A Year of Blessings

Another calendar year has come to an end. I preface year with calendar because every moment of every day is the end of another year (you really think about it).

We say it's year 2009 (for a few more hours) because we are basing our calculation upon a fixed point in time. (An incorrect fixed point in time, by the way.) It turns out whoever set up our calendar originally got the start point wrong by up to three years. And then, nobody took into account the fact that a year isn't exactly 365-days until over a thousand years had passed. So it's all guesswork.

But other calendars use different fixed points in time and so come up with other years. Isn't there one calendar in the 20,000s now?

My point is that all year ends are artificial, created by one or more people establishing a fixed point in time. Most people in the world are now using the same calendar and so the year is 2009 - ending. And for several hundred years that has worked well enough.

You know, though, I don't believe I've ever read anything in which the people preceding the beginning of our calendar ever referred to a year as a number. They seemed to think about years with regard to a significant event. The Year of the Great Flood. The Year of the Locusts (hey, that would make a good book, I bet [smiles]). The Year of the Drought. And so on. People didn't seem to count years beyond knowing how old they were.

Personally, I am ending 2009 a bit worse off than I ended 2008. That has been the pattern for several years now. Perhaps it has been the pattern all my life, but when I was so much better off I never noticed it. Now, any adjustment, good or bad, is keenly felt.

Despite this "lowering of station" I have experienced (and Spouse and Son, too, by reason of their affiliation with me), I must say that 2009 was mostly a happy year in my memory.

Surprised I wrote that? Yes, I know. I write a lot of self-pitiful stuff. And I whine more than most about my situation. But that's just my way of expressing an emotion out of my system. And when I speak sarcastically about myself, I really am laughing at myself, despite what you may think. I DO laugh a lot more than my writing would imply.

Early in the year I got the feeling that something significant would happen at summer's end. I was convinced this "something significant" was something of great benefit. If it happened then the benefit has eluded me. The most significant thing that happened at summer's end was we lost the house. But that was followed immediately by me writing three novels in less than 90 days. I don't know that either of those things qualify as a fulfillment of my feeling. Maybe something happened I'm unaware of.

But this year has been especially good to me while attempting to bring me low. What am I thankful for?

• My best friend. Without a doubt this has been my most precious gift of 2009. I have not had a best friend since Stephen died. Many are the days I am nearly brought to tears with the joy of knowing my friend is there. Still. And on top of that, I have made other friends this year, too. They can't all be best. How did the song go? If everybody's somebody - then no one's anybody.
• A new creative outlet for my writing. I found myself writing more about women this year, and I have enjoyed it beyond explaining. I have truly opened a part of myself I never knew was there. And I like what I'm finding.
• I have enjoyed my most prolific year ever in writing. Just a few thousand words short of 1,000,000-words. I started and finished five (5) novels. In fact, I wrote a complete novel in September, October, and again in November (after I abandoned NaNoWriMo).
• While not at all healthy, I am still here with my family.
  
• I have discovered there are certain family members who's proclamations of love go far beyond words.
• I have discovered I care a LOT more about people than I do about rules. I realize this puts me at odds with a lot of other Christians, but I am not firmly convinced I understand what God meant when he told us through the Apostle Peter, "Above all hold unfailing your love for one another, since love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8 Revised Standard Version
• While I can't do it right now, I know what I want to do with my life. It's just a matter of finding and recognizing the opportunity when it comes. (Tied with that is the understanding of how to create the opportunity to find.)
• Son has discovered his first best talent is in music. He now owns his own saxophone. Whatever it cost us to get it, it was worth it.

Certainly, I could go on. And on. And on. Despite losing the house. Despite poor health. Despite the stresses we have faced in our home. I think it has been a good year. And I am truly grateful.

I am also grateful to those of you who come to read what I write. I realize the posts on this blog are hardly informative or inspirational, but you come anyway. Thank you.

I hope your year has ended well for you.

God bless.

Merry Christmas

Have a a very Merry Christmas.

Tis the Season

Okay, so I did attend an extended family function on Sunday. My mother hosted a Christmas get together at her place. She lives in a 3-floor retirement community. She was able to reserve the common room for about three hours.

