Peace of Mind

  I was once married to a gorgeous girl who was years younger than I.  We lived in Denver, and the metroplex was plagued by assaults on young women.

One favored technique was surreptitious entry into a girl's house or apartment while she was at work, then surprising her and taking advantage when she returned home.

Alarm

I designed, fabricated and installed a system that removed much of the concern.

When she arrived home my wife was greeted at the front door by a pair of lights, one red and one green.  If the green light was “ON” it indicated that the house had not been entered while she was gone.  If the red light was on it indicated that a door or window had been opened during her absence.

When a green light led her to enter, she went into the kitchen and activated a switch that closed the overhead garage door.  And a green light in the kitchen came on when the garage door was closed.

Later, when I arrived home and opened the garage door a “ding-dong, ding-dong”  door bell ringer sounded in the kitchen, to announce the opening of the door; and the “door closed” green light changed to a red light, showing the door open.  Then back to green when I closed the door behind my truck.

As we retired for the night a switch on the Alarm Box allowed me to activate the alarm circuit. A green light indicated that all the doors and windows were secure; if anyone opened anything a very loud audible alarm sounded.

Summary: Doors and windows were:

  ...monitored, for security while we were asleep.

 ...monitored while we were away, to provide assurance that it would be safe to re-enter.

 ...the garage doors were monitored — for assurance that they remained closed  — and to announce the opening, even while the alarm system was OFF, when one of us returned home and opened the garage door.

Daytime burglaries

Homes left vacant while the residents were at work were a tempting target for daytime burglars.  They would ring the doorbell, and if there was no response they would break in and ransack the house.

I built a circuit that monitored the circuit that powered the doorbell.  When the doorbell button was pressed and voltage was  applied to ring the bell, a timer in my circuit provided a ten second delay, and then turned the porchlight on.  After short delay the light was turned off

The perception for the visitor was that someone inside had responded to the doorbell, turned on the porchlight, looked through the peephole, and turned away without responding.  That showed that someone was home — just not interested in a visitor.

Light Switches

The light switch on the wall just inside the bedroom door powers an outlet near the bed, and will turn a lamp that I have plugged into the outlet. Then when I want to turn the light off and go to sleep, I have to get up and walk to the switch at the door to turn the light off.

         If I should choose to turn the light off using the switch on the lamp, 

then the switch at the door cannot turn the light on next evening. 

What's a guy to do?

What I did was build a free standing circuit that allows me to control the bedroom light with the switch at the door, OR with my bedside switch — regardless of which switch I had last used.

Some wire, some switches and a few relays, some ingenuity — and a lot more peace of mind.

Gang Violence

 

Angry discussion continues in regard to the gang related violence in major cities, especially Chicago.

Some argue that the solution to the problem is education. Better teachers, more and more modern schools.

But if the “students” don't stay in school, and those who are there are unwilling to make an effort to learn, that too will fail.

“Jobs!” is the cry. “Give the young men the opportunity to earn a decent wage.”

But experience shows us that those we seek to help do not want to work.

What do they want?

Surely you already know the answer to that question.

They want expensive cars. Designer clothes. Beautiful women.

In a word, WEALTH!!!

And that is what they have. Right now.

And how do they get it?

By dealing dope.

And this will continue until some superior, benevolent power institutes a program to eliminate the USE of recreational drugs. And that ain't gonna happen unless the rich gentlemen who are making a fortune bankrolling the drug sales are removed from their position of control and influence.

Drug use will continue.

Drug sales will flourish.

Gang bangers will continue to kill each other, and incidentally – accidentally – kill innocent bystanders.

Buried With Status and Respect

  "A lot can be learned about someone's role in society by the things they're buried with. The presence of  precious objects suggests that the deceased held a high social status.”

Stan, Woody and I attended the viewing of a recently deceased mutual friend.

We stood silent, somberly gazing at the face of one who had once laughed with us.

Woody, who had perhaps of the  three of us been closest to the departed took out his billfold and removed a hundred dollar bill. He gently placed it in the coffin, and made some appropriate remark to indicate that he was showing respect, and the  deep degree of his feeling.

I was moved and felt compelled to follow suit. Placing two fifties next to Woody's hundred, I stepped back, and turned to look at Stan.  He had his checkbook out, writing in it. I could see that it was a check for three hundred dollars.

He placed it in the coffin and picked up the three bills from me and Woody.

Straightening up, he said “Three hundred in, dragging two … Pot's square.”

End to Active Shooters

 

Repost of a blog published ten years ago:

I was asked “Do you have any ideas on how to prevent the horrible shootings ?”

Yes . . .

Start with each child at the age of about three ... Sunday school, church, a good dose of discipline whenever there is a display of disrespect ... instill a sense of civility, of compliance with the Commandments, civil law, and the mores of society ... raise a generation of responsible, decent people ...

Remove the scourge of drug abuse … even if it means putting users in concentration camps …

We must get back to the IMPORTANT basics, The FIVE R’s :

    Reading, ’Riting, ’Rithmetic, Religion and Revolver

... it should not take more than about 75 years to see the improvement in society.

What I'm saying is that it is too late to prevent a succession of recurrences, some worse ... we (society) should have started sixty years ago ... legislation against guns is like passing laws against automobiles because of wrecks caused by drunk driving ...

