Essays

A book of essays can try the patience of a saint. Whenever I pick one up, I set as a goal to read one each day. That gives me the opportunity to mull over the author's moral point, if there is one, or to enjoy the humorous incident related, or just to revel in the choices of words. However - and you knew there'd be a "however" - sometimes it just isn't possible to wait the twenty-four hours for the next experience. So I've been almost racing through this new book from the local library, because my patience took a hike. The book is "I'm a Stranger Here Myself" by Bill Bryson, who spent twenty years in England before moving back to America, specifically, Hanover, New Hampshire. Yesterday, I zipped through three - THREE - before I even realized that my goal had been much surpassed. Now the dilemma is, should I not read any more for the next two days, or just press on while attempting to maintain my daily ration? Sometimes life is just a series of hard decisions.

New Drawing

The latest ink drawing.

Goodbye Facebook

I had said a few months ago that I was cancelling my Facebook account, but found out that it was not that easy. Every photo had to be individually deleted and it was so bothersome that I stopped and decided I was too lazy to finish. Then, this week when I logged on, I was confronted with a screen that was alien to me. Facebook changed! And so did I. So I checked out the process for cancelling my account once again and found it only takes one click. So one click I did. The next message said I would be given 14 days to change my mind after which my account would be permanently erased. By now, I've forgotten when the 14 days started, so I'll just let it go.

The MIM

Yesterday, Grandma and I ran a few errands then went to the Musical Instruments Museum in Phoenix. We spent about 2 hours walking through the exhibits, which are amazing. There are instruments from almost every country in the world, with accompanying audio of them. Among the missing countries is North Korea. There is a space reserved, so if anyone knows how or where to find any, please contact them at www.themim.com. We had a sandwich in the Cafe before we left. A nice place to spend time. There is one area where the instruments can be played - a great place for children. Gongs, drums, xylophones, mandolins, etc. A great display of player pianos, player woodwinds, including an exhibit that tells how the piano rolls are created. They have one of the machines that converts the pianist's music into holes in paper, quite an amazing invention. Two of Elvis's jump suits are on display, along with some Hank Snow items, among others. One area displayed bagpipes from the many countries where they are played; some are as primitive as a calf skin, others as elaborate as the Scottish instrument. And they have a schedule of concerts in their auditorium which is said to have perfect acoustics (would you expect anything less?). So next time you find yourself in the Valley of the Sun with some time on your hands, drop in at the MIM.

Drawings

Here are my latest ink drawings.

Genealogy

One of the new features added to Ancestry.com shows the relationship of everyone in the file to the primary entry - me, in my file. As I was cleaning up some records, I found one line that goes back to my 21st great grandfather. The shortest line ends at a 3rd great grandfather, Thomas J. Patterson, and a 3rd great grandmother, Martha Conklin, who married Thomas. They lived in Hanover, NY before moving to Batavia, NY; anyone have any information to share? Using the Fulton Newspaper site - fultonhistory.com - I've been able to find articles about other relatives; such items as marriages, obituaries, travels, travails, etc. Also, I've been contacted by distant cousins who have found a common relative and have provided additional information about that family line. The nice thing is that there is a way to keep living people's information private, which I do. My family came from England, France and Germany to western New York state, and now grandchildren reside all over the United States.

Stealing Great-granddaughters

William Wordsworth wrote a poem that started:
“My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So it was when my life began;
So is it now I am a man”

Upon the birth of his daughter, Ogden Nash wrote a poem that starts:
“My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.”

His lament is that some boy will grow up and marry his daughter and carry her away, when she has just entered his life. And that thought crosses my mind when I hold my great-granddaughters and they smile up at me: Who will be the lucky one who steals their heart away as they have stolen mine.

Great-grandchildren

A few of our great-grandchildren from our visit to Rochester.

The Debt "Crisis"

Anyone care to solve the debt "crisis"? My own view is that our politicians aren't willing to apply sound, honest business principles to running our federal government. How many corporations can stay in business by spending more than they earn year after year? At the first sign of declining profits, they would initiate cost-cutting strategies, such as reducing spending and reductions in staff. Think any of our politicians are willing to give up any of their staff or reduce their spending? So how will they reach a compromise? First off, increase income by raising taxes, exempting themselves, of course. Next, announce a "reduction in spending"; translated, that means reducing the rate of planned spending increases. Isn't it time we stopped voting for politicians and elected some businessmen/women to better manage this country's finances? I'm ready.

