Category Archives: Family

Gilligan’s 10th Birthday, & Other Stuff

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Yesterday was Gilligan’s 10th birthday. Already, she’s 10! We all find it amazing. To Celebrate, Lydia and Ceiarra took it upon themselves to make it more special than normal by taking her home with them to make cookies and feed her dinner. Jeran cooked the dinner, shepherd’s pie, which everyone loved. Diane and I showed up later to give her our good wishes, a bag of presents, and to love on her a bit, before the big girls whisked her off to a movie. Girl’s Night Out. She was in heaven. Actually, all of the girls were giddy with joy. It was great. The mood may have been enhanced by the drinks they all got at Dutch Bros on the way back to the house. Who knows?

I regret I didn’t get a selfie that included Diane.

Ceierra snuck in a big cookie with a candle and #10 on it.

Then it was off to the theater.

 

It was a good evening.

I had another intimate encounter with my table saw this morning. Everything was going just fine, cutting little narrow pieces of wood for a reason yet to be determined, and I was on the last one. I very carefully pushed that last piece into the whirling blade along with my left thumb. For some reason it just felt correct to push it a tiny bit further, right up to the point where my reflexes kicked in, in response to the severe pain, and automatically yanked my hand away from the saw. Because of my vast experience with injuries like this, I pinched it really tight, not looking at it, and went upstairs to face the music with Diane.

She heard my exclamation, which I emitted involuntarily, and asked what I’d done. When she saw me holding my left hand above my head, she just grabbed her car keys and said, “c’mon, let’s go,” so we did.

Unfortunately, it was only 11:10am and urgent care doesn’t open for business until noon. I stopped on the clinic side of things, where non-bleeders are readily helped, and was told, “We don’t do stitches here.” So, I went around the corner and grabbed a seat near the registration window so I’d be first in line. Which  was, right at noon.

Diane was with me and spent part of her time spreading newer magazines around the waiting area. She found them in some boxes in the basement and has been meaning to drop them off for the last year or so. She makes them all neat on all the tables. Makes me proud.

I was ushered to room 3, the one I normally get at urgent care, and I was prepped for action. The doc came in and we had a nice chat while she stabbed my wound with nummy stuff. That first one really hurts, a lot. Then she stuck it about 10 more times around the perimeter of the wound. I just sucked air through my teeth and dealt with it, knowing that I’d earned it.

It’s been about 6 hours since I did it and it’s beginning to throb a little and I know it’s going to get worse. It always does. I know this kind of stuff.

So, here it is … not quite to the bone, but close.

As you can see, I dressed for the occasion.

Seven stitches.

Ready to party.

Another part of this story involved  the yearly reunion for USS Cleveland crew members. This year it’s in Portland and today there was a bus tour out the Columbia River Gorge. Diane and I were both going to go but Diane had a need to stay home and help her Mom, Jean, with someone making a bid to clean her windows. That meant I would have to go alone with all those old shipmates, getting up and out the door by 0730 to do it. Somehow getting out of the house that early wasn’t appealing so I opted to stay home and make another attempt to get the bathroom put back together. While the doc was stitching me up, Diane said, “I should have sent you on the bus.”

In closing, I must report that I finished cutting the pieces of wood, and I remembered what they were for. Next task is to install all of the baseboard pieces that I also cut this afternoon. Just to show you that I don’t need no stinking opposing thumb on my left hand. No sir. I don’t .

Steaks and Dog Food

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This afternoon I heard the dogs arguing in the living room and had to go see what it was all about before the fur flew. It’s true. The argument was escalating to that point. Actually, it’s only Ziva growling, but it’s a bit scary for me because I know that if they tangle, I’ll have to get between them. They have substantial teeth which makes that move risky for one of us.

When I got to the scene of the event here’s what I found …

That’s an open, and empty, food pouch that the big dogs don’t get to eat. Normally. It belonged to Ozzie. Now, had they ripped the package open from the top instead of the bottom I may have thought one of them retrieved the empty packet from the garbage but the way it was open gave them away.

Perhaps the dogs used this as a teaching moment to say something like, “Jerrie, CLOSE THE STUPID CUPBOARD!”

Or, maybe it was simply them showing off what they can do and to get a sense about how upset I’d be with what they did. You know, not so mad, they could do it again some day. Really mad, they could do it again some day but not too soon.

