4.20

Four-twenty. Kind of a benign combination of numbers but they cover a wide range of associations. For instance, a lot of famous folks were born on 4.20, a few of which are:

  • Adolph Hitler in 1889
  • Jessica Lange in 1949
  • Luther Vandross in 1951
  • George Takei in 1937
  • Ryan O’Neal in 1941
  • Crispin Glover in 1964
  • Carmen Electra in 1972

Then there’s significant events, of which there are mass quantities. Here are a few:

  • 1939 Ted Williams for his 1st hit, a double.
  • 1948 NYC doubles subway fare, from 5 cents to 10 cents.
  • 1949 Jockey Bill Shoemaker wins his 1st race.
  • 1951 US performs atmospheric nuclear test at Enewetak
  • 1962 Neil Armstrong takes X-15 to 63,250 mph.
  • 1967 US Surveyor 3 lands on the Moon.
  • 1981 The final performance of TV show “Soap” airs.
  • 1986 Michael Jordan set NBA playoff record with 63 points.

Lots of stuff happened before 1939, of course, but I didn’t recognize any of it. Probably because I wasn’t paying attention in History class.

Another “important” 420 association is in the wonderful world of Marijuana. 420 became a kind of code word amongst those who dabbled in the the early 70’s world of pot. The link above will provide you way more information that you really need about 420 origins and what it means.

Now, about the one all the media missed, and one you will not find with a Google search, is, without a doubt, the most important one in modern history. On that day in 1968 I was permanently joined with my high school Sweetheart. Two days ago marked our 49th anniversary. Whatever else happened on 4.20, the one in 1968 will always be the most important.

In case you’re wondering, we celebrated our 49th by me leaving Diane alone all morning while I attended Coffee With The Guys at the Kozy, then an American Legion Officer’s meeting, followed by a trip to the Christian Church to get food from the Lion’s club that we deliver to the high school every Thursday. I would have delivered them, but they were finally too heavy for me to cart any distance, so I went home to get our hand truck. Diane was up by then and said she’d help me and that we should just continue on over to Park Rose for Lydia’s soft ball game. We did that. We made it all the way to Portland, in the rain, before Lydia texted to let us know the game had been cancelled. So, we enjoyed a 49th anniversary lunch at Home Town Buffet, $20 for both of us,

then spent an unproductive visit to the nearby Habitat for Humanity Restore Store. Empty handed, we hung our heads low and made our way back to St. Helens where we stopped by Lewis TKD to see about martial arts lessons for Baylee. Turned out the TKD Master, and owner of the facility, was a Marine and we had a lot to talk about. He and Baylee get along nicely.

We got Baylee there at 5:00 pm to get registered and she spent the next 1.5 hours trying to knock people down. She’s a quick study and will do well. There will be more on this in the future.

I’m a lucky guy.

 

To the Moon and back, Part dos

Yesterday I believe I was in the middle of a narrative about going to the Moon. Well, not really the moon, because I really don’t know where we went and there was never a moon view from the only window to which I had access. Nope, I was sequestered in what I believe was a small portion of a very large facility that’s located on the dark side of the Moon so all visual reference was forever aimed at deep space. That’s a guess, of course. Then again, they could have taken me to another galaxy, far, far away because they were able to fool the laws of physics, as we understand them, and take advantage of folds in space about which much is speculated on Earth. But, if I was on the moon I would weigh less, right? I didn’t feel lighter so I probably really wasn’t on the moon.

Right after discovering my speculation about my location I suffered a period of unconsciousness of unknown duration. It could have been seconds, days, or weeks. Probably weeks because I felt nicely rested when I woke up. Perhaps I just had a nap. One of those dreamless ones. That happens sometimes but is only a problem when I’m driving. I knew I was in a different location because the furnishings had changed from lite modern to country sheik.

