Part 12 - Storms
Back when I was young it seemed we were constantly beset by fierce thunderstorms. Some people called the area where we lived Tornado Alley. Of course the tornadoes we get in Minnesota are nothing compared to what they get in Oklahoma. I've seen pictures of those monster things down there. Some are a half mile wide on the ground. We seldom get anything like that up here, although it does happen at whiles.
For all the storms, though, The Old House remained standing. Many of the trees suffered. Mighty oaks felled by horrific straight line winds. We would climb on the skeletons until Daddy either brought someone in to cut it up, or borrowed a chain saw and did it himself.
I remember one year, perhaps a year or two before the house burned. It was Helvie's birthday party and everyone was there except Daddy, who was working. All day I had been watching the clouds. They were gathering to the north and I was warning everyone that a storm was coming. Everyone told me I was out of my mind. Storms didn't come from the north. They came from the west. But the clouds were coming. Surely they saw? They did. But preconceptions had them convinced it was nothing to worry about.
Not that it mattered anyway. There was no place to hide from a big storm in The Old House. The only real shelter was the root cellar, about fifty yards away. But even that wasn't safe. Should the roof be torn off the people inside would be exposed.
The storm took it's sweet time in coming. It didn't arrive until after sunset. Thus we didn't actually realize how bad it was. The television was off by reason of the party. (That was kind of an unwritten rule in our house. No television during family functions.)
When the kitchen window blew out we still didn't put two and two together and get four. We got twenty-two, and so we remained unconcerned. Mother grabbed a blanket and had me hold it over the window while she nailed some lathe boards over it to hold it in place. The blanket was bowed in like a giant watermelon. And then we heard it - the sound of a train.
Now hearing trains in The Old House was nothing new. The tracks marked our property's western border. But this wasn't the normal rumbling sound we heard, which shook the entire house. This was like a whistle, blowing off in the distance. Mother told me to listen. Then she said it was a tornado.
We stood silent and still for several minutes, as though that was going to do any good. Then the sound faded away. It had skipped us. Tornadoes do that. They jump. Forward, backward, and sideways. You can never count on what they're going to do.
We finished boarding up the window and then went to the big room, where everyone else was sitting and talking, oblivious to what had just occurred. When Mother told them, Dave, Lynahr's husband, laughed about us trying to lock out a tornado with blanket.
"Ain't no tornado going to get in here," he said, and we all laughed.
That's the cool thing about my family. They were often cruel in their teasing, and totally unsupportive of a person's dreams, but they could laugh off all forms of stress. Maybe that's why most of us have lived so long. I don't know. I do know this: Sometimes you just have to laugh.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
When Buying New is Cheaper
Was going to post about our garage sale. Tried twice, but both times deleted it all. It's just not that interesting. Suffice to say it has gone well. We've made a fair amount of money and seen the last of a fair amount of things. Next week is the "big" week. It is the city's annual summer days festival, and part of that is a city-wide garage sale. There should be dozens of sales going on simultaneously, which should bring in a large number of people. More people means more sales. However, more garage sales means more competition. We'll see how it turns out.
Taking a few days off. It's rainy and cold. Will start again on Tuesday or Wednesday. Not quite half way to getting Son his saxophone. We'll make it if we can get the appliances into the garage and sold. Those are big ifs. Just getting them out of the house is going to be a pain.
The only real pain about doing this are the "hagglers". These are people who insist on bigger bargains than you're giving them. Had a guy come and look at a seed and fertilizer spreader we're selling. It's only two years old and I'm only asking five dollars. It costs forty dollars new. He only wanted to pay three. Had he come on Tuesday (our first day) I probably would have given in. But he came on Friday. Spouse was sick. It was windy (and blowing all of my tags off and items over). The day was slow. I was crabby. Told him if a $35 dollar savings wasn't good enough for him he could forget it. He took the spreader for five, but talked me down on some hoses and sprinkler heads.
I'm not a haggler. Don't enjoy it at all. But some people love it. It's a game to them. The guy who I did haggle with over the hoses actually smiled because he was having so much fun. Don't know what it is about arguing back and forth that appeals to some people. Like drinking coffee. Never could see how people can drink the stuff.
Got a new plan for those annoying bas - people - who show up, look at something incredibly underpriced, and say, "What's your minimum on this?"
The temptation, of course, is to respond with, "Read the frikkin' price tag, you idiot!" But I'm not going to do that. Going to think it. Not going to do it.
No. This is what I intend to do. Assume the item costs ten dollars. When I'm asked what my absolute minimum price is, I am going to respond with, "Twelve dollars."
When they point out to me that the price tag I put on the item says ten dollars I will say, "Well, I suppose I could let it go for that. Will you pay eleven?"
Did something like that with the guy and the hoses. He saw our bicycles and asked how much they were. Then he saw the sign which read, "Bikes Not For Sale." Then he asks again how much they are. I tell him $600 apiece. He opens his mouth to being haggling, but before he can say anything I add, "We paid $500 for them. But we'll take $600. If you want to pay less than that you'll have to go buy new." He paid for his stuff and left.
A*sholes. See how they like it.
Taking a few days off. It's rainy and cold. Will start again on Tuesday or Wednesday. Not quite half way to getting Son his saxophone. We'll make it if we can get the appliances into the garage and sold. Those are big ifs. Just getting them out of the house is going to be a pain.
The only real pain about doing this are the "hagglers". These are people who insist on bigger bargains than you're giving them. Had a guy come and look at a seed and fertilizer spreader we're selling. It's only two years old and I'm only asking five dollars. It costs forty dollars new. He only wanted to pay three. Had he come on Tuesday (our first day) I probably would have given in. But he came on Friday. Spouse was sick. It was windy (and blowing all of my tags off and items over). The day was slow. I was crabby. Told him if a $35 dollar savings wasn't good enough for him he could forget it. He took the spreader for five, but talked me down on some hoses and sprinkler heads.
I'm not a haggler. Don't enjoy it at all. But some people love it. It's a game to them. The guy who I did haggle with over the hoses actually smiled because he was having so much fun. Don't know what it is about arguing back and forth that appeals to some people. Like drinking coffee. Never could see how people can drink the stuff.
Got a new plan for those annoying bas - people - who show up, look at something incredibly underpriced, and say, "What's your minimum on this?"
The temptation, of course, is to respond with, "Read the frikkin' price tag, you idiot!" But I'm not going to do that. Going to think it. Not going to do it.
No. This is what I intend to do. Assume the item costs ten dollars. When I'm asked what my absolute minimum price is, I am going to respond with, "Twelve dollars."
When they point out to me that the price tag I put on the item says ten dollars I will say, "Well, I suppose I could let it go for that. Will you pay eleven?"
Did something like that with the guy and the hoses. He saw our bicycles and asked how much they were. Then he saw the sign which read, "Bikes Not For Sale." Then he asks again how much they are. I tell him $600 apiece. He opens his mouth to being haggling, but before he can say anything I add, "We paid $500 for them. But we'll take $600. If you want to pay less than that you'll have to go buy new." He paid for his stuff and left.