Spouse had to work, but Son and I attended. For the most part it was all right. Spent a lot of time sitting with nothing to do and no one to talk with. I'm just not aggressive that way. The older I get the less I figure anyone wants to talk with me, so I virtually never interject myself, other than to say hello. Especially with people I have not seen in a long time.

My aunt and uncle I have not seen since last winter, when mother had cancer surgery. My one niece I saw last spring, and I saw my sister just a week ago. Other than that it's been years. Some of the young ones I have never seen.

My nephew's wife came up to Son and me and told Son she didn't think he remembered her. She could have said that about me, too. I hadn't a clue who she was until she told Son.

When we left Son made an interesting comment.

"Why is everyone in our family fat? Including the children?"

Well, everyone is a bit of an exaggeration. I did a tally. Only two out of three. My younger sister's family are all acceptably thin, and my brother's youngest son is downright skinny. So those seven were not fat. And Son is not fat. And there was another little boy who was not fat. But the rest of us? Yeah, I'm afraid so.

It wasn't that way forty years ago. Then, the ratio was at least reversed. It may even have been greater in favor of thin and skinny. Times have changed. So have lifestyles.

But now it is time for our Christmas season. Son gets off school in a few minutes and does not have to return until January. He's looking forward to that. I have mixed feelings about it. His being around means a lot less time on the computer for me, and even less writing.

Oh, well. I like having Son about. Mostly.

Morticia is Gone

There are two main downers to getting older. One is one's own health. It is inevitable that one's body deteriorates as one ages. Arthritis. Muscle aches. Stomach issues. More weight and less hair.

The other downer is the disappearance of familiar faces.

We like to watch old movies and old television shows. Right now we're watching Hogan's Heroes. At least four of the main characters are dead: Hogan, Schultz, Klink and Burkholder. I think there are others gone, too.

One of my favorite shows was Addams Family. Morticia, Lurch, Uncle Fester and Grandmama are all gone.

We recently had some Gilligan's Island episodes from the library. The Howell's are gone. So are Skipper and Gilligan.

There aren't many entertainers left from the 60s and 70s, and fewer still are actively entertaining. It makes one feel old.

Tree Farming

My first job away from home was working at a tree farm. I got the job through a classmate, who told me they would hire anybody. Not sure what I was being told beyond an available job, but I went and worked.

Back at that time places like tree farms often hired what was known as ‘casual labor’. All you needed to work was a social security number so they could send in the FICA taxes. There were no interviews. Everyone who showed up by seven o’clock got to work. Show up late and you probably wouldn’t, as all of the crews would have already left.

Pay Day was whenever you wanted it. Some worked all day and took their pay upon leaving. Others took their pay once or twice a week, as they needed the money. Perhaps there were a few who delayed more than a week, but these would be rare.

There were two groups of people who worked this particular tree farm. The one group consisted of school age workers from high school or college, collecting money over the summer holiday, or on weekends during the school year. The other group consisted of middle aged men. Many of these looked like men who were solely interested in acquiring enough money for another bottle of wine, or whatever.

If I remember correctly, the pay was $1.50 per hour. You had your crew foreman fill out your hours at the end of the day and then turned in the card, stating whether you wished to be paid or wait.

There were several types of crews, but I was only ever assigned to two. One truly s*cked. That consisted of standing out in the hot sun hoeing and plucking weeds from around small seedlings. We were put on a large wagon and towed out to the fields and dropped off at various places in twos and fours. Even for me, who prefers hot and humid days to any other, standing in a field without any shade was wearing. The only drink was what one had in their thermos. Bathrooms were the hedge rows, kept to prevent wind and rain erosion. The second crew shift was better in most ways, but it was also a bit more dangerous. It was the Pole Plant.

The Pole Plant was where they took trees which had grown too thick to sell anymore, stripped them of their branches, and then ran them through a de-barker to create fence posts. There were various stations here, including removing the branches, hauling trees to be de-branched, de-barking trees, and hauling posts. The hauling jobs required knowledge of construction equipment. I never got to do that. Neither did I get to do de-branching. I worked in the de-barking area.

