Well of course I'm insane. It's never been any big secret. That I actually believe in the Golden Rule and don't believe in any war in which people are killed or wounded, along with the inescapable truth that I love and play golf, all bear witness to my insanity. That I'm not a danger to myself or others has kept me from padded cells and rubber rooms so far, but incarceration is only a naked romp through downtown away. My latest walk on the whack-o side gives further credence to my dementia, but before you all rush to there he goes again judgment, I ask only that you look at the photos that accompany today's blog. How could I, given the scrambled eggs that are my heart and brains, possibly NOT have yielded to this latest and greatest mad impulse? It simply could not be done. Well, not by me anyway.
His name is Finnegan, probably Finny for short. Raffy, Matty, Finny has a certain flow to it and closeness of sound that when calling one I'm likely to get all. That works for me as I'm reminded that Woowoo Charly still calls our daughters Laurakiradara when signaling for one of them just to make sure the right name is in there somewhere. Finnegan is an eight week old Golden Retriever and of course the "Golden" is a part of the rule I mentioned earlier. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and if you get an opportunity to get a Golden Retriever jump on it." It's in the Bible. You can look it up. It's the reason it's called the "Golden" rule.
Anyway, we bought him at Melo the same store where we found Raffi and Matti. We were there, in fact, to get those pups their latest series of shots. Finnegan was in his Melo cage putting the eyes on me as we walked by. He was telepathy-ing like a pro that he sure would like to be part of our pack. He said the Cockers looked like fun dogs and I seemed like a nice guy even if I was somewhat..."touched" is how he put it. Turns out touched is something dogs look for in a pack leader. I thought "are you sure?" and he thought back, "you bet" so about an hour later he was riding home on Woowoo Chuck's lap with the other mutts while I drove and RTGFKAR made us promise there would be no more dogs. I wondered then if Melo ever carried pygmy goats.
So I'm up at ten minutes to four, pajama clad, standing in the rain watching a fur ball sniff about for a likely spot to pee while I whisper encouragement. It's not really crazy you know. It's just, well...okay it's crazy. I love it though. And that's the craziest part.
Addendum: Woowoo Charly say she knew I was a goner the minute I saw the dog, but then she's been around the lunacy for a long long time. And, of course, it is catching.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Paciencia
My rule of thumb - and for those of you who don't know the origin of that phrase, it was once a law that you couldn't beat your wife with any stick thicker than your thumb - is that if you have to go to lovely and talented Daveed for more than two tasks, plan on spending the day. Paciencia, patience, is seriously required. Seriously required. Did I mention seriously required?
George Brewster, a Panamanian who speaks fluent English, and I set out in his tired Chrysler Something Small with no back bumper, windows you pulled up by grabbing glass with your hands and George's own propensity for driving fast. Very fast. Our mission, which we had chosen to accept, was to rescue friend V's car from the Ministerio of Something I've Forgotten where cars that had been stolen, but recovered were now housed. To accomplish this mission we had to do two things before hand. First we had to renew my expired driver's license at the Bureau of Expired Driver's Licenses and then we had to buy a new battery for V's car as the old one was muerte, which is Spanish for kaput.
At the License Bureau, after waiting in line, we were told that my application for a new one would have to be processed in Panama City and I would have it in about a week...or so. We could, however, go around the corner to another motor vehicle office where Olga could fix me up with a one day temporary pass to drive. Alrighty then, on to Olga.
We found Olga and a long line in front of her desk. When our turn came, Olga, did something on her computer, determined the system was down, but no te procupe, not to worry, she still had her phone. The line to Pan City, however, was busy. It remained busy until we said screw it and left to buy a battery.
Our quest had begun at eight. It was now quarter to ten. As Pricesmart was close by, we waited in its parking lot until it opened at ten. They didn't have the right kind of battery. Twenty minutes later we found a parts store that did. We made our purchase and were off to the Ministerio.
We entered and passed through the metal detector which I miraculously did not set off. I mean usually my steel corded musculature and iron will have them beeping like crazy. (They do so.) We mentioned the name of the person we needed to see at the security kiosk and were sent to room such and such a flight up. There we found a receptionist after my own heart, she was wearing a winter jacket against the chill of the air conditioner, who told us to have a seat and she would alert Mr. So and So. Some twenty minutes after that, Mr. So and So appeared. He had some paperwork in hand, looked officious and we therefore figured all signs were go. Well wrongo Bureaocracy breath! He asked us where the mechanic was and our quick thinking reply was, "Huh? What mechanic?" He carefully explained that we needed a certified mechanic to examine the car for damage so that any insurance claims we had would be verified. We got on the phone to V's abogada, lawyer, who had arranged this whole pick up. She said she could get us a mechanic by two o,clock. Nevermind, we said. We could find one faster. Behind the Ministerio, but around the corner, was a huge car repair place, Pepe's. After waiting in Pepe's office awhile, he assigned a mechanic to us with a set price of $40 dollars. This was ten dollars cheaper than the lawyer had said her guy would be, so we agreed. We returned to the Ministerio, rounded up Mr. So and So and attempted to install the new battery. I don't know the Spanish for alas, I'll look it up later, alas, a pause and a long sigh are always required after saying alas.....The battery terminals were on the wrong side for this model car. We would have to go back and exchange it. However on the bright side, Mr. So and So said the mechanic's five minute inspection of the non running car would suffice and he need not return. As it was now nearing noon when the Ministerio shut down for two hours of almuerzo, lunch, two o,clock was our new target time.
We exchanged the battery, dined leisurely at Pizza Hut and returned to the Ministerio at twenty minutes to the hour. After watching a telenovela, soap opera, and discussing women, George's favorite topic, we hooked up once again with Mr. So and So who led us to the Evidence Room in the basement of a parking garage where the attendant asked me if I had voted for Obama. When I replied of course, he gave out with a small cheer. After that I signed several papers and then we waited as Mr. So and So went off with them to make copies. Upon his return we were taken to the car where we installed the battery and determined the car needed gas and power steering fluid. No one asked me to show my driver's license, so I drove off in search of the nearest petrol.
V was in Bocas and our plan was to leave her car at the airport so it would be there to drive when she returned. I hit the first gas station between the Ministerio and the airport and put in enough gas to make the needle move off empty. The station, however, had no power steering fluid so we had to back track and find another. When we eventually made it to the airport, I left the car keys at the National Car Rental Booth, part of the plan. I then hopped back into George's jalopy and we headed home.
First though, we stopped at KFC so I could take a bucket home to Woowoo Charly and RTGFKAR who are addicted to the 13 Herbs and Spices the chicken is reputed to have. This I knew, would make me a hero and if you can be a hero by simply going to a Drive-thru I'm all for it.
We were back in Boquete at five. Eight to five, a full day. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, if you are into that, taken no more than three hours. Four at the most.
Lucky for me I have paciencia. (I do so!)I knew this was an all dayer. George, on the other hand, displayed some frustration throughout the day, but always in good humor. George, I should point out is 36. At 36 was I patient?
Sure I was.
George Brewster, a Panamanian who speaks fluent English, and I set out in his tired Chrysler Something Small with no back bumper, windows you pulled up by grabbing glass with your hands and George's own propensity for driving fast. Very fast. Our mission, which we had chosen to accept, was to rescue friend V's car from the Ministerio of Something I've Forgotten where cars that had been stolen, but recovered were now housed. To accomplish this mission we had to do two things before hand. First we had to renew my expired driver's license at the Bureau of Expired Driver's Licenses and then we had to buy a new battery for V's car as the old one was muerte, which is Spanish for kaput.
At the License Bureau, after waiting in line, we were told that my application for a new one would have to be processed in Panama City and I would have it in about a week...or so. We could, however, go around the corner to another motor vehicle office where Olga could fix me up with a one day temporary pass to drive. Alrighty then, on to Olga.
We found Olga and a long line in front of her desk. When our turn came, Olga, did something on her computer, determined the system was down, but no te procupe, not to worry, she still had her phone. The line to Pan City, however, was busy. It remained busy until we said screw it and left to buy a battery.
Our quest had begun at eight. It was now quarter to ten. As Pricesmart was close by, we waited in its parking lot until it opened at ten. They didn't have the right kind of battery. Twenty minutes later we found a parts store that did. We made our purchase and were off to the Ministerio.
We entered and passed through the metal detector which I miraculously did not set off. I mean usually my steel corded musculature and iron will have them beeping like crazy. (They do so.) We mentioned the name of the person we needed to see at the security kiosk and were sent to room such and such a flight up. There we found a receptionist after my own heart, she was wearing a winter jacket against the chill of the air conditioner, who told us to have a seat and she would alert Mr. So and So. Some twenty minutes after that, Mr. So and So appeared. He had some paperwork in hand, looked officious and we therefore figured all signs were go. Well wrongo Bureaocracy breath! He asked us where the mechanic was and our quick thinking reply was, "Huh? What mechanic?" He carefully explained that we needed a certified mechanic to examine the car for damage so that any insurance claims we had would be verified. We got on the phone to V's abogada, lawyer, who had arranged this whole pick up. She said she could get us a mechanic by two o,clock. Nevermind, we said. We could find one faster. Behind the Ministerio, but around the corner, was a huge car repair place, Pepe's. After waiting in Pepe's office awhile, he assigned a mechanic to us with a set price of $40 dollars. This was ten dollars cheaper than the lawyer had said her guy would be, so we agreed. We returned to the Ministerio, rounded up Mr. So and So and attempted to install the new battery. I don't know the Spanish for alas, I'll look it up later, alas, a pause and a long sigh are always required after saying alas.....The battery terminals were on the wrong side for this model car. We would have to go back and exchange it. However on the bright side, Mr. So and So said the mechanic's five minute inspection of the non running car would suffice and he need not return. As it was now nearing noon when the Ministerio shut down for two hours of almuerzo, lunch, two o,clock was our new target time.