This afternoon Ringo came to my room and told me that I was still on Earth at their facility that’s located in a hidden storeroom in the back of the new Bi Mart in Scappoose. Lot’s of folks wondered how Scappoose wound up with a Bi Mart so close to Fred Meyers. Now we know. Aliens built it. Through the small window mounted high on the wall all I could see was sky so I had to take Ringo’s word for it. He went on to explain that the reason we were at Bi Mart was because they have the parts needed to repair the damage George did to the landing craft, but it was on back order and wouldn’t be available for 3 weeks. That’s how long it takes for them to get resupplied from their Moon base. So, I was stuck in Bi-Mart for the next three weeks. To make up for the delay, Ringo gave me a stack of coupons I could use in the store when they finally released me. I thought that was pretty nice of him at the time but later learned that everyone in town received those same coupons in the mail on a regular basis.

I think I left off yesterday where I was just becoming aware of ‘things’ when Brucette stepped out of the shower. Considering the nature of Brucette’s skill and training, I suspect more than one of you were intrigued at the mental vision this may have created. Well, it’s not what you think. You see, these folks don’t really shower. When they get dirty they just shed their skin, like a snake, and keep on keeping on. Using the shower is a handy way to get rid of the evidence because all the discarded skin is water-soluble and easily washed down the drain. Because of this, you’d think water is very dangerous for them and make them melt. Not the case at all. The water merely removes the first layer of skin, of which they have about 128 layers that keep replenishing themselves. So, though Brucette was indeed naked her fake beauty was overshadowed by the bis of still dissolving skin clinging to her torso. If she’d stayed in the shower a bit longer I suspect they would have all gone away but apparently she was in a hurry. It wasn’t one of those ‘sights for sore eyes’, believe me.

The next time I woke up, not knowing that I had fallen asleep, I was laying on an exam table, just like the one they use on the Mother Ship. As I pondered my situation I became aware of a lightness making me think I was no longer on Earth. This was verified with Elton appeared with that big shiny reflector strapped around his head like doctors used before good flashlights were created. You know, it has a hole in the middle of it through which the doc looked while directing the reflected light on what he was looking at.

One of these …

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Elton didn’t really need it because they actually have state of the art lighting on the Mother Ship. He wears it as a fashion statement and, I think, as an attempt to put me at ease because he’s acting like a doctor. I know better because I’ve been here before. Many times over the past 52 years. I didn’t understand why they kept taking me over and over, doing the same tests, looking at all the same parts, over and over. Turns out that everyone on Earth is assigned a number and they select abductees based on a random draw and my number just keeps coming up.

“Once someone is selected to be abducted, why not leave their number out of the pool for the next drawings?” I asked during one abduction.

“Well,” said Elton, “you see, we are from Uranus and our rues are very strict about how abductees are selected. The numbers aren’t really drawn from a hat like we told you before. We use a computer to make the selection. Since you are just a number on a monitor we can’t very well remove the number. It’s always there. You could, conceivably, be selected numerous times in a row but the chances of that happening are astronomical.”

That’s actually the most words I ever heard come out of Elton’s mouth. Yes, they have mouths. They actually look just like us but learning that they originate from Uranus might make you wonder.  I was stunned because I had no idea that Elton could verbalize a coherent thought. During all previous visits all he did was issue commands to me like, ‘turn your head and cough’, ‘stick out your tongue’, ‘squeeze my fingers as hard as you can’, ‘turn to the right’, ‘stand on one leg and hop’, routine stuff like that. I just figured he was giving me a physical like they do in schools to make sure you can play sports without dying.

“Why do you do the same tests on me? Don’t you have the results from the last time?” I asked.

“We have protocols,” is all he said. Protocols. Right. Time tested protocols. Just like that guy you call for help troubleshooting your new computer because it won’t do something it’s supposed to and he (always a He) starts reading to you the protocol he’s supposed to use to determine the cause of the problem. He must go through every step on his guide even though you’ve already told him that the video card is smoked. No, he’s got to test everything before he can authorize shipment of the replacement part. After two hours he determines that the video card is bad and arranges to ship a new one. That’s a hypothetical example, or course.

So, I once again endured the protocols after which I was given an injection. They’d never done that before so I had to ask, “what’s that for?”