About the steaks … they are the ones Diane bought to take with us to Detroit Lake last week. They were rib eyes and would have been really good BBQ’d. The problem, as I’m sure you guessed there was one, we left for Detroit Lake Sunday afternoon but didn’t find the steaks in the car trunk until Tuesday. So, they were incarcerated in an unrefrigerated car trunk for over two days. Still, when I picked them up they both still looked nice and pink, and they weren’t warm at all. When I pierced the plastic in which they were encased, I didn’t detect any odors that smelled like spoiled meat and neither could Diane. But, she said e-coli could still be lurking around in there and that I should throw them away.

I just couldn’t do it. They were so pretty, and I really like steak. So, I lit the BBQ and cooked them. Still no suspicious smells, but I cooked them a little longer than the normal 5 minutes a side anyway. Brown all the way through. No red.

So, I put one of them on a plate and started easy with little teeny bites to see if anything happened to me. I ate slow, chewing each bite until it was so well masticated that it could easily have come fresh from a really good blender. Suitable for ingestion by someone with no teeth.

I’ve got to admit that it wasn’t all that satisfying. It took me a while to figure out that it was probably the dried onion I used in lieu of the seasoned salt I normally use which was still at home on a shelf in the kitchen.

Diane’s words about e-coli started rolling around in my head about the time I got half-way through the steak. That, and the wrong flavor of the meat, convinced me that I probably shouldn’t be eating any more steak right then. I kind of lost my taste for meat and decided that common sense dictated that cease and bow to my bride’s superior knowledge about such things.

Then the wait began. I figured it wouldn’t take long for the stomach cramps to begin and was torn between calling an ambulance right away, or just wait for the pain to begin. I decided to wait. I waited for 3 days and nothing happened.

Apparently I’m immune to e-coli, or whatever else could be wrong with meat that should have been totally spoiled due to lack of refrigeration.

Yup. I’m immune. It’s been 7 days and I’m going with the option that e-coli normally strikes 3-4 days after exposure.

That part about e-coli taking up to 10 days to make itself known is a myth.

I may have a different story to tell in three days.

Detroit Lake State Park, Pacific Crest Trail, Sauvie Island, and Home Depot

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We spent last week out of the country camping at Detroit State Park. That would be the reason you haven’t heard from us in a while. Our parking spot was close to the lake and gave us ideas about a family event next summer since all those sites are big enough for many tents.

Detroit Lake is known for good fishing, something neither Diane nor I do. Catching fish involves cleaning them, unless you give them away. We find it much easier to just lay around and watch others fish then go to the store when we want some for ourselves. It’s a beautiful place.

We took walks multiple times a day. Per the rules, all dogs had to be on a leash so we complied. I just didn’t hang on to Ziva’s all the time.

During one walk Ziva had a notion that she was some sort of water dog who liked ducks and was moving in on this one swimming away.

Once we talked some sense into her she got out of the water then walked briskly down the docks to a slip where the ducks were just sitting. Of course they bailed off and I honestly thought Ziva was going to follow them. But, apparently dog sense prevailed and she just watched them swim away. Odd that she liked the ducks because she didn’t give the numerous geese in the area a second glance.

There are nice trails like this all over the park.

After one long walk around the park lasting a couple of hours we returned and discovered that I left my keys in the RV door. I did that, of course, so I’d know where they were.

It rained almost the entire time we were there but that was OK. It was the first real rain we’d seen in almost 3 months. The dogs didn’t mind it either, but it kept us busy drying them off.

Went to Sisters one day to look around. It’s a neat little town. Almost like moving downtown Seaside from the beach to the high desert. Very touristy kind of place. On the way back we took a walk on the Pacific Crest Trail.

Since it was snowing we didn’t go more than a couple of miles up the trail before Ziva’s feet got too cold to continue. It was pretty chilly. Turns out she’s a warm weather dog. I had to carry her back to the car.

The area was burned off at some point in the past, not from recent forest fires. But, it gives you an idea how fire can decimate the environment and makes us appreciate those who fight the fires all the more.

