Tag Archives: Humor

Decay

Old Mine Building

Old Mine Building

My friend and I have coffee fairly often.  We have many common interests, from DU Lacrosse to politics,spirituality, motorcycles, and bicycles to name a few.  He plays pickleball, I don’t.  I write, he doesn’t.  We have fun.

We do find ourselves discussing our health care issues.  He is coming off his second knee replacement.  I have only had one.  He needs a prostate ream job, I had one.  He has had bypass surgery, I have high blood pressure.  Even though he is fairly nuts, I don’t think he has ADD.  Poor guy.

He is a year younger than I am, but I look better.  We are both getting a bit on in years.  Both retired, we have active, engaged lives.  It’s good to share this time of life with another old dude.  That health care thing does loom.  Things do not work as well as they used to.  The night before last I sustained a sleeping injury.  I rolled over and Ow, Ow.  My bad back did not like that particular motion.

Now what is that about? A stupid sleeping injury!  Hiking, motorcycling, bicycling, home maintenance projects, at work, yes, but sleeping?  Carol had a reading injury (wrist) but at least she was awake doing something.  This is getting serious.  Should I just stay in bed, not get up?  Well, no that’s where I hurt myself.  If I walk I might fall.  If I drive, I might get a ticket.  If I stay in my chair, I’ll get fat.  There is no way out.

How did I get myself in this fix?  I have always been something of a risk taker.  I climbed fourteeners.  I did both dirt and canyons on my motorcycle.  I scrambled around in the slickrock desert alone.  I jeeped over 13000 feet high passes alone.  I bicycled in ten degree temperature weather on the ice to get to work.  Now I hurt myself sleeping.

I am going to leave this coffee shop, drive up to Gilpin county, and go hiking.

Later.  I went to Gilpin County, hiked and jeeped.  I whacked my head on a low door frame in an old mine building, so now I have a scalp laceration.  Some days.

Beware of Cats

Cat

Cat Trapped in a Folk Music Environment

 

It started innocently enough.  I like to get on Facebook, and some of the people I am friends with are into the animal rescue thing.  Lots of cute pictures of cats and dogs.  I didn’t pay much attention to them until this great cat picture appeared.  I liked it, laughed, and shared it on my page.

It is important when using social media to avoid posting material one might regret later.  I have ADD, and one characteristic of my condition is impulsivity.  I get myself into trouble.  I don’t do Twitter as a result.  I also watch my behavior on Facebook and have seldom made a fool of myself. But, I posted a cat picture.

This time, however, it all went bad.  I haven’t posted anything rash, but that one act, posting a cat picture, has led to my moral decline.  I look at too many animal pictures, Like them, and even follow links.  Even more dangerously, I find myself following ever more decadent Internet pages.  Stories about Kardashians!  Jenners! Brad and Angelina!  Republicans!  Media liars!

I have worthwhile things to do with my life, but my time is increasingly going to meaningless pursuits.  I even found myself looking at The Enquirer in the checkout line yesterday.  I fear that I may even start watching reality TV shows.  Oh, the horror!  Will I switch from The New York Times to the Daily Mail?  Watch Good Morning America?

My worst nightmare is watching Fox News.  I have managed to avoid that so far, but I feel myself weakening.  I used to avoid most sports writing and programming, but I found myself talking to my wife about Lance Armstrong this morning.  I also tend to follow attractive woman athletes.  Mixing my weaknesses together.

Will I have to have ESPN now?  Will I find myself at Nuggets and Avalanche games?  Will I start following the sports betting lines from Las Vegas?  Even worse, will I be at Caesars Palace instead of Carnegie Hall?

Remember, Dear Reader, that a cat caused this crisis.

Riding in Cars

Bad Drivers

Bad Drivers

The holidays are always stressful, and we find ourselves going places with family members we don’t often ride with.  I have to confess that I am a terrible passenger.  They aren’t doing it right, going too fast, and not paying attention.  I am, of course, without peer as a driver.