This was nice in that it was under a roof, allowing the work to continue in rain and snow. It was not nice in that it was an assembly line which never stopped until lunch and the end of the day. There were four positions, and only the two end got to rotate. Position One was the machine operator. Position Two worked at helping the machine operator feed the tree trunk into the lathe type thing. Position Three kept the tree trunk straight and went around to collect the post and toss it on the completed pile. The final position, Position Four, grabbed the next tree trunk and put it on the conveyor belt and made sure the end didn’t swing about and kill someone. It wasn’t easy and required a strong hand. Being the largest person on the line meant I usually got this job.

The job was not entirely safe. Relax your hold on the end and it just might swing up and cave in your head. I found that out early on, being fortunate enough to only get smacked in the chest. An advantage of being tall I guess. Still, it hurt, and the line had to be shut down until I was able to get back on my feet. Nobody felt sorry for me, though. They were angry with me for risking their lives by being stupid.

There was a second danger to this position which I had not been warned about. Not having a lot of money I was not able to afford the nice leather gloves that everyone else had. So I had thick, woolen, gloves such as farmers used to use. After only two hours of holding trunks being spun down the conveyor belt the gloves began wearing through. They had holes in them. And every so often they would catch on a knot, or piece of bark. This was not a really big deal until one glove got caught especially tight. My entire arm was being pulled over and down as the trunk spun in a circle. I shouted, but the machine made more noise than a classroom filled with kindergartners. No one heard me. I had only a few seconds before my arm was bent in a manner not meant by nature. I pulled with all my strength.

It’s a scary thing, being pitted in a battle of strength with a mindless machine operating with endless power. I sometimes find myself wondering what would have happened had I been a smaller person. But although I wasn’t fat yet, I was very large. And very strong. For just a brief moment I managed to stop the turning. But whereas the machine could exert constant pressure, I could not. And when I was forced to relax the turning began again. So I pulled in a jerk motion and my hand came free. Without the glove. That went around and I managed to pluck it off when it came back.

I had to spend the rest of the day doing my job with one glove with holes in it. Within the next hour I had no gloves. I finished the day with blistered hands. I didn’t go back.

I think about that job now and realize that I now belong to the wino group, despite the fact I cannot imbibe alcohol. It’s work I couldn’t do anymore. Not that it matters. That tree farm hasn’t existed for a good many years.

Christmas Countdown

Time again for shameless self-promotion. I realize it’s in bad form, but I figure, what the h*ll. It’s my blog. If I’m not going to promote myself then why have it?

Christmas is a time for nostalgic thinking and feelings. We remember what it was like to be young and sitting before the tree waiting for the go-ahead to begin presents.

In our house Daddy handed out presents. Nobody else. After a few years, when I was older (and so was Daddy) I helped by crawling under the tree to get the hard to reach presents. Also, Daddy would hand me the presents to hand to those who weren’t sitting within easy reach. That way he didn’t have to crawl all over the floor. When Helvie got older she helped, too. I didn’t like that. I liked it when it was just Daddy and me.

We were poor, but things cost pennies in those days. For $5 my parents could buy six presents for every child (there were seven of us, and although Ranlen was up north he still had presents under the tree). Every year one child would be picked to get a special Christmas. Their presents cost a bit more than the others, but they didn’t get so many either. But we often had both sets of grandparents and Aunt Cile with us. And sometimes another aunt and/or uncle. We could have as many as fifteen or twenty people there. And with each person getting at least five presents, that meant a lot of presents under the tree. But think of this: seventy presents for less than $200. That’s what we were able to do back in the 60s.

So what has all of that to do with shameless self-promotion? Uh, nothing. I got off on a tangent. I think I’ll stay here and save the self-promotion for another post. You don’t mind. Right?

In The Old House, we had that giant living room (25’ x 15’) with the 12’ ceilings. This meant we could have very large trees – which we did. They cost nothing, so why not? While hunting up north Daddy and Alfred would go out into the forest, find a tall white pine, cut it off at eight to ten feet off the ground, and that would be our Christmas tree. They only guessed at the height, and twice we had to shorten it to fit in the living room. But they were wide. Quite able to hold all of the presents beneath.