We exchanged the battery, dined leisurely at Pizza Hut and returned to the Ministerio at twenty minutes to the hour. After watching a telenovela, soap opera, and discussing women, George's favorite topic, we hooked up once again with Mr. So and So who led us to the Evidence Room in the basement of a parking garage where the attendant asked me if I had voted for Obama. When I replied of course, he gave out with a small cheer. After that I signed several papers and then we waited as Mr. So and So went off with them to make copies. Upon his return we were taken to the car where we installed the battery and determined the car needed gas and power steering fluid. No one asked me to show my driver's license, so I drove off in search of the nearest petrol.
V was in Bocas and our plan was to leave her car at the airport so it would be there to drive when she returned. I hit the first gas station between the Ministerio and the airport and put in enough gas to make the needle move off empty. The station, however, had no power steering fluid so we had to back track and find another. When we eventually made it to the airport, I left the car keys at the National Car Rental Booth, part of the plan. I then hopped back into George's jalopy and we headed home.
First though, we stopped at KFC so I could take a bucket home to Woowoo Charly and RTGFKAR who are addicted to the 13 Herbs and Spices the chicken is reputed to have. This I knew, would make me a hero and if you can be a hero by simply going to a Drive-thru I'm all for it.
We were back in Boquete at five. Eight to five, a full day. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, if you are into that, taken no more than three hours. Four at the most.
Lucky for me I have paciencia. (I do so!)I knew this was an all dayer. George, on the other hand, displayed some frustration throughout the day, but always in good humor. George, I should point out is 36. At 36 was I patient?
Sure I was.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Back in my Swiveling Saddle
After a visit from D.C. Dave, Diapering Diva Dara and Jumping to his own Jive Jackson, I took ill - okay I didn't really take it, it gave itself to me voluntarily - and my hand was stayed from my usual keyboard kaleidoscoping. "Not to worry" the Red Queen said, "one more cough and it's off with his head." (I am reminded that it is not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin.)
I'm back now though, strong enough to press down random keys that make no sense to all but a demented few, you my trusty readers. You are trusty aren't you? (The demented is a given or why else would you be reading this?)
This morning I learned a lesson from my puppies as with careful attention I so often do. (Now there's a sentence.) No matter how rapidly you rush through life, and the pups are especially good at that, you should take time to stop, as they do, and eat the flowers. The yellow ones in particular.
I have to write a "Noir" story. I'm considering this for an opening:
She sauntered into the office like there was something on her mind, but I could see she was far too pretty and far too blond for that to be the case. She paused a moment to blow a curl from her left eye with a little puff out the corner of her mouth. She looked us over for a second or two, then fixed her baby blues on me as she said, "Is there a Dangerous Dick here?"
"It's Dick Danger" I said. "What can I do you for, Dollface?"
Ah, it feels good to have the Monkeymind leaping about again.
I love this line from "Milking the Moon", an as told to biography of Eugene Walter. Never heard of him you say? Well neither did I, but he's an interesting guy who had an interesting life. Anyway the line: "New york is a battleground. Paris is a ruined garden." Think about that for awhile. Okay are you done? Now tell me what it means.
We have half of an intense rainbow, the right half, arcing outside my office window. The other half was eaten by aliens or maybe Pacmen. It just disappears right at the highest point of the curve. Weird I tell ya, weird.
Okay I'm done. Except for that moon hiding behind the tree. Can you see it? I got that shot from two months ago. I've been waiting for just the right moment to post it and this is clearly that moment. I did, afterall, use the word moon a couple of paragraphs ago.
I'm back now though, strong enough to press down random keys that make no sense to all but a demented few, you my trusty readers. You are trusty aren't you? (The demented is a given or why else would you be reading this?)
This morning I learned a lesson from my puppies as with careful attention I so often do. (Now there's a sentence.) No matter how rapidly you rush through life, and the pups are especially good at that, you should take time to stop, as they do, and eat the flowers. The yellow ones in particular.
I have to write a "Noir" story. I'm considering this for an opening:
She sauntered into the office like there was something on her mind, but I could see she was far too pretty and far too blond for that to be the case. She paused a moment to blow a curl from her left eye with a little puff out the corner of her mouth. She looked us over for a second or two, then fixed her baby blues on me as she said, "Is there a Dangerous Dick here?"
"It's Dick Danger" I said. "What can I do you for, Dollface?"
Ah, it feels good to have the Monkeymind leaping about again.
I love this line from "Milking the Moon", an as told to biography of Eugene Walter. Never heard of him you say? Well neither did I, but he's an interesting guy who had an interesting life. Anyway the line: "New york is a battleground. Paris is a ruined garden." Think about that for awhile. Okay are you done? Now tell me what it means.
We have half of an intense rainbow, the right half, arcing outside my office window. The other half was eaten by aliens or maybe Pacmen. It just disappears right at the highest point of the curve. Weird I tell ya, weird.
Okay I'm done. Except for that moon hiding behind the tree. Can you see it? I got that shot from two months ago. I've been waiting for just the right moment to post it and this is clearly that moment. I did, afterall, use the word moon a couple of paragraphs ago.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
More Dog Stuff
Yabba dabba do, alrighty then. Another less than cheerful looking morning here in Paradise With Rain. We've got a sky full of gray glop, rain dripping from eaves to my fore and mud a-mounting all around. Aside from that I have nothing to say which is about as unusual as dishes in the sink.
We made a sudden burst to Lovely and Talented David yesterday and brought the pups along for the ride. We thought they'd sleep after having had a raucus romp earlier in the day with me and their pal Kooka. Kooka is a seven or eight month old Husky pupling that has replaced Old Girl as the latest neighborhood canine to adopt us whether we like it or not. Old Girl has been absent the premises - I know because I check my premises, (That's a kind of inside joke I made for myself) for over two weeks and we suspect she may now be napping curled on a warm spot, making small snores and funny dog snorfs as she dreams about steak in the Great Doggieland Beyond. We were wrong about the pups sleeping though. They stayed awake so they could barf loudly and repeatedly throughout the drive. Ah the joys of dog raising. What could be more fun?
We made it to PriceSmart after a couple of stops to clean up the mess and I volunteered to walk the dogs while RTGFKAR and Woowoo Charly took the first shift in the store. A security guard shooed me and the pups away from the building's front, but not before Matti had dropped a line of doggie dumps along the sidewalk fronting the rows of shopping carts. At the security guards request, I further volunteered to pick up the piles and slam dunk them into a handy trash barrel. This was done with the aid of a rapidly shrinking roll of paper towels we had brought along as a "just in case" measure. We are far seeing people.
We had other stops to make, EH (Everything For the Home)and Do-It-Center. At EH we learned that they had everything for the home except the bar stools we had ordered weeks ago. In truth, they did have them, but they had sold the lot to someone else. We ordered more. At Do-It, Woowoo Charly bought a couple pillows which is like buying tools at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I don't know her reasoning but it was probably something along the lines of "you can fix darn near everything with a couple of good pillows."
The ride home was uneventful unless you consider puppy puking an event. Future trips will be "sin cachorros" (without the mutts) until they have the stomachs for it.
Alrighty then, indeed.
We made a sudden burst to Lovely and Talented David yesterday and brought the pups along for the ride. We thought they'd sleep after having had a raucus romp earlier in the day with me and their pal Kooka. Kooka is a seven or eight month old Husky pupling that has replaced Old Girl as the latest neighborhood canine to adopt us whether we like it or not. Old Girl has been absent the premises - I know because I check my premises, (That's a kind of inside joke I made for myself) for over two weeks and we suspect she may now be napping curled on a warm spot, making small snores and funny dog snorfs as she dreams about steak in the Great Doggieland Beyond. We were wrong about the pups sleeping though. They stayed awake so they could barf loudly and repeatedly throughout the drive. Ah the joys of dog raising. What could be more fun?
We made it to PriceSmart after a couple of stops to clean up the mess and I volunteered to walk the dogs while RTGFKAR and Woowoo Charly took the first shift in the store. A security guard shooed me and the pups away from the building's front, but not before Matti had dropped a line of doggie dumps along the sidewalk fronting the rows of shopping carts. At the security guards request, I further volunteered to pick up the piles and slam dunk them into a handy trash barrel. This was done with the aid of a rapidly shrinking roll of paper towels we had brought along as a "just in case" measure. We are far seeing people.
We had other stops to make, EH (Everything For the Home)and Do-It-Center. At EH we learned that they had everything for the home except the bar stools we had ordered weeks ago. In truth, they did have them, but they had sold the lot to someone else. We ordered more. At Do-It, Woowoo Charly bought a couple pillows which is like buying tools at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I don't know her reasoning but it was probably something along the lines of "you can fix darn near everything with a couple of good pillows."
The ride home was uneventful unless you consider puppy puking an event. Future trips will be "sin cachorros" (without the mutts) until they have the stomachs for it.
Alrighty then, indeed.
Friday, January 02, 2009
The First Day Of....
The first day of the rest of my life began at seis y media en punto, six thirty on the dot. Raffi and Matti were making noisy appeals for freedom from their kennel that couldn't be ignored. I rolled out of bed, dressed and set about my morning chores. I made a pot of coffee, put away last night's dishes and unlocked the front and back doors. I then turned the now seriously crazed puppies loose and they bee-lined to the yard. While they sniffed about for the just right spot to deposit the remains of their last night's dinner, I carried the patio furniture outside. We bring it in at night to assure we will still have it in the morning. I then walked the dogs completely around our house twice which is an exercise that further stimulates their ability to place doggie land mines in random, but somehow carefully selected spots. Why else all that sniffing and circling about before the squat? When I was reasonably sure they had nothing left to donate to the yard work, I brought out their bowls of kibble. The dogs eat their morning meal, separated by our glass patio door. This keeps Raffi the stronger of the two from bogarting all the food. Up to this point my day had not differed a whit from all the days that had gone before since the puppies moved in. Now though, instead of bringing out my guitar and brutalizing the morning stillness with discordant chords, I leashed up the mutts and said "Alrighty then, let's hit the trail." The dogs were all for it.
