the Riverwalk, ate in the Rainforest Cafe, spent time at his house, and ate some great food there. Then on to Birmingham to visit Linda and Roy; Roy cooked a delicious pasta dinner one night, then we went out for ribs the next night. In between, we drove up to Empire to meet Rick and Jilda, friends we made through Blogging. Such a nice couple, and they entertained us with a new song they'd composed, after Jilda's wonderful meal. We stopped in St. Augustine to wander around before heading south to Melbourne Beach for our granddaughter's wedding. Three of our five children were there and our granddaughter and her family came over from Tampa. The wedding was lovely, the bride and groom looked extremely happy and their parents beamed with pride. Our son, Mark, had a birthday party for me, and the big surprise was that my brother had flown down from Rochester, NY unbeknownst to most of us (there were 3 or 4 people in on the secret and did a good job of keeping it truly secret). We drove down to Naples to visit my old High School/College buddy, Smitty, but he wasn't feeling up to par so we cut it short. Then this old horse headed for the stable, and here we are, wondering where the time went. I'd rate this trip right up there with the best.

After The Trip

It's been several days since we returned from our trip to the Southeast, and we had so many wonderful experiences that I've been at a loss to describe them. We visited family, including a great-granddaughter we hadn't met, new and old friends in Birmingham, attended a wedding in Melbourne, had a birthday party in Palm Bay with a surprise visit from my brother, saw a High School buddy in Naples, drove a lot. Almost too much to describe. So I'll go back in my mind and revisit it all and report it piecemeal - later. Maybe even some photos.

Art Stories - 1

After I finish a piece of art, I file a copy in a book kept in my bookcase. And behind each finished piece is a story. I thought I’d share the stories with you, so here’s the first: 00001 - J G Brogden 1951

James Grey Brogden was a roommate of mine at Oklahoma A & M College. He and I shared an apartment with two of my high school buddies from Rochester, NY - Smitty and Kendig. Jim was an Oklahoman, having lived with his adopted parents in Turner Falls, just up the road from Ardmore. He was majoring in Economics and Geology, drove a car of what make and vintage I don’t recall, and owned a pistol which he usually carried in his car. One evening, he was sitting on the sofa in the living room studying his Economics book when I picked up a pad and pencil and sketched his likeness. He invited me to visit his parents one weekend, which I did. That particular weekend, an oil company had rented the area for a barbecue, so we helped neaten it up. My first encounter with a rattlesnake happened there; It was a young one - they’re said to be more lethal than an adult - but we dispatched it quickly and disposed of the evidence. We also met a scorpion, which looked to me like the crayfish we used up north for fish bait, but it was too agile for us and disappeared under a flagstone. The day before the barbecue, a pit was dug, fire started and sometime later, a steer and a goat were added to the pit, which was then covered over. Barbecue day found the place alive with people, waiting anxiously for the pit to be uncovered and the chef to serve up the meat. The beef was delicious, but the goat was too gristly for my taste. I lost track of Jim after the spring semester, but found recently that he had lived in Texas until his death in 1991.

But It's A Wet Heat!

During our trip to Rochester last April, we were able to shut off the air conditioner once we reached Payson. For the up-coming trip to Florida for our granddaughter’s wedding, we will need air conditioning all the way there and back. I’ve been looking at temperatures for San Antonio, Birmingham and Palm Bay, since we’ll be visiting in those areas. It’s not so much the temperatures that bother me - after all, we’re in the 100’s in Scottsdale - it’s the humidity. For example, 9:30 a.m. and the temperature is 89, but it feels like 85. In San Antonio, it’s 86 and feels like 93; Birmingham is 87 and feels like 94; Palm Bay is 88 and feels like 94. So we expect to be uncomfortably warm and muggy. I certainly hope my anti-perspirant can hold up.

The finished cut, colored

Here are the final cut, and a copy on plain card stock, colored.

First Proof

Here's the first cut proof.

The Artist At Work

Here are some photos of a new piece I'm working on. The carving is done in reverse. I made a proof by hand using a rolling pin from the kitchen and some water soluble ink. The proof will be used to determine where more work needs to be done to sharper the image. The dark areas in the tulips and leaves will be carved away to leave a nice white area for some watercolors to be added. The end product will probably be note cards. When the proofs are dry, I'll publish one.

The Knife Results

Thursday, the 20th, the doctor needed just one slice, then sewed me up and I was on the way. Then on the 27th, he took out the stitches and discharged me. So all is well. There are still some adhesive strips over the area, so I haven't had a good look yet, but I think he carved a slight valley across my temple. I hope that's it for a long while. Strange how bad habits in our youth (getting sunburned) catch up with us in our dotage.

Under the Knife

Tomorrow morning I'll be at the doctor's office while he carves a canyon in my face. He'll be using Mohs micrographic surgery techniques. He'll take a slice of the cancer site, then study it under a microscope to see whether all the cancer cells have been excised. If not, back under the knife for a repeat until all the cancer has been excised. It could take a few minutes or a few hours. Hopefully, only a few minutes. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Fearless Freddie at 80

The surprise birthday party for Fred was a smashing success. All of the family who were able to walk, crawl, swim, bike, drive or fly, were there. Lots of stories were told about the good old days, some of which probably happened exactly as related. We look forward to the 90th.

The Immigration Flap

If the people who were allowed to discuss the Arizona immigration law were only those who had actually read it, there would be a lot less noise.