We had blinking lights, but they didn’t flash on and off. When I say ‘blinking lights’ I mean blinking lights. As in, why don’t the d*mn things work this year? Now we have to find the one bulb that is keeping the others from lighting.

There was nothing more magical to me than to sit before a 12’ decorated Christmas tree with a monstrous pile of presents beneath. Never mind that only a handful were for me. Never mind that nearly every present I got cost less than a dollar. Maybe two. Except, every so often, when it was my turn to get the special Christmas.

I realize that Christmas, as a concept, is about the birth of Jesus, but let’s be real. It’s one thing to know that (we all do, right), but it’s quite another to see it as the primary focus of the season. Christmas is for children. Even Jesus said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” There is nothing wrong with Christmas being a season for children. Personally, I think it far better to keep Christmas for children (and we all have a child in us some place, right?) and the entire year for God, rather than the other way around. I am aware that Christmas is the time when we acknowledge the birth of Jesus. But even as a Christian, I have to admit, when I think of Christmas I think of children sitting before a decorated tree with presents beneath. It’s a magical time. Anything could be in those packages. Even when you knew it couldn’t. But it is a wonderful time for believing. And speaking for myself, I need that more than anything.

There. That was much better than what I was going to talk about.

Christmas Season

2nd UPDATE: I deleted the original post. It's what I wanted to say, but not the way I wanted to say it. So I'll just leave the first update.

UPDATE: I just thought of something my sister told me. My niece is now a proud mother of two bright and wonderful children. Her daughter, a second grader, was with her in the car listening to Christmas music when the verse, "It's the most wonderful time of the year" came caroling through the car. With complete innocence my great-niece asked her mother, "Mommy, is Christmas really the most wonderful time of the year?" In true fashion, proving she is indeed descended from my parents, my niece replied, "No, dear. That's just a song. The most wonderful time of the year is summer."

Are You Ready For Winter

My family has a history of having a wild, and often times extreme, sense of humor. In recent years I have tended to fade away from some of the more extreme amusements, although I am still a fair hand at one-liner responses to straight lines.

But I was never a master at practical jokes and things like that. That honor goes to my brother Mickey and sister Judayl. They loved (and still do) to make elaborate plans for the sole purpose of making someone look foolish. Sometimes they have been the butt of these things, but it's not easy to get a master. Which is why I feel especially proud of having achieved the greatest family joke against Judayl. But that's a different story. In fact, I think I've already posted it. Can't remember.

Anyway, practical jokes are one way my family tells people they are accepted. Generally we do not joke people we don't care about. Those people we merely insult. Unfortunately, sometimes it's difficult to distinguish insults from jokes. That's just the way it is.

A good number of years ago now Judayl was working in an office. It was fall. October or November. A new employee had just arrived from Southern California, where he had spent his entire life up to then. Living in the hot, dry, desert he had no concept of Minnesota's trees, lakes, and weather. But he had heard things. So he questioned Judayl and her co-workers.

What he was interested in was his car. He had heard rumors that Minnesotans did things to their cars before winter. What did they do? Why? It was Friday and he hoped to resolve this over the weekend.

So Judayl very calmly, rationally, and without so much as a grin, explained to him that winter air is different than summer air, and that Minnesotans bring their cars in to have the air in their tires changed around October or November. This will prevent flat tires when it gets very cold. All he had to do was go to any garage and tell the mechanic he needed to have winter air put into his tires. It wasn't expensive and didn't take long.

On Monday morning Judayl and her comrades felt bad about the joke. Yes, it was funny, but the truth is there ARE things that Minnesotans do to their cars in October and November, and they HAVE to be done. They decided they had best let him know what those were so his car didn't get damaged.

He came in sullen and didn't say hello to anyone. Judayl and the other went to him and apologized about the air in the tires thing (yes, he had gone to a garage and asked for winter air), but they were ready to give him truth now. What he had to do was bring his car to any garage and have them change the oil from summer weight oil to winter weight oil. Also, he needed to make sure his radiator had fresh antifreeze in it.