On the way home we stopped at a Home Depot to buy baseboard material for our hall project. It was Diane’s idea, a good one, because we had the motor home with plenty of room to carry 20 foot lengths of material. As it turned out, we only got 8 foot lengths because that’s all they had of the kind Diane wanted. Still, it was nice to not have to figure a way to carry all that stuff home. Ziva and Ozzie enjoyed the shopping trip, too. Ziva even helped me tow the cart around the place.

OK, so Ozzie wasn’t so hot on riding in a cart but he had to. If Diane would have left him on his leash he would have stopped and peed on every display he encountered. We know that’s true.

Before leaving on our trip, my good friend and golf buddy, Doug, drove down to our back 40 to save some apples. He said his apples are all gone and the deer need some to eat. So, he picked a few.

Saturday we participated in a beach cleanup on Sauvie Island which is in the middle of the Columbia River between Portland and St. Helens. About half of the island is farmland and the other half is a wild life preserve. There is no mention in the history books about this beach where Diane signed us up to clean.

During the summer Collin’s Beach is a pretty popular place for the brave at heart. The link contains a photo of me that I didn’t want to use but Diane insisted.

After we cleaned up the litter we stopped at Kruger’s Farm for some fresh veggies. They have great prices on pretty much everything they grow. This sign in the store caught my attention and thought it would be a good way to end this.

The sign was there, but I didn’t see any chickens.

Looking for Trouble

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The other day on my way out the door to go golfing, Diane asked me if I’d eaten anything. Of course, I hadn’t, so I grabbed a handful of Costco bacon bits, 3 truffles, and a cracker I found in my chair. Those, and a cup of to-g0 coffee, and I was ready. Sadly, I was late for my tee time because I made the crucial mistake of telling Diane what I had. Apparently my choices do not count of valid food choices. So, I had a bowl of cereal.

Later the same day, checked the in and out temps on the catalytic converter on Lydia’s Envoy. Not having a tool specifically designed to do this kind of work, I chose to use Diane’s instant read meat thermometer. It seemed to be the same on either end so I figure the catalytic converter wasn’t working properly. As a result of this finding, I removed the catalytic converter and inserted an 18″ piece of 3″ ABS pipe in its place.

I know, it’s illegal to remove a catalytic converter, but it’s temporary because it’s going to melt then the exhaust will get really loud. I’m hoping that it will hold up for short trips around town. I would have used heavy-duty PVC but didn’t have any. It’s thicker and takes longer to melt which would allow for longer trips to, say, Warren, or Columbia City.

That’s it for today. I need to get to Kitchen Kaboodle before they close so I can get a new meat thermometer for Diane.

Later

My 1,000th Post, or Why my fingers are tired

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This is my 1,000th blog entry and I thought I should make it special. In what way, I don’t know, because I don’t consider any of my entries special. They’re just a bunch of words I string together in a manner that I’m still not sure I understand. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don’t. It’s a crap shoot. Still, I do it and I wonder why, perhaps like some of you may do. I’m not about offering advice for anything. I just share the mishaps I encounter during a current project that typically lead to some sort of injury to some of my favorite body parts. I constantly receive encouragement to keep writing leading me to believe that those folks enjoy reading about all those times I needed stitches. Or, maybe it’s because I have this one particular finger that’s had a total of 25 stitches for three different wounds over the course of the last 55 years. It’s true, and all three wounds were in close enough proximity that the resulting scars intersect. It’s evident that this finger, my left pointer, is poking around in the wrong places when it shouldn’t be.

Having people suggest that I keep producing this stuff makes me feel obligated to do so and also makes me suspect that I’m filling a need for them to be entertained. I’m OK with all of that. Sometimes I do stupid things on purpose just to see what happens. According to my wife, Diane, it’s not a proper way for a 73-year-old to conduct himself. Not healthy, either. But you know what? It’s kinda fun so I ‘spect I’ll keep going a while.

Last Friday I visited some of our Winnebago friends who came to spend a few days in St. Helens at the Elks Club. In case you don’t know, most Elks Clubs all over the US have hook ups for RVs and Camp Trailers that don’t cost much. No sewer in St. Helens, but there’s water and electricity for $15 a night. Plus, you’re parked next to a restaurant and bar that’s just a short walk away. Friday was pot luck night for the campers, however, so I represented me and Diane for the BBQ hamburger meal. Diane didn’t go.