The Wild, Wild West

Grandma and I are back in the wild, wild west. Apparently, the rest of the world believes the media news that our new immigration law will result in innocent people being dragged off the street if they happen to look like anyone other than a caucasian. Well, as I understand it, the only time a person can be checked for legal status is if they are apprehended for some law infraction. And it isn't just the people from Latin America who are here illegally; the are illegals from all the continents. The light is shining on our neighbors from the south because of all the violence at our border. Recently, a rancher was murdered by someone who sneaked across the border; a border patrol was shot by someone who was trying to cross the border. The incidence of violence is increasing and the Arizona legislature, with support from over 60% of Americans according to a recent poll, is frustrated with the inaction by the Obama administration. By the way, that administration includes our former Governor, Janet Napolitano, who now heads the Homeland Security office. Wouldn't you think that she'd be in a position now to do something? After all, as Governor she did try to get the Bush administration to take stronger action. So now a bunch of cities are going to boycott Arizona. Well, I hope the citizens of Arizona vow to boycott those cities.

A Three-Season Trip

We started out in Scottsdale, AZ in summer heat, drove slowly northeast through spring, and wound up in Rochester, NY in winter. We were in Lyons, NY last Tuesday doing some genealogical research and looked out the window to see snow swirling, covering the ground. Why did we make the trip at this time of year? Well, we wanted to surprise my brother for his 80th birthday - and we did! More later.

Mind Over Matter

When they were young, my cousins Linda and Nancy hated to take cod liver oil from a spoon. They hated the taste. So their parents found a store that sold cod liver oil capsules and brought some home for the girls to try. Of course, they didn’t tell the girls what was in the capsules. It turned out that they loved them! What they would do is bite a small hole in the capsule and suck out all the cod liver oil. That was great fun to them. I don’t know how long their parents kept from telling them what was in the capsules, but they grew up to be healthy young ladies.

The Knife Strikes - Again!

It seems as though I wasn't diligent enough in my younger days about using sunscreen. I need to go under the knife again for another basal cell carcinoma. The biopsy was positive, so it's in to see the knife wielder on Thursday.

BOOK REVIEW

There has been much misinformation about the fates of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence. To set the record straight, Denise Kiernan & Joseph D’Agnisi have written “SIGNING THEIR LIVES AWAY: The FAME and MISFORTUNE of the MEN WHO SIGNED The Declaration of Independence.” The book is organized by colony, beginning with New Hampshire and moving south to Georgia, so one is able to go quickly to a favorite colony. Information includes each signer’s birth and death date, age at signing and occupation(s). Some of the sub-headings under the names are: The Signer Who Fought for Freedom with His Slave, The Signer Who is Two Degrees From Kevin Bacon, The Signer Who Slept in Caves, The Six-fingered Signer and The Signer Who Started Out as an Indentured Servant. Do you know which signer was a cobbler? A cooper? Which one used part of a statue of King George III to make bullets? Also, why do we celebrate the signing on July 4th and not July 2nd or August 2nd? Well, just open the book and all the information is right there. An interesting read, recommended for the curious, as well as history buffs.

Why Write?

Why write? Well, we know about our history because those before us wrote down their folklore, what they remembered of what they saw, and what they wished they would see. So I’ve tried to write down things as I remember them. Perhaps someone will read them and have some incident brought to mind that happened to them, and decide to write it down. Too often in this day and age of e-mail, instant messaging, Facebook, Twitter and such, we have lost the ability or desire to record our thoughts and actions on paper. Thus, our descendants will not be able to understand the world in which we lived except through the words of other people and, perhaps, even other cultures. So write it down to let others know of your own personal folklore. Write about your parents, their lifestyle, how yours differs from theirs. Write about your plans and dreams for your descendants. Not very many of us have that “greatest novel of the century” within us, but we each have at least one story begging to be put down on paper. Right? Write!

ACTION NEWS

There was an obituary in the morning paper for a gentleman you’ve probably never heard of, but who has had a major impact on the way you view television - that is, the news on television. His name is Frank Magrid and he developed the concept called “Action News” which resulted in “co-anchors who chatted between stories, fast-paced graphics, sports tickers and live shots, and a heavy reliance on crime coverage and feel-good segments.” Now I have no quarrel with the man or his idea, however, I do have a quarrel with the way it has been implemented around here (here being the Valley of the Sun). Mostly, it has to do with the time wasted broadcasting meaningless videos to support a story. “Fast-paced graphics," indeed!

As an example, a driver loses control and the vehicle plunges into a building; simple enough, except while listening to a description of the accident, which drones on and on, we are shown videos of the rear of the vehicle, then a shot of a nearby undamaged shrub, then a group of police cars parked on some street, followed up by a tow truck. Good grief! Please stop it! Just tell me succinctly that the accident occurred, whether or not anyone was hurt, the extent of the damage, if traffic is impeded in the area, show me one picture of the scene, and then get on to the next story. And please, please, please use the past tense when describing something that has already happened.

One channel here has the annoying habit of announcing “Weather Alert” when there is a thunderstorm in Minnesota or the threat of a tornado in Oklahoma. “Weather Alert”! Give me a break. That’s like the boy who cried “Wolf” in Aesop’s Fables, or wherever. If it’s not local, why should I go on the alert?