It was a case of Fool Me Once, Shame On You. He got very angry with them and told them he wasn't going to fall for the same joke twice.

At first Judayl and the others continued to feel bad. Then, of course, they found it extremely funny.

I don't know if the man got his car winterized in time or not. I suspect he did. Hope so.

But that is the kind of humor my family likes to enjoy.

Out of the Way!

There are roughly 72-units in the apartment complex we live in. Mostly 2-bedroom units, but a few one and three bedrooms, too.

Every month there seems to be a big turnaround with units. People come. People go. Some very quickly.

Recently, someone moved in who is quite noisy. We became alerted to their presence by the sound of running feet down the hallway. The complex is shaped like an "L" and we live on the top floor of the inner corner, so we could hear the running the full length of both lines. Our assumption was at least three, maybe as many as five, children. The other day I learned for certain.

I was climbing the stairs to third floor. This is a process for me. As I neared the top I could hear the stampede coming down the hallway. The entire clan was on its way. I hurried to reach the top so I would not be bowled over and sent down the stairs again. Not only would this likely result in injury, but I would still have to make the interminable climb again. I made it just as the source of the noise swept around the corner to go down the stairs.

Was it a pack of teenagers? No.

A gaggle of rambunctious boys? No.

A girl scout troop? No.

To my utter amazement a single little elf child swept around the corner and nearly bowled me over. Panting heavily, she only gave me a glance as she hurried down the stairs to seek out the candy machines on first floor. The noise followed her.

She couldn't have been older than five or six. Three feet tall and maybe thirty or forty pounds. Her entire person didn't seem much larger than the palm of my hand. But she could really make the noise.

The energy of youth, I guess. But now when I hear the stampede echoing down the hallway my mind envisions this tiny little elf child stomping with glee, completely oblivious to the meaning of living in this place. Ignorance really is bliss. I'm glad someone around here is having fun.

Combining Highs

So I was talking with Son last night while we tried watching Polar Express. I say tried watching because we have this wonderful television-dvd combo that we got a number of years ago and the d*mn thing works like cr*p. Nearly every movie freezes up on us before we can get all the way through. I know it isn't the discs because those work on the computer. But the computer monitor is older than the television and night scenes are like - black.

But anyway, for some reason I was reminded of going to a cartoon festival way back in the 70s. Chris invited me, which I found odd at the time as Chris never struck me as a cartoon kind of guy.

We arrived early in Chris's new car. It was one of the earliest models to have automatic shut off of head lamps. Chris took special pains to leave his lights on. Then, while we stood in line, he waited for someone to notice. I was amazed at how long it took for anyone to notice. That is, until I realized that nearly everyone in line was a dead head drug user. Not the heavy duty stuff. I don't think. Not that night anyway. But a LOT of marijuana.

Time is running out. Chris is calculating there are only a few seconds left. Finally some guy sees the car and starts trying to get everyone's attention. But by the time he can, the automatic shut off has kicked in and the lights are off. He does one of the biggest double takes I have ever seen. Might have swore off the drugs after that. Probably not.

I remember a lot of what we saw, but only one title. What sticks out most vividly in my mind is that that night was the first time I ever smelled marijuana. We were sitting down near the front. I had the aisle seat. That way Chris had to sit next to the high guy. All of a sudden there is this - smell. Chris leans over to me.

Chris: Smell that?

Me: Yeah. What is that? Smells like someone lit the diaper pale on fire.

Chris: That's marijuna.

Me: You're kidding!

Chris: No. That's what it is.

Me: And people want to smoke that stuff? Why not just buy dirty diapers?

The auditorium was boisterous. That is putting it mildly. I was sitting there and wondering what I had gotten myself into. Then the first film began. LOW volume.

There were cries of "turn it up", but soon those were being replaced with "shut up, man". By the time the first cartoon was over it was quiet. At this point in time the projectionist turned up the volume. I was impressed.

The first film was simply a cartoon of some guy dancing across shapes and colors. Cool music. Bouncy. Then, at the end, the guy kind of fell off the world and floated. At this point someone from the middle of the auditorium calls out, "He's high, man!"