“Oh, there’s a bug going around up here,” said Elton, “and we don’t want to contaminate the humans.” Then he asked if I was allergic to eggs or egg products.

Just for fun I said, “Yes. Yes I am.”

“That’s OK because there’s nothing in the shot related to eggs of any type.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Protocol,” he said.

“You’ll be transported back to Earth shortly. Do you have to use the bathroom?”

“No,” I replied, “but I’d like to look around a little if it’s OK.”

“Sure,” he said. “Just don’t open any of the doors that have large red ‘X’s’ on them.”

So, I got up and wandered around the room and found three doors, two of which had the red ‘X’s’ on them. The third one had a happy face on it and looked promising. So I approached it and looked all over for some sort of knob that may open it. Behind me I heard Elton say, “Push on the door to open it.” I did that and, hey!, it popped right open just like one of those cupboard doors that have magnetic spring locks.

Behind the door was rod from which hung all of Elton’s clothes. Apparently it was a closet. Behind me I heard laughing as he enjoyed his little joke. That made me a bit angry so I turned and rushed to one of the ‘X’ marked doors with the intention of pushing on it but stopped short when I heard Elton yell out, “Noooooooo!”

Then I woke up fully clothed in my bed. At home. Mom was standing over me, wide-eyed, asking me if I was OK. It was really nice that Mom was there but a little odd, too, because Mom died in 2001.

“Crap.” I thought. “Elton sent me to the wrong reality, again.” He’s done that before. Probably on purpose. I’m sure it wasn’t protocol. Now I had to find out where Ringo lived in this reality so he could help send me back the proper reality. For the moment, though, I just said, “Hi, Mom,” and gave her a big hug. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.

Maybe I was just dreaming.

Diane’s fixing to take her Mom, Jean, shopping. That means I’ll be left unsupervised for a few hours so I’m going to the basement to play with some of my power tools. I do that when she leaves because her parting words when leaving me alone are, “don’t use any tools that plug into the wall!” It’s a warning and I know, but I prefer to take it as a challenge. It doesn’t always work out well for me but today I need to be really careful because I won’t have transportation to get me to the emergency room. I’ve driven myself there a few times and I always get into trouble for it. It’s just my renegade nature, I suspect.

Ciao.

To the Moon and back

A funny thing happened the last time I was in orbit and I thought you might like to hear about it. As far as I know this information does not violate any confidentiality agreements to which I am legally bound and that’s irrelevant because I can’t remember all that stuff anyway. So, I’m sharing. I’m sharing the parts I remember, that is.

First there was the routine abduction, something I’m so familiar with now that I rarely lose conscientious when they stab me in the eye with that incredibly bright light.

They use a variant of the flash bang commonly deployed by special forces personnel on most of the TV shows I watch. I think the police also use them as a way to stun a crowd into submission. The difference is that the version they use only has the flash part because the bang aspect would draw too much attention to the other patrons at Starbucks, where they normally arrange their snatch and grabs. Snatch and grab is not my choice of words, it’s theirs. They told me. I have no idea why they use that term, but they do. So, there I was at Starbucks, the one across the street from Wal-Mart*, when Ringo (ya, that’s what he calls himself) approached me and reached into his pocket for the flash light he always carries.

“Ringo,” I said. “Do you really have to do this? I mean, I’ll just go with you. You don’t have to blind me.”

After a short pause to gather his wits, he responded “but this is procedure. We always do it this way.”

“But I’m a compliant abductee. Haven’t I always gone along with pretty much everything you’ve asked me to do?”

“A … ya … I guess. But I like using my light. It’s fun.” At that point he whipped out the light and pointed it at my right eyeball and was in the process of activating it. Just before he pressed the button I moved my spoon, which I always carry in my right hand, most of the time, anticipating events like this, to cover my right eye with the convex surface point away from me. When he pushed the button the flash ricocheted off my spoon and harmlessly scattered throughout the room.