We walked down our unpaved driveway to the unpaved servidumbre (access road) that ultimately leads to a paved road that takes you to downtown Boquete or up a hill to parts unknown. I've been up the hill to where the pavement ends, a kilometer or so, but no further. My goal as we trekked over the rocks and rubble of our servidumbre that is a now barely passable by car disaster since November's flood, was simply to walk out for half an hour and then walk back; exercise for mutts and man alike. We passed several indian men carrying baskets and bags on their way to pick coffee beans and small herds of noisy indian children on their way to...somewhere. I think school is out now as December starts Panama's summer. Apart from these people, all encountered on the servidumbre, we had the hike to ourselves. I opted to go up the paved road to see how far we would get in our allotted half hour, ten minutes of which had already expired. Progress when walking two puppies is slow as a lot of time is spent separating entwined leashes and encouraging the noses with dogs attached to not stop at every interesting scent. We made it almost to pavement's end before my watch said it was time to turn around. The dogs didn't protest when I headed them home. The small flaw in my plan to make this walk a morning hour was that the trip back took less than twenty minutes, the result of going downhill and puppies in a seeming hurry to get home. We will go further out on the morrow.
When we got back to the house we found RTGFKAR up and about and Woowoo Charly stirring. I put the pups on the bed with her to further the wake up process and then headed here to the office and my computer. Somewhere along the way I found a cup of coffee.
As a follow up to the line "The first day of the rest of my life began" one would reasonably expect something with a more dramatic tone than a dog walk. I shaved my head and entered the monastery might be good or perhaps I told my boss to shove it and drove to Vegas. The dog walk, though,works for me. I consider it a damn good start.
We walked down our unpaved driveway to the unpaved servidumbre (access road) that ultimately leads to a paved road that takes you to downtown Boquete or up a hill to parts unknown. I've been up the hill to where the pavement ends, a kilometer or so, but no further. My goal as we trekked over the rocks and rubble of our servidumbre that is a now barely passable by car disaster since November's flood, was simply to walk out for half an hour and then walk back; exercise for mutts and man alike. We passed several indian men carrying baskets and bags on their way to pick coffee beans and small herds of noisy indian children on their way to...somewhere. I think school is out now as December starts Panama's summer. Apart from these people, all encountered on the servidumbre, we had the hike to ourselves. I opted to go up the paved road to see how far we would get in our allotted half hour, ten minutes of which had already expired. Progress when walking two puppies is slow as a lot of time is spent separating entwined leashes and encouraging the noses with dogs attached to not stop at every interesting scent. We made it almost to pavement's end before my watch said it was time to turn around. The dogs didn't protest when I headed them home. The small flaw in my plan to make this walk a morning hour was that the trip back took less than twenty minutes, the result of going downhill and puppies in a seeming hurry to get home. We will go further out on the morrow.
When we got back to the house we found RTGFKAR up and about and Woowoo Charly stirring. I put the pups on the bed with her to further the wake up process and then headed here to the office and my computer. Somewhere along the way I found a cup of coffee.
As a follow up to the line "The first day of the rest of my life began" one would reasonably expect something with a more dramatic tone than a dog walk. I shaved my head and entered the monastery might be good or perhaps I told my boss to shove it and drove to Vegas. The dog walk, though,works for me. I consider it a damn good start.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Resolutions
Tomorrow, the second day of January, that's the bigee. It's foolish to try'n start your life changing resolutions on the first of January. The first of January is a holiday. Why would anyone want to spoil a perfectly good holiday by eschewing this that and the other evil thing that dogs them or add a healthful regimen in the middle of a party. Tomorrow, I say, tomorrow is the day for changes. Either that or the day after.
My own changes are the same old tired batch of resolutions I make every year. Write more, drink less, eat less, exercise more, practice guitar regularly, get the stumps pulled out, slop the hogs, milk the chickens, see the ball, follow through, be present, respect my elders, turn off unnecessary lights, get a good night's sleep, travel the world teaching kindness, humility and how to be Number 1, get a hole in one or at least in two, shimmy like my sister Kate, dance with the stars, make sure my shoes are shined and my nails are clipped, spend Tuesdays with Morrie or Larry maybe Moe, eat more vegetables and fruit, ask my doctor if Viagra is right for me, let the sun shine in, walk the plants, water the dogs, be-bop-a-lula, fly the friendly skies, get the lead out, learn more Spanish, swear less or more colorfully, read only good stuff, do the macarena and the locomotive, decline taking a cabinet position, get out more, spend more time at home, hike, bike, badmitten, mow the lawn, maintain the car, prevent forest fires, learn from my mistakes, put my toys away, brush regularly, beat the band, don't rain on parades, say a little prayer, whistle while I work, inka-dinka-do every chance I get and, of course, zippedy-doodah whenever my doodah is open, just to name a few.
Not today though, tomorrow.
My own changes are the same old tired batch of resolutions I make every year. Write more, drink less, eat less, exercise more, practice guitar regularly, get the stumps pulled out, slop the hogs, milk the chickens, see the ball, follow through, be present, respect my elders, turn off unnecessary lights, get a good night's sleep, travel the world teaching kindness, humility and how to be Number 1, get a hole in one or at least in two, shimmy like my sister Kate, dance with the stars, make sure my shoes are shined and my nails are clipped, spend Tuesdays with Morrie or Larry maybe Moe, eat more vegetables and fruit, ask my doctor if Viagra is right for me, let the sun shine in, walk the plants, water the dogs, be-bop-a-lula, fly the friendly skies, get the lead out, learn more Spanish, swear less or more colorfully, read only good stuff, do the macarena and the locomotive, decline taking a cabinet position, get out more, spend more time at home, hike, bike, badmitten, mow the lawn, maintain the car, prevent forest fires, learn from my mistakes, put my toys away, brush regularly, beat the band, don't rain on parades, say a little prayer, whistle while I work, inka-dinka-do every chance I get and, of course, zippedy-doodah whenever my doodah is open, just to name a few.
Not today though, tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Book List 2008
Okay, so there are only 26.
1. The Jewel in the Crown by Paul Scott Book one of The Raj Quartet. Densely written doings in colonial India.
2. The Lighthouse Murders by P.D. James Intriguing mystery, neatly solved by Adam Dalgliesh and company.
3. Leave It To Psmith by P.G.Wodehouse Comic entanglements that all work out for the best.
4. The Day of the Scorpion by Paul Scott Book two of The Raj Quartet The continuing saga of India, the British Empire and small histories with large consequences.
5. Sherlock Holmes, The Unauthorized Biography by Nick Rennison Read the first half, skimmed the second. This book is for Homes aficionados only.
6. From Where You Dream, The Process of Writing Fiction by Robert Olen Butler
Interesting ideas. Different approach.
7. Innocent Blood by P.D. James Complex characters in a complex plot with an unusual ending.
8. Fifth Business by Robertson Davies First of “The Deptford Trilogy.” Spectacularly written. Lots of human observations and insights along the way. Not an easy read, but well worth staying the course.
9. Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen Fast paced, fun, circus story. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
10. The Manticore by Robertson Davies Second in The Deptford Trilogy Fascinating character study.
11. I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe Country Girl goes to college and comes of age among other things.
12. Special Topics In Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl A dark mystery unraveled by the book’s protagonist, a sixteen year old girl prodigy. Brilliant first novel.
13. A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole A chuckle fest throughout with a most unusual protagonist.
14. How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster An entertainingly written how to read between the lines book.
15. World of Wonders by Robertson Davies Final book of the Depthford Trilogies. All is revealed and we learn who killed Boy Daunton.
16. Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris Funny sketches by a true wit.
Barrel Fever by David Sedaris Off the wall funny.
18. A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin Book One of a fantasy series. Awesome.
19. The Woman Lit by Fireflies Jim Harrison Three novellas by a great writer.
20. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde Wildly imaginative fun read.
21. Julip Jim Harrison Three more fascinating novellas. Best character writer I know.
22. A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin Second book of the series. Left hanging. Need to get to book three soon.
23. The English Major Jim Harrison Former teacher and former farmer takes an entertaining road trip following his divorce that makes for an enjoyable read.
24. A Good Scent From A Strange Mountain Robert Olen Butler Short stories about Vietnamese told by Vietnamese living here (the U.S.) and there, Nam. Butler of course has written them all, but each voice sounds original and authentic. This book was a Pulitzer winner and deservedly so.
25. Silent Joe T. Jefferson Parker Layered mysteries with a unique central character. A good read.
26. Killshot Elmore Leonard Pro killer meets amateur killer, both get their comeuppance from a housewife. Elmore’s always fun.
1. The Jewel in the Crown by Paul Scott Book one of The Raj Quartet. Densely written doings in colonial India.
2. The Lighthouse Murders by P.D. James Intriguing mystery, neatly solved by Adam Dalgliesh and company.
3. Leave It To Psmith by P.G.Wodehouse Comic entanglements that all work out for the best.
4. The Day of the Scorpion by Paul Scott Book two of The Raj Quartet The continuing saga of India, the British Empire and small histories with large consequences.
5. Sherlock Holmes, The Unauthorized Biography by Nick Rennison Read the first half, skimmed the second. This book is for Homes aficionados only.
6. From Where You Dream, The Process of Writing Fiction by Robert Olen Butler
Interesting ideas. Different approach.
7. Innocent Blood by P.D. James Complex characters in a complex plot with an unusual ending.
8. Fifth Business by Robertson Davies First of “The Deptford Trilogy.” Spectacularly written. Lots of human observations and insights along the way. Not an easy read, but well worth staying the course.
9. Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen Fast paced, fun, circus story. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
10. The Manticore by Robertson Davies Second in The Deptford Trilogy Fascinating character study.
11. I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe Country Girl goes to college and comes of age among other things.
12. Special Topics In Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl A dark mystery unraveled by the book’s protagonist, a sixteen year old girl prodigy. Brilliant first novel.
13. A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole A chuckle fest throughout with a most unusual protagonist.
14. How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster An entertainingly written how to read between the lines book.