I have been in several accidents but there were always extenuating circumstances.  The people I ride with have had less accidents, but they are lucky.   I just do not understand why they won’t follow my lead and drive properly.  My gentle, caring suggestions go unheeded and are often received with hostility.

Oh, the injustice, the way they treat me when I have the best of intentions.  I only wish to share my vast experience and expertise.  Unfortunately, I have to resort to cowering in my seat as they recklessly endanger me with their driving.  They especially resent it when I stomp on my imaginary brake pedal when they aren’t stopping when they should.

This is bad for my mental health, forced to live with the fear and anxiety they create in my delicate psyche.  The worst part is not being allowed to express my panic at being put in one life-threatening situation after another.

Christmas Eve we went to see Theory of Everything, one of the best movies I have seen in some time.  On the way home, Steve drove us around the University Park area to look at all the wonderful Holiday light displays.  It was difficult to enjoy the lights knowing my life was in danger with the reckless 10mph driving I was forced to endure.

DrivingI do prefer to drive, but my family members, usually loving and caring, are united in disliking my driving.  I always resolve to be especially careful when I have passengers, not honking or giving the finger to other drivers, but no one seems to appreciate my selfless generosity.

Is there no justice?  Am I doomed so suffer at the hands of my loved ones?  I only want to do what is right and good.  (That sentence seems familiar.  Oh yes, George III.)  I find myself driving alone, meaning I am always searching for ways to help other drivers improve their skills.  They seem unwilling to learn.

Oh, well, I guess I will just have to take other’s driving as a test of my equanimity.  It is strange that the tests come so often.

A Trip to Hell

Hell Frozen Over

Hell Frozen Over

Tuesday I went to Hell.  The other name for Hell in Denver is Park Meadows Mall.  Nothing Dante imagined can compare to the real thing.  Every year I resolve to do all my shopping early and every year I find myself among the throngs.

I had two goals, go to The Tattered Cover Bookstore in Highlands Ranch (Purgatory) and then on to Hell.  I am experiencing something of a seasonal depression and my new meds haven’t kicked in yet.  When I am depressed I am also irritable, which interferes with rational thinking and civilized driving.  I am able to control one, but not both.

I concentrated on my driving behavior and got lost.  It was snowing, and I couldn’t see the mountains.  I have been to the bookstore down there several times, but not Tuesday.  Consult the map or the GPS?  Who, me?

So I wandered through the suburban desert to where I thought Park Meadows should be.  Behold, I was on the wrong side of C-470.  I was able to find Quebec Street and struggle through the traffic to Park Meadows.  If you have never been there, the streets were laid out by Satan.  There is no rational pattern to the traffic flow, especially when every car in the Metro Area was there.   People were pretty nice to one another in their cars, so the Season’s spirit was operating to some degree.

I got lucky and found a good parking place which turned out to be on the opposite side of

Styx

Styx

my destination.  I had the opportunity of traversing the entire place.  Full of people, packed, glutted, overloaded, crammed, and crowded.  Some shopping, many just getting out of the house.  There were lots of young Marines just out of boot camp.  There were probably G.I.’s as well, but with enough sense to be in civilian clothes.

The general mood was festive and happy.  My experience of Cherry Creek Mall is more negative.  People seem more hurried and unfriendly.  I was able to do my shopping and make my way back to my car.  I took secondary streets home to avoid the traffic.  I was even able to calm down a bit.  Still could not find the Tattered Cover.  Look at the map or consult the GPS?  No.

Next day I was able to finish my shopping on Colorado Boulevard, Denver’s busiest street, but less frantic than Hell.  Will I be able to do my shopping earlier next Christmas?  Probably not, but I will do my best to avoid Hell.

Why I Read and Write

Scribe

Writer and Helper

I have been a reader since I learned how reading Donald Duck comic books in kindergarten. In first grade, Dick and Jane were boring compared to Scrooge McDuck diving in his three cubic acres of cash.  I read most everything in sight.  I have to know.