Co-anchors? Who stumble over who has the next line? Who needs them? Certainly not me. Please, one or the other of you just tell me the news in plain English. No inside jokes, no “pleasant” banter, just the news.

Thank you in advance for your consideration of my request.

SMOKING

In 1949, while a freshman at Oklahoma A & M College, I roomed with Nelson C., who was a smoker. I was eighteen at the time and it seemed to be the right thing to do, so I asked Nelson to teach me how to smoke. My brother had started a few years before, and my father also smoked, so it wasn’t a new and revolutionary idea in the family. I learned how to tap the pack before opening and how to light up, but instead of inhaling, I was taking a mouthful of smoke and trying to swallow it. Well, as you all may not know, that’s not how it goes. After a few fitful tries, I did manage to get the smoke inhaled, and continued the practice for the next eighteen years. At times, I was burning up two packs a day, between the frustrations of earning a living and the joys (and the few frustrations) of raising a family.
During the eighteen years, I had toyed off and on with the thought of quitting. There were some times when I switched to cigarillos and cheroots, even a pipe, but always migrated back to the beloved/damned ciggies. One thing that was always visible in my doctor’s office was an ash tray with pictures of a healthy lung and a smoker’s lung; when he and I talked about smoking, he suggested switching to a pipe, which he used. The idea was that one could never keep a pipe lit, so there was no danger of damage to one’s system; he always punctuated the point by trying to keep his pipe lit.
Toward the end of the eighteen years, I kept vacillating between quitting and not. It began to get on my nerves, so I finally said to myself: “Self, you’ve got to decide whether or not you’re going to quit; the indecision is making you a nervous wreck.” So the decision was reached to continue smoking. At least the pressure was gone. However, after another three months, I said, finally: “That’s it, self, we’re giving up the habit!” And into the trash went all the accoutrements. To this day, forty-some years later, I’ve been true to that declaration.

Re: Sick, Sick, Sick

The weekend that our great-grandson visited, we went down to the Garden Cafe on Saturday for breakfast. After we, ordered, Grandma just reminded me, the waitress said she had to go look for the cook as he was sick. So that could have been the source of the bug that hit us. So breathe easy, Gabe, it might not have come from you.

Sick, Sick, Sick

Grandma and I are fighting colds and sore throats for almost a week now. We're so full of Zyrtek, Extra Strength Tylanol and Apple Cider Vinegar that it'll take a year to get it all out of our systems. And where oh where does all that mucous come from? Our sinuses are turning it out as though there's a world-wide shortage and they're going to overcome it on their own! We've been holed up here and haven't been out in days. Luckily, there is a food delivery service so we're not in any danger of starvation. If anyone has any good ideas about fighting colds, let us know.

Django

Today is the 100th anniversary of the birth of Django Reinhard, a jazz guitarist legend. If you've never heard him play, I recommend "Mano" for a start. Here's a good article about him: http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,5157547,00.html. I like his style and have 10 or 12 of his recordings on my iPod. Well worth the time to look up his records and listen. Enjoy!

Mosaic Watercolors?

I've been playing around with magic markers lately and decided to try something a little different for me. In the library, I was browsing the Art section and a book on mosaic tile caught my eye. After looking through a few books, I decided to try to "paint" a mosaic tile design. So I hauled out my magic markers and tried this horse. It looked decent enough so I did another one with watercolor paints. I don't have a photo of it yet, but will try to remember to post it later.

Ah, Winter

For my relatives and friends trying to survive the current cold spell:

A Middle English song celebrating summer starts:
Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Growep sed and blowep med ...

This piece was parodied in "Ancient Music" by American Poet, Ezra Pound (Lustra collection, 1913-1915):
Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

Eh?

Some folks rant, others rave,
Some shudder, some look brave
As I convey my thought
On how Congress ought
To behave.

A Son's Tribute To His Father

Charles Barnhart, brother to my wife, died on October 23, 2008. His son, Claude, writes a newsletter for the residents of the lake on which the family has a cabin. This is part of the article that Claude wrote last spring; it was lurking in a nook or cranny on my computer that I just ran into and thought it was worth sharing. Here it is:

“Fishing Bits and Bites”

Hello everyone I bet you are excited to get back out on the lake and do some fishing, me too. I have enjoyed some ice fishing with average success but am ready to get back in the boat. I am finding this years letter extremely difficult to write for one particular reason. As some of you may know I lost my fishing partner in October. My dad was a great angler and an even greater father. What makes him or any other person a great angler has nothing to do with expensive rods and reels, the latest electronics, or tackle boxes full of lures. To me it has to start with a passion for the sport. When you are just as happy if not happier that your son, daughter, or father caught more or bigger fish than you that day, or you go out fishing in the worst possible conditions imaginable, these are two examples of true passion for the sport. Another thing that is critical in becoming the best angler you can be is knowledge, you all know about reading in fishing magazines for the latest tips and tactics, I’m talking about the knowledge you get from other people. My father taught me so much about fishing as I was growing up, which I still use today in everyone of my fishing adventures, however as years moved on and certain aspects of angling changed, he was willing to listen, learn and adapt to change, that’s the making of a great angler. I could go on for hours and take up several pages of our newsletter with stories about my dad and I fishing, but I won’t. If my father was here today and he was going to make one comment to all of you, I think he would say “Take your kids fishing”. You will make so many great memories that are just irreplaceable, trust me I know. Fishing is a sport best shared with family and friends. In regards to the fish in our lake, the walleyes seem to be doing well. ... Thank you so much for listening to me share my views and opinions. Enjoy the lake and I wish you all success in your angling adventures in the years to come. I would like to dedicate this years letter in loving memory of Charles Barnhart. I love you dad. Claude Barnhart

Senior Moments No More

Many of us have had that experience when someone's name momentarily slips our mind, or the word we are seeking has found a hiding place in our memory bank. We laughingly call it "a senior moment." Well, I was talking with a friend last night who has been diagnosed with lung cancer and pulmonary fibrosis, and has been taking morphine for the pain. During the conversation, he kept pausing, searching for the correct next work, and blaming the pauses on the morphine. So in honor of Large Edward, I'll start calling those pregnant pauses "morphine moments" from now on.