The NFL Brouhaha

What's the big deal with the NFL controversy? It's just a bunch of millionaires fighting over how to split up billions of dollars. None of which will ever find it's way back to the fans who contributed to the pile in the first place. Most likely, after the dust settles, the fans will have to pay more to go to a game. Which means another brouhaha over the profits looms in the future. Unless the fans wise up and boycott the games. No money, no argument.

Recovering

Sorry to have been so quiet lately. Grandma and I have been on a driving trip to upstate New York via Las Vegas, NV, that took 28 days out of our lives. Will write more after I recover.

This 'n That

The results are in and the By-laws changes we proposed have been accepted overwhelmingly by the residents. So that's one less thing to worry about.

We're in the final stages of packing for our trip. I hope to have everything in the car by tonight, except for the things we need every day. We pack one small case for the things we need during the trip, and one large case for the days in Rochester. The final items go in tomorrow just before we head out. Cell phones and cameras are charged and ready to go. The Tom-Tom has been updated, too. After we leave Las Vegas, we have a reservation in Grand Junction, Colorado, after which we're free-wheeling until we reach Rochester.

Today, we're meeting our friend, Jonteel, and her special friend, Charlie, for a mid-morning pastry and cuppa, then plan to attend the Residents' Birthday Party at 2 p.m. It's always a temptation when they start serving ice cream and cake; I can usually pass up the cake, but the ice cream gets me every time. I was born with a strong love for ice cream, and it has never diminished.
Have a great day!

The BIG TRIP

We're starting to get things together for our BIG TRIP. To Las Vegas to visit granddaughter, Jeana, and her family. Then off to Rochester, NY to visit the rest of the family. For my 80th birthday party. And Shirley has a cousin and husband, whom we've never met, coming over from England. Should be a great time. This time, we're taking the northern route through Colorado, just south of Chicago, Toledo, etc. Routes 15, 70, 80 and 90. We've driven the route through Oklahoma City so many times, we could make it blindfolded (but we won't try!). I just hope the Escape will hold everything we plan to take.

Happy/Sad

Yesterday, the receptionist called to tell me there was a gift waiting for me, so I rushed down to find a guitar waiting, along with a very nice note. HAPPY! The note and guitar were from Laura, who was one of our teachers at ASU (see a previous blog entry); she is packing up to move to Seattle and thought that I would appreciate having the first guitar she ever owned, as it would be too much to take with her. HAPPY/SAD; it's wonderful that she thought of me, but sad because she had to say goodbye to her guitar. HAPPY that we will still be in touch after she gets settled and is back up on the Internet. SAD that I won't be able to give her a hug for this wonderful gift. Now I have no excuse to practice and "make it sing" (Laura's words). Thank you, Laura, and God speed.

Empty

I was just reading Rick and Jilda Watson's blogs about they can't seem to find anything to write about. Well, today is Art Workshop here at Westminster Village and I suddenly find myself wondering just what the heck I'm going to work on. Haven't a clue. It's still a few hours away, so maybe the Art Gods will send down an inspirational message. Time will tell. Have a good day, wherever you are.

Rose in Black and White

Here's the latest ink drawing. I like this medium almost as much as watercolor.

Songs My Father Sang

My father used to like to sing. Most of the songs were from the First World War, like "Give My Regards to Broadway", "Over There" and "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag". But the one that I remember because it was a humorous ditty went like this:

I run the old mill over here to Reuben's-ville
My nane's Joshua Ebenezer Frye.
I know a thing or two,
You can bet your life I do,
They don't ketch me for I'm too darn sly.

I've seen Bunco men, allus got the best o' them,
Once I met a couple on the Boston train.
They says, "How be you!"
I says, "That'll do!
Travel right along with your darn skin game.

Chorus:
Wal, I swan!
I mus' be gittin' on!
Giddyup, Napoleon! It looks like rain.
Wal, I'll be switched!
The hay ain't pitched!
Come in when you're over to the farm again.

There were a lot of verses to it, and I've heard it on the radio only once in my life, back in the 70's, by some folk singer whose name I never did learn. If you ever hear the number, let me know.

Our "Band"

Here we are, "The Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" in all our glory. In the foreground are Gina from Taiwan and Laura. Back from left to right are Michelle, Michael, me, Jonteel, Dorothy and Lou. Gina and Laura were the student instructors, Michael their supervisor. Laura has graduated and is on her way to Seattle; Gina is going to Chicago. Lou is holding the guitar his wife bought him a few years ago. At the time, he said he would wait until he was 90 to take lessons because he was just too busy. When the opportunity came for the ASU sessions, he signed up, even though he's a year shy of 90, just to have someone tune his guitar. Jonteel was so taken with the first couple of sessions with drums that her son bought her a snare drum; she has since been taking lessons from a professional drummer. One of these days, I'll look into buying a guitar; right now I'm too busy with other activities. But I do know all the notes to "Love Me Tender"!

