Vegetable Soup, Computers, and PT

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Last Thursday Diane made the absolutely best Vegetable Soup I’ve ever had the pleasure of ingesting. It was so good that I ate two big bowls full. I also ate two pieces of toast with each bowl. Like normal, I asked her if she used a recipe and she said, “No.” Then I asked her if she could recreate this masterpiece and she said, “I don’t know.” These are pretty standard answers for those questions because Diane improvises most everything she cooks, and she doesn’t taste anything while she’s doing it. I’m the taster.

Now, having said all of that, I gotta tell you that she’s never given me a bad meal. They are all good, and it’s exciting because we can have the same meal multiple times in a row and they are all different. Take Sloppy Joe’s, for instance. Or Meat Loaf. Or Beef Stew. In subtle ways, they are different every time which always gives us at least one topic for dinner conversation … what’s different about this version? Always good, and always fun.

The soup? Including the three dishes mentioned above, it’s joined their ranks as one of my favorites. Now I have four of them. Life is good.

While the soup was cooking, I spent some time visiting with the MELCA guys over coffee at the Kozy Korner. Like normal, it was an eventful visit where we once again solved many of the world’s problems. Sadly, attempts to notify the appropriate authorities with these solutions were met with a disagreeable level of snickering and other forms of  degrading noises, so we ceased our efforts.

Then we had some more coffee.

The rest of Thursday was a blur of un-memorable activity of one sort or another.

Friday morning I had a date with Pam’s computer because it had issues. It was a new one for me so, therefore, a challenge. I spent a couple of hours fiddling with it at her house and couldn’t resolve it so disconnected it and took it to the car so I could dismantle it at my house.

Then I went to Physical Therapy where Derek & Patrick teamed up on me to bend my right arm into positions I don’t normally bend it. The reason I don’t is because it hurts. For that reason, over the years, I discovered ways to do things, like comb my hair, without using the offending muscles. As a result, over those very same years, the offending muscle has lost it’s ability do the things muscles normally do. Like, move my arm in a specific direction. Now, in order to please my doctor, and the physical therapists she unleaded upon me, I find it necessary to work on resurrecting the offending muscle. The good news is that with a little bit of manipulation, Derek and Patrick were able to improve the function indicating there’s hope we can regain use of the muscle. I’d tell you which muscle it is, but I have no idea which one it is. All I know is it’s the one that doesn’t work when I hook a large yellow rubber band to a door knob and attempt to stretch it while keeping my elbow next to my body. I face the door with the doorknob on my left, my right forearm sticking straight out from my body, then moving my arm to the right, away from my belly button. That part doesn’t hurt, it just doesn’t work. I guess making it work will help resolve the pain problems. We’ll see how that goes.

After returning home, it became imperative that we rearrange all of the furniture in the living room. It was imperative because it’s what Diane wanted to do. Now the living room has a totally different, open look to it. But, it still has too much furniture in it, so there will be another evolution in the near future. I will be on alert.

Yesterday evening I attended my monthly American Legion meeting at the Moose Club on Old Portland Road in Warren. I know you probably don’t care where it’s at but I was compelled to add that bit of information. Now you know.

Since I didn’t have time to eat supper before rushing off to my meeting, I was hungry. Thankfully Diane had mixed up some tuna for a sandwich and there was enough left for me to have half a sandwich. She doesn’t use relish when making tuna salad, so I mixed some in the remaining tuna and slathered it on a piece of bread. On the way to my chair I felt it would be a good idea to wrap the sandwich in a paper towel to keep from dropping bits on the carpet. That’s a  sure way to get into huge trouble in this house. Just ask Diane because it’s her rule.

I was near the counter top, a couple of steps away from the roll of paper towels, but there was one laying right there in front of me. Grabbing it, I wrapped it around my sandwich and sat down to eat it while we watched whatever Diane was watching on TV. As I was working my way through the sandwich, folding the towel out of the way, I noticed the paper towel had an odd texture. When the sandwich was gone, I folded the towel in half and wiped the residue from my lips. It was then that I detected a distinctly un-paper towel like aroma that caused me to give it a closer look.

There were some dark spots on it which, upon closer examination, revealed themselves to be spots of dust. Then I rechecked the towel’s texture and everything started clicking with regard to all the clues I had received.

Turns out the paper towel I grabbed was really a Swiffer sheet that Diane had used to dust all the furniture in the living room as we put it back in place. Then she conveniently tossed on the counter instead of into the trash.

After discovering what I had wrapped my sandwich in, I got the distinct taste of dust and, perhaps, Pledge, in my mouth that kind of ruined the sandwich for me. So I ate an apple.

I think she left it there on purpose to see what would happen.

Either that, or she knew the bread was dusty.

Losing Things, Nicks & Dings, and a Sandwich

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This morning, when checking my email, I was once again amazed to discover that someone took the time to read what scribble. That happens every day, actually, but this morning’s offering caused me to consider putting more thought into what I share. I can only believe that adding the word “Karma” into the title prompted a look by Gede Prama. Whatever the reason, it added another layer of blessings onto my  already overflowing life. Check him out and let me know if you think I’m nuts.