Well, she went, actually. She went a lot because she and our daughter, Jennifer, spent the day together doing girl stuff which included lunch at a local restaurant. The food is generally good, as it was on Friday, I’m told, but both of them encountered some sort of bug that acted suspiciously like norovirus. Consequently, when the girls got home to their respective habitats, they went, and went, and went, without going anywhere except the bathroom. All the while that was going on I was sitting with our friends enjoying my hamburger, beans, and potato salad. I believe I got the better deal.

By the time I got home, Diane was much better but wouldn’t be full speed until Saturday. She communicated with the girls and the decision was made for all of them to come to our house for early dinner on Saturday. It, too, was a bit of pot luck which is always great because of the variety you get. For our part, Diane dug around in the refrigerator and found some hamburger that still smelled OK and decided to make meatloaf. For those who shun beef she went to either Safeway, or Fred Meyer’s, for some dead chicken parts they cook. I like their dead chicken. Actually, I like anyone’s dead chicken. It’s very tasty.

Now, I have to clarify here that I specify ‘dead’ chicken because we all know that there are many chickens out there that aren’t dead. Like those that live in our neighbor’s back yard. I need to make that point because I’m not a fan of live chickens but I’m not the kind of person who would go out of their way to make them more likable to my way of thinking without just cause. At this point in time the resident rooster is pushing the limit. Some of the hens are apparently special kinds because the feathers stick straight out from their scrawny necks looking as if someone has grabbed them by the feet, wrapped their hand around their neck, and apparently tried to stretch them a bit. Kinda like this …

Kinda weird, right? Now, the rooster of this little flock doesn’t have a robust crowing ability, as you might imagine. He crows in a feeble way like he’s on his last leg. So, that’s kinda like entertainment for me.

Our Winnebago Friend Gathering (WFG) this time of year is normally held at the fair grounds in Hood River. That plan was nixed when some idiot child tossed a firecracker in a ditch and started the Eagle Creek Fire and burned up over 30,000 acres of prime timber along the Columbia River. There was grave danger that the Multnomah Falls Lodge would burn but the fire fighters kept the flames away.The freeway, I-84, was closed and remains closed because of the fear of trees falling on the road once the rain starts. Because of that, the Winnebagos came our direction instead.

For our dinner, I chose to use our china, crystal, and silverware because it needs to be used. I set the table so I used pretty much all the silver so folks had enough tools to choose from for the items they were eating. No one complained and everyone had a good time.

You’ll notice that Diane isn’t in the photo. That’s because she rarely sits down during meals like this. Instead, she always up getting one thing or another like most hostesses I know. In the photo, left to right, are: Susan, Cliff, John, Less, Sophia, Terry, and Carolann. That’s me in the middle, with the big head.

This is everyone. I apologize for not getting a better photo of Diane, and I will surely hear about this one, but it’s what I got. I think she was sharing, during group discussion, how her day went on Friday. I love my wife. Mainly what we were doing in this formation, was watching the news of Hurricane Irma and how the weather was affecting folks in Florida. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Florida and Texas are drowning while Oregon and Washington burn.

Here’s a better photo of Diane …

It’s always fun to watch the news people during disastrous events like the floods because they encourage all the residents to evacuate then news teams go in and stand in the flood so they can get their pictures taken. It’s even more fun when the wind is blowing over 100 mph. Gotta wonder what motivates those people. Why do they feel the need to put their people in danger to show the masses what a stiff wind, filled with pelting rain, will do to unsuspecting people. Maybe it’s some sort of punishment for low performers. This only happens for water related events. Apparently the news people are smart enough to NOT show up at a forest fire and demonstrate the dangers related to them. Nope, that’s when they shift to one of those protest rallys that seem to pop up that don’t seem to have a valid point. The most recent one in Portland, today, was the Anti-White Nationalist Rally. I guess it was just a matter of time before something like that jumped out of the ground, huh? For those of you who don’t live in the Portland area, here’s a Protest Rally Schedule of events across the country that may interest you. If you attend any of them, we expect you to report back with information about what you learned at whatever rally you attend.

OK, now that I’ve actually put that rally list out there, I think, Really?! There’s a web site for protest rallys? I guess those folks who don’t have anything productive to do on any given day need guidance, and this is it.