Dad

I've been thinking of my father a lot lately. He was quite a craftsman. He made desks for my brother and me as well as our children. Bookcases and storage cabinets. A train table for me. Tools for building model airplanes. In his later years, he worked on some projects at his church, including building a new set of steps. He was a mason/bricklayer by trade, having worked with his father and brothers since he was 13. He lost his mother when he was 8 and quit school at age 13 to help the family - his father and 7 siblings. He suffered from a form of pemphagus, which caused large sores to form on his neck and under his arms. Treatments in those days, before it was diagnosed correctly, included radiation, boric acid salves, zinc oxide ointments, all to no avail. It was difficult to work because he couldn't always raise his arms to plaster ceilings. But he always managed to live through the attacks. He took time off from work to build houses for my brother and me after we married. He collected books on the West and Spiritualism; he belonged the the Spiritualist Church in Rochester, NY, and was active in Lily Dale, NY. He died recovering from prostate cancer surgery; the surgery was successful, but the cause was a pulmonary embolism.

Music Therapy Finished

Monday was the last in a series of classes at Arizona State University Music Department, and it was sad/happy. Sad because it was the end and we would probably not see the student teachers again. Laura would graduate this month and move on to the Seattle area; Gina (from Taiwan) would be spending her summer in Chicago. Michael, their supervisor, will stay in the Valley to teach and play in drum circles, so we might run into him from time to time.
Happy because we got to record a song we wrote the lyrics to, had photos taken of the group, and had a CD cut of us singing our song. Laura, Gina and Michael put together the CD with some of their favorites, along with Jonteel reading a poem she had written thanking them, as well as "The Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" singing our song.
We did also have time to play all of "Love Me Tender" on guitars, so we are ready to go out into the world and serenade. Are you ready, world?

Birches - In Progress

This is my next project. Hard to tell how it will look when done.

Musical Therapy Class

Back in February, the Activities Department said that the Arizona State University Music Department was going to conduct a program in which we could learn how to play a variety of musical instruments, so I signed up. We went every Monday afternoon for an hour. The sessions were (and still are for two more weeks) conducted by two students studying Therapy By Music - or something like it. They were supervised by a graduate. One of the teachers is from Taiwan, her name is Jeana (but probably with a more Asian spelling - I'll ask next week) and, since I have a granddaughter named Jeana, I told her to call me "Grandpa", which always comes out as "Grandfather".
We started out with a drum circle, in order for them to get to know us better. The initial group was 12 residents, but dwindled to 4 regulars plus someone from the Activities Dept. Drums for 3 weeks, followed by xylophones for 3 weeks, then on the keyboards for 3 more. We learned the first few bars of "My Wild Irish Rose", since it was getting close to St. Patrick's Day; have you ever heard an Irish song sung in English with a strong Taiwanese brogue? One day was spent trying out a variety of percussion instruments, whose names I can't recall and couldn't spell even if I knew.
Finally - finally, we started on the guitar, which the real reason I signed up. The rest was interesting, but I really REALLY wanted to find out if I had the ability to play a guitar. Well, that day, I learned the first two lines of "Love Me Tender"! Now I'm hooked! I can't wait to go back to class for more. And I'll be looking around for guitar stores. Who knows, maybe I'll be serenading the neighbors by Labor Day. Wish me luck.

Sunflower

Here's the latest done in ink.