I enjoyed most of what we saw. There was the one with claymation. A couple of folk guitarists were in the mountains. Then, they began to transform into a rock band, playing psychadelic music. That one ended with the mountains turning into volcanoes.

Mostly the films were quite colorful. Chris explained to me that people on drugs really got into the bright colors and things. Helped them hallucinate or something. (I suppose you can tell I have never indulged. Too afraid of dying, or losing my brains. I had more than one friend die because of drugs.)

The only film title I remember is available on YouTube. It's a short, 1:30, animation. It's a classic. I called it up and showed Son, who knew of it, but had never seen it. Here it is. The one and only original:



And afterward we went and had pizza.

We Had Fun

Stephen and I were born at the wrong time, I think. I should have been born a long time before. Perhaps several hundred years. Stephen should have been born later. Today's technology would suit him well.

Stephen wanted to make movies. He made a couple, but only one was any good. That was Fate. I worked with him on one real movie and two other films. But I was not able to corral Stephen's need to "just do it". When Stephen made Fate he was not officially in command. Aaron, who was already making some very good films with his brother, had been brought in to help, and Aaron kept the crew focused. Aaron made Stephen work with a script that actually had a plot.

I was only able to get Stephen to compromise when we made Falcon Man. We had a script. And we had a plot. But it didn't work well.

I think Stephen would love how easy it is for amateurs to make movies now. Video cameras are reasonably inexpensive and digital film means instant knowledge of whether a scene worked or not.

The year after we graduated from high school Stephen was at my apartment and saw one of those shields with the crossed swords behind it hanging on my wall. Being Stephen, he couldn't just leave it alone and he discovered one of the swords actually came out easily. Within minutes both swords came out. Now he wanted to make a film.

We dressed in some of our more rustic clothes and headed to the local dam. It was a small thing, spanning a small river. Still dangerous if one got too close, but we went to the low water side where Stephen knew of a wooded area. Randy was the camera man. That was what Randy liked doing best.

The idea was that Stephen and I would be medieval warriors engaged in a duel to the death.

We waded across the river, the water came up to Stephen's neck but only my chest. Randy had to walk holding the camera above his head.

Once on the island we did some choreography and rehearsals. Now we were ready. Randy started filming. Stephen came at me. He swung his sword and I blocked it. Now I swung mine and he raised his sword to block it. His sword broke in half. That thin aluminum just wasn't meant for stuff like this.

So much for our film.

I wonder what kind of films we would be making today were Stephen still here. With our track record I have to believe they wouldn't make it to either Cannes or Sundance. But we would have fun.

Consequtive Defeats

Being poor in America is an interesting experience. Did you know you can't file bankruptcy unless you have money? And if you don't file bankruptcy you can have your wages garnished. And if you have your wages garnished you don't have enough money to pay rent. And if you don't have enough money to pay rent you get kicked out of your place.

I have said for a long time that if there is a stupid decision to make regarding money, ask me what I choose to do and you'll know what it is. Four years ago, three years ago, two and even one year ago we had the money to file bankruptcy. But we didn't. I was of the mind that we should keep trying to pay down the bills. Be honorable. You know. But the plan failed and we ran out of money and now we don't have the money to pay our bills. Unfortunately, the banks don't give a rat's ass. Acknowledging that we never missed payments on anything for thirty years they conclude that because we have now we have suddenly decided to be dishonest.

So, what we SHOULD have done was take the money we used to pay down loans which ultimate never got paid off, and filed bankruptcy so we wouldn't have to pay off the loans and wouldn't have to worry about garnishment.

The trouble with us is that we always believe better times are coming. Even now. But we keep losing.

Remember the dead car battery? It won't hold a charge anymore. That's another $100. Only this time we don't have it. So the little car is just going to have to sit and wait for better times.


Better times are coming. Some are already experiencing them. The rest of us just have to wait a little longer. Just a little longer and everything will be all right.

It will.