15. World of Wonders by Robertson Davies Final book of the Depthford Trilogies. All is revealed and we learn who killed Boy Daunton.
16. Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris Funny sketches by a true wit.
Barrel Fever by David Sedaris Off the wall funny.
18. A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin Book One of a fantasy series. Awesome.
19. The Woman Lit by Fireflies Jim Harrison Three novellas by a great writer.
20. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde Wildly imaginative fun read.
21. Julip Jim Harrison Three more fascinating novellas. Best character writer I know.
22. A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin Second book of the series. Left hanging. Need to get to book three soon.
23. The English Major Jim Harrison Former teacher and former farmer takes an entertaining road trip following his divorce that makes for an enjoyable read.
24. A Good Scent From A Strange Mountain Robert Olen Butler Short stories about Vietnamese told by Vietnamese living here (the U.S.) and there, Nam. Butler of course has written them all, but each voice sounds original and authentic. This book was a Pulitzer winner and deservedly so.
25. Silent Joe T. Jefferson Parker Layered mysteries with a unique central character. A good read.
26. Killshot Elmore Leonard Pro killer meets amateur killer, both get their comeuppance from a housewife. Elmore’s always fun.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Crawling to the Finish
Doldrums. End of year doldrums. Feel like I haven't had a novel thought or turned a clever phrase in weeks. Probably haven't. Standing at the starting line of the new year shaking out the legs, stretching, waiting for the ready, set, go part. What will 2009 bring? More of the same? A not too bad proposition; more golf, more books, more blank screens to fill with nonsense. More family, more friends, more of life-its-own self. So what am I waiting for, let's get on with it. Nope, can't do it. That's jumping the gun. A false start. Have to wait. Be patient. Hold back those resolutions. Have to FINISH this year. Must be how Obama feels.
And speaking of finishing, I finished two light reads last week, if books of murder and mayhem can be called light. The first an Elmore Leonard oldie entitled "Killshot", and the second a T. Jefferson Parker Edgar Award nominee, "Silent Joe", that was the better of the two books. I typed them onto my 2008 book list as numbers 28 and 29 read this year. Most years my count is in the forties, but this year's list included five books of over a thousand pages. I could read four Dick Francis who-done-its for each of those so my pace is about average...for me. Woowoo Charly read the same tomes as I and roughly a hundred more. I now use her as my personal pre-reading critic. I ask her which book will be my next. I'll blog my list shortly, if I can get my old computer to hang onto the Internet long enough to SEND.
There is an intense rainbow out the window to my right. I wish I could describe it to you but rainbows don't have any of the colors that I know, colors like red, blue or orange. They have artist palette colors with names like cerise, magenta, lilac, shaquille and mutombo. Doesn't matter now though. It's gone to wherever rainbows go. Perhaps in search of a new year.
And speaking of finishing, I finished two light reads last week, if books of murder and mayhem can be called light. The first an Elmore Leonard oldie entitled "Killshot", and the second a T. Jefferson Parker Edgar Award nominee, "Silent Joe", that was the better of the two books. I typed them onto my 2008 book list as numbers 28 and 29 read this year. Most years my count is in the forties, but this year's list included five books of over a thousand pages. I could read four Dick Francis who-done-its for each of those so my pace is about average...for me. Woowoo Charly read the same tomes as I and roughly a hundred more. I now use her as my personal pre-reading critic. I ask her which book will be my next. I'll blog my list shortly, if I can get my old computer to hang onto the Internet long enough to SEND.
There is an intense rainbow out the window to my right. I wish I could describe it to you but rainbows don't have any of the colors that I know, colors like red, blue or orange. They have artist palette colors with names like cerise, magenta, lilac, shaquille and mutombo. Doesn't matter now though. It's gone to wherever rainbows go. Perhaps in search of a new year.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Sunrise Sunset
My dermatologist, Doctor Panagas, pronounced pain-in-the-ass, no, wait, that's my proctologist, ( kidding, I don't really have a proctologist and hope I never need to despite all the blog potential there) says I should put sun block on my face everyday even if I don't plan to go outside or the sun isn't shining because you never know when an evil ray from Old Sol might slip through a window pane and zap me on the nose. I told him that if I wanted to put slime on my face on regular basis I would have chosen to be a woman back there in the womb when the choices were being handed out. Women thrive on lotions and potions and do not seem to be bothered by the slime factor. (The S in SPF, in case you don't know, stands for slime.) I have met people who unlike me say they can't stand the feel of the sun on their skin. They prefer cool air touching their bodies. Whackos if you ask me, most likely descendants from a dark planet. We ex pats from Venus where the temperature is a mild 220 degrees or something like that, can't stand cold air blowing across our skin. It makes us scrunch our shoulders, shiver and sneeze. We prefer heat and specifically the kind that comes from the sun. What turns out to be annoying though, is that our basking leads to skin cancer. What, I ask you, do the chill freaks get from walking around cold all the time? Do they have some doctor saying take off your hat, roll up your sleeves, put on some shorts and get out of the shade? Is there some slime they have to use to protect them from cool breezes? I hope so, it's only fair.
As I've noted before, it's good to vent.
I'm catching a lot of sunrises these days. (Puppies desperate to go out account for that.) Apart from the fact that seeing the sun come up means you have made it through the night alive and now it's time to put on your SPF 60, sunrises are overrated. Sure there is a nice, subtle brightening of the sky and the world becomes magically visible as nature turns up the dimmer switch, but compared to sunsets sunrises lack the drama, the oomph, and the color that accompany the sun going down. Of course, as the sun sets I am often sitting comfortably on a patio chair, cigar and cocktail in hand, body slathered in slime, hat pulled low on my forehead, doing my best to bask without harm, so I may be biased on the subject.
As I've noted before, it's good to vent.
I'm catching a lot of sunrises these days. (Puppies desperate to go out account for that.) Apart from the fact that seeing the sun come up means you have made it through the night alive and now it's time to put on your SPF 60, sunrises are overrated. Sure there is a nice, subtle brightening of the sky and the world becomes magically visible as nature turns up the dimmer switch, but compared to sunsets sunrises lack the drama, the oomph, and the color that accompany the sun going down. Of course, as the sun sets I am often sitting comfortably on a patio chair, cigar and cocktail in hand, body slathered in slime, hat pulled low on my forehead, doing my best to bask without harm, so I may be biased on the subject.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Bronco Blues
Wombat. Wombatting the Broncos get their butts kicked on national and international TV once again because it is clear the networks hate them and revel in their getting stomped before a world audience. No Bronco game has been shown here in Panama since the first game of the season. The networks have been waiting for just the right moment to humiliate the team and Denver once again and that time has come. The Broncos are on a losing streak, their defense, crappy to begin with, is devastated further by injuries and the whole team lacks heart, guts, grit and leadership, so let's, by all means the conspiring networks agree, show them on worldwide television during Primetime playing a team that has all the qualities the Broncos lack and are rolling along on a nice winning streak. Have these people no heart? No compassion? Don't they know how this is going to affect we poor slobs, who being fans, will be compelled to watch. Don't they know this is the Christmas season when charity and mercy should abound, or do they only care about the larger market share that is San Diego where there will be dancing in the streets at game's end? It's a shame, a crime and an insult to the loyal fans of a good city's team that has fallen on hard times and I'm not going to put up with it. I'm going to write a blog about it and tell the world just how I feel. That'll show 'em.
Alrighty then. It's good to vent.
Christmas Eve Day. Time to go put up our decoration.
Alrighty then. It's good to vent.
Christmas Eve Day. Time to go put up our decoration.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Restart
I'm not ready to blog. I'm sitting here sorting through my mind's thought inventory and nothing strikes me as blogable. Of course I never really have all that much on my mind, so the process doesn't take long. I need help, Freud, Jung, Adler, Dr.Phil, maybe even Frazier and Niles. I'm blocked. Haven't written for three days and it feels like three years. What would you do? A couple of writer pals recommend "automatic writing." This is a stream of consciousness, blurt it out, let it flow, write every little thought that comes to mind and see what you get style of writing that works for them. Well, alrighty then, let's give that a try.
Five minutes have elapsed and I got a quick glimpse of something regarding Batman but it slid by before I could type it out.
Okay here we go. That was a good flick and so is It's a Wonderful life. I'd like to see Christian Bale and Jimmy Stewart change roles. "Wha wha wha were is she ca ca ca Commissioner Gordon?" "It's too late now Batman." "You might want to think twice about that twinkie comment bartender. Just because my friend dresses in a Halloween costume on Christmas Eve doesn't mean he can't kick your ass." Oh yeah Christmas, now there's a subject I don't even want to get on. The music is good though. Well some of it anyway. "Jack Frost roasting on an open fire, yule dust snorting up your nose. Although it's been said many times many ways, bah the humbug, bah the humbug, to you." New Year's Eve, now that's a holiday. Time for reflection and nostalgia while at the same time looking optimistically forward. I'm guessing there won't be much nostalgia for 2008 in most of the U.S. of A. what with the financial crash and other catastrophes like the Phillies winning the Series. I enjoyed the year though, for the most part. Great trip to NY, MD and CT. Wrote lots and read much. Losing that dog was sure no fun. Need to come up with a good resolution for 2009. Any suggestions?
Well that almost worked. I don't see anything there that I could blog around the block with. I see some longer pieces I could crank out, but none particularly funny and I prefer particularly funny. I think I'll go back to my own way of kick starting the word machine. I'll type one word and then I'll type another. After that I'll read those two and then I'll type another and so forth into the...near future. Let's get started.
Wombat. Tomorrow.
Five minutes have elapsed and I got a quick glimpse of something regarding Batman but it slid by before I could type it out.