A*sholes. See how they like it.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
War Games
Stephen was my best friend for a good number of years. Generally, if I wasn't doing something alone I was doing it with Stephen. Even when doing nothing, often it was with Stephen. But Randy was a big part of our team, too. I always found it interesting that the initials of our last names made up my real initials: B.J.D. And, if we added the initial of Chris's last name it made up my pen name initials: B.B.J.D.
As Steve Martin said in "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles": Isn't that something?
I no longer remember who's idea it was, but shortly after graduating from high school the three of us began playing Risk at my apartment. It was probably Randy or myself who came up with the idea. Stephen generally was not the one to purchase strategy games although he would play them. Both Randy and I liked to pit our mental abilities against an opponent, and so the three of us would play monster rounds of Risk. Some of these marathon games would last eight hours - or more. It wasn’t until I had a big “Risk Party” at my apartment in which several of my co-workers came over to play that I realized most people concluded a game of Risk in an hour or so. Personally, I couldn’t see how they could do it and still enjoy the game.
Of course, we changed the rules to make the game more interesting. For one thing, we didn’t much care for the fact that the prize for taking a risk was so small. There should be greater incentives for marching across the world in search of global conquest. And what about all of those oceans? Shouldn’t they come into play? And then there was Stephen’s cu-de-gras: the addition of The Moon.
Because our games would last so long they were a continual see-saw battle of advantage. No one could hold the advantage long before he would be railed on and attacked on all sides by the other two. And with the army deployment only getting larger and larger and larger, that made it much easier for the player who was floundering to get back into the game quickly. And so it went.
Incredibly, I always won. Every time. I didn’t win because my strategy was necessarily any better than Stephen’s or Randy’s. I won because Stephen would usually abandon his strategy on a whim and leave himself too exposed. Randy was just plain unlucky. Also, Stephen liked to pick on Randy, which kept him in check for me. (My suspicion - then and now - is that Stephen ultimately wanted me to win and worked to that end.)
Eventually the board that came with the game got too small for us. I had purchased a second game so we would have enough army tokens to support our campaigns. Once we realized we could “cash in” for two or three hundred armies it was apparent that the rule of “no more than 15 army units on a country” would have to go. So we allowed unlimited armies on each country (but only ten on the moon). This meant the small countries simply weren’t large enough to hold all of the armies. So Stephen utilized his artistic talents and created a larger version of the board on a 3' x 5' piece of plywood.
He added grids in the oceans and a special section to represent the moon. Now we could stretch out and play on the floor (which we had to do anyway as I didn’t have any furniture in my apartment except for a bumper pool table and a box spring and mattress – no bed frame). I wish I still had that board. I don’t recall what happened to it. I suppose it was damaged during a move at some time.
Stephen’s main strategy was to goad Randy and/or I into doing stupid things. He would tempt us with various easy targets to break us out of our established plans. Randy was more susceptible to this than I, which was one reason he was not able to win. But sometimes in his zeal to undo our strategy Stephen would go too far and leave himself too weak. At that point either Randy or I would pounce and he would be out of the game. He and Randy took turns going first. But a one-on-one confrontation suited me better then the other two, and after the first was out the second usually didn’t last long.
I think Stephen knew that I fared better against a single opponent than in having to deal on two fronts. That is why he seldom put Randy out. The only times he did was when he thought he had enough units to win the game. Then he would blitz the world. But his efforts to win in a single move were more motivated by his impatience than in sound strategy. He wasn’t able to calculate in the inevitable loss of some of his own troops when marching across the world. Thus, he would fall short and have nothing left with which to defend himself. In those cases he would sometimes see that he wasn’t going to make it and gather all he had left into a single country to make a last stand. But by then he didn’t have enough troops left to make an effective last stand.
Probably his best tactic was when he would “cash in” and get a hundred or more armies and simply put them all into a single country. Then he would sit and wait. Such a fortified stronghold was impossible for regular army strengths to go up against. And to mass a force strong enough to take it meant leaving the rest of the world unguarded. So he was able to sit and wait. But that eventually worked against him as Randy and I would be slowing gathering army strength through attacking and defeating each other here and there. When the time was right, one of us would suddenly have the army strength to deal with Stephen’s fortification.
The addition of the ocean made it possible for us to make a couple of more rule changes which resulted in one of the two memorable games we played. Our rule about the ocean was that a player could take his armies out onto the ocean. That would be a turn. Or a player could attack an adjoining country from the ocean and “land”. That would be a turn. Or a player could simply “land” on already owned territory. That would be a turn. Or, for armies already on the ocean at the start of a turn, armies could move one grid space for each army in the force up to ten spaces. This allowed the back door attacking of naturally fortified places such as Australia and Argentina.
There was one other rule change which came about because of the oceans. We removed the restriction on having to leave at least one army unit in a country. Now, a country could simply be vacated. That meant it was free for the taking to anyone who moved in. But it also meant that one didn’t have to leave army units to be sacrificed when another player made their move to conquer a larger portion of the world. This made Stephen’s most memorable game possible.
It was one of those games in which he simply could not find a working strategy. He had begun the game with no real plan in mind and the dice and the strategies of Randy and myself just didn’t give him much of an opportunity to come up with anything good. And so he was getting beat up pretty badly. I had ousted him from Asia and Africa and Randy had forced him out of Europe and North America. This left him with most of South America (Randy was already moving in for the kill), but nothing else. And with Randy positioning himself to come down and sweep Stephen away, Stephen knew he was about to exit the game early. (We did have occasional games when things just came together and we were able to finish in less than three hours, but those games were rare.)
But Randy had left the coastlines of North America undefended. He had mustered his strength and come down in force to Central America and Venezuela. He had forces up in Alaska and scattered throughout Europe to protect the land bridges, but he had forgotten about the ocean. Randy had a hard time dealing with the oceans. Stephen probably used it the best. I only used it on occasion as my strategy usually didn’t require it.
Well, Stephen looked over the map and saw that my coastlines were well defended. I always kept them defended once the ocean came into play because Stephen was always taking his armies out on the ocean and attacking weakly defended coastal countries. He also saw that Randy’s coastlines were weak. So Stephen abandoned South America. He took all of his army units and created a single force on the ocean with the obvious intent of taking the entire western coast of North America. Randy was going to have to scramble.
The rules still favored Randy. Stephen was only able to launch his armies to the ocean, which ended his turn. This gave Randy a turn to deploy his forces and protect himself. It also gave me a chance to jump on an opportunity. As I indicated, I usually kept a fair amount of army unites along the coastline to protect myself from a sea attack. And as I had already taken Africa I had armies along the coast of Africa to protect myself from Stephen in South America. So when Stephen jumped into Pacific Ocean to go north and land in Randy’s territory, I jumped into the Atlantic Ocean to cross and take South America.
