Scotto's Wall Scrawls

Hours old - 499,686

scottobear — Tue, 03 Feb 2026 20:12:03 GMT

He’s not the only one responsible for the mess we’re in. History never works that cleanly. But he is the face of it. The mascot. The loud, smirking permission slip for cruelty, ignorance, and the kind of shamelessness that used to at least pretend it knew better.

What he did and continues to do, what he normalized and continues to normalize, didn’t end with him. That’s the part that keeps me awake. He didn’t invent the ugliness, but he flung the doors wide open and invited it to settle in, to get comfortable, to stop whispering and start shouting. Things people once felt embarrassed to say out loud are now worn like badges. Fear became a blatant political tool. Lies became a strategy. Decency became less than optional, a disadvantage.

And the damage isn’t just policy or headlines. It seeped into families, workplaces, friendships. It taught people that empathy is weakness and that winning matters more than truth. It tells the cruel they are righteous and the ignorant they are experts. It makes exhaustion the background noise of daily life.

Long after he’s gone, long after the name fades from yard signs and news chyrons, we’ll still be dealing with the consequences. Re-teaching basic facts. Re-building trust. Reminding each other that being human requires effort, restraint, and care.

I don’t believe one man can destroy everything. But I do believe one man can accelerate the rot, can legitimize the worst impulses of millions, can make things harder for everyone who still wants to live with some measure of kindness and sanity.

That’s the inheritance we’ll be left with. Not just what he does, but what he makes acceptable. And undoing that will take longer than any term, longer than any lifetime headline.

I look forward to a day we don’t see his vulgar influence. That will be a day for celebrating.

scottobear — Tue, 03 Feb 2026 20:06:43 GMT

First time outside in a week and the world felt louder than I remembered. Snow still everywhere, piled and packed and sparkling under a painfully blue sky. I had cabin fever bad enough that even just a little pop outside felt like a field trip.

We grabbed breakfast bagels and instead of heading straight home, parked and let the car idle. The food was still warm in my hands, steam fighting the cold, and the mountains just sat there in the distance like they always do, patient and unconcerned. There is something grounding about eating quietly while looking at them, like they are reminding you that time keeps moving even when you have been snowed in and stuck inside your own head.

The parking lot was a mess of plowed snow and sculpted ice. Big chunks tossed aside by machines, frozen into accidental monuments. It was beautiful in that blunt, unpolished way winter does best. Clean but not gentle. (Not even that clean if you look at the parking lots and streets
)

One building had a massive icicle hanging off the roof, long and sharp and honestly a little terrifying. The kind of thing that makes you instinctively drive faster away from it. A reminder that winter does not care about liability or signage. It just hangs there, waiting, daring gravity to do its thing.

We sat longer than planned, hands warming around breakfast, watching sunlight bounce off snow and windows. After a week inside, it felt good just to exist out there again. No agenda, no rush, just bagels, mountains, and the quiet understanding that the world was still here, icy and dangerous and beautiful, waiting for us to step back into it.

#Roanokeva #winterweather #icicle

570000075600

scottobear — Tue, 03 Feb 2026 20:04:15 GMT

It’s my birthday today, which always lands a little quieter than the calendar suggests. No balloons popping, no trumpet fanfare, just that low hum of awareness that the day is marked, that the year turned another careful click forward. I woke up still me, still here, which feels increasingly like the real gift. Birthdays at this age are not about becoming something new so much as taking inventory of what has remained stubbornly intact and what has gently fallen away.

There is something familiar about sitting with the impulse to narrate a life not because it is spectacular, but because it is happening. The weather outside doing what weather does, the streets holding their shape, the sense that time keeps moving whether I applaud it or not. Paying attention feels like the point. Noticing how survival can look boring from the outside, but feels quietly heroic from inside your own bones.

I do not feel older so much as more textured. More aware of the cost of things. More appreciative of moments that do not demand performance. If today is a celebration, it is a modest one. Still breathing. Still noticing. Still capable of warmth and irritation and wonder in roughly equal measure. Another year survived. Another page added. I am glad I am still writing it down.