Okay here we go. That was a good flick and so is It's a Wonderful life. I'd like to see Christian Bale and Jimmy Stewart change roles. "Wha wha wha were is she ca ca ca Commissioner Gordon?" "It's too late now Batman." "You might want to think twice about that twinkie comment bartender. Just because my friend dresses in a Halloween costume on Christmas Eve doesn't mean he can't kick your ass." Oh yeah Christmas, now there's a subject I don't even want to get on. The music is good though. Well some of it anyway. "Jack Frost roasting on an open fire, yule dust snorting up your nose. Although it's been said many times many ways, bah the humbug, bah the humbug, to you." New Year's Eve, now that's a holiday. Time for reflection and nostalgia while at the same time looking optimistically forward. I'm guessing there won't be much nostalgia for 2008 in most of the U.S. of A. what with the financial crash and other catastrophes like the Phillies winning the Series. I enjoyed the year though, for the most part. Great trip to NY, MD and CT. Wrote lots and read much. Losing that dog was sure no fun. Need to come up with a good resolution for 2009. Any suggestions?
Well that almost worked. I don't see anything there that I could blog around the block with. I see some longer pieces I could crank out, but none particularly funny and I prefer particularly funny. I think I'll go back to my own way of kick starting the word machine. I'll type one word and then I'll type another. After that I'll read those two and then I'll type another and so forth into the...near future. Let's get started.
Wombat. Tomorrow.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Poop Patrol
Sung to the tune of "I say a little prayer for you": Whenever I wake up, before I put on my...bathrobe, I let the dogs outside to poop.
True. Everyday. Somewhere between six and six-thirty. I can barely get the door open fast enough. I don't know exactly what is in Science Diet Puppy Food, the listed ingredients are surely a sham, but some combination of rocket fuel and laxative are unquestionably part of the mix. That and an expansion agent that actually allows a greater volume of matter to be expelled than was originally ingested. Yesterday at six A.M. we had a poop free lawn. At ten I counted eleven piles. These from two pups who together can't weigh thirty pounds. I'm not complaining mind you, merely stating the facts. In reality (that place where I live apart from all others) I am actually grateful. These are eleven piles of poop I can snatch up with the scooper and toss into the jungle with a quick underhanded softball snap of the wrist. The poop piles that appear subsequent to the morning cluster bombing frequently manifest themselves mysteriously indoors with nary a pup present. These are stealth poops placed strategically about by puppies who don't want the wrath of the two legged giants to rain down upon them in the form of "Bad Dog! Bad Dog! Outside!" and other such expressions of human displeasure that are so far akin to pissing up a rope for all the good they do. These pungent piles must be picked up with TP or paper towels, an act that places the highly odoriferous substance much closer to one's nose and invariably evinces a "show me your Yaeger face" of disgust. The dogs know that it is okay to poop outside. They know because they are rewarded by exclamations of approval from the same giants who are so unforgiving when they do their doggie dumping inside. What they have learned in their clever canine brains is not "woof woof let me out" but rather "heh heh heh, now's my chance, they're not looking." We three, the giants, are at wit's end, which is to say "it ain't funny Mcgee." We watch like hawks for the opportunity to snatch up a squatting puppy and flee with it to the great outdoors but our efforts are seldom rewarded. I now believe the dogs are working in concert. "Look at me, look at me" one will puppy yap, "I'm doing something adorable and cute." While we chuckle or ooh and aah, whichever is called for, the other quietly leaves evidence of its hyper speed digestive tract and then comes to join in the fun with dog number one. When the evidence is discovered, the guilty pup just looks askance as if saying, "not mine, wasn't me, you can't prove a thing." I have resorted to lecturing at length, but this too has proved fruitless. "Listen you floppy eared bozos" I tell them, "a dog who doesn't learn to do their business exclusively outside has to live outside. Get it?" They don't. But then, as I've noted before, my Dog, like my Spanish, is not all that fluent. I have even tried to emulate Cesar Milan, but the mutts didn't understand whispering either.
Alas and alack and oh well. As my friend Bill Baer used to say, "It's a doggie dog world." And that's the truth.
True. Everyday. Somewhere between six and six-thirty. I can barely get the door open fast enough. I don't know exactly what is in Science Diet Puppy Food, the listed ingredients are surely a sham, but some combination of rocket fuel and laxative are unquestionably part of the mix. That and an expansion agent that actually allows a greater volume of matter to be expelled than was originally ingested. Yesterday at six A.M. we had a poop free lawn. At ten I counted eleven piles. These from two pups who together can't weigh thirty pounds. I'm not complaining mind you, merely stating the facts. In reality (that place where I live apart from all others) I am actually grateful. These are eleven piles of poop I can snatch up with the scooper and toss into the jungle with a quick underhanded softball snap of the wrist. The poop piles that appear subsequent to the morning cluster bombing frequently manifest themselves mysteriously indoors with nary a pup present. These are stealth poops placed strategically about by puppies who don't want the wrath of the two legged giants to rain down upon them in the form of "Bad Dog! Bad Dog! Outside!" and other such expressions of human displeasure that are so far akin to pissing up a rope for all the good they do. These pungent piles must be picked up with TP or paper towels, an act that places the highly odoriferous substance much closer to one's nose and invariably evinces a "show me your Yaeger face" of disgust. The dogs know that it is okay to poop outside. They know because they are rewarded by exclamations of approval from the same giants who are so unforgiving when they do their doggie dumping inside. What they have learned in their clever canine brains is not "woof woof let me out" but rather "heh heh heh, now's my chance, they're not looking." We three, the giants, are at wit's end, which is to say "it ain't funny Mcgee." We watch like hawks for the opportunity to snatch up a squatting puppy and flee with it to the great outdoors but our efforts are seldom rewarded. I now believe the dogs are working in concert. "Look at me, look at me" one will puppy yap, "I'm doing something adorable and cute." While we chuckle or ooh and aah, whichever is called for, the other quietly leaves evidence of its hyper speed digestive tract and then comes to join in the fun with dog number one. When the evidence is discovered, the guilty pup just looks askance as if saying, "not mine, wasn't me, you can't prove a thing." I have resorted to lecturing at length, but this too has proved fruitless. "Listen you floppy eared bozos" I tell them, "a dog who doesn't learn to do their business exclusively outside has to live outside. Get it?" They don't. But then, as I've noted before, my Dog, like my Spanish, is not all that fluent. I have even tried to emulate Cesar Milan, but the mutts didn't understand whispering either.
Alas and alack and oh well. As my friend Bill Baer used to say, "It's a doggie dog world." And that's the truth.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Doc and the Diet Thing
We had a rainless day yesterday. Weird, huh?
We lunched at a new restaurant, Tammy's, reputed to have the best hamburger in town. I believe the reputers are right. I split mine with Woowoo Charly who had ordered falafel which is pronounced fa...any way you feel like. I don't know what falafel is for certain, but it was served as ping pong ball sized fried things and came with a side order of hummis another thing I can't account for and pita bread for which I can. It's a Greek tostada right? It was all good.
RTGFKAR had a bacon cheeseburger that came garnished with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and onions and it's always entertaining to listen to him as he removes said garnish with the explanation that if he wanted a salad on his burger he'd order one. RTGFKAR won't eat uncooked vegetables.
The night before, Randy and Maryellen the Texas twosome who are back from cruising the world - okay a small section of it in the Caribbean - took us to dinner at Aura's, a place close to where we live, and there too we were served a fine repast. (It's repast now but it was represent then.)I had an espeghetti con pollo and everyone else had...other stuff. Again, all good.
With that in mind let me tell you how my diet is going. Okay it's not really a diet, it's a goal. No it's not really a goal either it's a plan. My plan. My plan is that every time I reach 170 pounds on our bathroom scale which is clearly unreliable because it always shows me as heavier than I really am, I sure of it, I will restrict my caloric intake until I lose five or more pounds. This will leave me at fifteen pounds overweight, an amount I can live with because it takes so long to lose five pounds that the thought of all the time it would take to lose fifteen more puts me into a deep depression that only high caloric foods can relieve. Pass the cheesecake please. I will then eat whatever I want until I ACHIEVE 170 again and then start over. If my plan works I'm going to incorporate it into a diet book called The Yoyo Diet Plan with a subtitle of How to Lose and Gain Weight for Fun and Profit, because diet books sell like crazy (the profit part, gaining the weight back is the fun part) even if they are exactly that...crazy.
Wish me luck.
We lunched at a new restaurant, Tammy's, reputed to have the best hamburger in town. I believe the reputers are right. I split mine with Woowoo Charly who had ordered falafel which is pronounced fa...any way you feel like. I don't know what falafel is for certain, but it was served as ping pong ball sized fried things and came with a side order of hummis another thing I can't account for and pita bread for which I can. It's a Greek tostada right? It was all good.
RTGFKAR had a bacon cheeseburger that came garnished with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and onions and it's always entertaining to listen to him as he removes said garnish with the explanation that if he wanted a salad on his burger he'd order one. RTGFKAR won't eat uncooked vegetables.
The night before, Randy and Maryellen the Texas twosome who are back from cruising the world - okay a small section of it in the Caribbean - took us to dinner at Aura's, a place close to where we live, and there too we were served a fine repast. (It's repast now but it was represent then.)I had an espeghetti con pollo and everyone else had...other stuff. Again, all good.