No, scratch that … just let me know if you find his messages helpful.

Now, about pain …

I endure it every day in some manner, as I suspect pretty much every one does. Sometimes it’s so faint I barely notice it. Then there are times when it becomes the only thing I can think about, willing it to end, willing myself to get beyond it and move along. We’ve all had those, I know. Like, when you stub your bare toe, really hard, into an immovable object. That hurts like crazy, doesn’t it? I’ve done that. I’ve also hit the end of my big toe with a hammer, so hard I actually thought I was going to die from the pain. This is a story I’ve told before, buried in an ancient post, so will not repeat it.

A lot of the pain I experience, however, isn’t self-inflicted because of stupid things I do,  but rather as a result of Karma, I believe. I’m being punished for some deed that I failed to recognize as one that was not aligned with universal acceptance. Sometimes the sin isn’t readily apparent, taking days, perhaps, to resolve into a meaningful understanding of what I did wrong. Consequently, I’m fated to repeat the errors until the consequences of my actions are hammered home, so to speak, until I’m forced to consider my moves carefully.

That’s tough for me to do because I’m a pretty spontaneous person. That trait is directly attributable to many of the injuries I’ve sustained over the years. I just didn’t think ahead far enough to figure out the possibilities of my actions.

I drop and spill stuff all the time, but not all of those events cause me to change directions like that socket did. Like, a cup of coffee, for instance. Granted, it makes me   immediately change direction to seek something with which to clean it up, but it doesn’t deter me from my primary object which was probably getting to the bathroom. before something more exciting took precedence. Sometimes the spilled coffee is ignored for a moment, or two, before getting adequate attention.

During this downhill side of life the spontaneity is less physical and more spoken or written. The physical side has shown me that, since moving from vertical to horizontal is becoming increasingly more difficult because of complaining joints, it’s not a good thing when I drop “stuff.” Like that socket I spoke of yesterday. I’m confident I’ll find it, eventually, but dropping it caused me to move on to something different. This half of the journey has proven to be a bit less painful, also. Partly because I’m slower, and actually think about what I’m going to do, most of the time. And, partly because many of the pain receptors in the parts I’ve injured the most, over the years, no longer transmit. They are simply worn out. Oh, they let me know I’ve done something wrong, but not to the point of hopping up and down until the pain subsides. It’s more of a warning that I should look, for instance, at the elbow side of my right arm after slamming it into the bracket that holds the hood up on my pickup. I did that yesterday, too. It was a warning shot, I’m sure, just before dropping the socket, but I didn’t recognize it as a message at the time. It hurt, I looked, and didn’t see any blood seeping into my long-sleeved short, so went about business.

Then, dropped the socket. A more stern warning from my limbic system that things aren’t going well.

Then, last night, after a pretty successful period of time playing with power saws in the basement, I received another shot across my bow, the reason for which I have not yet discovered.

We were eating dinner. Jeran was there. Diane had cooked up some really great pieces of deceased chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. We all sat down at the table and things were progressing well until I was compelled to rise out of my chair to visit the kitchen for some reason which I can’t remember.

Attaining a vertical position from a seated position, especially while sitting on a chair, is not a complex move because you have both arms and legs to use to make it work mechanically in a symmetrical manner. I, however, was forced to make the move with only one leg, because the pain receptors in my right foot went on full alert.

After a rapid intake of air, the body’s response that enables one to vocally alert any one in the vicinity about the severity of the situation, I reached down to investigate the cause.

Here’s what I found firmly attached to the bottom of my foot …

DSC_9193

I had to yank it out. Kinda reminded me of the time Mike Friday jumped off my bed (we were kids, and he’s a cousin) and wound up with an embroidery needle stuck all the way through one of his toes.

Kinda makes you want to hop around on one foot, doesn’t it?

The immediate message I received, and the one that is probably the one intended, is that I actually should wear something on my feet, even in the safety of my own home. There could be, however, a more meaningful meaning that I’ve yet to realize. I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

Yesterday, for lunch, Diane made us a “Fat Tuesday” meal of pancakes. She made enough of them that we were able to do it again today.

Since I don’t have a photo of that meal, I’ll share this one of the supper I had night before yesterday …

DSC_9190

Jewel will appreciate this one because it’s your standard fried egg, potato patty, and spam sandwich. It was awesome. A Hawaiian favorite, at least from the spam perspective.

Trucks, Karma, Kids, & Wood

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Today I started my work day working on the pickup but it didn’t last very long. The reason for that is I let Karma dictate the direction my day goes. My task was simply to get the truck started after sitting for a while, but that let to me dismantling a bunch of stuff, and fiddling with a bunch of wires. It wasn’t going well at all. Finally, two things happened that made it evident I was supposed to go find something else to do.

First, while taking the wire connection off the firewall side of the fuse block, I dropped my 3/8″ socket that was attached to my only 3″ extension. I’m pretty sure it dropped to the ground under the truck, into the 8″ deep grass that’s grown there since I parked the truck, but I couldn’t find it.