Zoolingualism

I have commented in previous essays of communications with animals — speaking “tongue-in-cheek” of the time I "asked" a cat in 1966 “What's your name?” and learning that it's name was “Dolly.”

Well, Hello, Dolly! ( A delightful song by Louis Armstrong )

I would like to assume that my readers will not think that I actually had such an actual exchange — it was simply a literary device that related my decision to name the cat.

Similarly, in 2016 I asked the resident goose here at the Landing Apartments, to learn that her name is Samantha.

A neighbor recently informed me that the goose is a male, named Jack. I responded by informing him that I had asked the goose, and learned that HER name is Saman --- well, you get the idea. All in fun.

But in a more serious vein I have sometimes wondered if sometimes, some animals might be silently communicating . . . ?

Here, now, in May of 2023, I find it pleasant to sit in a chair on my “front porch” while enjoying my morning cuppa, and gaze at the world as it exists outside of my apartment.

I watch the birds, gaze upon the lake, enjoy the gentle breeze, and meditate . . .

I find it pleasant — relaxing — “positively ... therapeutic,” if I may quote Louis.

Somewhat akin to the sessions I experienced sitting in the porch swing at my “White Rock Ranch.”

Recently, relaxing on my porch I observed some nutria, grazing in the grass along the sidewalk beside the lake.

Several crawled along the sidewalk — except for one, that remained, hunkered down, motionless . . .

Is that really a nutria? Perhaps … maybe … it might be a turtle . . . ??

It extended its head. Stretching to to gaze about, revealing that it WAS in fact a turtle. Slowly it extended its legs and began crawling, up onto the grass of the lawn, and in my direction. Stopping occasionally to stretch its head high, to look ahead to choose its path, it moved about half way across the lawn toward me.

It paused, turning to the left, stretching its head to the utmost, seeming to study me …

There is no articulable justification to support the idea that it was even conscious of my existence . . . but that thought crept slowly into my consciousness.

And then I remembered . . .

About five years ago as I gazed from my kitchen window I saw a turtle crawling slowly across the road. Cars slowed, swerved, just barely missing the lumbering animal.

Impulsively I put down my cup and rushed out to rescue the turtle — arrogantly stopping traffic while I retrieved it from the middle of the road.

I carried it to the edge of the lake and placed it gently, in safety, where it could enter the water.

I was glad that none of my friends observed my action — I would find it difficult to justify. Just a quirk of my character, a respect I feel for life in any form . . .

I thought no more about it — until, here, 5 years later a turtle was crawling toward me, and gazing intently, seemed to recognize me, and remember . . .

Having moved close enough to see me clearly, satisfied that it had identified me, it mentally conveyed its gratitude, turned and moved back toward the lake.

I am glad that no one could follow my thoughts — it would be impossible to justify the thought that a turtle could . . .

That I would even think that such . . .

Ridiculous!

I'll not mention this to anyone. Ever.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The operating system time stamp on the article written above was at 2:34 PM. What follows below occurred about 3:35 PM.

In the kitchen, making a glass of tea, and I felt a compulsion to gaze out the window — toward the area below the dam. There I observed something that I could not immediately identify. Binoculars made it seem much closer, and I recognized the turtle.

Stuck below the dam, unable to climb the vertical walls to return to the lake. He wandered fitfully back and forth, futilely wishing for a miracle.

Well . . .

I pulled on my rubber boots, some vinyl gloves and descended to the drainage below the dam. As I approached the turtle, he withdrew into his shell — and I heard him say “You, again!”

I carried him across the dam and eased him into the lake. Wordlessly he slipped beneath the surface and disappeared.

Bubbles contained the thought: “Thanks!”

I'll never tell anyone!!!!

Stormy Skies

SKYWATCHER

 Tuesday, May 9, 2023

SKYWATCHER

I have ever watched the skies.

In Galveston's 1940's I observed the fascinating incursion of winter's "blue northers" that brought cold, windy awareness of the season.

The eponymous dark clouds were shading to blue-gray, and with their color carried along the sweet odor of the refineries of Texas City, from across the bay to the north.

The delicate pink of sunrise over the Gulf, viewed from the early morning Seawall, defies comparison — and caresses the senses throughout the slow ascent of the morning sun.

And in Austin in 1960 the tumultuous clouds of the summer thunderstorms were frankly gray, with no apology for their color or angry roiling. And I studied with bated breath the occasional green tinged skies that warned of possible tornadoes.

But I have waited until today, some sixty-three years later, to view ORANGE clouds.

At dawn, in the western sky, when the promising sunrise should have painted the skies a luscious pink, a novel display from some secret palette flooded the entire western sky's morning clouds with a distinct orange.

I stared with disbelieving obsession while the orange increased its brilliance — and then quickly faded to a pedestrian gray.

I remained but a minute, then turned away, with a memory that shall ever remain. 

 

 

Comet Tail Induced Insanity

 MAY 5, 2023 / 4:33 PM / CBS NEWS:

“You could catch a glimpse of the Eta Aquarids meteor shower if moonlight doesn't interfere on Saturday when it is expected to peak, according to the American Meteor Society. The Eta Aquarids meteor shower peaks each year during early May as Earth passes through the debris trail from Halley's Comet”

And without presenting a detailed list of recent aberrant behavior across all segments of our society, I will note the significance of the coincidence.