Day 20,799 big round numbers

scottobear — Tue, 13 Jan 2026 17:06:43 GMT

I am rapidly approaching hour 500,000.

34.25 days from now, as of this writing.

Am I celebrating? I don't know. Let's see if I make it that long, first.

The idea of approaching 500,000 hours old lands differently than birthdays ever did. Years are abstract. Hours are intimate. Hours are what you actually live inside.

Five hundred thousand hours means there have been half a million chances to notice something or miss it entirely. Half a million opportunities to be kind, distracted, generous, petty, awake, asleep, or somewhere in between. It is a number large enough to feel mythic, but specific enough to feel accusatory.

Most of those hours were not dramatic. They were ordinary. Folding laundry. Waiting for software to update. Sitting in traffic, convinced you were late for something that now barely exists in memory. That is the uncomfortable truth of time: it is mostly made of beige moments. And yet those are the hours that add up. Those are the ones doing the real work.

Approaching 500,000 hours does not feel like running out of time so much as finally understanding the exchange rate. Hours turn into habits. Habits turn into days that feel familiar. Familiar days turn into a life that seems to have happened very quickly when you look back at it all at once.

There is a quiet relief in realizing how many hours survived you. The bad ones passed. The unbearable ones did not last forever. Even the best ones were temporary, which somehow makes them better instead of worse. Time takes everything, but it also carries you through things you could not have crossed on your own.

Five hundred thousand hours is not a trophy. It is not an achievement. It is evidence. Evidence that you stayed. That you endured boredom and heartbreak and repetition and still kept showing up for the next hour, and the next.

If there is anything to do with the hours ahead, it is probably this: notice them a little more often. Spend fewer of them pretending there will always be more. And forgive yourself for the ones you wasted, because wasting time is one of the most human ways to prove you were alive at all.

Maybe I will become a lich. Unlikely.

scottobear — Sat, 10 Jan 2026 02:29:37 GMT

The Death of Renee Nicole Good: Why ICE is a Failed Experiment That Must End

The killing of Renee Nicole Good (often cited as Rose Nicole Good) on January 7, 2026, has become a flashpoint in the ongoing debate over the necessity and conduct of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). For critics, her death is not an isolated tragedy but a systemic symptom of an agency that has become hyper-militarized, unaccountable, and fundamentally flawed.

The Minneapolis Shooting: A Catalyst for Outcry

On a snowy Wednesday morning in Minneapolis, Renee Nicole Good—a 37-year-old U.S. citizen and mother of three—was shot and killed by an ICE agent. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) quickly characterized the incident as an act of self-defense, alleging that Good "weaponized her vehicle" against agents.

However, eyewitness accounts and bystander videos paint a different picture: one of a legal observer and community member caught in the middle of a high-tension "surge" operation. Local leaders, including the Minneapolis Mayor, have described the shooting as reckless, noting that Good had no criminal record and was simply driving in her own neighborhood.

The immediate withdrawal of the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension from the investigation—citing federal restrictions on access to evidence—has only deepened the perception that ICE operates within a vacuum of accountability.

A Pattern of Lethal Failure

The death of Renee Nicole Good is viewed by many as the "tip of the spear" of a broader institutional collapse. Critics argue that ICE’s current structure is inherently prone to tragedy for several reasons:

The Deadliest Year on Record: The year 2025 was the deadliest for ICE since 2004, with 32 confirmed deaths in custody. This spike in mortality coincides with a "hyper-militarized" approach to enforcement and a massive surge in the detained population.

Systematic Medical Neglect: Investigations by the U.S. Senate and human rights organizations have uncovered harrowing evidence of neglect. A 2024 report by the ACLU and Physicians for Human Rights found that 95% of deaths in ICE detention were preventable had adequate medical care been provided.

Lack of Oversight and Impunity: ICE’s oversight mechanisms are often described as "internal and toothless." By utilizing private, for-profit contractors for 90% of its detention capacity, the agency creates a layer of separation that complicates legal accountability.