Considering this devastating loss a minor setback, I found something else to do that only involved a phillips screwdriver. Since the screw I wished to remove was large, and too hard to turn by hand, I used my 1/4″ socket into which I inserted the phillips head. After I got the screw out, the bit also fell into the grass.

That’s when I wrapped everything up, took my tools inside, and went to work on my work bench project. It’s been sitting idle for a couple of months because it seems I was either overly involved doing “other” things, or I was not motivated to go down all 15 stairs into the basement. Today, with the truck project an abject failure, I made the effort, and hammered together a bunch of wood I’d already cut in anticipation of this moment.

Although I have extremely limited space in which to work, I found a way to get it done. Well, not done, exactly, but at least well on the way. Soon, very soon, I’ll have another expanse of horizontal surface on which to stack all that stuff that used to hang on the peg board. At the moment it’s all over the floor making it difficult to get around. I’d include a picture but I’m pretty sure both of the California Mike’s would find totally unacceptable, boarding on the obscene. It’s not pretty. But, it’s getting better. Honest, it is.

When it’s finished, it will have hidey holes for all the power tools and maybe event some extra drawers in which to store things I only use once or twice a year. With all those things actually put away, I don’t know what I’m going do with the time I’ll save by not having to move a pile of “stuff” each time I want to do something. Right now it’s just a way of life for me. Has been for years. That, and looking for my tape measure, or a pencil, every time I need to measure something. Next time those things are on sale, I’m going to buy 6 or 7 of them and just leave them lying around all over the place so one is always handy. I know, I could hook it on my pants, but I don’t like doing that. I have a tool belt/pouch thing, too, but that’s like work. Jeff gave me a really good tool belt once, but I didn’t use it enough so he took it back. Can’t say I blame him. It was a nice one.

Jeran came to visit this evening because the rest of the family was doing things that he wasn’t part of. We had dinner together and then we played board games until Jennifer came to get him. I have to point out that, though he tried very hard, Jeran went home a loser. He didn’t win even one game.

I guess he really didn’t go home a loser because Ozzie allowed Jeran to pet him, something he’s never done before. Maybe Ozzie took exception to the ‘loser’ label. Whatever the reason, Jeran was delighted that he was allowed to touch Oz without fear of getting his hand ripped off.

Lydia is wearing contacts, now, and is really excited about it. She’s cute like normal but more so because now it’s easier to see her eye makeup.

We don’t know what Cedric was doing. I think he must have moved to Arizona. I’m not sure. Haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe Jennifer will fill us in.

I don’t think that I mentioned that I mowed our yard a few days ago. That’s because I felt bad about being able to do that when all the rest of the country is having such terrible weather. I could have mowed it again today, if I wanted to. It was dry and 60-something. Very balmy and spring-ish-like. I can say that because the heather and forsythia are blooming, a sure sign that spring is just around the corner.

Now I’m told it’s time for bed. It’s 2245 and I have absolutely no business being on the computer this late at night. I should be in bed, like all the other old people I know.

The Common Cold, Sleep, and Pizza

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This post is going to be short because I don’t have anything extraordinary to share with everyone.

First, yesterday I had two chances to share with you that I experienced a near perfect day of retirement. I spent the entire day in my jammies. Part of the reason for that was because I displayed the beginnings of bronchial pneumonia. the main reason, however, was because I just didn’t want to wear real clothes.

Diane totally disagreed with my medical diagnosis thinking, instead, that I simply had a cold, or a previously undiscovered virus of undetermined origin with unknown consequences whose most detrimental condition is a productive cough. Thankfully, it’s not the constant kind of coughing, but a cough just the same.

I’m sure I had a ‘second’ item to share, but can’t remember what it was. If I was concerned about editing this in a proper manner I’d get rid of the “First” but I’m not so I won’t so there. I’m not an editor.

Much of yesterday was spent trying to make my day so boring that whatever has ahold of me might find it necessary to seek a more exciting medium in which to propagate. As a result, it was very late when I finally put down my iPad for the night (like 0010 or so) and I was up and navigating at 0300. Diane will tell you it was 0230 and that she knew this because I checked my iPad to see what time it was. In case you don’t know, activating an iPad in a very dark room is like turning on the light switch. It’s very bright. My recollection of my awakening is different, and more correct, I’m sure.

The iPad did ignite, briefly, but not because i did it on purpose. I have a distant memory of entering my bathroom and checking the time on clock installed on the wall therein. It was 0300.

One of the reasons I got up is because I’ve been trying to wean myself of the sleep aid I’ve been taking for about the past 10 years, or more. To facilitate that, I’ve put myself on half rations, but it just isn’t working. If I don’t take my sleepy pill, I simply don’t sleep. Oddly that seems to be mainly true when I’m in the bed. On the couch, however, I can sleep nicely for hours. So, upon arising at 0300, that’s where I went and that’s where I stayed until 0900 with only a brief period of vertical alignment to let the dogs out around 0700.