WE ARE LIVING THROUGH THE DEMONSTRATED PROOF OF THE THEORY THAT BEHAVIOR HERE ON EARTH IS AFFECTED BY PASSING THROUGH THE DEBRIS FIELD OF A COMET.

Another interesting bit of speculation suggests that the unusual weather patterns wreaking havoc this year might be another derivative effect; particles of comet dust deposited in the upper layers of the earth's atmosphere could impact weather patterns in ways unfamiliar to meteorologists.

SNAKES

There is a snake hereabouts called the Indigo snake. Not a native snake. I'm told the King ranch imported them from India years ago to help hold the rattler in check. Them indigo snakes eat rattlers, and they seem to've reduced the population considerable.

Late last Saturday I was walking along the south-west property line, and I come up on the damndest sight I ever seen.

One of them indigos, about three feet long, 'uz trying to swaller, tail first, a rattler just as big as he wuz. Now, the rattler didn't go fer that none 'tall,, an' he wuz kickin' 'n fussin' somut fierce. Finally the rattler got his head back to th' tail of the indigo an' started swallerin' him. It was quite a contest, to see which 'un 'ould swaller the other.

When both of 'em had about half the other'n swallered, they stopped fer a while. Guess they'uz tired, 'n needed to rest.

Then they started agin. Workin' their jaws, the way they do, swallerin' a inch at a time. Next thing I knowed, they was about six inches of the rattler hanging out of the indigo’s mouth, an' 'bout six or seven inches of the indigo sticking out of the rattler. They wuz bent around in a tiny circle, I didn't think they could bend that tight, but they kept on aworking.

'Bout that time a Mexican Eagle swooped down, looking to see if there wuz a meal. He saw me an' pulled up afore he got to the ground, and I watched him climb' back up to soar around, huntin'. I looked back down at the snakes, an' the indigo's head wuz sticking out of the rattler's mouth, and vice versy. 'n then there'uz a little puff of dust an' they both disappeared!!!

Caveat Emptor

 Searching for a house to buy. Explored a listing on the internet. Looked good. From the text description it would be pretty much ready to move in.

The outside appearance was immaculate. Appeared to have a new coat of paint; beautiful lush green yard …

So I saddled up and rode to view it.

Two words come to mind.

PaintShop. The software that allows a fat old man to appear young and fit.

And FRAUD.

I'd have bought the house shown in the pictures, at the asking price. But the house I saw would command a reduction in price of at least fifty percent.

The paint was scaling and peeling off — the house needed a pressure wash and a complete paint job.

Views shown by the Internet listing of the interior revealed pristine floors. Reality was damaged, warped, cracked — in need of complete renewal.

The misrepresented yard before the house was in reality devoid of grass, sparsely populated with scraggly weeds, exposing a lot of bare dirt.

If it ain't agin the law, it oughta be.

Caveat emptor ! Indeed ...

Indeed.

Wisdom

 In moments of silent introspection I am compelled to assess the reasons some find me so annoying.

Preeminent , it seems, is my haughty dispensation¹ of advice. To anyone. About anything.

So it follows, as the night the day, that I must take umbrage when an acquaintance instructs me in the manner of my existence.

I've been told that I'm a “know it all,” to which I arrogantly asserted “Well, I do!”

Please understand, I am humbly aware of my lack of education, and I am constantly amazed at the breadth of my ignorance. One thing I know, is that I don't know it all.

My "Well, I do" was merely an attempt to irritate my friend.

Worked.

Socrates Quotes

“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing.”

“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”

I presume to know SOME things — mostly unimportant trivialities. But when I see a friend about to eat a poisonous mushroom I am compelled to speak.

“Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!”

Only yesterday an acquaintance recommended that I read a media article headed “Ways you can protect yourself against an STI.”

I had to look it up. I didn't know the meaning of the acronym “STI.”

“Well? Are you going to read it?”

I respectfully declined.

The insistence was almost overpowering.

Lighting a metaphorical cigarette, I paused, then revealed my qualifications:

“You are looking at a man who lived most of his life on the Texas Gulf Coast, enjoying all the splendors that the shoreline can provide. And in the 1960's I published a technique for avoiding shark attacks.”

“And?”

“It was widely accepted. Those who adopted and practiced it unnaminously praised it.”

    Predictably I was rebuked for the use of a non-word. I ignored it.

"Well?”

“What?”

“What is the technique to avoid a shark attack?”

I paused and lit another imaginary cigarette. Continuing,

“It is a two stage procedure. First, one must studiously inquire of the habits of the various species of shark.”

“So?”

“Well, then the technique reveals itself, for it is self-evident.”

I arose and walked to the door, to depart for my residence.

The intense, urgent, insistent demand followed me:

“But what is it? How do you do it?”

I borrowed from my experience in a marching band to adopt a staccato rhythm, timing each word with a step through the door:

“Stay ...

   out …

      of …

         the …

            water ...

So be it with STI.           Adios, MF!”

1 Dispensation is the act of dispensing or dealing out; distribution — I hadda look it up!

Equality

 Last Saturday night I went to a dance that promised popular country western

 dance music.

I was greeted at the door by the ticket taker, who collected my entrance fee. He

 asked me if I was carrying a gun.  When I answered “No” he handed me a 

Glock pistol, saying “Here, carry this —  you can check it in when you leave.”

Misdemeanor or Felony?