Ah, Rain

I've been sitting on the patio this morning, reading the paper, eating breakfast and having a good cup of coffee. We had a thunderstorm roll through last evening, so got to see the lightning flashing and hear the thunder roll. The rain was a refreshing change from the drought-like conditions during this year's monsoon - or, should we say "non-soon" - for the lack of moisture. Storms here are hit-or-miss affairs. One part of the Valley can receive a torrential downpour and flash floods, while a short distance away, the ground is dry and parched. There was a flash flood in Oak Creek the other day, caused by a local 3" rainfall, that tore through a shopping area and "floated cars around like beach balls" as one witness described it. We have a Stupid Motorists law in Arizona that fines those drivers stupid enough to drive through flooded washes and are washed away, requiring risky rescues. So beware of the washes when driving in Arizona. You, too, could wind up on television as annother good example of a bad driver.

Reading Assignment

Your reading assignment for this month is:

1. "Culture of Corruption" by Michelle Malkin.
2. Chapter 3 of "An Inconvenient Book" by Glen Beck.

Your test will be at the next election.

The Missing Posters

Here are the missing posters.

Freedom

A friend sent me an email with a bunch of World War II posters. I saved two because they reminded me of the fight we Americans are in to remain free. I’m not talking of the fighting going on in other parts of the world. No, I’m talking about the fight going on in this country between those Americans who want to keep their freedom and those politicians in Washington, D. C. who are trying to take our freedom away. The current issue is about Health Care. Americans should have the right to choose whether or not they want to buy a health care plan. However, our President and some members of Congress are proposing legislation that would mandate we participate in some form of health care. There goes our freedom of choice. How many more of these restrictions are we going to stand for? I’ve already written to President Obama and my Congressional Representatives to state my opposition to the proposal. Have you?

(Unfortunately, I can't find the posters.)

Controversy

In January 1996, Rev. Joe Wright was asked to give the opening prayer to the Kansas House of Representatives. His prayer stirred an uproar with some people in the building. Here is his prayer, so you can decide for yourself how controversial it was:

Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance. We know Your Word says, "Woe to those who call evil good," but that is exactly what we have done. We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values. We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery. We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare. We have killed our unborn and called it choice. We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable. We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self-esteem. We have abused power and called it politics. We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition. We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression. We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment. Search us, oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and set us free. Amen.

Under the Knife, Again

Last month, during my annual physical, the doctor pointed to a red spot on my shoulder that I hadn't noticed before, and said he would take it off and have it biopsied. So back the next week to go under the knife. It turned out to be a basal cell carcinoma, which is the least worrisome type of cancer. Today, he removed the rest of the cancer cells in the area. He asked if I wanted to see what he had removed and I quickly declined. I'm curious about some things, but not flesh and blood, especially mine!

Words vs. Action

There are a bunch of emails being circulated around the Internet from people who are concerned with the direction our government is taking us - towards a socialistic state - and they all encourage the recipient to forward them to other friends. Well, it seems to me that sending out such messages should include a request to forward the message to the recipient's Congressional representatives and to our President, who all have email addresses. If we only "talk" among ourselves, our elected officials will never know how we feel about those issues. So next time you receive one of these messages, if you agree with it, send it on to Washington. If you disagree with it, write to Washington anyway and tell how you really feel about it. They may decide their jobs are in jeopardy and start to listen to the people who put them in Washington and who have the power to see that are replaced. Communicate!

Hymns

I’ve always liked hymns and Gospel music. I remember listening with my Mother to Edward McHugh sing hymns on the radio when I was a little boy. My favorite was “In The Garden”, which I think was his theme song. And then I remember that my brother and I sang in the choir of the Episcopal Church, probably when I was nine. We moved from Batavia right after I turned ten, and sometime later we joined the choir of the Emanuel Evangelical and Reformed Church in Rochester. I had a boy’s soprano voice and I especially liked “Angels We Have Heard On High” because of the soaring “Glo-o-o-o-o-oria” chorus. It was thrilling to me.

Teacher?

I just finished reading “Teacher Man” by Frank McCourt, about his years teaching English in New York City High Schools. He encourages his students to write, write, write to help them understand themselves and the world around them. And I started thinking about his teaching methods and his insecurity about his ability to teach and I thought that we’re all teachers. We teach something to everyone we meet. We try to teach them about who we think we are, and they learn about who we really are.