Olympics Fun and Frolic

It's been a busy two weeks here. We just finished the 2011 Westminster Village Olympics games. Registration took place Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (the 27th, 28th & 29th), followed by two days of Contract Bridge. Duplicate Bridge finished out the first week. On Monday, the Torch was escorted from the front gate into the building, where all in attendance were treated to a hearty breakfast. The day continued with the Bocci preliminary games, Table Tennis preliminary games, ending with the Indoor games. The Indoor games included Ladder Golf, Horseracing, Bean-bag Toss and something with Table Tennis balls and glasses of water. Tuesday, the activities were: a Walking contest; Bocci playoffs; Table Tennis playoffs; Croquet and games in the Assisted Living complex. Wednesday: Watersports; Lap Swimming (if a third person had signed up, they would have automatically received third prize!); Putting; Whiffle Golf; Trivia-rama; Home Run Derby fot the Staff and Wii Bowling. Thursday started with Indoor Games in the Health Care unit, followed by the Electric Cart "Rumble" (in which electric cart users were timed through a twisting course); next were Billiards, Basketball for the Staff; Lawn Bowling; the last activity was Outdoor Games in the Health Care Center. All in all, a very busy week for the volunteers who coordinated and conducted the games. And a very fun-filled week.
Shirley and I volunteered to help with registration, the Indoor Games and the Walkers. Also, I was tapped to take photos of the Walkers, Putters, Billiards players, Horseshoe throwers and the Contract Bridge players.
On Friday, all the photos of all the events were continuously projected on two screens in the main auditorium during the Awards ceremony (yours truly won a gold medal for Billiards). Needless to say, Saturday and today are days of well-needed rest.

Ink Work

I've been trying my hand at ink drawing, so here are the latest.

Done!

After five mornings on the roof, scraping old paint, patching stucco, putting on a sealant and finally adding the top coat, the parapets are finished. That should last for 5 or 10 years or until the next damaging hailstorm. Last October, the hailstones were as big as golf balls - some even larger - and they did a great deal of damage here in the Valley of the Sun. Car dealers were selling new cars at record low prices as is because of the dents and damaged glass. Roofing contractors are still trying to get to all the repair jobs. One contractor said his company had enough work for the next two years. Here at Westminster Village, 67 skylights needed to be replaced along with numerous window screens. Fortunately, our cars are under cover, so there was no damage there. So, no more mornings on the roof! Hooray!

Roof Repair

I spent half the day on the roof of our house - it's flat - repairing the parapets from the damage caused by the hail storm last October. The main roof had been repaired by a local roofing company, and when they completed their final inspection a week or so ago, they informed me of the problems they didn't repair. It involved stucco damage, which they don't do. So, following the advice of a neighbor, I hied myself off to Home Depot for the necessary materials and proceeded to set to work. Most of the time was spent scraping and cleaning out the problem areas. I was able to clean and apply the sealant coat to about a third of the complete area. So tomorrow, if you're looking for me, I'll be back on the roof. Some neighbors stopped to talk as I was cleaning up, and I told them I was getting to the age when I don't want to go up and down ladders anymore. I think that's one wish for my 80th birthday in July - no more ladders, please. It's not that I don't like ladders, they've been very good to me. It's just that I'd rather keep at least one foot on the ground when climbing them.

Fuzzy

When the children were young, we recited this verse:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy,
Was he.

My grandfather, William Francis Miller, Sr., was called Fuzzy because he always had his hair trimmed close to the skin. (In his older years, his youngest son, Uncle Bill, would trim it for him.) He was born in Lyons, New York but spent most of his life in Batavia, where he raised his family. There were 10 children, 7 of whom grew to adulthood. His wife, Lennie, died from complications during childbirth of the 10th child, Thomas, who was stillborn; daughter Rachel died at 4 months from cholera; their first daughter, Violet, died in her first year also. He was a lather, said to be the fastest in that area. Before plaster board, lath strips (about 1 inch by ¼ inch) were attached to the studs of a building to hold the plaster. The laths were spaced about 1/2 inch apart so the mason could force the plaster through the spaces, which allowed the plaster to stick to the wall. I can imagine it was difficult to keep the family together in those days while working throughout the county. His sister-in-law wanted to take some of the children but he refused. The family grew up relying on one another for support. In 1893, he was kicked in the leg by a horse; the break was not set properly and caused him to limp and use a cane. In 1905, he made the newspaper by defending his 16-year old daughter from the unwanted attentions of a stonemason; he was fined and his revolver confiscated. In his elder years, Fuzzy lived with his oldest daughter in Rochester where he passed away at age 93.

The photo at the top shows Fuzzy eating a slice of home-made pie; the other, in Rochester, returning from a local saloon where he enjoyed a glass of beer and a cigar when in his 90's.

Brown Arabian

Transformation?

We have a "reflecting pool" here and I was looking into the possibility of turning it into a goldfish pond. So I wrote up a plan and gave it to our Director who said we would do that. He also wants to install an aquarium in the wall between the living room and meeting hall so it is visible from both sides. Plus a koi pond outside. Looks like we're going fishing. And the nice thing is that I now have an illuminated keyboard for my computer so I can see which key my finger is aiming at. Should make a difference in my spelling, I hope.

Monument Valley

Here's a rendering of Monument Valley, in ink and watercolor.

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!