Diane deemed me to be unfit to accompany her to church this morning, fearing that I might contaminate all those old folks with whatever it is I’ve contracted. So, I stayed home and rested. Some more. I have only vague recollections of brief periods of lucidity during Diane’s absence and beam more alert around 1200 when my stomach determined that it was time to ingest something nutritious. Without a clear plan for obtaining sustenance, i opted for another cup of coffee. I use creamer that contains enough sugar to kick-start pretty much anyone, but it still wasn’t enough. As I was sitting at my computer, pondering a bowl of nuts, or perhaps some fruit, Diane texted me to report she and her Mom went to Fultano’s Pizza after church and that she would be home with leftovers after they made a stop at Fred Meyers.

Excited about the prospect of warmed up pizza, I decided to not eat anything else until she arrived. By the time that happened I was very hungry, but delayed my feast until I helped her empty the Buick of the bags of food she purchased to get us through the next couple of weeks.

Then I reheated the pizza and had my feast. It was half of a small pizza, for which I was thankful because it was just the right amount. Had it been an entire pizza I would have surely eaten the entire thing and been miserable for the effort.

Now it’s almost 2100 and I plan to very soon ingest an entire sleeping pill and go to bed. Diane will, I’m sure, stay up to watch the Oscars which is currently being recorded.

I hope she doesn’t wake me up when she comes to bed. If she does I’m going to complain to someone. Not to Diane, of course. That wouldn’t be conducive to my currently fragile medical condition.

A 50’s Kid

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I grew up with two older brothers who picked on me unmercifully, all the time. Because of this I learned very early that we’re not all created equal. It was pointed out to me fairly regularly that I was different. There were obscure references as to how I was different, but the references changed so I tended to either ignore them, or I simply believed them, taking them at face value. For instance, the reason my name is Jerrie, I was told, is because I was supposed to be a girl. That actually makes sense. I can see Mom, dealing with two boys 5 and 7, praying that I would be a girl. I was OK with that. And it justified my desire to wear dresses to school once in a while.
As I grew older it became apparent to me that I’m really not all that different. It was just the normal sibling rivalry which I always won because I was the baby. I always got my way so everything was right with the world. Topping that off in later years, I learned that my older brothers were named after a pair of mules our Dad used to have. I’m sure that’s not true, but it’s a good story and explains why they were named Gee and Haw.
Having said all that, I think I turned out pretty normal, as did my brothers. All of that was made possible, I believe, because of the strength we had as a family.
During those formative years, our parents were friends with a family who visited on a regular basis. I do not know the basis of the friendship, and I’m pretty sure we weren’t related in any way, but it seems like they visited on a regular basis, even more than relatives, and we saw our relatives pretty often. Normally they showed up when it was time for lunch. Perhaps that was it. Mom was a great cook.
This family had a young boy who I think was my age and we had a great deal of fun playing whenever they visited. Many years later it was revealed to me that my friend was mentally handicapped. I didn’t notice. I just remember that we had a lot of fun and I have absolutely no recollection of him being different from me. I think about that once in a while, and wonder why that was.
A recent discussion I had with a good friend revealed the answer to me – it just wasn’t important. It just didn’t matter. We had fun and that was what mattered. I do not recall anyone in our family ever commenting on this friend’s diminished abilities. Therefore, there was no predisposition for me to think of him that way.
I’m not relating all this in an effort to point out how special I think I am because I really don’t feel that way. I’m just your average 50’s kid. There are lots of us out here running around in public, unsupervised, and I don’t think I’m all that much different from any of them.
Another part of my growing up involved my best friend, Jimmy. We went through 12 years of school together as best friends. I went on numerous camping trips with him and his family, and he went on numerous outings with me and my family. We ran around together all the time and he’s the one who taught me to dance to Rock and Roll music in the eighth grade, 1957. I have nothing except great memories of growing up with Jimmy.
After graduating from High school, we went our separate ways. I joined the Navy and he went to college, I believe, got married and had a couple of daughters. After that he declared that he was actually a gay person. What a surprise to me. All that time we spent together, for all those years, and I didn’t have a clue. Apparently he didn’t either since he got married and had a family.
I guess the point of all this is that we are who we are. Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out. The fact that life takes us, and our friends, in surprising directions isn’t, in the end, really an issue. It’s how we deal with it “in the moment”.  How we do that is pretty much the result of good parenting.
That, and I wasn’t exposed to a lot of graphic detail about issues like that throughout my childhood. Maybe I was just sheltered and very naive. Maybe I was exposed to those prejudices but they weren’t significant enough to impact my behavior. Maybe it’s because our entertainment consisted of the family gathered around the radio listening to Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny, The Whistler, and during Christmas, The Cinnamon Bear. Or, we stood around the piano singing while Mom played.
Who knows?
Maybe I’m really living in a matrix and all my memories are manufactured.
Whatever the reason, I’m content with them as they are. I just wish my Kids, and their Kids, could have had that same experience. But, you know? They are content in their own version of happiness, making their own memories, and they’re going to be just fine.

Spelling, In General …

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OK, I admit I’m far from the best speller, and I probably couldn’t get very far in a Spelling Bee with a bunch of 7th graders, but I take a lot of pride in limiting the errors I make. So does Diane. I’ve recently learned that she needs to read everything I’m ready to submit before I Push That Button. She’s made that pretty clear. It’s really good for her to have my back, to help me correct potentially embarrassing errors from reaching the public’s eye balls.