My first day on the job as a patrol officer -- I was assigned to a veteran officer. We set out to begin our evening shift on Friday evening.

The lead officer,  my partner, tossed me the keys to the unit. Saying “You drive.”

I drove along the bypass route of Highway 59 through the south side of town. 

A careless driver made an illegal turn right in front of our car.  I hit the siren and turned on the overheard red lights, stopping the car within a block.  I contacted the driver, who turned out to be a gorgeous young woman.  I let her go with a verbal  warning.

Back in the patrol car, I was rebuked by my partner.  It was within the duties of the lead officer who is riding with a rookie to provide guidance in procedures, so I listened respectfully.

His rebuke was not for letting her off —  but for stopping her immediately.

“You should have followed along for a few blocks, to see what else she might do.”

The next night, he was driving when a vehicle sped past our marked unit in a grossly disrespectful  display of arrogance.

I expected an immediate pursuit and stop, but my partner followed at some distance — finally stopping the motorist about four blocks later.

I sat in the unit, watching, mystified, while he wrote ten tickets.

I demanded – no, I requested an explanation.  Respectfully.

“Why did you write so many tickets.”  

He explained that he wrote a ticket for each crosswalk that the driver drove across at an excessive speed while we were following him.  

 “But why?”

He said

               “Well, his name was Donald J Thump.”

Help for the Needy

 News reports show hundreds of people in our nation who are rendered homeless, communities devastated by terrible storms. Our president steps forward and announces that he is going to make available loans to help them rebuild.

I despair of any hope in trying to understand the motivation of our president, who is giving billions and billions of American dollars to Ukraine, and offers loans to our own needful citizens.

Are our citizens less worthy?

The Creation of Groups of Three

 (Havng just re-read "The Cremation of Sam McGee"  by Robert Service)

The Cre-ation of Groups of Three

There are strange things seen on our lovely stream

By those who search its banks …..

 … and the sights that I've found as I gaze all around 

will make my soul give thanks.

There, a flock of six turtles, giving up all their hurdles

While soaking up the sun ….

In two group clustered tight, in the morning sun's light

they were gathered together in threes.

Like biscuits so placed with their sides all embraced, 

touching each in a snug ungreased pan — 

Then they lurched down to drink in the nearby wide sink, 

making ripples — in circles they ran...

As they sank out of sight, for my soul 'twas delight...

though gone, nevermore to be seen;

And I know that they're there, so I give not a care  — 

for their sons and their daughters all live there underwater, and leave me without a closing rhyme.  How mean ...

 

by Billy Mitchell     March 24, 2023

Emotion

I have regarded my condition in recent years with a smug pride. Since I returned to Texas in 2014 I have found a place to live, furnished my quarters adequately, and live a comfortable existence. Comfort, both in regard to physical circumstances and to my mental/emotional existence. I read of older folk having problems — especially those who live alone. And I take pride in my equanimity in my reclusive life style.

Until recently. During the past two or three months I have been unusually emotional.

I begin to mourn. Which I have previously avoided. But I feel sadness that is bothersome and distracting, thinking often of loved ones who are gone. Some of them departed for as long as twenty years. Why, now, do I grieve?

I ponder.

And then it comes to me.

The trigger — that intrusion onto my placid existence. . .

It seems so obvious. I should have recognized it sooner.

Not that it would have mattered. I would still have gone down the same slope.

Actually crying on occasion. Drinking a lot more than I have ever done in the past. Sometimes three drinks in a day.

But I will preservere.

(What seems like a carelessly misspelled word may be a neologism. Not that it matters, but I may be attempting to engineer a portmanteau)

That trigger referred to above would have been the death last November of my friend Carl. It's as if he opened a door that I had assiduously kept closed, secure against the storms of sadness. And through that open door came a flood of suppressed emotions.

I resolve to assert a stoic composure — I will not tolerate such juvenile diversions.

I hear Pop's voice — “Buck up, boy — men don't cry.”

Okay, Pop. 

Me and T-Mobile

 I am having seriously irritating problems with the replacement phone that T-Mobile provided.

When I initially struggled through attempts to get the phone set up I had managed to get it to give me an audible alert  when a Gmail (email) came in, or when I got a text message,

Worked for about a week.  Then didn't.

I couldn't restore it so I contacted T-Mobile.  They guided me to change certain settings, and assured me that “that will fix it!”

Didn't.

Additionally, the phone has a problem charging the battery.  

The receptacle for the tethered cable to charge it will not accept the plug for the charging cable that they sold me for $16.  So I turned to a wireless device that they sold me for $50. It is designed to charge the phone by simply placing it on the charging table. The position of the phone must be precise, to the nearest tenth of a millimeter. Else it turns off the charger after ten seconds.

Tonight I finally got it to function.  Didn't dare reposition the phone until the battery was fully charged.

So when I wanted to access YouTube, I set up the T-Franklin mobile hotspot that T-Mobile sold me for $90.  

Then when the phone was fully charged I wanted to retire the T-Franklin device, and run off of the mobile hotspot in the phone.  

Nope.  No access.  The T-Franklin device had displaced the Samsung phone hotspot, and I would have to reprogram it to connect via the phone.

Sounds easy if you say it fast.

An hour later, and with the help of a double shot of vodka I finally established the connection.

Does Ludditte have one or two T's?