With that in mind let me tell you how my diet is going. Okay it's not really a diet, it's a goal. No it's not really a goal either it's a plan. My plan. My plan is that every time I reach 170 pounds on our bathroom scale which is clearly unreliable because it always shows me as heavier than I really am, I sure of it, I will restrict my caloric intake until I lose five or more pounds. This will leave me at fifteen pounds overweight, an amount I can live with because it takes so long to lose five pounds that the thought of all the time it would take to lose fifteen more puts me into a deep depression that only high caloric foods can relieve. Pass the cheesecake please. I will then eat whatever I want until I ACHIEVE 170 again and then start over. If my plan works I'm going to incorporate it into a diet book called The Yoyo Diet Plan with a subtitle of How to Lose and Gain Weight for Fun and Profit, because diet books sell like crazy (the profit part, gaining the weight back is the fun part) even if they are exactly that...crazy.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Scenario # 3 and More
Scenario #3
Rockmont’s new stable hand was fresh from his second year at veterinary school and seemed to have the caring hands that all good animal people possess. Cynthia Rockmont, just eighteen today, watches as he gently examines the stable’s prize filly and imagines those hands on her own withers and loins. It has been a long summer for Cynthia, isolated out here on her grandparent’s bluegrass acreage where no one, until yesterday, was under fifty and the memory of her last high school caress was fading to nothingness. She longed to be held again, to smell the sweat and pheromones of a boy in heat, to feel his want and his need. She watches excitedly as the new vet-to-be brushes and grooms the sleek animal, gliding his hands over its haunches and hips and down the long slender legs. The horse responds to its gentle care and turns to nuzzle the man with its nose each time he comes near its graceful neck. Cynthia feels herself growing flush. There is an unexpected heat emanating from her groin, drifting over her breasts and onto her cheeks. She knows she is reddening. This is silly she thinks. Why my hesitation? Look at him. He’s beautiful. She suddenly realizes she is desiring a man for the very first time. Well sure there had been plenty of boys in school; after all, she had been prom queen both Junior and Senior years, and though they had been sweet, they were mostly clumsy and immature. They had kissed her ardently and been allowed to pet some, but not one of them had aroused Cynthia sufficiently to get any further. They had certainly never achieved in her the feeling she had now, a feeling so… so… so damned URGENT! She made up her mind right then and there to give herself a birthday present. One she could hold and touch and be touched by. Her grandparents were away at a horse auction and the house was empty. She calls to him from the veranda, using the nickname the other hands had given him. “Doc” she cries out. “ Doc! Come here. Quickly. I want you.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“He comes off a pick and takes the inbounds pass two steps in front of the half court line. There are two seconds on the clock. He turns, rises and shoots all in one motion. Goooooooood!
President Doc steps to the podium and says “Good evening my fellow earthlings. I come before you deeply honored that you have elected me the first world president. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed, I’ve got a lot of good shit planned.
“Doc dives to his left and snags the low, hot liner. He’s on his feet instantly and tags the runner from first who had gone too far thinking the ball was through the hole. Now if he can race to the bag before the runner headed to third can make it back…and he does! Unassisted triple play!
As Doc steps from the wings to accept his Nobel Prize for Literature he thinks back to the opus that had kicked off his brilliant run of critically acclaimed best sellers. Who would have guessed that “Ninjas in Love” would be such a winner?
The ball was a beautiful, twirling spiral right on line to the fleet wide receiver as he speeds into the end zone, but Doc has him covered tight as a too small sleeping bag. With perfect timing and at the last possible moment, Doc leaps in front of the would be hero and makes a one handed, finger tip interception. Now all he has to do is out run the dogs snapping at his heels to the far goal line. When he gets there he strolls in. He’s put a good ten yards between he and his pursuers, maybe more. We’re talking speed Baby, speed!
“I’m whispering here Ladies and Gentlemen, because I’m standing pretty close to Doc Walton as he prepares to hit his approach shot on the eighteenth. He needs a birdie here to win his seventh Masters and break the tie with Tiger Woods. He swings and the ball arches gracefully towards the green. It lands past the flagstick but backspins to the hole, stopping within a foot. Start etching that trophy gentlemen, this one’s in the bag.
Doc sits and tries to imagine himself as a real live hero. He’s pushing seventy, has creaky knees, a bad back and carries twenty pounds too many. He’s still got attitude though, and imagination. On top of that his wife and kids love him and his dogs think he’s swell. That’s hero enough for Doc.
Rockmont’s new stable hand was fresh from his second year at veterinary school and seemed to have the caring hands that all good animal people possess. Cynthia Rockmont, just eighteen today, watches as he gently examines the stable’s prize filly and imagines those hands on her own withers and loins. It has been a long summer for Cynthia, isolated out here on her grandparent’s bluegrass acreage where no one, until yesterday, was under fifty and the memory of her last high school caress was fading to nothingness. She longed to be held again, to smell the sweat and pheromones of a boy in heat, to feel his want and his need. She watches excitedly as the new vet-to-be brushes and grooms the sleek animal, gliding his hands over its haunches and hips and down the long slender legs. The horse responds to its gentle care and turns to nuzzle the man with its nose each time he comes near its graceful neck. Cynthia feels herself growing flush. There is an unexpected heat emanating from her groin, drifting over her breasts and onto her cheeks. She knows she is reddening. This is silly she thinks. Why my hesitation? Look at him. He’s beautiful. She suddenly realizes she is desiring a man for the very first time. Well sure there had been plenty of boys in school; after all, she had been prom queen both Junior and Senior years, and though they had been sweet, they were mostly clumsy and immature. They had kissed her ardently and been allowed to pet some, but not one of them had aroused Cynthia sufficiently to get any further. They had certainly never achieved in her the feeling she had now, a feeling so… so… so damned URGENT! She made up her mind right then and there to give herself a birthday present. One she could hold and touch and be touched by. Her grandparents were away at a horse auction and the house was empty. She calls to him from the veranda, using the nickname the other hands had given him. “Doc” she cries out. “ Doc! Come here. Quickly. I want you.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“He comes off a pick and takes the inbounds pass two steps in front of the half court line. There are two seconds on the clock. He turns, rises and shoots all in one motion. Goooooooood!
President Doc steps to the podium and says “Good evening my fellow earthlings. I come before you deeply honored that you have elected me the first world president. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed, I’ve got a lot of good shit planned.
“Doc dives to his left and snags the low, hot liner. He’s on his feet instantly and tags the runner from first who had gone too far thinking the ball was through the hole. Now if he can race to the bag before the runner headed to third can make it back…and he does! Unassisted triple play!
As Doc steps from the wings to accept his Nobel Prize for Literature he thinks back to the opus that had kicked off his brilliant run of critically acclaimed best sellers. Who would have guessed that “Ninjas in Love” would be such a winner?
The ball was a beautiful, twirling spiral right on line to the fleet wide receiver as he speeds into the end zone, but Doc has him covered tight as a too small sleeping bag. With perfect timing and at the last possible moment, Doc leaps in front of the would be hero and makes a one handed, finger tip interception. Now all he has to do is out run the dogs snapping at his heels to the far goal line. When he gets there he strolls in. He’s put a good ten yards between he and his pursuers, maybe more. We’re talking speed Baby, speed!
“I’m whispering here Ladies and Gentlemen, because I’m standing pretty close to Doc Walton as he prepares to hit his approach shot on the eighteenth. He needs a birdie here to win his seventh Masters and break the tie with Tiger Woods. He swings and the ball arches gracefully towards the green. It lands past the flagstick but backspins to the hole, stopping within a foot. Start etching that trophy gentlemen, this one’s in the bag.
Doc sits and tries to imagine himself as a real live hero. He’s pushing seventy, has creaky knees, a bad back and carries twenty pounds too many. He’s still got attitude though, and imagination. On top of that his wife and kids love him and his dogs think he’s swell. That’s hero enough for Doc.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Scenario # 2
She was all mine.
I had separated from my companions when my hunting dog, Leonard, had bolted into the woods in search of who-knows-what. He had never spooked a rabbit or bird in his life, so I doubted if the game was afoot. I trailed after him, listening to his bark grow more and more distant and finally drift off altogether. It was then I realized I was lost. I was deep into a Maine forest and night was closing in fast. I climbed a scraggily pine for a look about and saw nothing at first but other trees. I was set to climb back down when off to my left I spotted a thin column of smoke rising above the forest top. I estimated the distance to it at no more than two hundred yards. Twenty minutes later I was there, standing in front of small, well kept cabin.
A woman appeared in the doorway, looked at me for a moment and then asked if I wanted to come in and “take a load off.” I was stunned and nearly speechless. The woman was like no one I had ever seen outside of the movies. She was tall, real tall, over six feet for sure and when she turned to go back inside after my stuttered “yes”, I feasted my eyes on an ample butt that my friend Johnson would have characterized as “a lot of junk in the trunk.” The cabin was nothing more than a kitchen, a bedroom and a couple of chairs before a fireplace. I sat in one of those, turned so that I could watch her “fix” us a couple of drinks. The light where she stood was bright and I took note of all her features as she went about icing, pouring, mixing and stirring some sort of cocktail I wasn’t familiar with. She had a high forehead with a horizontal line running across it wide as a highway divider. Her hair was roughly the texture of a tired mop and it hung loosely down her back. It wasn’t like any color I had seen before, but that was just the first of her many surprises. She had a thin nose with large nostrils displaying some sort of weed in abundance. When her full, red lip parted - I could only see the one as her under-bite overlapped the top - a set of attractive yellow teeth were revealed. There was a nice gap between the front two that looked a lot like a tunnel entrance. On her chin was one of those cute Kirk Douglas dimples, only hers had something in it I couldn’t quite make out. It might have been a piercing piece, but then again it could have been a hood ornament or a raisin cluster. I was hoping to get a closer look. She had narrow shoulders, but made up for it with real wide hips. Her breasts poking out her biker tee shirt, one about an inch further than the other, looked plump and ripe and especially so as it was growing cooler and her nipples made dents in the fabric like roofing nails not quite hammered all the way in. I was growing increasingly aroused as I watched, but I didn’t get my hopes up until the goddess handed me my cocktail and said, “This is just for starters.” It was then I knew with a certainty that couldn’t be denied. She was all mine.
I had separated from my companions when my hunting dog, Leonard, had bolted into the woods in search of who-knows-what. He had never spooked a rabbit or bird in his life, so I doubted if the game was afoot. I trailed after him, listening to his bark grow more and more distant and finally drift off altogether. It was then I realized I was lost. I was deep into a Maine forest and night was closing in fast. I climbed a scraggily pine for a look about and saw nothing at first but other trees. I was set to climb back down when off to my left I spotted a thin column of smoke rising above the forest top. I estimated the distance to it at no more than two hundred yards. Twenty minutes later I was there, standing in front of small, well kept cabin.