I was a father to seven children at one time in my life, two came as step-children. I tried to teach them, using my parents, aunts, uncles and other adults as role models, but never felt completely comfortable in the role. They learned. They learned some examples of how not to be a father, along with some examples of good parenthood. They grew up under my usually heavy-handed style. They’re parents now, all but two, and they’ve had their turn at teaching their own, and I’m proud of them for the way they’ve handled themselves through all the twists and turns in their lives. And so the teaching continues, generation after generation. And I feel very lucky to have been there during their growth, and thank them for the things they taught me and are still teaching me. I’m sure they don’t think of themselves as teachers to their father, but they are and I’m proud of them for it.

It was nice of North Korea to help us celebrate our holiday by shooting off fireworks.

Glasses

It was in 1948, after I graduated from High School, then turned 17, that I first wore glasses. Plastic rims. Prescription Ray-Ban sunglasses with a case that went on my belt. Over the years, I progressed to bi-focal lenses. Around 1970, the Ophthalmologist detected the first signs of cataracts in both eyes. Then on to tri-focal lenses, and the cataracts were slowly increasing. Last month, the left eye was operated on and a bi-focal lens was inserted, followed by lots and lots of eye drops, one of which I‘m still using. Last week, the right eye went under the knife, or whatever they use, and now the eye drop routine is in full swing. Sometimes, I can see clearly out of both eyes to work on the computer, sometimes only the left eye focuses. The Ophthalmologist said it’s only a matter of a few weeks for my brain to adjust to the new focused images on the retina. I hope so. I’ve read two large print edition books, and I’m looking forward to finishing a Zane Grey novel started before all these surgeries happened.

My Left Eye

Last Wednesday, May 27th, a cataract was removed from my left eye and a bifocal lens was inserted. The total time in the facility was about an hour. No pain. So far, things are a little fuzzy in the morning, but distance vision improves during the day. I haven't had clear focus for reading until this afternoon, when things started to clear up a bit. The Opthomologist said that it could take 2 or 3 weeks for the lens to "settle in", so I'm not discouraged. In the meantime, if there is something I really want to read, I have an old pair of glasses from which I've removed the left lens.
The right eye cataract will be removed on June 24th.

Sunscreens

We have had our patio screened in against bugs and the sun. That should help keep the temperature down.

Social Site For Seniors

According to the morning paper, there is now a social site for "seniors" to use in place of Twitter or Facebook. It's called Genkvetch, and was created by three people in their 60s who live in Florida. The number of people registering is growing by leaps and bounds. I haven't checked it out yet. Have you?

The Olympics

The Olympics were held last week at Westminster Village and yours truly won two medals. I had entered Putting, Horseshoes and Billiards competitions. For Putting, we were given 3 practice putts on an artificial surface with 3 cups ranging in value from 1 to 5. Unfortunately, I scored zero. For Horseshoes, we each played best of three games. I lost the first match, but was told to pitch for the bronze medal, which I won. Then for Billiards, each contestant was given 5 shots, including the break. Winner was the person with the highest number of balls sunk; in case of a tie, the value of the balls was counted. Another resident and I had tied, but I won the play-off, so won the gold medal. All in all, everyone had a great time.

Canadian's Don't Want Us in Cuba

An excerpt from today's Toronto Globe and Mail:

Canadians aren't exactly tossing back celebratory mojitos at the prospect of Americans soon being able to travel freely to Cuba, an island many Canucks covet as their own.

In fact, recently introduced bills in Washington that recommend lifting the 46-year ban on U.S. citizens travelling to Fidel Castro's fief have many Canadians in a sweat that the island's laidback calm will be shattered once the Americans - typecast, fairly or not, as loud, crass vacationers - descend.

"I kind of like it being our own little island," said Randy Pryce, a Toronto-based theatre technician who just returned from an all-inclusive, four-star resort in Playa Costa Verde, north of Santiago. "[Lifting the ban on U.S. tourism to Cuba] will be good for their economy, but not for the people.

"As a tourist, it's really nice to go somewhere where everyone is treated equally. The Americans could change that. As tourists, they do have this built-in reputation as pushy and demanding. Plus, I think they'd be disappointed in what a four-star Cuban hotel is, as opposed to a four-star American hotel," said Mr. Pryce, adding their resort was 70 per cent occupied by Canadians.

Change, For Sure!

There were many campaign speeches with lots of fluff and little substance - much ado about “change” was all. Now the “American People” have voted for a new administration with hopes that the new kids on the block can fulfill the promises made during all the campaign rhetoric. And what “change” have we seen so far? The administration is about this far from nationalizing the automotive industry and almost complete on nationalizing the banks. A new Secretary of the Treasury has been approved by Congress despite admitting to cheating on his taxes. Our new President has told North Korea not to do it again (launch a missile) or else we’ll have to talk about it some more at the United Nations; you can just feel the anxiety in North Korea over that threat. And he has told the world, including our enemies the Taliban, that we’re pulling out of Iraq, which gives them a time-line for preparing to take over the country.
I can hardly wait to see what shape this administration is going to leave for our children and grandchildren to pay for.

Ginger

Today is Ginger's 13th birthday. Her hind legs don't work too well anymore, so we carry her around. She does use her dog door herself during the night, if she needs to go out to potty. She has been on Prednisone and Tramidol because of her arthritis. Her front paws are deformed from the arthritis, but she is able to pull herself along, and she now gives us verbal signals when she wants to go somewhere else in the apartment, and when she's hungry. She lives from meal to meal and snack to snack. We have a mobile carrier when we need to take her to the Veternarian and she rides in it like a queen. She had her annual checkup last week and passed with flying colors, except for the arthritis. Good heart, strong mind. A loving and loyal companion.