Stephen’s plan was a nice idea, but things were not going well. Randy was able to continue south with his main force and take most of South America. I was able to land and take Brazil to protect the natural bridge to Africa. Meanwhile, Randy had enough troops near his coastline to deploy a reasonable defense against Stephen’s armada. Stephen had enough units to land and take a couple of countries, but his nerve was failing him and he turned west in order to cross the pacific and land in Australia or perhaps the eastern coast of Asia.
I was already in Australia with a good-sized force which I was able to strengthen by cashing in some cards. Randy already owned a good share of Asia, particularly the eastern coast, and he also was able to fortify. So now Steve had to cross back to North and South America to try and land. But now Randy and I had strengthened our positions and it was no longer clear if Stephen would be able to land. So he was left to wander around on the oceans looking for an opportunity to land which never came.
Now the rule of abandonment which I have not mentioned was that you had to own at least one country to remain in the game. You were free to abandon this country and go out onto the ocean, but you only had three turns to find a place to land and make a foothold of some kind. So Stephen had no choice but to pick a place and attack. To my fortune he chose Randy in North America.
The reason it was my fortune was that Randy was actually winning at the time. He had all of Europe and all of North America and good portion of Asia and South America. I had all of Indonesia (including Australia) and all of Africa, a few countries in Asia and just Brazil in South America. But it was clear that Stephen was going to attack Randy in North America (aside from his verbal assurances of this it only made sense given that he only had one turn to decide), so Randy was moving all of his forces to North America to retake whatever Stephen would win from him.
Stephen’s ocean force was fairly good-sized. He had split it into two armadas and attacked North America on two fronts. He decimated Randy’s forces in Western United States, but in the end he lost and Randy held his country – albeit with only a couple of units remaining. He also attacked in Alaska, again reducing Randy’s forces to just a couple of units. But again, he was not able to land his forces and was out of the game.
But between Randy’s removing strength away from my fronts and Steve decimating his forces in North America I was in a good position to made serious damage to Randy’s position as frontrunner and I made the best of it. The game did not last long after that and we were able to begin another in which Stephen fared better.
Don't play Risk much anymore. Tried to with Spouse's family, but that's no fun at all. They all become a coalition in which I am the enemy. They have the attitude that if any of them win they all won. That's the way they play all games, so I no longer play any when we visit.
I still have a few versions of Risk: the Original and Lord of the Rings. But we don't play them much. Spouse is horrendous, and while Son puts together some good strategy, when things don't go his way I feel horrible crushing his armies. So we don't play them much.
It's the way real war should be played: using small pieces of plastic and some cubed dice. And when the war is over everything returns to the way it was so it can be fought again on another day. Life's not like that. Pity.
I think Stephen, Randy and I had the best way.
As Steve Martin said in "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles": Isn't that something?
I no longer remember who's idea it was, but shortly after graduating from high school the three of us began playing Risk at my apartment. It was probably Randy or myself who came up with the idea. Stephen generally was not the one to purchase strategy games although he would play them. Both Randy and I liked to pit our mental abilities against an opponent, and so the three of us would play monster rounds of Risk. Some of these marathon games would last eight hours - or more. It wasn’t until I had a big “Risk Party” at my apartment in which several of my co-workers came over to play that I realized most people concluded a game of Risk in an hour or so. Personally, I couldn’t see how they could do it and still enjoy the game.
Of course, we changed the rules to make the game more interesting. For one thing, we didn’t much care for the fact that the prize for taking a risk was so small. There should be greater incentives for marching across the world in search of global conquest. And what about all of those oceans? Shouldn’t they come into play? And then there was Stephen’s cu-de-gras: the addition of The Moon.
Because our games would last so long they were a continual see-saw battle of advantage. No one could hold the advantage long before he would be railed on and attacked on all sides by the other two. And with the army deployment only getting larger and larger and larger, that made it much easier for the player who was floundering to get back into the game quickly. And so it went.
Incredibly, I always won. Every time. I didn’t win because my strategy was necessarily any better than Stephen’s or Randy’s. I won because Stephen would usually abandon his strategy on a whim and leave himself too exposed. Randy was just plain unlucky. Also, Stephen liked to pick on Randy, which kept him in check for me. (My suspicion - then and now - is that Stephen ultimately wanted me to win and worked to that end.)
Eventually the board that came with the game got too small for us. I had purchased a second game so we would have enough army tokens to support our campaigns. Once we realized we could “cash in” for two or three hundred armies it was apparent that the rule of “no more than 15 army units on a country” would have to go. So we allowed unlimited armies on each country (but only ten on the moon). This meant the small countries simply weren’t large enough to hold all of the armies. So Stephen utilized his artistic talents and created a larger version of the board on a 3' x 5' piece of plywood.
He added grids in the oceans and a special section to represent the moon. Now we could stretch out and play on the floor (which we had to do anyway as I didn’t have any furniture in my apartment except for a bumper pool table and a box spring and mattress – no bed frame). I wish I still had that board. I don’t recall what happened to it. I suppose it was damaged during a move at some time.
Stephen’s main strategy was to goad Randy and/or I into doing stupid things. He would tempt us with various easy targets to break us out of our established plans. Randy was more susceptible to this than I, which was one reason he was not able to win. But sometimes in his zeal to undo our strategy Stephen would go too far and leave himself too weak. At that point either Randy or I would pounce and he would be out of the game. He and Randy took turns going first. But a one-on-one confrontation suited me better then the other two, and after the first was out the second usually didn’t last long.
I think Stephen knew that I fared better against a single opponent than in having to deal on two fronts. That is why he seldom put Randy out. The only times he did was when he thought he had enough units to win the game. Then he would blitz the world. But his efforts to win in a single move were more motivated by his impatience than in sound strategy. He wasn’t able to calculate in the inevitable loss of some of his own troops when marching across the world. Thus, he would fall short and have nothing left with which to defend himself. In those cases he would sometimes see that he wasn’t going to make it and gather all he had left into a single country to make a last stand. But by then he didn’t have enough troops left to make an effective last stand.
Probably his best tactic was when he would “cash in” and get a hundred or more armies and simply put them all into a single country. Then he would sit and wait. Such a fortified stronghold was impossible for regular army strengths to go up against. And to mass a force strong enough to take it meant leaving the rest of the world unguarded. So he was able to sit and wait. But that eventually worked against him as Randy and I would be slowing gathering army strength through attacking and defeating each other here and there. When the time was right, one of us would suddenly have the army strength to deal with Stephen’s fortification.
The addition of the ocean made it possible for us to make a couple of more rule changes which resulted in one of the two memorable games we played. Our rule about the ocean was that a player could take his armies out onto the ocean. That would be a turn. Or a player could attack an adjoining country from the ocean and “land”. That would be a turn. Or a player could simply “land” on already owned territory. That would be a turn. Or, for armies already on the ocean at the start of a turn, armies could move one grid space for each army in the force up to ten spaces. This allowed the back door attacking of naturally fortified places such as Australia and Argentina.