At home, there was a lot to read. The living room was dominated by a round oak dining table cut down to coffee table height.  It was piled with newspapers, magazines, and books.  My father had subscriptions to Time, Newsweek, Life, The Saturday Evening Post, Reader’s Digest, Outdoor Life, Redbook, National Geographic, and Cosmopolitan.  Mother had Ladies Home Journal.  I had Boy’s Life.

The Grand Junction Daily Sentinel and the weekly Fruita Times were always there. Mother belonged to a book review club, and we had those Reader’s Digest Condensed Books.  We had lots of railroad history and books about regional topics.  I read it all.  Well, not all.  Father had Cosmopolitan and Redbook for the romances they ran every month.  Not for me.

I read a lot of the stuff boys read in those days. Mark Twain, Jack London, Hemingway, Richard Henry Dana, James Thurber, and Dickens were influences.  I think my biggest influences were Mark Twain, with his descriptions and humor, and Richard Henry Dana’s Two Years before the Mast.  In fact, I think I will reread that one.  It combined a great adventure for a young man with fine writing.

Today, most of my reading is nonfiction. John McPhee is my favorite writer.  He writes on a wide range of subjects, almost all of his topics interest me.  He does have a book about fish for some inscrutable reason.  He combines humor, good stories about the people he finds, extensive research, and clear writing.  I even read his fish book.

I have wanted to write for as long as I can remember, but I just could not muster the discipline to do so without the pressure of a school assignment. Instead, I read.  I did do well with college writing assignments.  I think I had assimilated enough good writing that I did well as long as the topic engaged me.  Most topics did so for two reasons, I picked courses that engaged me, and instructors that challenged me.

I even wrote some papers for other students, usually forestry majors at Colorado State who could not write themselves out of a paper bag. I charged $10.00 per page, pretty good money in the late 1960’s.  Strangely, I still could not write things for myself.  I had to have a deadline.

At age 59, I found out why. I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder.  I got cognitive therapy and medication.  The therapy gave me skills to cope with the disorder that are more effective than the adaptation I had used for many years, mainly making enough trouble to get my midbrain revved up enough to fire up my prefrontal lobes.  The other method that worked was the pressure and anxiety of an upcoming deadline.

I still use those methods, but I can often just sit down and write. I still have to have a topic that engages me, and there are those times when the words just will not come.  The ancients wrote about the Muses, goddesses who brought inspiration to writers, and how sometimes they just do not attend.  I don’t know about the explanation, but I understand the problem.

I like to go to a coffee shop to write, it helps me focus on what I am doing. At home there are too many distractions.  I used to call writing the hardest work known to humankind.  Sometimes that is true; sometimes writing is easy and just flows out of me.  I do know it is one of my favorite things to do.

 

 

Unjustified Causes Part Two: GMO’s

GMO-Dangers-300x215In this part two of my series on spurious causes I address the campaign against genetically modified organisms. The  GMO’s most people are concerned about are in foods.  Despite an overwhelming body of research confirming that GMO’s are safe, there is a huge movement opposing their use in foods.  The illustration at left is an example of truths and falsehoods mixed together.

This brings me back to a common theme underlying many causes: fear. I would like to think most fearmongers are Republicans; they have Karl Rove and Dick Cheney.  In these three popular campaigns, however, many of the adherents are mostly liberal in their thinking.  It just illustrates that I am the only truly rational person around.

So, here we go on applying my advanced reasoning powers to examining how the international agribusiness conspiracy is systematically poisoning the world population, producing hordes of mutants ready to run amok killing the innocent. Oh, wait, I have seen too many zombie movies.

I think Anti-GMO activists have also seen too many Zombie movies as well. There are no studies showing any adverse effects on humans or livestock from GMO’s.   In the U.S., most of the corn, and soybeans produced are GMO varieties.  No ill effects.