Now it’s getting late. Ziva was happy when folks went home so she could reclaim her spot on the couch. She loved our visitors, but they were sitting on her couch.

Goofy dog.

Oh, ya! It rained Saturday night. Just enough to put a very slight green tinge on our brown yard. First rain in about 3 months.

I hope everyone had a safe weekend. Now, get back to work. I need my Social Security Check.

Thanks

Demo Day !

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It has begun. Diane’s been wanting the hall floor to go away since the day after we moved in (10 years ago) and it finally made it to the top of my To Do List. As most of you probably already know, TDL’s are a living document, subject to change at the drop of a hat, or at the hint of a whim. Mine is always in flux. Replacing the hall flooring made it to the top because Diane thinks we should sell the house and move into the RV. That means we must fix everything up like brand new for the new owners.

There is one layer of linoleum and two layers of tile that need to be removed. The original 1957 tile is the bottom layer and I’m determined to remove it to ensure the floor is level at all ingress and egress points in the hall. There are six of them.

In order to remain true to my tradition of doing stuff like this, I’m using the wrong tool, but it’s working. I would use the right tool, but I don’t have one. What I have it a flat pry bar that has a very sharp edge, allowing it to slip easily under the tile so it can be pried up.

Hmmm.

Maybe I do have the right tool, after all.

Thankfully, I’m medically trained to recognize signs of injury and what to do when they are discovered.

Not only is this the sign of an injury, it’s also a reminder that I should be wearing gloves. The blood is just a little bit of what I lost when my hand slipped from a piece of tile I was trying to pull out and the knuckle of my wedding ring finger grazed the sharp edge of my pry bar that was obviously laying in the wrong place. I didn’t know the extent of the damage at the time it happened. It was just an ordinary random pain I get when I do stuff like this so kept on working. When I saw the blood on the floor my training kicked in, causing me to react very quickly to determine the source of this vital fluid by checking the exposed portions of my body for leaks. Once found it’s a simple matter of getting a paper towel wrapped around the injury, if possible, then going meekly to Diane for assistance to seal the wound. Her response, pretty much every time, when she sees me standing in front of her holding a paper towel to some part of my anatomy is, “Oh Lord, what did you do now?!” I know it’s a rhetorical question because she just heads for the band aid drawer without waiting for an answer.

Yes, we have an entire drawer that’s used only for band aids.

Now I’m all fixed.

Stress Test, and Prescriptions

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Today I participated in a stress test of my heart. That’s where, in my case, a male Nurse Practitioner (a nurse that acts like a doctor, lots of times far better) and a girl in a blue jump suit (like they wear in county jails) attached EKG probes all over my body then planted me on a treadmill running at 3 mph and told me to walk till I dropped. Actually, they just told me to let them know when it became painful or when I was just to pooped to continue. The legs started giving out first because I never, ever, walk anywhere at 3 mph so the pace was a bit much. They slowed it to 2.5 mph to accommodate that problem for me, thankfully. Then the skin covering my left shoulder-blade started going numb, then it felt like it was burning, as did most of my left arm. I shared this info but they didn’t seem to be impressed so I pressed on. In truth, I wasn’t too concerned about my left arm either because it always tingles a bit and is always colder than my right arm. I blame all that on faulty nerves.

Once the pain became a bit much, and I had confirmed that I met the minimum BPM increase for my suspicious heart, I cried “Uncle” and they stopped the machine. Leaving me connected to the EKG unit, they put a chair on the tread mill behind me so I could sit during the 5-minute cool down period. All the while they kept the EKG machine running, sharing little knowing glimpses at each other and nodding, which wasn’t lost on me. It was obvious one saw something out of line and shared it for confirmation.

They took all their findings and left to confer with their staff, they said, and suggested that I sit down and wait, which I did. They were gone for a while. Finally, the NP reappeared and shared the good news that during the cool down period, as well as during the 30 heart monitor I recently did, they detected PVC’s of some sort that aren’t normal. Then I was told I was getting a new blood pressure medicine, Metoprolol Tartrate (a Beta Blocker), to take in addition to the other two blood pressure meds I currently take. I asked about the redundancy of taking so many different kinds of BP meds but didn’t get a reasonable answer. So, I’ll toss that one to my PC doctor who knows everything.