There was one other rule change which came about because of the oceans. We removed the restriction on having to leave at least one army unit in a country. Now, a country could simply be vacated. That meant it was free for the taking to anyone who moved in. But it also meant that one didn’t have to leave army units to be sacrificed when another player made their move to conquer a larger portion of the world. This made Stephen’s most memorable game possible.
It was one of those games in which he simply could not find a working strategy. He had begun the game with no real plan in mind and the dice and the strategies of Randy and myself just didn’t give him much of an opportunity to come up with anything good. And so he was getting beat up pretty badly. I had ousted him from Asia and Africa and Randy had forced him out of Europe and North America. This left him with most of South America (Randy was already moving in for the kill), but nothing else. And with Randy positioning himself to come down and sweep Stephen away, Stephen knew he was about to exit the game early. (We did have occasional games when things just came together and we were able to finish in less than three hours, but those games were rare.)
But Randy had left the coastlines of North America undefended. He had mustered his strength and come down in force to Central America and Venezuela. He had forces up in Alaska and scattered throughout Europe to protect the land bridges, but he had forgotten about the ocean. Randy had a hard time dealing with the oceans. Stephen probably used it the best. I only used it on occasion as my strategy usually didn’t require it.
Well, Stephen looked over the map and saw that my coastlines were well defended. I always kept them defended once the ocean came into play because Stephen was always taking his armies out on the ocean and attacking weakly defended coastal countries. He also saw that Randy’s coastlines were weak. So Stephen abandoned South America. He took all of his army units and created a single force on the ocean with the obvious intent of taking the entire western coast of North America. Randy was going to have to scramble.
The rules still favored Randy. Stephen was only able to launch his armies to the ocean, which ended his turn. This gave Randy a turn to deploy his forces and protect himself. It also gave me a chance to jump on an opportunity. As I indicated, I usually kept a fair amount of army unites along the coastline to protect myself from a sea attack. And as I had already taken Africa I had armies along the coast of Africa to protect myself from Stephen in South America. So when Stephen jumped into Pacific Ocean to go north and land in Randy’s territory, I jumped into the Atlantic Ocean to cross and take South America.
Stephen’s plan was a nice idea, but things were not going well. Randy was able to continue south with his main force and take most of South America. I was able to land and take Brazil to protect the natural bridge to Africa. Meanwhile, Randy had enough troops near his coastline to deploy a reasonable defense against Stephen’s armada. Stephen had enough units to land and take a couple of countries, but his nerve was failing him and he turned west in order to cross the pacific and land in Australia or perhaps the eastern coast of Asia.
I was already in Australia with a good-sized force which I was able to strengthen by cashing in some cards. Randy already owned a good share of Asia, particularly the eastern coast, and he also was able to fortify. So now Steve had to cross back to North and South America to try and land. But now Randy and I had strengthened our positions and it was no longer clear if Stephen would be able to land. So he was left to wander around on the oceans looking for an opportunity to land which never came.
Now the rule of abandonment which I have not mentioned was that you had to own at least one country to remain in the game. You were free to abandon this country and go out onto the ocean, but you only had three turns to find a place to land and make a foothold of some kind. So Stephen had no choice but to pick a place and attack. To my fortune he chose Randy in North America.
The reason it was my fortune was that Randy was actually winning at the time. He had all of Europe and all of North America and good portion of Asia and South America. I had all of Indonesia (including Australia) and all of Africa, a few countries in Asia and just Brazil in South America. But it was clear that Stephen was going to attack Randy in North America (aside from his verbal assurances of this it only made sense given that he only had one turn to decide), so Randy was moving all of his forces to North America to retake whatever Stephen would win from him.
Stephen’s ocean force was fairly good-sized. He had split it into two armadas and attacked North America on two fronts. He decimated Randy’s forces in Western United States, but in the end he lost and Randy held his country – albeit with only a couple of units remaining. He also attacked in Alaska, again reducing Randy’s forces to just a couple of units. But again, he was not able to land his forces and was out of the game.
But between Randy’s removing strength away from my fronts and Steve decimating his forces in North America I was in a good position to made serious damage to Randy’s position as frontrunner and I made the best of it. The game did not last long after that and we were able to begin another in which Stephen fared better.
Don't play Risk much anymore. Tried to with Spouse's family, but that's no fun at all. They all become a coalition in which I am the enemy. They have the attitude that if any of them win they all won. That's the way they play all games, so I no longer play any when we visit.
I still have a few versions of Risk: the Original and Lord of the Rings. But we don't play them much. Spouse is horrendous, and while Son puts together some good strategy, when things don't go his way I feel horrible crushing his armies. So we don't play them much.
It's the way real war should be played: using small pieces of plastic and some cubed dice. And when the war is over everything returns to the way it was so it can be fought again on another day. Life's not like that. Pity.
I think Stephen, Randy and I had the best way.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Animal Rights Alert: This is Real Mink Fur
About sixteen or seventeen years ago Spouse and I were renting the downstairs of a split-level house. It wasn't a great place, and in fact had something wrong with the air. But we could afford it and so we were content to be there.
One evening I was home along reading a book near the fireplace - which we were not allowed to use. Suddenly, I hear this crash, which sounds like it came from the fireplace. I turned around and investigated, but found nothing to show what it was. Eventually, I forgot about it.
Two days later, both B.J.Honeycat and Baby Boy (our two cats) were very interested in the cupboards in the kitchen area, which was open to the living room. As I stood to see if they had trapped a mouse or something, a big head pokes out from a hole near the floor and this creature begins screaming at the cats. Then it retreats back under the cupboards. Spouse comes running to see what's going on, and about that time the creature comes out by the refrigerator.
It's a mink, which looks like a weasel. It was mostly white, or light colored anyway. My guess is, it had been hiding for a day or two under the cupboards, but now the need for food and water was driving it to search for a way to escape. It saw the cats and retreated back under the cupboards.
Of course I doubt the mink realized it, but it could have shredded both our cats without taking any injury whatsoever. Even Baby Boy, who was a killer regarding mice, would not have stood a chance against those razor sharp teeth.
Spouse wanted to take the cats away but I said no. The mink was still afraid of the cats, and the cats couldn't get to it as long as it hid. What we had to do was figure out how to get the mink out of the house without any of the five of us getting hurt. (Two cats, two people, one mink.) I came up with a plan.
I propped the door open. Of course it was on the exact opposite side of the double room. Then I cleared a path along the wall leading from the refrigerator and to the door. Then I had spouse take the cats away and lock them in the bedroom. Then we waited.
It didn't take long for the mink to realize the cats were no longer there. I came out hesitantly. When it had put enough distance between itself and its two-day hide-out, I moved to block its way back. It turned and considered me and I feared I made blundered. What a stupid way to die, I thought. Shredded up and bled to death by a creature not much bigger than my hand. But the mink knew it didn't have to fight and turned and headed away from me. As I hoped, it stayed close to the wall, feeling protected by the freedom to not have to worry about every direction at once. When it saw the door it took off and escaped into the night.