The opponents cite studies that have been refuted or make claims with no scientific basis. They are also concerned that there may be problems from GMO’s in the future.  Well, folks, we are in the future.  These products have been around for more than 20 years in many cases.  No zombies yet.

The health food industry has jumped on the no GMO bandwagon in a big way. They accuse big agribusiness of dangerous practices for profit, but they sell No-GMO products with big markups and scared people who have bought into the hype into paying inflated prices.

The justified fear of adverse health effects from pesticides and herbicides in the diet and drinking water has spilled over into the GMO movement. The anti-pesticide movement has strong scientific support.  The anti-GMO movement has none, but the fear spills over.

Marketers are exploiting the fear by putting organic foods and No-GMO foods In the same category. Who loses?  The Whole Foods customer.  The customer is subjected to the classic propaganda technique of the half-truth.  Pesticide residue bad, true;  GMO’s bad, false.  The association is what sticks in people’s minds, scientific fact notwithstanding.  This technique is one the Nazi’s used to justify killing Jews.  Good people were taken in.  Good people are beIng taken in today for profit, not genocide

Geology on The Highway of Legends

Spanish Peaks and a Dike

Spanish Peaks and a Dike

I went on a tour of Southern Colorado’s Highway of Legends with a group from Colorado’s Cherokee Trail chapter of the Oregon California Trail Association. Berl Meyer, our chapter president, summers in Cotopaxi, on the Arkansas River.  He rambles around Colorado looking at the geology and the mountains.  He is from Kentucky, so has a need to get away from relentless green.

Berl organized the trip, having us meet in La Veta.  For me the trip had two segments.   Colorado geology is one of my interests, and the Highway of Legends country has some world famous geology.

The Spanish Peaks south of La Veta, are relatively recent (geologically) igneous intrusions that rise to over 12,000 feet in elevation.  Located fairly far east for the Rockies, they served as important landmarks for early explorers and travelers.  When the intrusions barged in, they bulged and fractured the existing rock layers, and a series of vertical dikes radiate from the mountains.

Cucharas Pass is between the Spanish Peaks and the Sangre de Cristo mountains.  At 9,995 feet, it is another lovely Colorado mountain pass.  There are lots of dikes, and on the south side of the pass is Stonewall, at first look another dike, but this feature is a vertical wall of Dakota sandstone, pushed on edge by the Spanish Peaks uplift.

???????????????????????We had a startling encounter at Stonewall.  We had stopped for a break and to look the stone wall over when we had a visit from a Greek god.  Most people don’t know, but the gods are still with us.  They travel the world keeping track of events and people.  This particular Greek god is one of the lesser ones, namely Hermes’ great uncle.  The photo shows him as he was leaving.

The road then enters the coal country west of Trinidad.  There is lots of history in that area, and a world famous geological feature.  On the road to Trinidad Lake just outside Trinidad is  an exposure of the K-P (formerly K-T) boundary that marks the end of the Mesozoic era and the beginning of the Cenozoic, or modern era.  It is called the K-P because it is the boundary between the Cretaceous period and the Paleogene period.  Below the boundary, dinosaurs.  Above the boundary, no dinosaurs.K-T Boundary

The boundary is a narrow band of whitish clay that fell when an asteroid struck off Yucatan and threw a tremendous cloud of material into the atmosphere, blocking the sun and cooling the entire planet.  75% of life on earth perished, including the dinosaurs.  In a road cut on the way to the lake you can put your hand on the boundary.

There are exposures in many places around the world, including North Table Mountain in Golden, but this one is the most accessible.  I have wanted to go there for a long time.

We went to the San Luis Valley, over La Veta Pass from La Veta.  The valley is our own rift valley, formed as the movement of the Pacific tectonic plate drags some of the North American plate north.  The motion pulls things apart, and a big block subsided, forming the rift valley.  The Arkansas River north of Poncha Pass and the Rio Grande River mark the rift. (Real geologists, including Berl, don’t get the vapors at this explanation.)