When You Wish Upon a Star

Do you know what I wish? If you do then there's no point in me going on. However, since there is no way for you to let me know at this moment in time I will assume you don't know what I wish and actually go forward with this post. But if you do know, then you need not read any further as you already know what this is about. Which is more than I know. I'm winging it.

Actually, I've been observing my teeter totter brain with all of its emotional influences. One moment I'm thinking about shutting down all of my blogs and quietly fading away into the oblivion from which I came. The next I have about a dozen ideas for new blogs. Left to itself I am not sure the brain can be trusted.

Do you know that I have ten blogs and five blogger accounts?

One of the blogger accounts doesn't actually have any blogs, and another has a blog, but I never post on it. A third account exists, but I seldom sign in, and the fourth is of a like kind.

Generally, when I blog, it is with this account: the Bevie account.

Which brings me to what I wish.

What I wish was that I could be logged into more than one account at the same time in Firefox, instead of having to open a session of Explorer (which often causes my computer to crash). I suppose I could achieve my goal by simply having multiple computers. Yeah, right. I don't even get that lucky in my dreams.

All of these blogs I have. So much to say. But nothing really worthwhile. Still, isn't that what blogs are for? They're a kind of public diary.

There are those who claim writers in particular should be careful about what they post. Writers are supposed to create an image through their blog which will inspire people to not only read their blog, but greatly desire to read their work. This will help them get published.

I don't do that. I don't try to cultivate any particular image for myself. Too neurotic for that. But I have to confess that, after reading about five or six of these articles and posts, I find myself thinking I mucked up in creating all of my blogs and posting as I have. But I can't be anything other than what I am, and if that means self-destruction then so be it. I don't necessarily like that, but I will accept it.

Some have told me that is one of my 'big' problems. I accept too much. Particularly the negative. Maybe so. Maybe so. But I have to say this in all honesty: When I see people behaving the way I am told I should behave I am not very impressed. There is a price to pay for what these people have, and it's more than I care to spend. There are things that matter to me, and I don't want to give them up just so other people can look at me and be impressed. The truth is, that's not going to happen anyway.

So, I return to my wish. Wouldn't it be great if I could log in to all five accounts at the same time, on the same computer? Probably not a good idea. God knows how many accounts and blogs I would have then. And none of them would be saying anything.

I Don't Always Bring My Mind Along When I Go Places

I did something particularly brilliant last Saturday. Son and I went to St. Cloud in the morning, and when we returned I neglected to shut the door on the car. So what? you say. Well, the car was in a garage and I shut it in with the door open. So? I had no cause to drive that car until yesterday afternoon. Oh.

So, one minute before I am supposed to leave to bring Son home from school I have no vehicle. Not that it would be the end of the world if he had to walk back to the apartment, but he's expecting me to be at the school when he steps outside at 3:11 p.m. It is now 2:50 p.m.

There is really only one quick solution and I take it. I walk the one mile to the Outlet Mall where Spouse has parked the other car. I get in and drive to the school. I am only five minutes late. Reason? I always plan on arriving ten minutes early.

Upon returning to the apartment I used the working vehicle to jump start the other. Then Son and I brought the car back to the Outlet Mall and walked to the apartment from there. Not brilliant. What we should have done was wait until Spouse was off work and just drove there at that time. Wasn't thinking.

My legs still hurt from the short two mile walk. I know many of you walk further than that every day. I don't walk half that distance any day. My ankles hurt, especially in the front.

Today I tested the Eclipse again. No go. I didn't let the car run long enough and so the battery failed to charge.

I don't particularly enjoy being stupid. For one thing, having an exceptionally high I.Q. I find I am quite intolerant of myself when I am. And yet it seems I do more stupid things than people with half my I.Q. Why is that, I wonder? Clearly, I.Q. has nothing to do with being smart. I've said that all along. All I.Q. does is indicate the speed at which one learns. But if one fails to learn then I.Q. isn't worth diddly.

The good news is that it wasn't that long ago that I left the car lights on for an hour or two. The battery went dead after that, too. Batteries don't like it when people do these things to them. It doesn't take many times before they just decide to quit and not hold a charge at all. Then it's $100+ to buy a new one.

I don't really need that. But stupid does as stupid is.