Sources and Linkable Citations

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scottobear — Tue, 06 Jan 2026 03:47:28 GMT

https://svonberg.org/2026/01/05/20791-evening-post-book-club/

Mother in law just now, fresh from book club, carrying that satisfied glow that suggests something important has just happened.

“I read a book about two months ago, and it deeply affected me.”

This is how myths begin.

“Awesome,” I say. “What was it called?”

“I don’t remember.”

Naturally.
So I adjust course.

“What was it about?”

“I forget.”

Okay, fair enough. Books are slippery creatures. I try again.

“What about it affected you most? A character, a plot point?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, serenely. “But it was excellent.”

At this point the book has achieved a kind of Platonic perfection. It exists only as Impact.

“How did it affect you?” I ask, carefully.

“I don’t know,” she says, without irony. “But it was really life and outlook changing.”

I nod, because this is clearly not a problem that can be solved with follow up questions.

“I’m glad you got something out of it,” I say, and I mean it.

“I’d like to read it again,” she continues. “Can you help me find it?”

“Sure,” I say. “What criteria should I use to search for it?”

She looks at me kindly, the way one looks at a child asking about taxes.

“I don’t know. You’re the tech guy.”

So I do what tech guys do. I pull up her tablet and present evidence.

“Here are all the books you’ve read in the last three months. Do any of these ring a bell?”

She reads about four books a week, give or take. There are roughly thirty of them staring back at her.

She scans the list.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”

“Well,” I say, doing some quick math in my head, “now you have thirty books to reread and find out.”

Here is the thing. Her memory outside of books is a steel trap. Names, dates, conversations from decades ago, all locked in and retrievable on demand. But the moment she finishes a book, its contents are immediately flushed like a temporary file. Characters vanish. Plots dissolve. Titles evaporate.

All that remains is the emotional aftertaste and the firm conviction that it was excellent.

Some people collect books. Some people collect knowledge. She collects the feeling of having been changed, again and again, by stories she can no longer name.

Honestly, that might be the most literary approach of all.

scottobear — Thu, 25 Dec 2025 05:24:39 GMT

Christmas always shows up whether we are ready or not.

It slides in quietly some years, loudly in others, but it always arrives carrying the same question. What do we give, and what do we wish for the people around us.

This year feels like one of those long uphill winters. The kind where everyone seems a little more tired, a little more guarded, and a little more unsure of what comes next. And yet, here we are again. Lights in windows. Wrapping paper half torn. Coffee gone cold because someone stopped mid sip to laugh at something small.

I keep thinking about good people this season.

Not perfect people. Not loud people. Just good ones.

The ones who keep showing up even when no one is watching. The ones who help without posting about it. The ones who listen more than they speak. The ones who carry quiet burdens and still make room for others.

Those people deserve good things.

They deserve mornings that feel lighter. News that lands gently instead of hard. Unexpected kindness that finds them when they are not looking for it. They deserve rest without guilt and joy without explanation.

Christmas, at its best, reminds us that hope does not need to be complicated. Sometimes it looks like a simple sled ride across cold mountains. Sometimes it looks like color cutting through winter gray. Sometimes it is just the decision to wish well for someone else without needing anything back.

So this is my Christmas wish.

May good things find good people this year.

May effort be met with appreciation. May patience be rewarded with peace. May the kindness you put into the world circle back to you in ways you do not expect but deeply need.

If you are carrying a lot right now, I hope Christmas gives you permission to set it down for a moment. If you are celebrating, I hope it feels full and real and shared. And if you are somewhere in between, that strange quiet middle, I hope you know that counts too.

Christmas does not ask us to be perfect. It just asks us to be present.

Here is to warmth, to color in the cold, and to believing that good people still matter.

Merry Christmas.