A woman appeared in the doorway, looked at me for a moment and then asked if I wanted to come in and “take a load off.” I was stunned and nearly speechless. The woman was like no one I had ever seen outside of the movies. She was tall, real tall, over six feet for sure and when she turned to go back inside after my stuttered “yes”, I feasted my eyes on an ample butt that my friend Johnson would have characterized as “a lot of junk in the trunk.” The cabin was nothing more than a kitchen, a bedroom and a couple of chairs before a fireplace. I sat in one of those, turned so that I could watch her “fix” us a couple of drinks. The light where she stood was bright and I took note of all her features as she went about icing, pouring, mixing and stirring some sort of cocktail I wasn’t familiar with. She had a high forehead with a horizontal line running across it wide as a highway divider. Her hair was roughly the texture of a tired mop and it hung loosely down her back. It wasn’t like any color I had seen before, but that was just the first of her many surprises. She had a thin nose with large nostrils displaying some sort of weed in abundance. When her full, red lip parted - I could only see the one as her under-bite overlapped the top - a set of attractive yellow teeth were revealed. There was a nice gap between the front two that looked a lot like a tunnel entrance. On her chin was one of those cute Kirk Douglas dimples, only hers had something in it I couldn’t quite make out. It might have been a piercing piece, but then again it could have been a hood ornament or a raisin cluster. I was hoping to get a closer look. She had narrow shoulders, but made up for it with real wide hips. Her breasts poking out her biker tee shirt, one about an inch further than the other, looked plump and ripe and especially so as it was growing cooler and her nipples made dents in the fabric like roofing nails not quite hammered all the way in. I was growing increasingly aroused as I watched, but I didn’t get my hopes up until the goddess handed me my cocktail and said, “This is just for starters.” It was then I knew with a certainty that couldn’t be denied. She was all mine.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Scenario #1
Writer's group project for the month is to make ourselves the hero of a piece. To me this says fantasy, so I thought I would do several scenarios in a kind of Harlequin/Argosy style. Here is the first:
I was lost, out of fuel and going down fast. The fog was thick, but I could see what looked like land below and hoped for a stretch of beach to put down on. My engines were sputtering but they gave me just enough lift to keep the nose up. There it was! A fat patch of sand reaching out from the jungle and stretching down to the water, but not nearly enough to land on. I had one hope. If I could hit the surf flat enough I might be able to skip like a stone and make it to the beach.
Moments later my head was ringing and my eyes were giving me cartoon images, but I wasn’t quite out. I had skipped all right, nice as could be, but the sand was soft and I had plowed into it hard and fast. My seat belt had restrained me but something flying loose in the cockpit had given me a pretty good knock. I was trying to focus, regain my sight, but darkness was closing in fast, consciousness slipping away. There were people, natives I thought, outside the plane but I… but I… and then I was gone.
When I awoke I found myself bound and being carried on a kind of make shift stretcher. There were women all around me with wild eyes and hair, dressed, if you could call it that, in animal skins. Most were nearly naked, some fully so. They carried spears and bows and they looked at me with a kind of hunger in their eyes. They took me to a jungle encampment dotted with grass huts. I was propped against a pole somewhere close to the center. For a moment the women just stared at me, but then curiosity or something else I couldn’t quite read compelled them and they closed in and began to touch me. They were murmuring and whispering amongst them selves, sort of fighting for position when a clear voice rang out that startled us all. “Leave him” it said. “My rights as queen make him mine first.” I looked up to see a tall, dusky skinned beauty clutching some kind of silky cloth to her voluptuous body emerge from the nearest hut. She stood apart from the others for a moment as they backed away to clear a path. When she began to move towards me, slowly and sinuously, I could see that her eyes were the hungriest of all. As she neared, her cloth slipped from her shoulders and floated to the ground.
I was lost, out of fuel and going down fast. The fog was thick, but I could see what looked like land below and hoped for a stretch of beach to put down on. My engines were sputtering but they gave me just enough lift to keep the nose up. There it was! A fat patch of sand reaching out from the jungle and stretching down to the water, but not nearly enough to land on. I had one hope. If I could hit the surf flat enough I might be able to skip like a stone and make it to the beach.
Moments later my head was ringing and my eyes were giving me cartoon images, but I wasn’t quite out. I had skipped all right, nice as could be, but the sand was soft and I had plowed into it hard and fast. My seat belt had restrained me but something flying loose in the cockpit had given me a pretty good knock. I was trying to focus, regain my sight, but darkness was closing in fast, consciousness slipping away. There were people, natives I thought, outside the plane but I… but I… and then I was gone.
When I awoke I found myself bound and being carried on a kind of make shift stretcher. There were women all around me with wild eyes and hair, dressed, if you could call it that, in animal skins. Most were nearly naked, some fully so. They carried spears and bows and they looked at me with a kind of hunger in their eyes. They took me to a jungle encampment dotted with grass huts. I was propped against a pole somewhere close to the center. For a moment the women just stared at me, but then curiosity or something else I couldn’t quite read compelled them and they closed in and began to touch me. They were murmuring and whispering amongst them selves, sort of fighting for position when a clear voice rang out that startled us all. “Leave him” it said. “My rights as queen make him mine first.” I looked up to see a tall, dusky skinned beauty clutching some kind of silky cloth to her voluptuous body emerge from the nearest hut. She stood apart from the others for a moment as they backed away to clear a path. When she began to move towards me, slowly and sinuously, I could see that her eyes were the hungriest of all. As she neared, her cloth slipped from her shoulders and floated to the ground.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Monsooner or Later
The rain, which had lessened to a trickle, (trickle is a fun word to say) returned in force yesterday afternoon, continued through the night and is with us still this A.M. Swell.
I bundled up and sat out on the patio anoche, (last night), to watch the rain fall with cigar and whiskey close at hand. RTGFKAR and Woowoo Charly were hunkered down in the living room watching CNN and catching up on the doings in the world without rain. Their show was probably better than mine. Mine was akin to watching a landscape painting; nothing really changed from moment to moment. My goal, if I had thought about it and decided on one, was to be present in the weather while letting my stogie and whiskey do the relaxation magic they do, but I wasn't aware of that end as I puffed and sipped and stared mostly into inner space. I don't really do goals anyway. Focusing on the end result of any activity causes me to miss too much of the process where I find the real fun lies.
The weather event we are experiencing has affected me less than others as I am the self proclaimed "last of the great indoorsmen" anyway and much of what I like to do takes place under roof. RTGFKAR is the most affected in our household as his usual, read non rainy, days are spent outdoors landscaping, gardening, building and such. Woowoo Charly, like me, misses golf and is somewhat emotionally affected by the lack of sunshine. We are all cope-ing, though anxious for rain's end.
So there I was on the patio savoring my Crown Royal and blowing smoke into the mist. My thoughts were flying by like fast moving clouds and I only stopped to gaze at a few of them. One of them had to do with the book I am reading in which there are tribes called Quartheen and Dothraki among others. I find those to be wonderful words and there are many more like them in books by George R.R. Martin. I also chuckled (another fun word to say) at Charly's discovery of the ghost on our pup Mattie's chest. I had difficulty photographing it because she wouldn't hold still, but the image is a perfect little Casper. From time to time Charly would join me on the patio for a smoke of her own and we would have short conversations about the pundits punditing on CNN or whatever was in my head at the moment, one time sports, another, the obvious, weather. Throughout most of my sit-out I had pups on my lap curled about each other sleeping. There is something wonderful about stroking their warm fur and feeling their gentle breathing and tiny heartbeats.
Sure there is rain, but life goes on and it is still good. Hope yours is too.
I bundled up and sat out on the patio anoche, (last night), to watch the rain fall with cigar and whiskey close at hand. RTGFKAR and Woowoo Charly were hunkered down in the living room watching CNN and catching up on the doings in the world without rain. Their show was probably better than mine. Mine was akin to watching a landscape painting; nothing really changed from moment to moment. My goal, if I had thought about it and decided on one, was to be present in the weather while letting my stogie and whiskey do the relaxation magic they do, but I wasn't aware of that end as I puffed and sipped and stared mostly into inner space. I don't really do goals anyway. Focusing on the end result of any activity causes me to miss too much of the process where I find the real fun lies.
The weather event we are experiencing has affected me less than others as I am the self proclaimed "last of the great indoorsmen" anyway and much of what I like to do takes place under roof. RTGFKAR is the most affected in our household as his usual, read non rainy, days are spent outdoors landscaping, gardening, building and such. Woowoo Charly, like me, misses golf and is somewhat emotionally affected by the lack of sunshine. We are all cope-ing, though anxious for rain's end.
So there I was on the patio savoring my Crown Royal and blowing smoke into the mist. My thoughts were flying by like fast moving clouds and I only stopped to gaze at a few of them. One of them had to do with the book I am reading in which there are tribes called Quartheen and Dothraki among others. I find those to be wonderful words and there are many more like them in books by George R.R. Martin. I also chuckled (another fun word to say) at Charly's discovery of the ghost on our pup Mattie's chest. I had difficulty photographing it because she wouldn't hold still, but the image is a perfect little Casper. From time to time Charly would join me on the patio for a smoke of her own and we would have short conversations about the pundits punditing on CNN or whatever was in my head at the moment, one time sports, another, the obvious, weather. Throughout most of my sit-out I had pups on my lap curled about each other sleeping. There is something wonderful about stroking their warm fur and feeling their gentle breathing and tiny heartbeats.
Sure there is rain, but life goes on and it is still good. Hope yours is too.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Thoughts, More or Less
I just polished off a piece of RTGFKAR's homemade banana bread and am reminded of the the food conversion scale for elderly humans. That one six to eight ounce piece of banana bread can convert into four pounds of stomach fat is a fair example of how the scale works. The canine conversion scale functions somewhat differently. Feed our puppies the same piece of banana bread and it will morph into two pounds of poop. Both scales defy logic and reason but their truth is unquestioned.
I was hoping to write without mentioning the weather but a phenomena exists at the moment that calls for comment. I sit facing a corner in my office. There is a window to my left that looks out to the southwest and a window to my right that does the same to the northwest. To my left there is a clear blue sky spotted with puffy white clouds. To my right there is gray. Serious gray. Ominous gray. It is as if I were looking out onto two different worlds. It's weird I tell ya Pappy, weird.