Cause and Effect

 The courts recognize temporal proximity as being highly probative of a causal connection.

In Clark County School Dist. v. Breeden, the United States Supreme Court indicated that close temporal proximity alone may be sufficient to establish a prima facie causal connection.

I don't have a definitive summary of the relevant statistics.  But a casual perusal of the news reports seems to show a sharp increase in the number of shootings in our society. 

One might inquire of a possible cause.  Are there any significant changes in recent years that might be responsible?

Let me think … 

Dow Jones was 36,799 last year. This year it has dipped to 32,930. 

For the winter of 2021-2022 the average maximum temperature was 29.9°F .  For 2022-2023 there is a 22 percent change below average.

Fifteen states now allow permitless concealed carry of handguns. At the start of 2022 only six states allowed it.

The House of Representatives is now under control of the Republicans.

Among others Oldsmobile, Pontiac, Mercury, and Plymouth automobiles have been discontinued.

Gun sales are increasing, probably due to lax carry laws:  2016: 16.7 million;  2021: 19.9 million;  2020:  22.8 million …

Is there any suggestion that any of the changes listed above may be related to the increase in shootings?

Anunnaki's Purse of Gold

 

I have enjoyed several hunting trips to the forests of northern New Mexico. I went there with my good friend Stan. But he's quit smoking¹, and won't be able to accompany me again. So this year I ventured forth alone.

On one of my excursions during the first week of my stay on the foot of Mangas Mountain I drove onto a side road running south off of Highway 93.

I left the road to explore a meadow on its east side.

I walked into a stand of trees to the south, and approached a gorge without a bottom. Of course, it had a bottom. But it sure was a long way down.

Across the narrow gorge was a steep vertical cliff. Barren and rocky, no vegetation at all. And there, maybe thirty feet down on the cliff face, was a cave staring at me. The opening was approximately circular, and probably about ten feet in diameter. For some reason it fascinated me.

After some debate I decided to explore that cave.

I returned to the road and drove south, and found a way to access the area, on the south side of the gorge, near the cave. Looking back to the north, I aligned myself with a clump of trees on the north side of the gorge, that I had selected for reference. That guided me to the irregular rock formation on the south side that I had observed directly above the cave.

Using climbing gear I lowered myself to the cave.

The floor was flat, level and uncluttered, I swung in and unhooked my rope. Securing it took some doing, for the walls and floor of the cave were smooth and bare. I took off my gear, and switched on my headlamp. Finally I found a crack into which I wedged some gear with the rope attached.

There was a sharp curve in the cave, less than twenty yards in.

I approached it cautiously, reminding myself that there might be another entrance to this cave, and there could be an animal in residence.

The area beyond the turn was a high domed, spacious room. It was so large that my headlamp seemed feebly inadequate.

I searched for animal tracks in the dusty floor, but there were none.

I did find a clutter of strange fabric. As if discarded clothing, but a fabric unlike any I've ever seen. I found, half buried in the floor of the cave, a leather purse. Approximately four inches square, with carry handles attached. A metallic container inside held a residue of a very fine gold colored dust. Later a jeweler tested the dust, and confirmed that it was pure gold.

In past two years I have been reading about the Anunnaki who arrived on earth in ancient times. They are pictured in numerous carved representations carrying a small square purse which they held by its handles.

And it is interesting that they had great interest in mining gold here in earth.

The Anunnaki are a group of deities of the ancient Sumerians, Akkadians, Assyrians and Babylonians. They are ancient alien gods from Nibiru, a hypothetical Neptune-sized planet that supposdly orbits our Sun in a highly elongated orbit far beyond Pluto.

I feel that I have discovered the purpose of the ubiquitous purses, displayed in so many images in sites on several continents -- carvings representing the Anunnaki.

What if their biological chemistry required some small percentage of gold ?

Perhaps while they are here on earth they have a physical need for gold, much as I might need oxygen if I traveled to a distant planet. The purses so pervasively carried might hold the gold they need.

I have heard of a medical application of gold here on earth — the popular form is “monoatomic gold.” My first reaction to this is to remember the snake oil I used to buy for a dime a bottle, back in the 1860's . . . (see Outlaw Josey Wales)

Then I encountered A Preliminary Study of the Effect of Ingestion of Gold on Blood Chemistry by Dinesh C. Sharma.

That article does not conclude that there is any beneficial medical effect from ingesting gold, but it at least gives it a serious consideration.

Who knows? On the planet Nibiru, gold may be like vitamin B12 is here, for me.

Imagine their frantic searches for gold on Nibiru if suddenly there was not an adequate supply on hand . . . and their local Walmart didn't have any in stock, nor any expectation of receiving any.

Here on earth, people jump onto their car and run to Walmart when there is an urgent need. The inhabitants of Nibiru may pile into their spaceship and cruise to the nearest — My goodness, what if that's US ?

There are legendary accounts of aliens infiltrating Earth, and mining for gold — in South Africa, by some accounts. Interactions with humans are said to have included visiting its women, and altering the genes of humans to create an army of laborers to work in their gold mines. Perhaps the visits to earth's women were an adjunct to their efforts in genetic manipulation.

Steven King, where are you? We need a new movie — “I'm Proud to be a Gold Miner's Daughter” . .