You might think this would have caused some sort of commotion amongst all those Starbucks customers but virtually all of them were fixated on their electronic device of choice and ignoring everything around them except the caffeinated drink gripped tightly in they dominate hand. Those with laptops sometimes released their drinks so they could use both hands on their keyboards, but that never lasted long.

“Oh, man,” said Ringo, “now I have to do this the old way,” at which point he reached over and grabbed me by the ear, a universally known method of forcing compliance, and marched me right out of that coffee shop and into the waiting sedan at the curb. All the way I was yelling “Ow, ow ow …” but he just qualified his action by adding, “Wait until your Mother finds out what you’ve been doing,” which is just another proven method of forcing compliance. No one wants to upset their Mom.

Once in the car I greeted to George, Ringo’s accomplice, who was always the driver. Also in the car was Brucette, their suductress, who is only put into play should all other forms of abducting fail. Brucette was very good at her job but she’s never had to work her wiles on my because I’ve always gone along nicely. That’s why I couldn’t figure out why Ringo and George had to make taking me such a big deal.

The sedan sped away from the curb before I had a chance to buckle up and I was slammed into the back seat just as I was about to sit. After speeding around a corner, onto Highway 30, I found myself unceremoniously draped across both Ringo and Brucette’s laps. Brucette thought it was an opportunity to practice her art and started brushing the hair out of my eyes and rubbing my back. I tried to extract myself from her embrace but she held me in place (she’s very strong) even when Ringo grabbed my ear again tried to yank me to a sitting position. But Brucette held on tight. Consequently, the pain was exquisite and at the same time comforting. She was that good.

“Brucie,” said Rambo quietly, releasing the tension on my ear, “let him go. You know the rules. Passengers in vehicles are required to wear seat belts on this planet.” She bowed her head a bit, looked up at him demurely, then reluctantly let me go. That was scary. I know how George drives so getting a seatbelt on was imperative.

Just as I heard the seat belt click into place I also heard the squeal of tires, the prelude to an impending crash.

When I woke up I had no idea where I was or how long I had been napping. It must have been a while because I was aware of the reduced gravity which could only mean I was on the Mother Ship. Again. Just once I wish they ‘d let me enjoy the trip up but, nooo, they had to stick to their stupid doctrine. When full awareness finally dawned on my abused body I heard a swish as the bathroom door opened and Brucette stepped out of the shower … … Oops. Gotta stop and help Diane find the waffle iron. Apparently we’re having breakfast.

I’ll get back to this later. Maybe tomorrow.

Did I Turn Left, Right, or go Straight?

I’ve figured out what’s going on that makes me appear to be off-balance and cause me to walk into walls.

It has to do with our multi-dimensional universe. What’s happening is this – when I turn a corner I partially step into another dimension where my leg, on the side I turn towards, is a bit shorter than I’m used to. For instance, if I turn left, my left leg moves into the other dimension as I turn the corner, then when I move to take a step forward, the shorter leg causes me to move to the left instead of straight. Once I realize what’s happening, I return to normal. Well, kinda normal. The same thing happens when I turn to the right, with my right leg.

The reason my leg seems shorter is, I suspect, because by not transferring completely into the other dimension, which is normally transparent to the traveler, my body is a little out of sync with what I perceive to be the natural order of things. It’s been proven, somewhere, that when a body completely transcends the boundaries into another dimension they are replaced in the vacated dimension by a duplicate that chose a different path.

It’s only logical that dimensions are accessed when we come to a point where we must make a decision. In the one that to you is reality, you turn one way, your duplicate does not. Look at it as if you split into two people at the point of decision and you actually go both directions. You do this over and over throughout a normal day and never realize it. Until you get old and apparently lose the ability to completely transfer your entire body in the direction you chose.

I only know when this happens to me when I go to look for something right where I know I left it, but it isn’t there. It’s not there because I’m in another dimension. There are two ways to return to the proper dimension where the missing item dwells. One is to dwell on the misplaced item to the point that you become fanatical about your inability to find it. Eventually the nature of dimensions gets tired of your whining and returns you to the proper place in space. The other way is to just ignore the loss of the item because you know it will be returned at some point in time.