Both Diane and I read news articles with a critical eye to spelling and errors jump out at us all the time. I bet most of you readers do the same thing. Maybe not intentionally, but errors do pop out, don’t they?

I was just reading an article on Fox Sports about Ritchie Incognito beating up his $300K Ferrari with a baseball bat in which they mentioned that a “neigbor” noticed damage to the vehicle. It’s understandable, in my opinion, that Ritchie released his rage on his car, but not so much when you learn he did it with a baseball bat. Why didn’t he use his Dolphins helmet? Oh, wait! He doesn’t have that any more, does he?

I guess I can forgive Fox Sports for spelling neighbor incorrectly because they obviously misunderstood the new rules regarding the use of “gh” in most words. In neighbor, it’s silent so why bother using them. It’s a waste of time and bandwidth to add them to words where they don’t make sense. It should simply be neibor. The new rules also apply to all words containing “ough”, like tough, and rough. They will simply be spelled phonetically, as all words should be in the first place.

I must admit that I’ve ignored the new rules myself and named one of my dogs Ghydeaux, and I’m not going to change it.

I could go on and on about spelling, but the longer I do that, the more prone I will be to error. So, I must get off that subject. Besides, why did God allow someone to invent spell checkers if he wanted us to be good spellers? Spellcheckers open up an entirely new arena for discussion regarding grammar, another favorite of mine.

I had coffee with the MELCA guys at the Kozy again this morning. In attendance was Larry, Larry, Jeff, and Jerrie. I know you knew I was there, but had to add my name so it rhymed. Once again we solved many of the problems threatening the world today, as we do every Thursday. Since I was missing last week, I don’t know what was solved last Thursday. They wouldn’t tell me and I wasn’t going to guess. Again. It gets me too excited, like Hammy in “Over The Hedge”. Remember him?

After all that coffee I went to our church to retrieve Diane’s Mom’s card table and clothes rack, and to change the sign board out front. It was still advertising the quilt show from two weeks ago. Now it isn’t.

While resting on the couch next to my lovely bride she asked, “guess what would be really good for dinner tonight?” With barely a pause I said, “Chinese food from the Safeway deli!” Her eyeballs lit right up like she couldn’t believe I was correct, but I knew I was. She mentioned that a couple of days ago, and I remembered! Now that is significant.

I offered to go get it, which she allowed. I drove down there, went in and hardly had a chance to look over the choices when a clerk popped up, like out of nowhere. I started rattling off what I wanted then reached for the wallet that wasn’t in its customary spot in my back pocket. Excusing myself, I went back home, getting the mail along the way, and delivered it to Diane, so she would have something to do while I went back to Safeway, retrieved my wallet and phone from my couch table and calmly walked away. Although it really didn’t need to be said, she did it anyway, asking if I “forgot my wallet.”

That was my chance to end the day on a positive note and I blew it. Forgot my wallet. Guess I need one of those biker wallets with a chain on it.

Arizona Shrugged

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Yesterday I received a comment to one of my posts from a group of people who collectively call themselves “Spiritbath“. The post that got my attention was this one about a 12-year-old artist. I haven’t looked at any of the other posts, yet, but the gist of their entries are, oddly, spiritual in nature. Their posts are positive. They are uplifting. I think you will enjoy reading what they have to say.

Now you can either stop and go there, or stick around and see what’s going on in my world. I’ll tell you up front that what I’m going to enter here is far less interesting than Spiritbath. I’m guessing, of course, because I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen here.

Throughout the day I’ve heard news reports about things I thought would be interesting to share thinking, “I’ve got to remember that to share,” but I forget. Then, when I’m compelled to sit down at my computer and do this.

So there, I’ve said it. I don’t do this because I “want” to, it’s because I’m “compelled” to do it. I’m “forced”. So, here I sit.

I was cruising around in a web site the other day that sold T-shirts with tricky sayings on them. A lot of them caught my eye but I can’t afford all of them. But, I’m going to adding to my collection as soon as I get my allowance.

Here’s a few of them …

  •  “In my day we had 9 planets!”
  • Two electrons talking to each other. One says “I lost an electron.” The other responds, “Are you positive?”
  • “Either you like bacon, or you’re wrong”
  • “Home is where the wi-fi connects automatically”
  • “There’s a fine line between Numerator and Denominator”
  • “I’m not crazy – my Mother had me tested”

I could go on, but I won’t. Diane buys stuff like that for me frequently and I just wear it so I’ve kinda got a reputation amongst our friends for both doing what my wife tells me to do, without back talk, as well as wearing some pretty neat laundry. The only shirts hanging in my closet are those kinds of T-shirts. I guess it’s a theme, now.

So, I’m not going to wear anything but T-shirts from now on. That means, of course, I’ll not be allowed to leave the house ever again. Or sit on the couch without a towel under me.

Today the Governor of Arizona vetoed a proposed law that would allow businesses to use religious beliefs as a reason for denying service to customers. I’m curious about that entire mess because it’s always been my understanding that businesses can deny service to anyone for no reason at all. I’ve seen signs in all my life stating exactly that … “We reserve the right to deny service to anyone”, no reason given.