Now, about prescriptions. My new bottle of pills directs me to “Take one tablet by mouth twice a day.” I’ve seen this many times previously and always wondered at the wording, but seeing it again on my new prescription made me wonder just exactly how that should be done. I know what they mean, but I can’t help wonder how a more literal person than me would decipher the process. To me it means I should take one tablet, retrieve it, then take it again later in the day. They only way to do that, of course, would be to tie a string on it the first time. The problem is the pills are really small so I’d have to work on devising a way to attach the string.

I think it’s obvious I’m not going to be tying string to a pill any time soon because I’m pretty sure swallowing something like that would make me gag. If it didn’t on the way down, it surely would on the way back up. Nope. Not going to do it.

It’s time for me to rest and complete my stress test recovery process which includes a nap. It’s either that that makes me drowsy, or the big lunch Diane made me eat on our way home. I had a small chicken fried steak, hash browns, two eggs, three pancakes, and a cup of coffee. Whatever the reason, a nap is going to fix it.

Later.

Julia, A Notable Niece

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Just a short time ago, like 30-40 minutes, I was having a fun time chatting with my niece in Connecticut. Her name is Julia and she’s not really my niece – her Grandmother is my niece. I suppose I could look up the proper placement of titles here, but I’m not going to because I’m OK with Julia being just my niece.

Julia is a dedicated Girl Scout and has been breaking records for cookie sales since joining the organization. Because of her prolific sales she was interviewed on the Today Show last March and most recently she had a meeting with Linda McMahon, the Small Business Administrator in Washington, D.C. Julia considers herself an entrepreneur and has some lofty goals for cookie next year. She told me she’s shooting for $3,000 in sales.

Julia is also a musician whose instrument is the bass violin, the really big one, taller than her. She named it Jerry. Of course I figured she had me in mind when she named it, which may have influenced some of the kind things I’ve said about her, but that’s probably not true. She said, “It just looks like a Jerry.” Perhaps it does.

 

Eclipse Survivors, and Broken Body Parts

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Just when Diane thought it was safe to go outside again, news of other Cate wives breaking bones started coming in. At this point in time we’re up to 4 – three arms and a foot, so far. Since Diane was the first to wreck herself, I suppose that kinda makes her a winner of sorts. Three of the breakee’s are wives to we three brothers and the fourth is the wife of a close cousin who is, essentially, a brother. Just before beginning this, I warned the one remaining sister-in-law about this apparently new tradition in our lives hoping that she might escape. All she needs to do is just sit quietly and have others wait on her hand and foot for the next 3 months and she should be safe. The problem with that, however, is that there’s no way she is going to sit quietly for any extended period. She’s just too busy. Getting waited on, I’m sure, she can manage for a long time. Hopefully she’ll see the danger in testing the tradition and be wary of everything.

Taking this a step further, and kind of stepping out on a very flimsy limb (literally), I’ve got to say that the Cate men must be more durable that the women who chose to share out name. Either more durable, or just not clumsy. No, that’s wrong. Can’t use clumsy because if I’m anything it’s clumsy. Really. Not a day goes by where I don’t add a nick or ding to my exterior, some of which require medical intervention to stop the bleeding and ensure I don’t acquire an incurable infection. You can ask Diane and she will totally agree with me. Yes, ask Diane, the one who broke her arm riding her bike.

I shouldn’t talk like that, I suspect, because the arm still bothers her. Mainly, I think, because her doctor told her to use it and to keep doing her PT exercises. She’s doing that. It won’t be long before she will be able to slug me full on with her left hand, but for now she must rely on her right one, holding her punches to ensure she doesn’t endure another injury in a vain attempt to dent this rock-hard body.

She doesn’t actually do that, of course. Just another lie. Also, the only part of me that’s rock hard is my head and she’d never hit me there because it might leave a mark.

On to more fun stuff, like the eclipse. It’s apparent that we survived since I’m sitting here but it was a close call. We got up early on the 21st and drove out to the south jetty of the Siuslaw River but figured we’d never be able to see anything because we could hardly see the road due to the seemingly ever-present coastal fog. For some reason we thought maybe it would go away, but it didn’t. So, we went east on Highway 126 out of Florence until we found a likely spot to park and watch the show. While getting set up a State Trooper stopped by to make sure we were OK and validated our choice for viewing the eclipse. We had Ziva, our dog, but forgot her leash — OK, I forgot her leash — and it was simply pure luck that the Trooper had one he’d found somewhere. He loaned it to us so we would be legal and asked that we just leave it hanging on the guard rail so he could pick it up later. We did that. Nice guy.