Clean as a Whistle

Well, I drank the 17 gallons of Trilyte, went through a case and a half of toilet paper (unscented), ran a life test of the flush mechanism of our toilet and now have as clean and shiny an intestine as a chrome plated grill on a chauffer driven Rolls Royce. All in preparation for a colonoscopy this morning. When the technition gave me the "gown" to put on, I told her about a comedian I had heard describing it as an apron. After the "procedure", the Doctor said all was well - just 2 small polyps and some minor diverticulitis, typical at my age. So I don't need to return for another 3 years. Yipee! It's not that the "procedure" is painful (I'm totally unconscious), but the thought of having to drink all that liquid turns my stomach (and other parts of my anatomy). But don't let me deter you; if you haven't had one by age 50, talk with your Doctor.

It Wasn't The Pollen

The mini-trampoline and the Aloe Vera juice arrived yesterday, so Grandma and I are on the road to better minds and bodies. We tried out both during our visit to son, Mark, and his fiancee, Karen, last month. We spent a few days with them and their families, seeing the sights around Melbourne and Cape Canaveral, before driving to Tampa to visit our great-grandson, Chase, and his parents. When we arrived in Tampa, we were sneezing and sniffling, which we thought was caused by the pollen being blow around. Subsequently, we found we both had the flu, probably caught from the sneezing and coughing passengers on our flight to Florida. Then we did our share of coughing (but not sneezing!) on the flight back home. We spent the first week back home in our apartment, ordering our main meal by room service. We still haven't regained our full energy, but know it will happen soon. We think that trip will be our last by airplane for quite a few years to come.

A Good Day, Sorta

Today, Grandma and I celebrated our 31st anniversary by having lunch at Macaroni Grill. A glass of Riesling and an Italian feast - what could be better! Then off to the movies to see "Frost/Nixon", a movie by Ron Howard of Opie fame. You do remember Opie and the Andy Griffith Show, don't you? We arrived home to find Ginger at her usual place by the front door. This morning, she had an upset stomach and we weren't sure we would be able to go anywhere, but she recovered quickly. And I had a large envelope from the Green Free Library in Wellsboro, PA with newspaper articles about an Aunt and Uncle who were buried there and about other members of their families. I haven't had a chance to digest it all, but I'm sure it will help fill in some blanks in my family history (www.Ancestry.com, then look for the "Miller/Mann/Goebel/Steinmetz" family tree).

The "Sorta" part of the good day is really sad for me because I finished the last pages of Rick Watson's book "Remembering Big" and won't have another of his to read until he writes it and gets it published. (Hurry, Rick!) It's a great book and it brought back lots of pleasant memories from my past lives. I highly recommend it.

A Man's World - UPDATE

Leona Helmsley went to prison for failing to pay back taxes. Tom Daschle gets a Cabinet post for failing to pay his. Who says it's not a man's world?

UPDATE: Earlier today, Daschle withdrew his name from consideration. What a patriot! But will he volunteer for a room in federal prison? Stay tuned.

Art Workshop Update

Thursday, about 7 people showed up, so I gave a short demonstration. Some were already working on a painting before I finished. That's good; they were familiar with watercolors. The Activities Coordinator tried to talk me into taking responsibility for the group, but I refused. I only want to paint. I did offer to share my knowledge with people, if they ask, but I won't act as their teacher. I was able to finish a painting of some penguins that I've been working on for 4 or 5 weeks. Here it is.

Our New Art Workshop

Thursday was the first session of our new art workshop group. There were about 14 people there, all of whom had painted in years past, most in oils. Because Westminster Village doesn't allow the use of the chemicals needed, oil painting is not allowed, so most of the attendees agreed to try painting with watercolors. Janet, one of the Activities Coordinators, and I tried to give some basic information about the medium, and I was talked into giving a demonstration next week. I've prepared a fairly simple drawing of Poinsettia, one that I used for a Christmas card design in years past. I plan to have one finished painting to display, and then go step by step to demonstrate how easy it is to use watercolors. We'll see how it goes. Wish me luck!

Happy New Year

Grandma and I wish one and all a happy, healthy and prosperous new year.

And congratulations to Rick Watson for downing that anchovy. (See link to Life 101 at the right.)

States Shapes

Why is your state shaped that way?
Did the various English kings have much to do with it?
What about Congress? How much did they get into the detail of your state borders?
Why is there only one spot where four states meet?
Why is there a jog in the border between Massachusetts and Connecticut?
Why is Idaho that shape?
Read all about it in "How the States Got Their Shapes" by Mark Stein.
Verrrrrry interesting!

Golden Age Gardens

I ran across a blog about flowers and gardens that I like, so I added it to the list of links. Check it out and see what you think of it.

Glass by Chihuly in Phoenix

On Friday, Grandma and I went to the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix with the group from WMVAZ. Dale Chihuly has an exhibition of glass in the Garden that is absolutely beautiful. Here are a few photos from the trip.

A Couple of Good Books

If you are interested in world history, I highly recommend "Guns, Germs and Steel" by Jared Diamond and "1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus" by Charles G. Mann.