20,769

scottobear — Sun, 14 Dec 2025 00:33:35 GMT

Today I learned that gold is now far more valuable than platinum. So much for those old d&d exchange rates. (Back when 1 platinum = 10 gold )

1 Platinum (pp) = 10 Gold (gp) = 20 Electrum (ep) = 100 Silver (sp) = 1,000 Copper (cp), with standard ratios like 1 gp = 10 sp, 2 ep, 100 cp.

I enter whamhalla early

scottobear — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 20:57:55 GMT

Mrs and I heard the unholy chords at 11:55am, Dec 1, 2025 .

Holiday shopping, peeking at little free galleries

scottobear — Sun, 30 Nov 2025 20:29:23 GMT

Yellow leafs

scottobear — Sat, 29 Nov 2025 19:10:10 GMT

reality is out of touch with me, actually. driving the mrs crazy doing syney greenstreet and peter lorre doing christmas jokes. peter lorre and sidney greenstreet celebrating christmas at warner br…

svonberg.org

Day 20,752 - thanksgiving 2025 pre dinner

scottobear — Sat, 29 Nov 2025 19:08:20 GMT

Day 20,750

scottobear — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 18:44:14 GMT

Out on the corner today, just past the hedges by the Firehouse Subs and the bank with the cold brick face, I had my first sighting of a Santa’s helper this season. Not the mall kind, not the glossy catalog kind, but the roadside variety, wind tousling the beard, boots planted on the curb like deep roots. A flash of red against the winter gray, waving at traffic as if every passing car needed a little nudge toward cheer.

His ride was propped beside him, a bright red bike decked out with its own tiny Santa hats, white beard beard and a flag fluttering like it had holiday opinions. I liked that. The whole scene felt like catching a glimpse of a migrating bird you only see once a year. Not quite Santa proper, but a field agent of joy, reporting in from across the median strip.

The Blue Ridge behind him was a smoky blur, trees bare, sky the color of unlit snow. Some folks in their cars probably thought they were just passing a bit of holiday whimsy. Me? I felt like I’d stumbled on the first sign that the season had officially woken up.

A small moment, waving arms and all, but enough to shift the day a little sideways into wonder.

#santaclaus #santashelper #randomjoy #roanokeva #tistheseason🎄

day 20,750

out on the corner today, just past the hedges by the firehouse subs and the bank with the cold brick face, i had my first sighting of a santa’s helper this season. not the mall kind, not the glossy…

svonberg.org

Playing catch up

scottobear — Mon, 24 Nov 2025 21:09:08 GMT

introduce yourself with four starships.

bluesky trend translated to my blog the image shows the heart of gold starship from the 2005 film adaptation of the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy. the ship is the first to use the revoluti…

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nubbin tail mouse montage

visited nov 23 2025

svonberg.org

revised and reskinned martian chess

visit the post for more.

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birds and cricket

the backyard camera picked up a little night shift worker again. a single cricket wandered into the glow like it had stepped onto a tiny stage. it paused right in front of the lens, antennae sweepi…

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skunk and mouse

we had a lovely skunk and an *active* little mouse with a very long tail last night. #backyardzoo #roanokeva #skunk #mouse

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dreams of mars

inspired by slakingfool (

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martian chess 2 to 6 players

visit the post for more.

svonberg.org

martian chess ai / atrophy

i have updated the game to include the 27-move rule (the “atrophy” rule). changes implementednew game rule: added a counter for movessincecapture. if it reaches 27, the game ends immedi…

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pente experiment

mari lwyd

scottobear — Fri, 21 Nov 2025 18:09:56 GMT

People buying elf on the shelf surveillance capitalism for your children meanwhile the welsh have a folk tradition of getting bullied by a horse skeleton until you share resources.

svonberg.org

https://svonberg.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/martainchessstalemateai.html

I coded a gift for folks that want to play a simple boardgame (or want to watch it play itself)

Still in beta, but i think it is bug free. You can save the page locally, and play on your browser without needing internet, or having to grab any other files

How to Play

Objective: Score the most points by capturing pieces.

Movement:
Pawn (Small – 1 pt): Moves 1 step diagonally.