RTGFKAR and I are off to Lovely and Talented Daveed later today to stock up on provisions in preparation for our next weather siege; one we hope will include sunshine. Woowoo Charly will remain en casa to puppy sit. Last night while watching Woowoo Chuck play tug-o-war with one of the pups, RTGFKAR and I pointed out how brave the ten pound dog was to take on an opponent who weighed three or four times as much as it did.
The sky is brightening to my right, a hopeful sign.
I don't know about you but I enjoy routine. That is, a schedule of activities I have set for myself, not one imposed on me. I allot time for everything I want to do and by applying self-discipline and sticking to the schedule, I poco a poco make progress in all my tasks. When "real" life intrudes as it does on such a regular basis that I suspect it has its own agenda, it knocks the hell out of my routine and I find it difficult to get back to my good (Good? I think they're good.) habits. When I eventually do return to my artificial, read "not real" but enjoyable grind, time has been lost and it cannot be found. I know I've looked everywhere. Oh well, not to worry, cosas de la vida, c'est la vie, que sera sera and any expression in any language that I can interpret to mean...alrighty then!
I was hoping to write without mentioning the weather but a phenomena exists at the moment that calls for comment. I sit facing a corner in my office. There is a window to my left that looks out to the southwest and a window to my right that does the same to the northwest. To my left there is a clear blue sky spotted with puffy white clouds. To my right there is gray. Serious gray. Ominous gray. It is as if I were looking out onto two different worlds. It's weird I tell ya Pappy, weird.
RTGFKAR and I are off to Lovely and Talented Daveed later today to stock up on provisions in preparation for our next weather siege; one we hope will include sunshine. Woowoo Charly will remain en casa to puppy sit. Last night while watching Woowoo Chuck play tug-o-war with one of the pups, RTGFKAR and I pointed out how brave the ten pound dog was to take on an opponent who weighed three or four times as much as it did.
The sky is brightening to my right, a hopeful sign.
I don't know about you but I enjoy routine. That is, a schedule of activities I have set for myself, not one imposed on me. I allot time for everything I want to do and by applying self-discipline and sticking to the schedule, I poco a poco make progress in all my tasks. When "real" life intrudes as it does on such a regular basis that I suspect it has its own agenda, it knocks the hell out of my routine and I find it difficult to get back to my good (Good? I think they're good.) habits. When I eventually do return to my artificial, read "not real" but enjoyable grind, time has been lost and it cannot be found. I know I've looked everywhere. Oh well, not to worry, cosas de la vida, c'est la vie, que sera sera and any expression in any language that I can interpret to mean...alrighty then!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
More of the Same
The Rains of Ranchipur took a Fair Wind to Java where it hooked a ride East of Eden on The Road to Bali and finally fell on, you guessed it, good old Boquete giving us thirteen days that included all or parts of a downpour. It is raining as I write this morning, so day fourteen is now in the Monkeymind Book of Records an unofficial compilation of anything that occurs to me. The record for uppours, for instance, remains at zero.
Yesterday's rain, having a sadistic sense of humor, waited until RTGFKAR and I picked and shoveled and rocked the the ruts on our servidumbre just enough to allow me to barely - three attempts were necessary - drive my car to our house. After the afternoon deluge, driving FROM the house may now be problematical if by problematical I mean crazy to attempt. Two days of dryness or one day of uppour will be required to sufficiently firm up the road's mud base for a run the gauntlet ride to what now seems like the far away pavement. Ah well, it can't rain forever, can it?
While working on the servidumbre, RTGFKAR and I had to step aside and allow a four wheeled drive something big pick-up truck to pass easily over the wreckage of a road and I thought wistfully back to the Toyota Tundra we had sold before departing The States. It too would have made the trip up the servidumbre a simple four wheel for fun journey. Our little Kia Sportage, a car that would almost fit in the back of a pick-up, has neither the weight nor the clearance to make the trip anything less than a challenge. On the other hand, I thought wistlessly, the 30 miles per gallon of diesel fuel - thirty to forty cents a gallon cheaper than gas - that I get with the Kia has given me a savings over the life of the car of roughly, more or less, quite a bit and by quite a bit I mean a lot. Factor in that while it is parked here at the house unable to drive and you will note that we are saving even more. (I like to look on the bright side even when I have to make it up.)
The Broncos play the Jets today and I am hoping it will be televised here. The Jets and their quarterback whose name should be pronounced five-ray (Say five like a southerner) but isn't, are media darlings and their games are aired regularly. Cross your fingers for me.
Yesterday's rain, having a sadistic sense of humor, waited until RTGFKAR and I picked and shoveled and rocked the the ruts on our servidumbre just enough to allow me to barely - three attempts were necessary - drive my car to our house. After the afternoon deluge, driving FROM the house may now be problematical if by problematical I mean crazy to attempt. Two days of dryness or one day of uppour will be required to sufficiently firm up the road's mud base for a run the gauntlet ride to what now seems like the far away pavement. Ah well, it can't rain forever, can it?
While working on the servidumbre, RTGFKAR and I had to step aside and allow a four wheeled drive something big pick-up truck to pass easily over the wreckage of a road and I thought wistfully back to the Toyota Tundra we had sold before departing The States. It too would have made the trip up the servidumbre a simple four wheel for fun journey. Our little Kia Sportage, a car that would almost fit in the back of a pick-up, has neither the weight nor the clearance to make the trip anything less than a challenge. On the other hand, I thought wistlessly, the 30 miles per gallon of diesel fuel - thirty to forty cents a gallon cheaper than gas - that I get with the Kia has given me a savings over the life of the car of roughly, more or less, quite a bit and by quite a bit I mean a lot. Factor in that while it is parked here at the house unable to drive and you will note that we are saving even more. (I like to look on the bright side even when I have to make it up.)
The Broncos play the Jets today and I am hoping it will be televised here. The Jets and their quarterback whose name should be pronounced five-ray (Say five like a southerner) but isn't, are media darlings and their games are aired regularly. Cross your fingers for me.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
What Rain?
I've lost momentum. Can't write without Mo. Need Mo to keep the Flo. Have to force it for a awhile. Shove through the dead zone. Find the light. Write.
I love the keyboard on our new computer. I hit the spacebar with my index finger when I type and our old laptop keyboard required a pounding to make the space. I was continually going back and separating words. (And you thought you had it rough. See the kind of problems I have to deal with.)
Alrighty then. So, on the twelfth day of Rainmas, it didn't. Well not so far anyway. Of course it's not even eight yet, but hell, it's rain free afuera and that's a novelty. If it remains so, RTGFKAR and I will take pick and shovel to our servidumbre (access road) and try to make it drivable again. We have stacks of trash that need to be removed from the premises before they overwhelm us. ("Boquete trio found smothered in household garbage. Puppies chew their way to safety.")
My car has been parked at B and L's for most of the weather siege. Whenever we needed something from town I would walk there,(to B and L's) drive across the mountain, make the purchase, return, park the car and lug whatever I had up the muddy, rocky, slippery slope of a trail. The other day I brought back a propane tank - our water is heated by propane - that weighs, I don't know, maybe fifty or sixty pounds. I drove it to the trail head where I met RTGFKAR. We took turns walking it up the trail until we reached RTGFKAR's car which was parked at the bottom of the concrete carilles that lead to our house. RTGF drove it from there. We had done the same with bags of groceries the day before. Both times were made more annoying by the ceaseless rain. No matter though, we are rugged guys used to the rigors of our primitive lives. Especially me. I use a strict routine of chain smoking cigars, while downing cocktails to keep me fit and ready for any unexpected hardship.
After the road work there will be football. It is "Rivalry Week" for the NCAA (Naughty Collegiate Amos and Andys)and a few of the games promise to be competitive and entertaining. The Gators vs. Seminoles is always a good one featuring as it does actual alligator/indian tussles in the parking lot beforehand. I'll put my gameface on for that show. My gameface is the one with popcorn and beer being shoved into it at regular intervals.
Right now, though, it is still not raining so I better put on my work shoes. I don't have a workface.
I love the keyboard on our new computer. I hit the spacebar with my index finger when I type and our old laptop keyboard required a pounding to make the space. I was continually going back and separating words. (And you thought you had it rough. See the kind of problems I have to deal with.)
Alrighty then. So, on the twelfth day of Rainmas, it didn't. Well not so far anyway. Of course it's not even eight yet, but hell, it's rain free afuera and that's a novelty. If it remains so, RTGFKAR and I will take pick and shovel to our servidumbre (access road) and try to make it drivable again. We have stacks of trash that need to be removed from the premises before they overwhelm us. ("Boquete trio found smothered in household garbage. Puppies chew their way to safety.")
My car has been parked at B and L's for most of the weather siege. Whenever we needed something from town I would walk there,(to B and L's) drive across the mountain, make the purchase, return, park the car and lug whatever I had up the muddy, rocky, slippery slope of a trail. The other day I brought back a propane tank - our water is heated by propane - that weighs, I don't know, maybe fifty or sixty pounds. I drove it to the trail head where I met RTGFKAR. We took turns walking it up the trail until we reached RTGFKAR's car which was parked at the bottom of the concrete carilles that lead to our house. RTGF drove it from there. We had done the same with bags of groceries the day before. Both times were made more annoying by the ceaseless rain. No matter though, we are rugged guys used to the rigors of our primitive lives. Especially me. I use a strict routine of chain smoking cigars, while downing cocktails to keep me fit and ready for any unexpected hardship.
After the road work there will be football. It is "Rivalry Week" for the NCAA (Naughty Collegiate Amos and Andys)and a few of the games promise to be competitive and entertaining. The Gators vs. Seminoles is always a good one featuring as it does actual alligator/indian tussles in the parking lot beforehand. I'll put my gameface on for that show. My gameface is the one with popcorn and beer being shoved into it at regular intervals.
Right now, though, it is still not raining so I better put on my work shoes. I don't have a workface.
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