Christmas Trees

Yesterday was decorate-the-trees day here at Westminster Village. There were quite a few residents helping get the ornaments ready for hanging. The large tree in the reception area had been installed, so it needed decoration, while the small tree in Nuernburg Hall needed assembly as well as decoration. The end result of all our efforts came out quite well, don't you think?

Care to Live in Scottsdale, Arizona?

If you're interested in a nice 2 bedroom, 2 bath patio home in a quiet community, I have just the place. It has just under 1600 sq. ft., with 2 master suites, laundry room, formal dining room, breakfast area, laundry room and pantry. Patio is tiled. The community includes a pool, spa and tennis court. And the front yard maintenance is taken care of. Grandma and I have moved out, so it is ready for the right person to move in. Think about it! No snow to shovel, blue skies, little rain. What more could you want?


If you're interested, let me know and I'll pass on your information to our realtor.

A Storm To Remember

"The storm king..., with a loud, ear-piercing crash of thunder, and a hissing flash of white lightning, gave the signal to the elements to begin the attack. We cowered helplessly under the shock, sensible that human strength was insignificant in comparison with the power of the blast which roared and yelled and shrieked about us.
"For hours the rain poured down - either as heavy drops which stung by their momentum; as little pellets which drizzled through canvas and blankets, chilling our blood as they soaked into clothing; or alternating with hail which in great, globular crystals, crackled against the miserable shelter, whitened the ground, and froze the air. The reverberation of the thunder was incessant; one shock has barely begun to echo around the sky, when peal after peal, each stronger, louder, and more terrifying than its predecessors, blotted from our minds the sounds and flashes which had awakened our first astonishment, and made us forget in new frights our old alarms. The lightning darted from zenith to horizon, appeared in all quarters, played around all objects. In its glare the smallest bushes, stones, and shrubs stood out as plainly as under the noon sun of a bright summer's day; when it subsided, our spirits were oppressed with the weight of darkness. No stringing together of words can complete a description of what we saw, suffered, and feared during that awful tempest. The stoutest hearts, the oldest soldiers, quailed."

This was written in 1891 by John G. Bourke in his book "On the Border with Crook" about a storm a group of soldiers encountered near the Yellowstone River. I highly recommend the book to anyone interested in the history of General Crook's campaign to bring the western tribes onto reservations peacefully.

Over, At Last

After sixty trillion days of campaigning, or so it seems, it's finally over. Except for the dissection by the media, that is. I don't know how you feel about the campaign and the results, but I sure am happy that I won't need to listen to all the rhetoric, most of which was negative. To think of all the money spent by all the candidates boggles the mind. Why can't we be civilized and limit the campaigning to about six weeks? Maybe even less. Give the candidates four weeks to present their positions, then give the voters two weeks to ask questions and decide who to vote for, then let 'em vote. Would save a whole bunch of money that could be put to better use. Why not?

Charles Albert Barnhart

We were in Rochester for the second time this month to lay Grandma’s brother, Charles, to rest. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease, was hospitalized for pneumonia, then his heart gave out. He was 81. He died on the 23rd. We were at the funeral home for the private service, then went to the cemetery for the service there. His wife and two sons were devastated by his death, as they were a very close family. I liked Charlie. He had a great sense of humor. Every once in a while, I’d call him an old fogey, and he’d say that was the pot calling the kettle black. I always had to agree, since I’ve had my old fogeyish moments. He called his sister “Brat”, and she came right back with “Rat”; they talked every Sunday. Toward the end, he was losing his hearing, so Grandma would have to shout into the phone. When they were done, she would tell me about the conversation and I’d have to remind her to stop shouting. We’ll miss him.

A Promise To Keep

Grandma and I are about recovered from our trip to Rochester, NY for the funeral of Uncle Henry. While at the Memorial Service, I stopped to talk with a cousin, Clarence Carman, Jr. and his wife, Ana. We talked about our great grandmother, Wilhelmina Steinmetz Spies Plock (nee Kell), and the circumstances of the death of her first husband, Wilhelm Steinmetz. Clarence had a theory, from something he heard as a child, that Wilhelm had been murdered by a soldier who was in love with Wilhelmina and wanted her for himself. Somehow or other, the soldier was killed, resulting in Wilhelmina having to quickly leave Germany with her three daughters. Clarence and I had had this conversation before, and last Saturday I promised to do everything I could to find out the truth, and then let him know. Unfortunately, Clarence died on Monday, the 13th. I'm sure he has since learned the truth of the matter, but so far has not been able to reveal it to me. I'll keep on researching the question, though, because I had made a promise.

Unc

Of all my uncles, I favored Bill Miller and Henry Goebel. As a young boy, I wanted to be named Bill, and I also wanted to be as tall (over 6’) as Henry, “Unc” to my brother and me. Occasionally, when I worked at Xerox Corporation, someone would mix me up by calling me “Bill”, but I never attained the height of Unc; close, but I stopped at 5’10”.

Unc was the fourth child of German immigrants, only two of whom lived to adulthood. In his youth, he built model airplanes powered by rubber bands and entered them in contests. One contest in Cleveland, Ohio resulted in second prize - a check which was signed by Orville Wright; he never cashed the check because he felt the signature to be worth more than the money. He told me the story about winning second prize. It seems that his airplane flew a long time and finally flew out of sight. The judges held a quick conference and decided that they should try to keep the planes in sight, so they followed the next planes, resulting in someone else winning first prize.