Drone (Medium – 2 pts): Moves 1 or 2 steps orthogonally (cannot jump).

Queen (Large – 3 pts): Moves any distance orthogonally or diagonally (cannot jump).

Ownership (Crucial Rule): Color is determined by location. Pieces on the left (Red zone) belong to Player 1. Pieces on the right (Blue zone) belong to Player 2/CPU.

The Canal: If you move a piece from your zone to the opponent’s zone, it immediately changes color and becomes theirs (unless you used it to capture, in which case you remove the captured piece and score points).

Winning: The game ends when a player has no pieces remaining in their territory, or if no pieces have been captured for 27 moves. High score wins.

Today

scottobear — Thu, 20 Nov 2025 02:59:33 GMT

Deer, pigs and dice

november 19, 2025 – the scotto grotto (org)

svonberg.org

Deer visitor

scottobear — Thu, 20 Nov 2025 02:55:30 GMT

Just one deer on the backyard camera last night, stepping into frame like it wasn’t sure if it was allowed to be there. It came up to the concrete slab out back, gave everything a long, thoughtful once-over, ears perked and tail flicking like Morse code to the darkness.

It lingered just long enough to think about taking another step… then changed its mind and drifted away, soft as breath, back into the shadows. A tiny moment, but it feels like a small blessing every time the wild edges of the world brush up against the house.

Nice to have that little heartbeat of nature checking in before dawn.

#deer #backyardzoo #roanokeva

deer visit

just one deer on the backyard camera last night, stepping into frame like it wasn’t sure if it was allowed to be there. it came up to the concrete slab out back, gave everything a long, thoughtful …

svonberg.org

Quiet day

scottobear — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 00:20:01 GMT

Started the morning with a gentle shuffle out the door to the Salem YMCA. The pool was quiet, the kind of soft blue that invites you in without a word. Drifted through a few laps, got stretches in, letting the water unkink the knots and smooth out the leftover sleep. Afterward, did a little time on the machines, enough to get the muscles humming and the blood warmed up. The sort of modest workout that feels like a small high five from the universe. A 90⁰F pool on a 40⁰F morning feels really good on the muscles.

Came home to the comforting rhythm of chores. Laundry tumbling in the background like a polite storm. In the kitchen, I set up a mini burrito workshop, this one powered by farmers market bounty and a little kitchen alchemy. Spring mix for a bit of crunch and green life, cheese for comfort, and “meat” made with Impossible burger cooked up with black beans and corn. A dollop of sour cream, a drizzle of taco sauce, then rolled each one up into tidy parcels. A couple of plates of them, each smelling like a promise of a full belly, and maybe a scene from Blazing Saddles later tonight.

The cat arrived right on cue, her expression a blend of entitlement and curiosity. To ease her very real fear of missing out, she received a single dignified fingerprint of sour cream. Peace restored.

Plenty of burrito fixins left for tomorrow’s dinner, which feels like a small gift sent forward in time. The house is quiet now, laundry done, kitchen warm, day stitched together with simple goodness.

#roanokeva #quietday #salemymca #burritolife #catfomo

Pearl helping out

day 20,743

pearl “helpin” started the morning with a gentle shuffle out the door to the salem ymca. the pool was quiet, the kind of soft blue that invites you in without a word. drifted through a …

svonberg.org

scottobear — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 05:07:10 GMT

Cold morning light filtering in through the blinds today, the kind that makes the house feel like a quiet aquarium. I stayed in for most of it, body reminding me in its own grumbly language to take things slow. Sciatica humming along the back of my leg like an old electric wire, a collection of assorted aches chiming in just to form a chorus. Not the worst day, but not one for wandering far, either. The universe sometimes taps you on the shoulder and says stay close to home, friend, and listen.

So I did. Put the kettle on, shuffled from room to room like a hermit crab deciding which shell felt right. Every tiny movement a negotiation with muscles that have strong opinions. The cat was pleased with this, taking my enforced stillness as an invitation to supervise from nearby cushions. A slow day is a lap day, in her view.