Since I never got close enough to be bitten I do not know if it was a male or a mother with kits wondering where she was. I felt good about her/him/it getting out without being physically damaged. I'm sure there was some stress involved. Hopefully, the silly thing now knew better than to much about with chimney tops. Some people actually use their fireplaces.
The cats, of course, spent the next week sitting by the big hole at the floor waiting for the mink to show itself again. I'm sure in their minds they had been cheated of a potentially fun game. I don't think they would have enjoyed their new playmate much.
I should have taken a picture. It would have made an excellent addition to Firestar's Virtual Image Zoo.
One evening I was home along reading a book near the fireplace - which we were not allowed to use. Suddenly, I hear this crash, which sounds like it came from the fireplace. I turned around and investigated, but found nothing to show what it was. Eventually, I forgot about it.
Two days later, both B.J.Honeycat and Baby Boy (our two cats) were very interested in the cupboards in the kitchen area, which was open to the living room. As I stood to see if they had trapped a mouse or something, a big head pokes out from a hole near the floor and this creature begins screaming at the cats. Then it retreats back under the cupboards. Spouse comes running to see what's going on, and about that time the creature comes out by the refrigerator.
It's a mink, which looks like a weasel. It was mostly white, or light colored anyway. My guess is, it had been hiding for a day or two under the cupboards, but now the need for food and water was driving it to search for a way to escape. It saw the cats and retreated back under the cupboards.
Of course I doubt the mink realized it, but it could have shredded both our cats without taking any injury whatsoever. Even Baby Boy, who was a killer regarding mice, would not have stood a chance against those razor sharp teeth.
Spouse wanted to take the cats away but I said no. The mink was still afraid of the cats, and the cats couldn't get to it as long as it hid. What we had to do was figure out how to get the mink out of the house without any of the five of us getting hurt. (Two cats, two people, one mink.) I came up with a plan.
I propped the door open. Of course it was on the exact opposite side of the double room. Then I cleared a path along the wall leading from the refrigerator and to the door. Then I had spouse take the cats away and lock them in the bedroom. Then we waited.
It didn't take long for the mink to realize the cats were no longer there. I came out hesitantly. When it had put enough distance between itself and its two-day hide-out, I moved to block its way back. It turned and considered me and I feared I made blundered. What a stupid way to die, I thought. Shredded up and bled to death by a creature not much bigger than my hand. But the mink knew it didn't have to fight and turned and headed away from me. As I hoped, it stayed close to the wall, feeling protected by the freedom to not have to worry about every direction at once. When it saw the door it took off and escaped into the night.
Since I never got close enough to be bitten I do not know if it was a male or a mother with kits wondering where she was. I felt good about her/him/it getting out without being physically damaged. I'm sure there was some stress involved. Hopefully, the silly thing now knew better than to much about with chimney tops. Some people actually use their fireplaces.
The cats, of course, spent the next week sitting by the big hole at the floor waiting for the mink to show itself again. I'm sure in their minds they had been cheated of a potentially fun game. I don't think they would have enjoyed their new playmate much.
I should have taken a picture. It would have made an excellent addition to Firestar's Virtual Image Zoo.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
When the Big Men Fight
So Son's last day of school this term is Thursday. Last night the sixth grade band did their final concert. Went very well. They're a lot better than I remember school bands being.
The end of term got me to remembering a few of my own - from waaaaaaay back.
Probably, the one I recall with the greatest amusement is the end of my Freshman year. I learned an important lesson that day.
It was the final day of school, so none of the teachers were having their classes do anything useful. Why we even bothered to come the last day was something of a mystery, but I was glad to be there. You see, it was my last chance to tell Vicki how I felt about her.
I had met Vicki during winter of seventh grade. In January, the boys and girls physical education classes merged, and instead of doing exercises and things like that, we did square dancing. It was a form of forced socialization, I guess. (Just realized something. In my book, Swords of Fire: Traitor, the family has monthly bonfire dances in which this very thing is done. Now I know where the inspiration came from. Interesting. To me.)
Anyway, I wasn't keen on the dancing until I chanced to dance with Vicki. I was enraptured from the start. She, of course, had no feelings whatsoever toward me. On a good day. On a regular day she probably didn't like me at all. You see, I was the class clown.
But I didn't tell her how I felt. Not during the dance and not after. Then I didn't tell her all through eighth grade. Kept promising myself that I would, but the closer I came to her the more my fear became an immobilizing monster I could not fight. And my silence rang through the school's halls.
By the end of my Freshman year she knew to some degree. Others had figured it out and spread the word. One even told me her reaction when she was told. She had made a face and said something unflattering. Of course, that just did wonders for helping me overcome my fear. Still, I promised myself I would at least talk to her this school year. Turns out I had lied to myself. It was the last day and I had yet to speak to her. Had opened my mouth. Happened to be standing next to her one day. She had her back to me. I opened my mouth to say something when she turned around. No sound came out. I just stood there with my mouth open looking like the very idiot she took me for. I still remember her reaction. She paused, looking at me. Then she shook her head and made a sound of exasperation and walked away.
So now it's the final day of the school year. After this day I shall have to wait until September to try again. Assuming she doesn't move away. But it was all to plain to me that I had no courage in the matter, and no words would be spoken. So I was crabby.
We were having a party in English class. Everyone but me was having a good time. I was snappy, and my classmates were avoiding me. Except for Kevin. Kevin was one of those unguarded people who was always in a good mood - even when he wasn't. Life was good to Kevin. Very good. I remember in college, when he and I were shooting pool in the commons area, two girls came and began playing on the table next to us. Wanting to meet the one girl, I used Kevin's confidence to make the introduction. Kevin would end up marrying the girl.
Well, I don't even know how it came about, but suddenly, I was snapping at Kevin in the middle of the room. Now I was the tallest in the class, but Kevin was only a few inches shorter than me. And he had me by at least thirty pounds. And Kevin was not a person to be afraid or intimidated by anything. Not even a surly boy who was itching for a fight. Kevin responded the way Kevin always responded. He got in my face.
Big mistake, Kevin, I was thinking. You just gave me what I wanted. A chance to do something really physical and get this out of my system. The posturing began.
Now Kevin was not a fighter. He was big. And strong enough, I guess. But the only other fight I knew he had been in he had broken his wrist hitting someone in the face. He didn't concern me. I had never lost a fight to anyone. Even when I took on multiple foes at once. Kevin had picked the wrong guy to be brave to.
Kevin must have learned something from his broken wrist because he didn't start of hitting. But then hitting wasn't Kevin's style anyway. He simply came up against me and began pushing me with his whole body. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that, so I set my feet, determined to show him my strength.