1  Stan said that he would quit smoking when he quit breathing. He did.

Maturity

 It has been said, by a learned philosopher, that “life is a journey to uncover one's self, one's identity.”¹

It is interesting to hear the voices of wisdom by my betters. I seek to learn from them. I am inspired by the rambling expressions and opinions of learned philosophers.

But I don't always agree with them.

With respectful regard for the wisdom of the quote in the first line of this essay — I have noted in myself an ongoing, accelerating evolution in my mentality and perception of reality. And with the conceit and arrogance of one who has accumulated a few knocks, bumps and scars I dare to disagree.

I would revise the quote thusly:

“ . . . life is a journey to mold and develop one's self, one's identity.”

1  Walt Whitman's poem “I Celebrate Myself” is actually about how Whitman celebrates himself. The poem is about finding your identity,

Snooty Purple Bird

 I have been hit with that phrase again --”purple prose” — to insinuate that I affect a pretentious ostentatiousness, to presume to a grandiose manner.

I wrote about a crow that come into my room thru a open window.

"He hopped right in, with lots of flapping his wings, like he thought he owned the place.  Didn't slow down none — acted proud, kinda like them snooty high society couples you see on TV … an he flue up to a high shelf, an he set right down on an old statue I've got up there of a Greek goddess.

An then he jus set there …"

If'n I wanted it t'be purple I'da copied Poe:

"...with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; 

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

Perched, and sat, and nothing more."

        

                                                                Pallas

Anybody that'd read that kind of stuff — no tellin' how he'll write!

Alec Baldwin on trial for Manslaughter

Alec Baldwin faces a Manslaughter trial for the tragic, unnecessary death in that highly publicized incident on a movie set.

Baldwin attempts to shift the blame to the armorer who presented the gun to him. He insists he was told that the gun was unloaded.

It is arguable that the armorer should have unloaded the gun before presenting it. 

 But that did not relieve Baldwin of the responsibility to verify that it was in fact unloaded.

Defensive driving has been a staple in high schools for years  — because we want to teach the skills and awareness that may save the lives of our children when they drive their cars.

Additionally, I insist that basic firearms safety should be included in every high school curriculum.  Not to encourage the students to take up shooting as a hobby. But, recognizing the need imposed by the fact that there are millions of guns in American society, to instill in our youth the rules and fundamentals of gun safety.

The most important rule is “Treat every gun as if it is loaded.”  A corollary of equal importance is “Never point a gun at anyone.”

When anyone picks up a gun — or is handed a gun — the immediate requirement is to check the gun to see if it is loaded.

In context, these two rules would have prevented the “accident” for which Baldwin is probably going to prison. 

Free TV

 Nothing much going on here, so I'll share the following:

There are many things that I encounter in life that baffle me. Mysterious.  Frustrating.  Beyond my understanding and comprehension.

I rely on TV for entertainment and diversion.  Were it not so pricey I would subscribe to Cable.

My chosen alternative is to use an antenna to receive the over-the-air broadcasts that are federally mandated.  

I bought an antenna for a hundred bucks, and hung it on the bedroom wall in my apartment. A shielded twenty-five foot cable connects to the TV in my living room. This has served me well for seven years. 

A recent very severe thunderstorm, with frighteningly arrogant lightning, prompted me to disconnect TVs, computers, and my microwave from the electrical power to avoid damage by any high voltage spike that may follow a lightning strike.  As an afterthought I disconnected the antenna cable from the TVs.  

The storm passed without any incident.  

For the last few weeks I have been enjoying news broadcasts, football games and movies on the TV.

Yesterday I walked past the antenna in the bedroom, and noticed the antenna cable lying on the floor, disconnected.  I picked it up and looked at it.

Yes, I had left it disconnected. I moved the loose end farther away from the antenna, and turned on the TV.  All channels are displayed without any indication of irregularity.

I continue to watch TV with no antenna connection.

I'm not versed in the intricacies and nuances of the science of transmission and reception of TV signals.  But this all seems contrary to any understanding that I may presume to enjoy.

I shall add this to my unrecorded list of Things that Mystify.  

Life goes on.

Errant Lockset

 

The photograph at left immediately above is of an entrance lockset salvaged from the dumpster.

      The adjacent photograph shows how easy it is to see the device in the repurposed plastic jar in which it has been stored for several years.  

The thrust of this essay is to review events of March 2021.

I found it desirable to change the door knob set on a passage door in my apartment. I removed the previous set, and went to the table in my "shop" where I knew I would find the lockset pictured above.  

I had a clear memory of recently noticing the item in its jar on the table, in an group with several other jars of similar size.  And I will note that these similarly sized jars are grouped, together at one end of the table.  No other jars of that particular size are in use.

I couldn't find the lockset.

I picked up each if the other jars in turn and examined their contents.  The lockset was not there.

I searched diligently in several other areas to which I thought perhaps I had relocated it.  No joy.

 I returned to my project and managed a solution without the desired lockset.- Later, remembering again that I had not long ago noted the presence of the lockset on the table in my shop, I returned to that location. I searched the entire length of the table.

Nope.

A week later I had occasion to approach the table in the shop.

There, plainly visible, was the elusive lockset, clearly visible in its jar.

You tell me —  I don't know.

Here Having Happy Holidays

 

Christmas approaches, and

Came there one who was

Absolutely angelic,

bearing

Gracious gifts 

that were

Fantastically favorable

and

Deliciously delectable;

Most important was the

Congenial company!