As far as I know, this ‘problem’ is the fallout from an event in Portland, Oregon where a baker refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple. He cited religious reasons for not wanting to do it. It became a really big deal.

Most of the people I know had mixed feelings about the entire affair.

Some thought it was the baker’s right to deny the request, but perhaps not for religious reasons. He should have just said he didn’t want to do it.

Other folks wondered why the gay couple made such a big deal out of the baker’s refusal to make the cake. Why would they, for any reason, want the baker to make their cake after being told he didn’t want to make it? There are lots of bakers in town. I suppose it was all about the principle involved.

Then, about the baker, it was just a cake. Make the cake. Take the money. Let it go. What’s the big deal. So it’s got two brides, or two grooms on top. Get over it.

It’s. A. Cake.

Then some clever Arizona law-maker, a term I use loosely here, decides it would be a good law if any business could deny service to anyone based on religious beliefs. I can only guess that whoever submitted this brilliant bit of legislature isn’t getting enough attention, or that Arizona doesn’t have enough valid issues to deal with right now.

So, a little bit of unsolicited advice for everyone … if you run a business I’m betting that religious beliefs are not mentioned one time in your Statement of Purpose.

If you don’t want to sell your product to just anyone who pops through your door, post a note. Folks will think you apparently have enough money already and are just taking up store space just for fun until it’s time to retire.

If you are a customer who is denied service, in any kind of business, go somewhere else. I suspect your friends will too.

I know. That’s very simplistic, and I suspect there are a lot of other underlying issues associated with this newsworthy opportunity, but it all boils down to one baker who denied service because he doesn’t believe in gay marriages. From there it exploded into a huge problem that isn’t, I think, really a problem. In my opinion, t’s just a handy forum where loud people with an agenda see an opportunity to be heard on topics that won’t likely solve the obesity problem caused by fast food.

Oh, wait! There’re people using that as a forum, too. They’ve even sued fast food franchises for making them obese.

Perhaps Arizona should pass a law that only skinny people can eat at fast food restaurants. They could create a whole new industry for some guy in a barn who makes scales that will trigger the door locks only if a potential customer is proportional, height & weight. Those are rough numbers, of course. I can just see someone walking up to the door at Big Ed’s Giant Weiner Emporium, stepping on the scale, and the entire window next to the door lights up with the customer’s weight and height. If the ratio is correct, the door opens. If not, that’s another customer lost.

If a skinny person is deemed to be too skinny, their milk shakes could be made with Muscle Milk.

Not likely to happen, in a sane world, but who knows? Things get crazier all the time.

TSA & Going Home

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Yesterday was a travel day so there really isn’t much to say. Even so, I bet I can fill a page or two with absolutely nothing worth the time it will take for you to read it. Still, many of you will read on, thinking things will turn around, and it might get interesting, kinda like one of those movies that keep your interest just enough to keep you watching. Then, when the unexpected ending happens you think, “really? I actually sat here and watched that entire thing? Why did I do that?”

There is no answer, of course, because those are all rhetorical questions for which there are no answers.

Let’s talk about TSA for a little bit. I’m just a bit miffed at them for the farewell they gave me at the Kona airport.

When Diane made the travel arrangements, she submitted all the information needed for TSA pre-authorization at security. Leaving Portland it worked like a dream because we didn’t have to disrobe and we didn’t have to unpack anything except my CPAP so they could satisfy themselves it wouldn’t explode. I alerted them about my cardiac event monitor which they let me keep as I went through their scanner. Then we were on our way. Simple.

Leaving Hawaii, however, they apparently have different rules for such things. We both got in the TSA pre auth line and were sent along as expected until I explained I had a CPAP and a cardiac monitor. At that point they sent Diane on through then the agent keyed his radio and said, “Male assist line one.” Two agents, representing both genders appeared and took me aside for the full meal deal with TSA scrutiny – remove the belt, shoes, everything from pockets, and deliver a short narrative of why I part my hair on the left. They took my suitcase, removed all the liquids, in addition to the CPAP, and gave me a full pat down. All because I alerted them to the items I knew they would want to check.

I was a good boy and didn’t question their motives, but I’m sure I had them a bit worried when I began sweating profusely, like I normally do when I strip searched, because they figured having a cardiac monitor meant the likelihood of a heart attack was imminent. I actually considered clasping my hands to my chest to see what would happen but didn’t. When the pat down was in progress, and the patter guy was feeling the monitor wires through my shirt, he asked if that’s what they were and I just about said, “No, I’m actually wired to a bomb.” A moment of clarity prevented me from doing that, however, and the search continued.

When they were done, I was absolutely drenched with sweat and there was nowhere to go to do anything about it. It was going to dry, I knew, but I figured I was going to be pretty odoriferous during the flight. I made my way out to Diane and dropped my things then went to the restroom to at least splash some water in my face. When I returned, Diane said the TSA agent came out and gave her my favorite baseball hat which I had left at the search station. I guess that was nice of the agent, but it didn’t make up for the assault and the search.