We were standing on a tiled floor. This mean that, even wearing tennis shoes, I found myself sliding across the room like a light piece of furniture. Kevin was heavier than me. I had no leverage against his superior weight, and suddenly I found myself pushed against the heat registers (now pushing out cool air). And Kevin kept coming, squishing me.
This was unexpected, and I was more than a little annoyed at my inability to stop Kevin. But I had a weapons Kevin did not. And in my surly, selfish, self-loathing mood, I used my best weapon from the get go. I hit him as hard as I could three times in quick succession, right in the guts. I was ready to stand over my victim in triumph. I had not been in a fight since fourth grade, when I told myself I would never fight again. (I lied about that too, it seems.)
To my dismay, Kevin's reaction was no reaction whatsoever. He didn't even flinch. It was like I hadn't hit him. But he must have realized I had because he said, "Okay, Bevie. What is it? You want to fight? I'll fight if you want to fight. Is that what you want to do, Bevie?"
Well it had been what I wanted to do, but now I had changed my mind. I found myself looking around the room. Where was the teacher? Why wasn't she over here stopping this? Surely she wasn't going to let us just brawl? What kind of teacher was she anyway?
To my relief she had just realized what was going on and came to my rescue by yelling at the two of us. We were sent out of the room with instructions to find the vice-principal and tell him why we were in trouble. We did. He asked what the fight was about and neither Kevin or I knew. He knew we were friends and laughed us us and told us to get back to class.
On the way back Kevin talked like it was no big deal. In his mind the fight was forgotten and we were friends again. I bet he's still that way. He's a lot better man than I. He always was.
So, my lesson? Never underestimate an opponent. Overweight people are tougher than they look. Don't get overconfident about my own ability.
I lost that fight, but I never took a punch.
Thank God.
The end of term got me to remembering a few of my own - from waaaaaaay back.
Probably, the one I recall with the greatest amusement is the end of my Freshman year. I learned an important lesson that day.
It was the final day of school, so none of the teachers were having their classes do anything useful. Why we even bothered to come the last day was something of a mystery, but I was glad to be there. You see, it was my last chance to tell Vicki how I felt about her.
I had met Vicki during winter of seventh grade. In January, the boys and girls physical education classes merged, and instead of doing exercises and things like that, we did square dancing. It was a form of forced socialization, I guess. (Just realized something. In my book, Swords of Fire: Traitor, the family has monthly bonfire dances in which this very thing is done. Now I know where the inspiration came from. Interesting. To me.)
Anyway, I wasn't keen on the dancing until I chanced to dance with Vicki. I was enraptured from the start. She, of course, had no feelings whatsoever toward me. On a good day. On a regular day she probably didn't like me at all. You see, I was the class clown.
But I didn't tell her how I felt. Not during the dance and not after. Then I didn't tell her all through eighth grade. Kept promising myself that I would, but the closer I came to her the more my fear became an immobilizing monster I could not fight. And my silence rang through the school's halls.
By the end of my Freshman year she knew to some degree. Others had figured it out and spread the word. One even told me her reaction when she was told. She had made a face and said something unflattering. Of course, that just did wonders for helping me overcome my fear. Still, I promised myself I would at least talk to her this school year. Turns out I had lied to myself. It was the last day and I had yet to speak to her. Had opened my mouth. Happened to be standing next to her one day. She had her back to me. I opened my mouth to say something when she turned around. No sound came out. I just stood there with my mouth open looking like the very idiot she took me for. I still remember her reaction. She paused, looking at me. Then she shook her head and made a sound of exasperation and walked away.
So now it's the final day of the school year. After this day I shall have to wait until September to try again. Assuming she doesn't move away. But it was all to plain to me that I had no courage in the matter, and no words would be spoken. So I was crabby.
We were having a party in English class. Everyone but me was having a good time. I was snappy, and my classmates were avoiding me. Except for Kevin. Kevin was one of those unguarded people who was always in a good mood - even when he wasn't. Life was good to Kevin. Very good. I remember in college, when he and I were shooting pool in the commons area, two girls came and began playing on the table next to us. Wanting to meet the one girl, I used Kevin's confidence to make the introduction. Kevin would end up marrying the girl.
Well, I don't even know how it came about, but suddenly, I was snapping at Kevin in the middle of the room. Now I was the tallest in the class, but Kevin was only a few inches shorter than me. And he had me by at least thirty pounds. And Kevin was not a person to be afraid or intimidated by anything. Not even a surly boy who was itching for a fight. Kevin responded the way Kevin always responded. He got in my face.
Big mistake, Kevin, I was thinking. You just gave me what I wanted. A chance to do something really physical and get this out of my system. The posturing began.
Now Kevin was not a fighter. He was big. And strong enough, I guess. But the only other fight I knew he had been in he had broken his wrist hitting someone in the face. He didn't concern me. I had never lost a fight to anyone. Even when I took on multiple foes at once. Kevin had picked the wrong guy to be brave to.
Kevin must have learned something from his broken wrist because he didn't start of hitting. But then hitting wasn't Kevin's style anyway. He simply came up against me and began pushing me with his whole body. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that, so I set my feet, determined to show him my strength.
We were standing on a tiled floor. This mean that, even wearing tennis shoes, I found myself sliding across the room like a light piece of furniture. Kevin was heavier than me. I had no leverage against his superior weight, and suddenly I found myself pushed against the heat registers (now pushing out cool air). And Kevin kept coming, squishing me.
This was unexpected, and I was more than a little annoyed at my inability to stop Kevin. But I had a weapons Kevin did not. And in my surly, selfish, self-loathing mood, I used my best weapon from the get go. I hit him as hard as I could three times in quick succession, right in the guts. I was ready to stand over my victim in triumph. I had not been in a fight since fourth grade, when I told myself I would never fight again. (I lied about that too, it seems.)
To my dismay, Kevin's reaction was no reaction whatsoever. He didn't even flinch. It was like I hadn't hit him. But he must have realized I had because he said, "Okay, Bevie. What is it? You want to fight? I'll fight if you want to fight. Is that what you want to do, Bevie?"
Well it had been what I wanted to do, but now I had changed my mind. I found myself looking around the room. Where was the teacher? Why wasn't she over here stopping this? Surely she wasn't going to let us just brawl? What kind of teacher was she anyway?
To my relief she had just realized what was going on and came to my rescue by yelling at the two of us. We were sent out of the room with instructions to find the vice-principal and tell him why we were in trouble. We did. He asked what the fight was about and neither Kevin or I knew. He knew we were friends and laughed us us and told us to get back to class.
On the way back Kevin talked like it was no big deal. In his mind the fight was forgotten and we were friends again. I bet he's still that way. He's a lot better man than I. He always was.
So, my lesson? Never underestimate an opponent. Overweight people are tougher than they look. Don't get overconfident about my own ability.
I lost that fight, but I never took a punch.