Great Sand Dunes

Great Sand Dunes

On the east side of the San Luis Valley is The Great Sand Dunes National Park, another world famous geological feature.  The sand for the dunes comes from the San Juan Mountains to the west.  Normally, the sand would just keep going, blown over the Sangres to the plains farther east.  In this case, a creek picks up the sand blown off the dunes and carries it back to the other side, replenishing them every spring.  The result is a mammoth dune field, good for viewing, climbing, and tumbling down.  The creek is good for play as long as it lasts into the summer.

Good geology, good scenery, and a good time.  The geology is not a legend, however.  It is the real thing, and students from geology departments all over the country visit and study in Colorado.

 

If it Doesn’t Hurt, it Itches

 

Copy-2-of-CIMG0019-212x300I have reached that age where parts of me do not work quite as well as they used to.  I have aches and pains.  I have a titanium knee.  I am short a finger on my right hand.  I wear hearing aids.  A tooth is missing.  A LOT of hair is missing on my head.  My right shoulder, both wrists, left knee, and right foot hurt.  My left little finger has this hitch where it doesn’t want to straighten out and sort of snaps past a point when I do straighten it.  That hurts as well.

I have sinus headaches, acid reflux, a bad disk in my back, and an ass that is so small my pants won’t stay up. No ass, no hair, no little finger, what is going on?

When I was in my forties (I am 72) I did a career change.  I went from being a desk bound bureaucrat to working in the water business.  My first job required water treatment knowledge and a lot of physical work.  I laid pipe, repaired manholes, cleaned sewer lines, pumped a lot of water, read meters, and did a lot of pick and shovel work.  I remember thinking that I could do everything in my forties that I did in my twenties.

Then I hurt my back carrying an unbalanced load up a ditch bank.  I  learned about physical therapists and chiropractors.  I am still learning.  Up to then I had taken my body for granted.  I did what I wanted to and mostly got away with it.  From the back injury on, it has been downhill.

Since then, my body tells me when it does not like what I am doing to it.  Usually it uses pain.  The other strategy it employs is the itch. My head, back, legs, and arms itch.  It is seasonal. I itch spring, summer, winter, and fall.  I have recently discovered that some of the itching may be from ultraviolet light.   I am eliminating UV light in the house.  I take Benadryl and Allegra.  They help.  I still itch.

I have had prostate surgery, hernia surgery, a knee replacement, several colonoscopies, several endoscopies, a finger amputated, and an optorectomy (severing the nerve from your butt to your eyes to get rid of the shitty outlook).  I have high blood pressure.  I get migraine headaches.

I don’t do some things I used to do.  Run, jump, carry heavy loads, mess around on roofs, or think.  I have ADD.  Therapy and medication help a great deal, but I still forget, get crabby, and do impulsive stupid things.  I have been able to do some writing, however.  That is, if you can call this writing.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining.  That is a lie.  But, I can still do a lot and have fun at it.  I have the limitations of an aging body, but I remain active and can work with the school kids at Four Mile.  They seem to like Mr. Bill.  Life is good.

The Secret

Four Mile House

Four Mile House

I have a lot of fun with the elementary school children at Four Mile Historic Park.  In my introduction, I talk about the horses, warning them about being kicked or bitten.  I then show them my missing finger.  That gets the message across, even after I tell them it was not a horse.  When there are several Latino kids in the group, they learn that my name in Spanish is Nueve.

One of my favorite things is to get some of the girls aside and ask them if they know the secret.  They don’t know, of course.  I tell them, “Girls are smarter than boys.”  There are several reactions.  With several girls, it is “Yes!” with some high fives.  With first or second graders, they are a bit surprised, but agree.  With older girls, they usually nod sagely.  They all like hearing it from an old man.

Parents and teachers also like hearing it.  I tell them about the Bill Clinton Society.  That is the organization of men whose wives are smarter than they are.  Women and men all agree that all men are members, with a big laugh.