Regarding the search … it wasn’t too bad, really, but I was disappointed that he missed a lot of spots that I thought would have been enjoyable had he touched them. He had a female agent with him, however, apparently in training, so he may have been a bit reserved for that reason.

The female agent offered to re-pack everything, but I declined and did it myself. Slowly, so they had to watch.

The bit question regarding all of this is what purpose does the TSA pre-authorization serve, really, if all TSA agents aren’t required to abide by the same rules. I can only presume that all TSA manuals, and modifications to the manuals, are like the Bible in that what the agents read is open to their personal interpretation. Therefore, they are never wrong, right?

Our flight was supposed to board through gate 7. Departure time was 1245 so I kept an eye on it like a hawk when the clock edged toward 1215. We could see the gate, but there was no movement through it, but there was a bunch of it through gate 9 so around 1230 I went to check on it and discovered that gate 9 was the one being used instead of gate 7.

If any of you have flown into, or out of, Kona, you know that this isn’t really a big deal because gates 7 thru 9 exit an area with only enough chairs to hold maybe 50 people, and there really isn’t a lot of traffic. But, being literal like I am, I figured when they said gate 7, that’s actually what they meant.

Discovering that gate 9 was the proper one, we went that direction and wound up being almost the last two on the plane. There were a few behind us, but they had to be hunted down and dragged to the plane so we could take off. No one ever reported where they found them but I suppose that’s really none of our business. Still, it would have been nice to know.

Finally, in our seats, with cool air blowing the aroma of my drying sweat all over the people in my immediate vicinity, the plane was pushed away from the terminal and the flight attendants aligned themselves to give their normal spiel about safety and all that. We had 4 attendants – 3 mail, 1 female. Lucky me was sitting in the aisle seat right where Brad positioned himself to go through the life jacket and oxygen mask demonstration. I felt like reaching out to poke him to see if his abs were as solid as they looked. Knowing Diane would disapprove made me think twice, however, so I kept my poker to myself. He was pretty cute. Using Brad as my example, the other two guys, whose names I never learned, were kind of the low-end of the Bell Curve at the younger and older ends. The younger one, was obviously a surfer dude, I thought, because of his shaggy bleached hair. Upon entering the plane I asked if he brought his surf board. He just grinned and nodded and I went on my way. The older guy was partially bald making me think I could probably be a flight attendant if I put my mind to it. The female attendant appeared to be a 5’2″ compressed version of a very shapely 6′ girl who weighs 165 lbs. The bulk was still there, but just not as attractive as the 6′ version. Kind of like a Rolls Royce that’s been compressed into one of the metal blocks destined for the smelter. OK. Sorry. That’s a bit of an exaggeration because she really wasn’t really unattractive, just apparently enjoying her position at the senior end of her chosen profession.

The flight landed an hour ahead of its scheduled time because we had a really good tale wind. We knew this was going to happen before leaving and I was able to text Jennifer, who was picking us up, so she wouldn’t arrive too late. It was a good trip, and we were both happy it was over.

Once tied up to the walkway, we once again witnessed one of the events that always amaze us as everyone prepares to exit the plane. Virtually everyone brings something aboard that needs to be placed in the overhead bins. If you don’t fly a lot, you may forget about how courteous everyone is during this evolution. It’s very orderly, like after a funeral where each row is allowed to leave before the next one can que up behind them. It’s pretty amazing to watch. No one gets upset, and it works just great. It’s expected. It’s too bad that these same people would push you off the freeway in a heartbeat if you dared to get in their way.

Just sayin.

I was good to see Jennifer and Lydia waiting for us. We went right to the car and headed home. Lydia and I sat in the back and talked about interesting things all the way home. At their house we went in to greet the rest of the family, then took ourselves home. It was raining the entire drive, but we didn’t mind.

The dogs were overjoyed to see us and we had to give them a lot of extra attention. They deserved it. So did the cat.

Adios Hawaii

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This is just a short post to report the end of another great day. We spent the morning sitting on the lanai enjoying a wonderful cool breeze off the golf course, listening to the birds sing, and a mongoose wandering around in the lava. It was incredibly pleasant until it started warming up. It was still really nice, but it was time to move on to something different.

Mainly, Diane wanted to revisit the Waikaloa Beach Resort to watch the sunset on this, our last night on the island. We stayed at that resort, in the building near the water that looks like three joined rings, on a previous visit and spent every night on the area directly in front of it, right on the water’s edge. If you look to the right side of the map, the blue dot indicates where we are at this very moment.

Image 2-23-14 at 9.07 PMIn this location are a number of connected lounge chairs with pull up hoods, handy for viewing the water while being protected from the direct sun. Here’s the view from my perspective … that’s a Blazer shirt covering my feet so they don’t get burned.IMG_0221

When I put the top down, and lay back, this is the view …

IMG_0727Next is a selfie of us before we put the top up. Diane actually said that. She said, “Jerrie, you should take a selfie of us.” So I did.

IMG_0225Finally, the sun went down and we had to leave.

IMG_0227There weren’t too many clouds, and the wind was blowing the volcanic ash a different direction, so it wasn’t as dramatic as we’ve seen in the past, but it was still excellent.