I am

Greatly grateful …

with awkward phraseology, but

Sincerest sentiments!!!

Merriest Holidays

and

Happiest future  

to you from

Mickey

Ree—grets

 There's a lot of regrets in my awareness — 

“Things I did I shoulda didn't;

     And things I didn't do I shoulda dood!”

I am occasionally tempted to list them … but good judgment dictates that I do not.

First, it would be such a daunting task … 

“continuous as the stars that shine … in a never ending line ...”     

(like unto daffodils.)

Second —  and perhaps more dissuasive — is that, although I steadfastly maintain that I am not clinically depressed, I am yet given to bouts of sadness, upon reflection of my relationships with those dear ones long gone . . .

Significant is that in the years beginning in 2000 I resisted the urge — the urgent need  — to go to California to visit my parents.

I was fighting an agonizing array of personal difficulties, having just walked out on my fifth marriage, agonizing over my perceived worth —  or lack thereof — uncertain of any destination, unable to coherently plot a course — I continued to think that there was time — would be enough time — I'd get around to it …

But there was not enough time.  Almost suddenly, “before I knew it,”  they were both gone.

And I can't undo it ...

Meaning of Christmas

 She closed her blog with the question:

    "What does Christmas mean to you?"

Thought provoking. Prompting a flying investigation through memories of many, over years and years . . .

Impossible to summarize them — but one in particular emerges:

I remember a Christmas — about 1974 — Mom and Pop drove to Victoria from San Antone — Christmas morning, there was much unwrapping and opening of presents, from each to everyone. Through it all my dog Prissy sat Sphinx-like, watching silently and intently.

When all the “people” presents were dispensed, I took the one remaining wrapped gift from under the tree and presented it to Prissy. Without hesitation, and demonstrating absolute, complete understanding, she unwrapped it and took possession of her gift — a toy for her pleasure. When she had the gift securely “in hand” she turned to gaze into my eyes, and silently said “Thank You.”
We mere humans sat in rapt amazement at her behavior — waiting so patiently for her turn, then proceeding so expertly.

I miss that dog..

Allocated Life Span

 Good memories warm my soul as I wade, midway, through my ninth decade. I

 expect to live to a ripe old age — purely because of the old adage, oft repeated

 among fishermen — that the time spent fishing does not count against your

 allocated life span. 

I still hear your sea winds blowing

 

In August 2014 I left Utah and drove back to Victoria. Once there it took me several months to move into and furnish a house  ( I had returned with all my worldly possessions in the back of my truck ...)

In December I decided to treat myself. On my birthday I drove to Galveston. First thing I did was drive around to view the many significant locations — houses where I had lived, schools I attended. Some no longer there.

Then I had lunch at Gaidos. Walked on the beach. Drove from one end to the other of Seawall Boulevard. Stopped at 39^th Street, got out of my truck to sit on the seawall ... and … remember.

Late afternoon saw me homeward …

That brief visit remains in my memory with all my other Galveston history.

Lately I have found myself fantasizing of a return to Galveston — to live there, even perhaps in one of the houses I lived in … and then stark reality reminds me that the town I remember from the 1940s is no more.

Significant is my reaction — I am reminded of Thomas Wolfe's oft quoted “You can't go home again . . . “

“If you try to return to a place from your past it won't be the same as it was.”

So I must reorient myself, to look forward, to face the future … moving on.

Ships Passing in the Night

 

Ships that pass in the night: Two people who encounter one another in a transitory,incidental manner, and whose relationship is without significance.

My mind wanders — randomly accessing memories of recent or long ago incidents of varying significance. Triggered by a song playing in the background of my daily existence, or a casual glance at a picture on my wall. Or even without any identifiable trigger. Just happens. Some few recur, without obvious meaning. One of these is my memory of a canary.

Not the bird in a cage — but the singer with the band.

She was a classical beauty. Think Eleanor Parker, the Baroness in Sound of Music. Poised. Blonde. Gorgeous. With a voice that reminded me of Linda Ronstadt. She was the singer with the band that regularly played at the dances we attended at the Country Club

In my ten years with Ann we attended many dances. She had helped me learn how to dance. And dance we could — and did. Thanks to Ann I had quite a reputation as a good dancer.

At a dance at the Country Club at some vaguely unplaceable time (probably about 2008 plus or minus a year or two), Ann wandered away from me to go dance with somebody else. As she was walking away from our table she indicated a woman who was sitting alone at a table at the end of the dance floor, and told me to “go dance with that lady.”

 That lady was the singer with the band.

Being the obedient, devoted slave to most of Ann's wishes, I walked to that lady's table. I would not have even thought of asking her to dance, had it not been for Ann's admonition. The woman was beautiful. And I had not — (still haven 't) outgrown my sense of being terribly intimidated by an attractive female.

But approach her I did. I extended my hand — “May I have the honor?”

Without comment she arose and walked with me into the milling cloud of dancers.

By this time in my progression from clumsy, “don't know how to dance,” I had migrated to the level of being rather adept. So much so the Ann's niece Barbara, who with husband Paul often accompanied us to dances, would admonish me:

“I don't want to dance with you if you're gonna do any of your fancy steps.”

So that in the dance with the canary I avoided any “fancy steps.” I simply slowly shuffled around the floor. She generously and competently followed me.