Outside, the wind rattled the last stubborn leaves still hanging on, the trees looking a little more winter-boned with each passing hour. Clouds moved like old ships across the sky, and I watched them through the window instead of being under them. There’s a comfort in that. Some days the world can be observed from behind glass.

I read a little. I napped a little. I stretched the sciatic nerve in careful truce-seeking motions. It didn’t stop complaining, but it calmed down enough to let me breathe more easily. Pain has a way of shrinking the map of your day, but it also sharpens your attention to the small good things. Warm blankets. Hot tea. A favorite song drifting through the room like slow fog.

Not every day needs to be an adventure. Some are quieter, gentler, lived in short steps and soft corners. Today was one of those, and somehow that feels okay.

Tags: #dailyobservations #sciatica #cozyhermitday #stayingin #smallcomforts

20,740

scottobear — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 03:09:10 GMT

A little colder now, and the trees know it

The air nipped at me this morning. Not a bite, just that small, curious tap on the shoulder that says, Here it comes. I stepped outside with my mug and watched a thin veil of breath drift ahead of me like a shy ghost. The neighborhood birds felt it too; their calls were brisk, no-nonsense, as if they had errands.

The trees have started their slow retreat into winter colors. Not the fireburst of peak autumn anymore, but the quieter palette. Russet edges. Cinnamon browns. Golds sinking into umber. Each leaf looks like it is storing some last secret of warmth before letting go. Even the evergreens seem to be standing straighter, bracing for the season shift.

Walking the greenway, I noticed how the sunlight comes in at a different angle now, brushing everything with a steeper, paler glow. The mountains around Roanoke seemed half-dreaming under it, wrapped in those soft grays and dusty blues that show up when the year is winding down. Any day now, the morning fog will start clinging to the ridges like a blanket that refuses to be folded.

There’s a comfort in this little chill. A reminder that the world is always turning the page, even when I’m moving slow. I like that feeling of putting hands in pockets, tugging the hoodie a little tighter, listening to the leaves skitter across the pavement like tiny travelers on their own migration.

Winter is close enough to smell on the wind. Not here yet, but leaning in. Whispering. And I find myself ready for it, or as ready as anyone ever is. Let the cold come gently, like this. Let it arrive with soft footsteps and silver mornings. I’ll meet it on the porch with a warm cup and a grateful sigh.

day 20,740

a little colder now, and the trees know itthe air nipped at me this morning. not a bite, just that small, curious tap on the shoulder that says, here it comes. i stepped outside with my mug and wat…

svonberg.org

Day 20742

scottobear — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 03:00:50 GMT

It is now the temperature outside that makes me irresistible to chilly women and snuggly animals, as i throw off a wave of warmth that than put the most cranky baby into nap-mode. I have used this power only for good since obtaining it in my youth.

Day 20,738

scottobear — Thu, 13 Nov 2025 08:54:16 GMT

Seeing if I can crib the new design for the Salem RidgeYaks in my own style, just for the fun of it. Maybe I'll get a tshirt made up to wear to a game?

Images are, 1. my doodle,2. actual design, and then 3. a more direct replica of the logo to make into stickers or something for laughs.

#SalemRidgYaks #digitalmarkers #doodle #SalemVA #Roanokeva #stickerideas @ridgeyaksbaseball

day 20,738

seeing if i can crib the new design for the salem ridgeyaks in my own style, just for the fun of it. maybe i’ll get a tshirt made up to wear to a game?images are, 1. my doodle,2. actual desig…

svonberg.org

Aurora last night

scottobear — Wed, 12 Nov 2025 23:40:49 GMT

November 11, late evening
Salem, Virginia
Mood: quiet awe
Listening to: rain against the window, faraway train whistle

---

The sky went strange last night.

Around 11:23, I stepped out to check the yard, just the usual ritual before bed. A deer wandered ahead, nose to the grass. Then I looked up and stopped breathing for a moment.