Thank God.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I'm Not Where I Was - Is That Good
Today is Writing Assignments Day. It dates back to last fall when I only had two blogs: this one and The Great Sea. By the end of the year I would have a third blog, SOF-The People, which has now been renamed, Tales From The Great Sea. In January I would create Cat in the Buff, and at the end of March, Legion of On-Line Super Heroes. And April would see me creating Faith in Forgiveness.
Six blogs. And I've ideas for a couple more. As the saying goes, "Good Lord willing and the creeks don't rise," I might have seven or eight, or even more, in a year's time.
What amazes me about this is not that I have six blogs, or that I can come up with ideas for six more. What amazes me is that I have even one blog. Had you told me a year ago I would be blogging to the world I would have thought you out of your frikkin' mind. I didn't blog. I didn't chat. I hardly used the internet at all. It was "dangerous".
Not exactly sure what it was I was afraid of, but I was afraid of it. Got into it quite by accident. You see, last year I believed I had a great story waiting to be published. I sent a query letter to a New York agent. Who promptly ignored me. After waiting two weeks past the agent's self-appointed deadline for responding I wrote him again. This time I got a response in two days. In short, it read: Get the h*ll away from me! And don't come back!
Daunted, I still tried again. This time not in New York. My new agent find was different. She had a much happier website, showing off her Authors. The problem: she only accepted electronic submissions. Email. I wasn't keen on email any more than I was on the internet itself. But I wanted to be published, so I sent the email query.
She responded within less than a day, and although it was a form letter rejection, I didn't get the "leave me the h*ll alone" feeling. For this reason, I decided to write her back and thank her for her time and prompt attention to my query. Having done that, I told her she could then delete the email without reading the rest because I was going to vent some of my disappointment.
She may, or may not, have deleted the email. However, not before she read it in its entirety. Proving my suspicions of her were on the mark, she wrote me back. What she did was direct me to the Evil Editor blog, where she said I would get the opportunity to learn a LOT. So I did. And I did.
My visit and experience there led me to create this blog and The Great Sea. Part of what I learned was that if I was twice the writer I was, I wouldn't be half as good as I believed. That is, in fact, what I consider to be the most beautiful thing about Evil Editor's blog: one gets the truth. It isn't for everybody. I was in tears after my first shredding, and sorely tempted to give up writing entirely. But something told me that this was how the big boys and girls played, and that if I wanted to join in the "fun" I was going to have to tough it out. So I do. But I know some people cannot take criticism not couched in salve. It's too much like running outside to get the mail wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt and discovering it's about twenty degrees colder than you thought - and the ground is frosty wet.
What I have found in my blogging are precious stones of incredible worth. The people I have met, here, on my other blogs, and on other peoples' blogs, are amazing. Most are incredibly caring people, doing their best to help everyone they can. I have not personally had to interact with anyone unpleasant, although I have seen those people show up on other blogs. Someone I care about was driven away from their blog because of such treatment.
I have been fortunate. All has gone well for me. I do not get hundreds of visitors each day, nor even dozens, for that matter. But those who do come are wonderful people, and I am glad for the visits whether I get comments or not.
What a shame I can't get paid for this. It's what satisfies my soul. Writing. Talking. Blabbing. Being silly. Being stupid. Being inane. Occasionally having something of worth to say, but not very often. (Speaking of that, if you want to read something really demented, visit Tales From The Great Sea. But I warn you, it's kind of sick.)
And you know what? After seven+ months of blogging, I still don't know what I was afraid of.
Six blogs. And I've ideas for a couple more. As the saying goes, "Good Lord willing and the creeks don't rise," I might have seven or eight, or even more, in a year's time.
What amazes me about this is not that I have six blogs, or that I can come up with ideas for six more. What amazes me is that I have even one blog. Had you told me a year ago I would be blogging to the world I would have thought you out of your frikkin' mind. I didn't blog. I didn't chat. I hardly used the internet at all. It was "dangerous".
Not exactly sure what it was I was afraid of, but I was afraid of it. Got into it quite by accident. You see, last year I believed I had a great story waiting to be published. I sent a query letter to a New York agent. Who promptly ignored me. After waiting two weeks past the agent's self-appointed deadline for responding I wrote him again. This time I got a response in two days. In short, it read: Get the h*ll away from me! And don't come back!
Daunted, I still tried again. This time not in New York. My new agent find was different. She had a much happier website, showing off her Authors. The problem: she only accepted electronic submissions. Email. I wasn't keen on email any more than I was on the internet itself. But I wanted to be published, so I sent the email query.
She responded within less than a day, and although it was a form letter rejection, I didn't get the "leave me the h*ll alone" feeling. For this reason, I decided to write her back and thank her for her time and prompt attention to my query. Having done that, I told her she could then delete the email without reading the rest because I was going to vent some of my disappointment.
She may, or may not, have deleted the email. However, not before she read it in its entirety. Proving my suspicions of her were on the mark, she wrote me back. What she did was direct me to the Evil Editor blog, where she said I would get the opportunity to learn a LOT. So I did. And I did.
My visit and experience there led me to create this blog and The Great Sea. Part of what I learned was that if I was twice the writer I was, I wouldn't be half as good as I believed. That is, in fact, what I consider to be the most beautiful thing about Evil Editor's blog: one gets the truth. It isn't for everybody. I was in tears after my first shredding, and sorely tempted to give up writing entirely. But something told me that this was how the big boys and girls played, and that if I wanted to join in the "fun" I was going to have to tough it out. So I do. But I know some people cannot take criticism not couched in salve. It's too much like running outside to get the mail wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt and discovering it's about twenty degrees colder than you thought - and the ground is frosty wet.
What I have found in my blogging are precious stones of incredible worth. The people I have met, here, on my other blogs, and on other peoples' blogs, are amazing. Most are incredibly caring people, doing their best to help everyone they can. I have not personally had to interact with anyone unpleasant, although I have seen those people show up on other blogs. Someone I care about was driven away from their blog because of such treatment.
I have been fortunate. All has gone well for me. I do not get hundreds of visitors each day, nor even dozens, for that matter. But those who do come are wonderful people, and I am glad for the visits whether I get comments or not.
What a shame I can't get paid for this. It's what satisfies my soul. Writing. Talking. Blabbing. Being silly. Being stupid. Being inane. Occasionally having something of worth to say, but not very often. (Speaking of that, if you want to read something really demented, visit Tales From The Great Sea. But I warn you, it's kind of sick.)
And you know what? After seven+ months of blogging, I still don't know what I was afraid of.
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Captain's First Command - A Vessel's First Voyage
Have you ever made a boat? Not a big ocean carrier, or even a speed boat for skimming across local lakes. Just a small, wooden boat. Ever made one? I have.
Back more than forty years ago I joined up with a bunch of neighbors, about my age, and we built ourselves a boat. The inspiration came from a piece of discarded lumber we found in the wood pile outside my neighbor's cabinet shop - which used to be a barn. It was a door or window cutout with a pointed top. It made us think of a boat and so we began collecting pieces from the wood pile and constructing our vessel.