He and a friend built the first glider in the area in his parent‘s attic, and took it to a local park where they flew in it. The part I enjoyed hearing about is how they had to remove a double window and frame in order to get the glider out so they could assemble it.

He was the Secretary of the Left Handed Golfers Association, now defunct. In the 40s, I remember him using the stationery for correspondence. He won tournaments around the area, and I had the pleasure of caddying for him occasionally when he belonged to Brook Lea Country Club. Between the 9th and 10th holes, we stopped at an ice cream store adjacent to the course for refreshments. He had the honor of golfing with the great Walter Hagen, but never boasted about beating him. His nickname in his prime was “Hammerin’ Hank”, and, in his later years when I called him that, he laughed and said “Not any more”; but it brought back pleasant memories.

He was a sports nut and enjoyed relating the story of his honeymoon when he found there was a golf tournament in the area. He checked with the tournament director and found there was an opening, so he signed up and spent the weekend golfing. I don’t remember whether or not he won anything. He did have a nice collection of prizes and trophies that he accumulated over the years. As an amateur, he wasn’t allowed to accept any large monetary awards.

At his funeral and memorial service last Saturday, we heard many wonderful comments about his life. The positive effect he had on others will stay with us for years to come, and will echo through the generations of his descendants.

DNA Test

Ancestry.com had an offer last month for half price to have one's DNA tested, so Grandma and I signed up. We received the swab kit last week, swabbed three times, and returned the swabs in the enclosed envelope. Now to wait for the results. Will I find I'm related to Cain or Abel? Time will tell.

Ah, Autumn

This morning, Grandma and I had a bunch of things to do. We stopped at Home Depot to buy Geraniums, then went to the house to pull out the Vinca, which was beginning to die out, and replace them with the Geraniums. On to gas up the Escape ($3.339/gal.). We noticed that a local drug store was offering flu shots, so we stopped in and got suitably punctured and bandaged. Then off to the library to pick up a book that Grandma had ordered. Back to Westminster Village and the bank here for Grandma to make a deposit and to straighten out our address in their records. All before 10 a.m. Now to relax before meeting with some neighbors for dinner tonight.

The forecast is for the 100 degree days to become a not-so-fond memory, with temperatures dipping into the 80's and a storm this weekend. I suppose it won't be long before the air conditioning is turned off and the heat goes on. We are able to have the doors open in the morning and could have a cuppa coffee on the balcony. Hope you're all enjoying the seasonal changes.

Henry Edward Goebel - 1911 - 2008

Henry Edward Goebel - "Unc" to my brother and me - died Thursday, September 25, 2008 in Rochester, New York, well past his 97th birthday. He was the youngest son of Clara Marie Steinmetz and Heinrich Göbel, both German immigrants, and my mother's brother. He was an extraordinary man. If I had to use only four words to describe him, they would be "never a discouraging word". He was my uncle, my friend and my mentor. I caddied for him when he belonged to Brook Lea Country Club, and we golfed together in later years. I'd answer the phone and hear "Hey Rob, want to go hit some shots?"; he knew a couple of par three courses, so we'd take a 9 iron and putter and go try to make par. Or I'd hear "Hey Rob, want to go bowl a few games?", so we'd meet at the lanes on West Henrietta Road. He had a game where low score won; just pick off the 7 and 10 pins each frame for a perfect score of 20. A gutter ball was worth 10. Try it sometime. Or I'd hear "Hey Rob, want to go swimming?", and we'd be in the University of Rochester pool - free because he was an alumni.

I wrote about him in my blog in October 2006.

Every day was a new adventure to him. I'll miss hearing him say, when I call, "I'm vertical", and I know a bright light in our lives is gone. But, ah, such wonderful memories!

Jigsaw Puzzles

Grandma was holding a Scrabble contest with two former neighbors (she won 3 of 4 matches) so I decided to wander around the complex rather than have my tender ears assaulted by the shouted insults hurled by the combatants at each other. The billiard room was occupied so I checked out a sitting area down a side corridor. I found a "reading room" area with a table for working on jigsaw puzzles. There was one in progress, so I decided to give it a try and wound up finishing it off. Which reminded me of the times when my brother and I, in our younger days, would work on puzzles together. Only the "together" meant that we would go just so far before it became a contest to see who could put in the last piece. Our strategy was simple: hide one piece until the end. Well, it's difficult to put in the last piece when we each held one out. That usually led to parental intervention.

Now I have a place of peace and quiet to go to during the Scrabble wars.

The House

It seems as though I've been back to the house every day since we moved out. There was a lot more in the garage cabinets than I realized. There were some items we advertised on Craig's List that sold, and some items that didn't. I donated the 6 display panels I had built for the art sale two years ago, along with a bunch of frames we had no room for, to an art teacher in South Phoenix; they were picked up Thursday. We had taken two car loads to the Goodwill Store in Scottsdale. Today, we might sell the curio cabinet; the potential buyer came over this morning to look at it and will call later to let us know one way or the other. If she declines, we will call Terri's Consignment to check it out along with a decorative pot; they are the only items still in the house. The only items in the garage are some things the new homeowner will be able to use, such as paint, water filters, evaporative cooler replacement parts, furnace filters, etc. While we were there, we replaced the dead flowers in the front entry, and I trimmed some of the shrubs in the side yard. Maybe one more time to check for paint touch-up inside, then we should be done. Now all we need is a buyer.