Oddly, no matter which choice you make, whine about it, or forget about it, it takes the same amount of time for the universe to right itself. I’ve timed it so I know this is true.

OK. I know. Sounds crazy, right? But, I am unable to prove me wrong.

Now I’m going to intentionally transition into a different dimension by going to bed and commence to dream about that other reality where one of the other me people traded all that ENRON stock I had for Microsoft and Apple stock before it all disappeared. I’m doing really well in that place.

Cheers.

Cedric Dean Bradley Walters

Yesterday, Friday the 13th, Cedric was 17. It’s difficult for me to comprehend that he’s really that old. It’s an old cliché that “yesterday” he was really little …

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… then he got really big …

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He’s about an inch away from looking me directly in the eye. With his curly hair, however, he’s about 6’3″. Well, maybe only 6′ even. Much bigger than I as at his age. I think I was only about 4’11” when I started high school and only about 5’7″ when I graduated. After that I kept growing, even after I got married to my first wife at age 24. Really, it’s true. Ask Diane.

Also, yesterday, Cedric was driven to his summer job at Camp Tadmor. His stated goal, at least the last one I heard, was to be a Youth Pastor when he grows up. In my estimation, that’s an admirable goal. Working at Tadmor is an excellent step toward that goal. It’s also a large step in growing up because it will be the longest time he’s ever been away from his family. He’s excited about it and we’re all excited for him.

He’ll do a great job and have a great time, we’re sure.

Just gotta love that kid. He epitomizes pretty much everything that’s good about today’s youth.

He’ll Have To Go

This morning I was on “American Idol”, for some inexplicable reason. Well, not really on the show, but going for my audition. Throughout the entire trip from the waiting room, to the that little room they lock you in before you get the call, I was first extremely perplexed about why I was auditioning because there is no way anyone who is actively conscience would mistake me for a singer.

As I was propelled, with a ‘guide’ on either side of me, holding my arms, I became less perplexed and started worrying about what I was going to sing for the Judges. My first thought was something by Fredrick Nelson because he was only 4 years older than me and I liked his songs. “Travelin Man” came to mind, perhaps because I know most of the words.

“No,” I thought, “I need something more mellow.” Then Jim Reeves popped his head up and suggested “He’ll Have To Go”, another song  that I know most of the words to. Thinking this would be a better choice, I took Jim’s advice and discarded Ricky. Maybe another day for him.

For some reason the trip to the little booth took a while so I had ample time to practice, getting my routine down pat. Toward the end of the trip I thought I was sounding pretty good, especially on those low notes. With little fanfare, I was tossed into that little room and the door slammed.

I was alone, waiting for the green light. I waited, and waited, and waited, then it finally came on. I reached for the doorknob, turned it very slowly, and pushed the door open, steeling myself to give the performance of my life, to do something I wasn’t prepared to do. Clearing my throat, I stood a little straighter, confidently pushed the door open, and marched into the bathroom.

Then I woke up.

Isn’t it funny how your brain interprets the meaning of a distended bladder, and a groaning bowel?

Once awake, I grabbed Ozzie from the bed, went to the back door and released him into the wild. Panzee and Breezie readily followed. While waiting for them to return, I staggered around the kitchen a bit, fixing the dog’s bowls of pouch food to complete their morning routine. Not being fully alert, I mistakenly put Ozzie’s in the big bowl, and Panzee’s in the small bowl. I’ve done that before, but fixed it before serving. This morning I just left it as is and let them have at it. Then I fixed a cup of day old coffee for myself, stuffed it in the microwave, and went to the bathroom to complete the morning routine.

Turns out I really did have a world-class performance to give after all. Because of that, “He’ll Have To Go” was a good choice.

Since I haven’t been taking my fibre, as directed, it took a while and I had to reheat my coffee when done.

Now I’m comfortably waiting for my next performance. Maybe I should tune up my guitar and play along with it.

That would be a nice touch.