During this visit we got in some of the walking we talk about doing all the time.

Now we’re winding down. Diane is washing all the dirty clothes so our suitcases will smell nice tomorrow.

With that thought, I leave you with this hibiscus that I found on a bush near the swimming pool.

They are actually all over the place, but this one is by the pool …

IMG_0211Aloha nui loa

Circumnavigating Hawaii

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Saturday is winding down and we’re both tired because we just finished a 7 hour drive around the island. Our goal was to see the erupting in the Halemaumau crater southwest of Hilo. I don’t know when it started spouting, but it definitely is and we just had to see it. So, off we went about 1015.

Before we got very far, Diane made it very clear that we weren’t got to go very far without getting gas, first. Thankfully, Waimea was on the route so it wasn’t going to be a problem. Convincing Diane it wasn’t going to be a problem was a problem. As we got closer and closer to Waimea, and the gas gauge hadn’t touched the big ‘E’, her tension eased. We found the station, agreed to pay their $4.21 9/10 a gallon, and I filled the tank while Diane went inside to get us a couple of bottles of water. I only put 10 gallons in it because I needed to make sure the pump was working correctly. I stopped it at 10.01 gallons and it cost $42.19 so I’m guessing it was OK. On the gas we’ve used during the past week we averaged 32.8 MPG. This is really good. The car is a Chrysler 200 and it has the same size engine as the one in Diane’s Buick which gets 18 on a good day, and there are many of those. But, it’s really comfortable. Considering the 200’s performance we are seriously considering getting a more reasonably hungry vehicle.

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After getting the gas, we buzzed down Highway 19, for a few blocks, then decided we were hungry so stopped at a handy Burger King. Diane got her normal Whopper Jr., and I opted for something more reasonable in the form of a chicken sandwich. I was proud of myself for making that decision. Diane got the Jr because she knows they don’t cause problems for her. I did, however, drink a coke, something I don’t normally do any more.

Highway 19 is called the Mamalahoa Highway, a very melodic name for a road that travels past towns named Honokaa, Paauilo, Ookala, Laupahoehoe, all the way down the eastern coast to Hilo. The speed limit for most of the trip is 45 with many drops to 35 and some brief jumps to 55. Because of this we knew the trip was going to take about 3 hours so didn’t plan any stops along the way to the volcano. We also knew it was going to take 3 hours because Google Maps told us so.

We did make a brief stop in Hilo to check out Wailoa River State Park. It’s a beautiful place surrounded by incredible trees. There are foot bridges that cross the river, and two that span from either side to a small island in the middle. Very picturesque.

DSC_9170 DSC_9171 DSC_9172 DSC_9173 DSC_9178There were lots of fishermen on the far bank, and when we arrived one of them was leaving. He was holding a five gallon bucket, two long rods, a bag with food (no doubt), and he was pushing a small child in a stroller. A dedicated fisherman, obviously. This guy just parked himself by the water, tied a line to his bottle of juice, and dropped it in the water. He had a pole, but I he didn’t deploy it while we were there.

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From Hilo it’s a fair trek to Volcano, the small town on the northeast side of the caldera. Volcano sounds like a really fun place to live, doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you about how you would have to get used to the smell of sulfur mighty quick if you were to live there. We know, however, that you can actually get used to odors like that because we used to have a very active paper mill in St. Helens that covered the city with its distinctive aroma.

Sulfur is something else, however. Plus, the air is thick with volcanic fog, called vog, that’s being spewed in great quantities from the eruption. Sadly, for us, we didn’t get to see lava erupting, but we got to see lots and lots of smoke …

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Still, even though visibility was pretty crappy, it was awesome. In addition to the gasses from the eruption, the crater floor is riddled with areas where gasses are escaping into the atmosphere. That’s true for areas all along the road, and up into the trees. It’s pretty amazing. Kinda makes you wonder if the entire place is going to blow.

Although we didn’t get to see the lava flying into the air, we were told the show really gets underway when the sun goes down. That’s when the caldera makes the entire area glow red. When we took the 7-day cruise around the islands in a couple of years ago the ship stopped in Hilo for a day. After getting underway the same evening, it sailed around the island toward the Kona side and we could see the glow from the ship. So, we didn’t feel the need to stick around for another 4 hours waiting for it to get dark. Besides, the sulfur was making my throat swell up. It was time to go. So, we did. Here’s a closer look at what’s going on thanks to the webcam installed at the overlook. Lava from the constant flow of lava has added 600 acres to the island and adds a little more each day.

Going up the Kona side of Hawaii is like going to another world because the lush green foliage gives way to vast fields of lava that spewed from one of those mountains a long time ago. It’s very interesting because you can follow the flows up the gentle slope of the mountains and see exactly how the flows split and rejoined, following the least path of resistance on its way to the ocean. The road on the north side of Kailua Kona cuts straight through the lava which lines both sides of the highway. It’s pretty amazing. I may have already said that once or twice, but it’s true every time.

We arrived back at the resort at 1730, completing the circle, and called it a day. Hope you all had a good one, too.