We sat there for the entire two-hour event and never once looked at the sun without using our eclipse glasses. Consequently, neither of us went blind. Ziva didn’t either because she’s smart enough to not look directly at the sun for any reason. Only people need to be told stuff like that. We were too far south to enjoy the totality zone, but it was still a good show.

All that made me tired so I’m going to bed now.

Apocolyptic Eclipse, and other Stuff

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Does anyone else wonder why the media is making the coming eclipse appear to be, like, the end of the world? Here in Oregon everyone is urged to stock up on food, gas their vehicles, batteries, candles, and be careful with their pets during the 2+ minutes of darkness. It’s like a major disaster is pending.

Early on we heard local media at home treat this event “like” a catastrophe and make sure everyone has all the survival equipment they need to weather the storm, but it seems like the comparison is no longer being made – omitting that reference makes it sound like the real deal. Kind of like “War of the Worlds”.

Diane just checked the internet, which is functioning just fine here, in case you’re wondering, and saw news about all the “Eclipse Traffic” in the Prineville/Bend area. It’s bumper-to-bumper on the major roads in that area. Amazing.

Me? I’m just going to continue like normal, like it’s just another day with a brief bit of welcome shade, right up until the earth explodes. If I’m lucky, I’ll be eating a fudge cycle  when it happens.

Now, add to all that hoopla about the eclipse, we have demonstrations going on that are on the verge of being touted as domestic terrorism by some government officials. Nifty. Hate groups seem to be coming out of the wood work.

To make it worse, the media seems to think the blame for these events fall directly on President Trump’s shoulders. Interesting. These folks have been around far longer than Donald Trump.

Sorry for jumping on that wagon. I normally don’t do that, but all the negative news about what’s going on is disturbing. There doesn’t seem to be anything good happening anywhere according to reporters. So, let me share some with you.

This morning I took the dogs for a walk to the off-leash area for a romp and, hopefully, a major potty stop. It was early and the temp was fairly reasonable at less than 80 something. While there I struck up a conversation with another dog owner, Amber, who lives in Eugene. She found this dog park after looking at all of them in the area and deems it to be the best one around. It’s at least a full acre of fenced ground with water, and lots of sawdust piles in which to play. I always find it interesting that when animals are left to their own devices, they seem to all get along just great.

Anyway, Amber and I talked small talk for a long time, then got down to specifics like, “does she come there often,” and “what’s your favorite color,” and stuff like that. That’s a lie, of course. I didn’t ask her what her favorite color is. I did, however, considering the location and her perceived age (late 20’s), ask her what she taught. I actually asked that .. “what do you teach?”

That raised her eyebrows, thought for a bit, then asked in turn, “did I say something to make you think I am a teacher?”

“No,” I responded, “but it just seemed like the right question.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m a speech therapist. Good guess.”

From there we talked about many things, including dogs, and I suspect we parted company with mutual respect. Her respect for me for not hitting on her like I’m sure many men do because she’s very attractive, and my respect for her because of her dedication to her chosen career. She obviously enjoys what she does and I enjoyed my brief encounter with her, even though I don’t have any idea what her favorite color is.

Diane made another couple of trips to Walmart* today, something she enjoys, then she made another trip this afternoon to get the winning ticket for the $400 million + Power Ball drawing. We’re due to win. Just like everyone else in the good old USofA, and Canada. Who knows? Maybe this is the one. It is, after all, the new American Dream.

For being good, Diane stopped on her last trip back to get dinner at Taco Bell.

Now for some photos for those of you who made it this far …

For most of the day, when Diane was out shopping in air-conditioned spaces, this is what my view was when I opened my eyes.

By tipping my head up a little, this is what I saw.

After walking the dogs a little ways from the parking spot, this is what I saw on the way back.

Looking a bit to my left I could see our nearest neighbor. The sites here are very far apart. That neighbor, incidentally, serenades everyone at night with either his banjo or his bass. He told me he’s in a bluegrass band and needs to keep his fingers limber. He’s very good at his craft … fun to listen to.