Dale was the eldest and he took charge. Chris was his cousin, and it was his dad's cabinet shop, so he was second in the command. The rest of us were flunkies. I was good at that. Generally, I knew better what to do than Dale or Chris, but nobody ever did what I said. Guess I lacked the charisma of a natural leader. Wasn't bossy enough.
We spent the better part of a morning picking out the right pieces, sawing them to size, and then nailing them together to make the boat's sides. I had my doubts about the vessel, but it was starting to look kind of cool. Chris, being the son of a cabinet maker, understood about angles and such. In fact, Chris now owns his own business. It isn't faring well in this current economic climate, but Chris knows his stuff. Knew a lot then, too.
What was not known (by Dale and Chris) was that in order to keep a vessel afloat, one must either use materials that are so light they cannot sink, or one must seal the cracks to prevent water from displacing the air inside the boat. I had an idea about this, but no one was going to listen to me.
We finished the boat and carried it across the street to the swamp. It took all eight of us to carry it because not only was it large, but it weighed more than any two of us. We tossed it into the water and, sure enough, it was floating. But now it needed a trial run. Who was going to get in and push out from shore?
For the life of me I don't know why, but yours truly volunteered. We had no oars so I used a long pole. I pushed off, standing in the boat's mid-section. The others cheered as I moved from the shallow twelve inch depths to the more formidable deeps of three feet.
Frankly, I was amazed. I had gone more than ten feet out from shore and there wasn't a hint of a leak. We had nailed those boards together a lot tighter than I thought. Maybe Dale and Chris were right after all. This was going to work. I shifted my weight to better push out to even deeper water. (I could have walked across that swamp and not had the water come up to my chin - were it not for the quicksand at the bottom.) Then it began.
The water had at last found its way into the boat. At first, just from one edge, but soon it was coming from every direction at once. And once begun, it rapidly increased in speed. I was sinking.
Now for some reason, standing in the middle of a makeshift boat sinking in three feet of water concerned me, while jumping out and wading through the same depths did not. Tossing the pole aside I jumped out and splashed back to shore. I was laughing. The others were not. What did I go and leave the boat for? Now I had to go back and get it. I told them what they could do with that idea. They threatened me with violence but I dared them to try it. I had no fear of taking them all on at once. Hmm. Apparently I had been braver in my youth. Wouldn't even think of making that challenge now.
I wound up walking off. The others threw various taunts after me, but those did not concern me. I came home, found my baseball bat and a small ball and went to the back yard where I played baseball alone until evening.
To my knowledge the boat was never raised. Neither did any divers seek out its remains to explore. It just sat there on the bottom of the swamp, rotting away. After forty years I expect there's nothing left of it but a memory. And I may be the only one who remembers it.
Such was the fate of my first command.
Back more than forty years ago I joined up with a bunch of neighbors, about my age, and we built ourselves a boat. The inspiration came from a piece of discarded lumber we found in the wood pile outside my neighbor's cabinet shop - which used to be a barn. It was a door or window cutout with a pointed top. It made us think of a boat and so we began collecting pieces from the wood pile and constructing our vessel.
Dale was the eldest and he took charge. Chris was his cousin, and it was his dad's cabinet shop, so he was second in the command. The rest of us were flunkies. I was good at that. Generally, I knew better what to do than Dale or Chris, but nobody ever did what I said. Guess I lacked the charisma of a natural leader. Wasn't bossy enough.
We spent the better part of a morning picking out the right pieces, sawing them to size, and then nailing them together to make the boat's sides. I had my doubts about the vessel, but it was starting to look kind of cool. Chris, being the son of a cabinet maker, understood about angles and such. In fact, Chris now owns his own business. It isn't faring well in this current economic climate, but Chris knows his stuff. Knew a lot then, too.
What was not known (by Dale and Chris) was that in order to keep a vessel afloat, one must either use materials that are so light they cannot sink, or one must seal the cracks to prevent water from displacing the air inside the boat. I had an idea about this, but no one was going to listen to me.
We finished the boat and carried it across the street to the swamp. It took all eight of us to carry it because not only was it large, but it weighed more than any two of us. We tossed it into the water and, sure enough, it was floating. But now it needed a trial run. Who was going to get in and push out from shore?
For the life of me I don't know why, but yours truly volunteered. We had no oars so I used a long pole. I pushed off, standing in the boat's mid-section. The others cheered as I moved from the shallow twelve inch depths to the more formidable deeps of three feet.
Frankly, I was amazed. I had gone more than ten feet out from shore and there wasn't a hint of a leak. We had nailed those boards together a lot tighter than I thought. Maybe Dale and Chris were right after all. This was going to work. I shifted my weight to better push out to even deeper water. (I could have walked across that swamp and not had the water come up to my chin - were it not for the quicksand at the bottom.) Then it began.
The water had at last found its way into the boat. At first, just from one edge, but soon it was coming from every direction at once. And once begun, it rapidly increased in speed. I was sinking.
Now for some reason, standing in the middle of a makeshift boat sinking in three feet of water concerned me, while jumping out and wading through the same depths did not. Tossing the pole aside I jumped out and splashed back to shore. I was laughing. The others were not. What did I go and leave the boat for? Now I had to go back and get it. I told them what they could do with that idea. They threatened me with violence but I dared them to try it. I had no fear of taking them all on at once. Hmm. Apparently I had been braver in my youth. Wouldn't even think of making that challenge now.
I wound up walking off. The others threw various taunts after me, but those did not concern me. I came home, found my baseball bat and a small ball and went to the back yard where I played baseball alone until evening.
To my knowledge the boat was never raised. Neither did any divers seek out its remains to explore. It just sat there on the bottom of the swamp, rotting away. After forty years I expect there's nothing left of it but a memory. And I may be the only one who remembers it.
Such was the fate of my first command.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
New Weight Watch Page
UPDATED on May 31: Made my month goal.
UPDATED on May 27: Filled in some missing data. Made my May goal and am now aiming for an extension.
I have a New Watch Page for the month of May. If you care to compare, here's a link to the Old Watch Page from April.
Entering May, I have lost six pounds in four weeks. I know that doesn't sound like anything to brag about, but I saw my heart doctor this week and he said he was happier with my six than he would have been with sixteen. He wants me to lose one or two pounds each week - and no more. Slow weight change means I'm changing the way I live. Fast weight change means I'm starving myself. That can't be maintained.
UPDATED on May 27: Filled in some missing data. Made my May goal and am now aiming for an extension.
I have a New Watch Page for the month of May. If you care to compare, here's a link to the Old Watch Page from April.
Entering May, I have lost six pounds in four weeks. I know that doesn't sound like anything to brag about, but I saw my heart doctor this week and he said he was happier with my six than he would have been with sixteen. He wants me to lose one or two pounds each week - and no more. Slow weight change means I'm changing the way I live. Fast weight change means I'm starving myself. That can't be maintained.
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