I also make a point of establishing myself as a big storyteller.  They learn that some of my stories are true, some not so true.  I do say when I am not lying, as how I really lost my finger.

Often, I tell them about my grandmother Pearl driving a wagon from Texas to Colorado in 1887 when she was 12.  The link to that story is here.

Another thing we show the children is the fuel for campfires the pioneers used out on the prairie.  We ask them what fuel they would have used where there was little firewood.  The answers are usually grass, rocks, or wood.  “No wood, grass burns too fast, rocks don’t burn.  They used Buffalo Chips.”

Buffalo Chips

Buffalo Chips

We hold one up.  They don’t quite understand until we say “Dried buffalo poop.”  “Eww!”  is the universal response.  They then learn that it was the task of the children to gather the stuff.  They begin to understand that life on the trail was not very easy.

The children visiting Four Mile have fun, I have fun, and we all learn something.  The main thing I have learned is that the kids are bright, fun-loving, and they enjoy learning.  Most of the teachers encourage the learning and fun.  Some of the teachers are only interested in control.  We all had too many of them.  I do my best to counter that attitude.  This is my fourth year at Four Mile.  In that time, only three children have been a big problem out of the thousands I have met.  I hope to meet and have fun with many more.

Wild Night

We graduated high school and spent the summer hanging around Fruita before starting our new lives.  Most nights we met at the pool hall and went to Grand Junction for a movie, drove around drinking beer, or shot pool.

We saw Joe park his old Power Wagon and walk in.  He said, “I twisted off from my roughnecking job down at Moab and have to pick up my gear.  Lee, I’ll buy the gas and beer if we can go in your Mercury.  My Wagon isn’t too happy over 35.”

“Sure.” Lee said.  “We can run down there and be back before midnight.  Ought to be fun.”

Joe said, “Do you guys want to come along?” to Ed and me.  We headed for Lee’s nice ‘56 Mercury and piled in.   Joe bought a case of Coors bottles for the trip.  We threw the empties at road signs.

It was 100 miles to Moab then fifteen miles of dirt road to the drill rig with Joe’s stuff.   After an hour and a half and most of the beer we turned onto the narrow dirt road.  It followed the Colorado River downstream in a canyon with sheer sandstone walls on one side and the river on the other.

We made it to the rig, Joe got his gear, and we headed back to Moab.  About half way there, Joe yelled, “Stop!  There’s a Ring-tailed Cat.”

The Ringtail, as it is now called, is a member of the raccoon family, lean and leggy for nocturnal hunting in its desert habitat.  He was between the car and the cliff wall, with a little scrub to hide behind.

“I’m going to get that sucker.” Joe said as he took some heavy work gloves and jumped out of the car.   The cat tried to go up the sandstone wall and Joe lunged for it.  He tied into a fury of teeth and claws.  The cat left and Joe bled.

Ed cleaned Joe’s bites and scratches with the last of his beer and we headed home.  After lots of laughs and very little sympathy for Joe’s wounds, we all settled into the ride.

Lee was fairly drunk, but no more than the rest of us, so he drove all the way, nodding a bit.  We were about three miles from town and Ed said, “Well, I’ve had enough excitement for one night…look out!”  He had seen two horses in the middle of the highway.  Lee was in enough of a stupor to have not seen them, then jerked his head up and hit the brakes.

Too late.  The Merc hit them both head on.  The horses flew over the hood and struck the roof, peeling it back and spilling their insides into the car’s interior.  Ed managed to get the car stopped and we dazedly looked around.  No one was hurt, but we were all drenched in blood and the contents of the horse’s innards.

A passerby saw the accident, drove to the diner in town and called the cops.  Everyone in the café drove out to see the carnage.  As a friend from the diner walked up, Lee went over, covered in blood, stomach contents, and shit.  He said, “Can you smell any beer on my breath?”

Note: The events in the story are true, but from two events.  I have changed the names to protect the guilty.

 

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