I attempted conversation. “Where did you learn to sing so beautifully?”

“All over Georgia.” 

Mercifully, the song ended and I escorted her back to her lonely table.

My next awareness of her was at the last dance that I attended with Ann. Spring of 2012, at the Country Club. We sat at a table with Ann's sister and her boyfriend Gus. I learned from Gus that the name of the canary was Sue, and that she was a classically trained musician.

Ann and I, and several other couples filled one side of a table. I sat next to the dance floor.

Gus loved to sing. And he led us, all of us at our table, in a joyous rendition of “If I Loved You” from Carousel. The key that Gus selected placed it too high for me. And I didn't have the range to sing it down an octave. So I attempted a bass accompaniment. Struggling to imitate Nelson Eddy from Naughty Marietta, I was bouncing around from note to note, trying to fit into some kind of harmony.

The band was taking a break, and walking en masse toward restrooms and refreshments. As they walked past our table I heard the singer, Sue, say “Listen to that harmony!”

I mentally assessed the efforts of our singing group, and found that everyone else was singing the melody. Mine was the harmony of Sue's comment.

A few minutes later, as we were singing another song, the band returned from their break. Sue stopped, lagging behind, and stood facing me. Gazing directly into my eyes she sang a beautiful alto accompaniment to the song we were singing. I was stumbling through an improvised bass.

I was singing a duet with the beautiful band singer!

This insignificant moment in time comes frequently to mind. And I briefly fantasize a developing relationship with that beautiful stranger.

Ships in the night.

I find various philosophies regarding fascination with the past:

Past is experience, present is experiment, future is expectation.

Learn from the past, look to the future, but live in the present.

Accept your past without regrets; Handle your present with confidence; And face your future without fear.

But I will continue to reminisce.

Dangerous Hammers

 

Excerpts from news:

Hammer-Wielding Stranger Fractures Woman's Skull, Kicks Her Down Stairs in Subway Attack ...

The husband of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, was attacked at the couple's San Francisco home with a hammer...

Woman seen on video attacking Oakland bus driver with hammer

Police are searching for a Port Huron man accused of attacking a woman with a hammer

A York, S.C. grandmother is speaking out after an intruder attacked her with a hammer in her own home …

The incidents recounted above illustrate the urgent need for legislation to curtail crime by outlawing illegal hammers.

First, I would ask “Did the hammers have a handle longer than ten inches?”

Ten seems to be the magic number for proscriptions.

Nobody needs a hammer with a handle longer than ten inches. Such an item becomes a weapon that could continue to deliver deadly blows without repositioning. The capability to deliver repeated strikes with such a dangerous instrument clearly indicates the need for regulation. Such militaristic designs should be allowed only in the hands of professionals.

If the hammer is built with those dangerous claws that curve down in a threatening manner, it must be outlawed. Else society is in danger.

Brought to you by FOSSIL. (Friends of Safer Society by Illogical Legislation)

WANDERER

 

I HEAR THE HIGHWAY CALLING ME WHILE SOFT WINDS RULE THE NIGHT;

THE ASPHALT'S WARM AND GENTLE, AND THE STARS AND MOON ARE LIGHT.

THE YELLOW STRIPES ALONG THE ROAD WOULD GUIDE ME TO THE WEST,

WHILE MORNING SUN ENCHANTS ME, AND SAYS THAT EAST IS BEST.

THE NORTHER BLOWS AND CHILLS THE LAND, ITS HARSH WINDS CALL ME FORTH.

THE CONCRETE'S COLD, FORLORN AND HARD   IT LEADS ME TO THE NORTH.

THE FREEZING WIND BERATES THE CHOICE, AND BLOWS FROM WINTER'S MOUTH;

IT WHISTLES AND IT WHEEZES, AND IMPLORES ME TO GO SOUTH.

SPRINGTIME FLOWERS IGNITE THE ROADS, THEIR BLOOMS DELIGHT MY WAY.

WHILE SOME SAY GO, EXPLORE THE WORLD, THE OTHERS BEG ME STAY.

FOR I AM JUST A WANDERER, STILL YEARNING TO BE FREE.

BUT I'LL STAY HOME AND DREAM WITH YOU, IF YOU'LL STAY HOME WITH ME.

Reckoning

 

From this life of strife and pain.

Let me go, nor come again;

Glad did I toast, not drunk in vain __
Then turned me down an empty glass,

            — For my friend ..

Pour out MY glass, and speak this phrase :

"Spread here his ashes, let us gaze ....
Tho' scattered wide, it's near he lays.".
Then turn for me an empty glass,

            — for MY end ..

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PAMELA

 

A SOFT BREEZE WANDERED THROUGH YOUR HAIR

AS WE ENJOYED THE EVENING SKY.

A SMILE LIT UP YOUR FACE SO FAIR

AND SPOKE OF LOVE THAT NE'ER WILL DIE.

I TAKE YOUR HAND AND YOU RESPOND

BY LEANING GENTLY INTO ME.

THE LOVE I FEEL IS FAR BEYOND

A MORTALS LOVE WAS MEANT TO BE.

IF ONLY MEN THROUGHOUT THE LAND

COULD KNOW THE LOVE YOU GIVE TO ME,

A HUNDRED MILLION MEN WOULD STAND

AND SAY, "MY LOVE, I'M GLAD TO BE."