Green light.
Pink edges.
A slow-moving curtain across the northern sky.

The Northern Lights, visiting Virginia.

They rippled so softly it felt like the air itself was dreaming. The kind of color that doesn’t make sense this far south, but there it was, spilling quietly over the ridge.

Neighbors came out in pajamas, phones held up, some barefoot, some whispering.
Someone said, “It looks fake.”
Someone else said nothing at all.

The light shifted. Mint to violet to something gold at the edge. I tried to take a photo, but the camera flattened it into a dull smear. It wasn’t something meant to be kept, only witnessed.

When it faded, it left a mental hum behind, a shimmer just behind my eyes. The kind of beauty that insists on being temporary.

Later, inside, tea steaming on the desk, I scrolled through the local posts: *Aurora over Roanoke Valley*, *Salem sky glowing last night, did anyone else see it?*
Yes, we did. All of us looking north, just for a moment, remembering that the world still surprises.

Today is gray and ordinary again.
But the sky still feels like it’s holding a secret, waiting for someone to notice.

---

Note to self:
Sometimes wonder sneaks up quietly, wearing borrowed light.

---

Time: 12:41 a.m.
Current thought: The sky has a memory, and sometimes it lets us borrow it.
Quote of the night: “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — Yeats

---

#doodle #salemva #roanokeva #whatstheskydoing #auroraborealis #digitalmarkers

https://svonberg.org/2025/11/12/128847/

Some stuff on Tuesday, nov 11, 2025

scottobear — Tue, 11 Nov 2025 21:57:10 GMT

snow! salem ridgeyaks!

a surprise sprinkling of snow drifted in before sunrise, soft and quiet as a held breath. just a dusting – the kind that doesn’t quite stick but still turns the world silvery for a blink. the…

svonberg.org

my nervous system can’t handle walmart, but i’ll drive hours through the backroads of remote appalachia alone with no cell service just to explore an abandoned farmhouse. out on the bac…

svonberg.org

Out on the backroads again, where the air hums low and steady and every bend of the road feels like it’s keeping a secret just for you. My nervous system, bless its fragile wiring, can’t manage the sensory assault of Walmart, too many lights, too many voices, too much everything all at once. But drop me in the hollers of remote Appalachia, no signal, no GPS, just the crackle of the radio fading out somewhere past civilization, and I’m at peace.

There’s something grounding about an old farmhouse half swallowed by weeds, the kind that seems to breathe on its own. Boards sigh when you step inside, dust motes drift like memories in the morning light. I can hear the wind crossing the mountains outside, slow and patient. Maybe I find comfort in the stillness of what’s been left behind, places that don’t ask anything from you but quiet attention.

It’s funny what feels safe and what doesn’t. Some people need crowds, others need ghosts. Me, I’ll take the soft creak of an abandoned porch over the hum of fluorescent aisles any day. Out here, my nerves finally unclench. Out here, even the silence feels like company.

#Appalachia #backroads #abandonedplaces #quietcorners #introvertlife #roanokeva #doodle

Tuesday doodle

Monday doodle, the Salem RidgeYaks

A surprise sprinkling of snow drifted in before sunrise, soft and quiet as a held breath. Just a dusting - the kind that doesn’t quite stick but still turns the world silvery for a blink. The air held that hush that only snow brings, a sound thinner than silence. Later, as twilight settled in, the flakes returned again, swirling in streetlight cones like ash from some secret celestial fire.

Tonight the thermometer’s on its way down to 26°, sharp enough to remind the trees to tighten their bark and the rest of us to reach for another blanket. You could almost taste winter on the wind - the clean edge of it.

Stopped by to see the Salem RidgeYaks today - yes, actual yaks, shaggy and serene, standing like misplaced clouds in the pasture. Their coats are thick as storybook winter, long bangs hanging over calm, curious eyes. They move slow, deliberate, as if time itself runs a little gentler around them.

Some folks say they don’t really belong here - that yaks aren’t native to the Blue Ridge at all, that they’re creatures of the Himalayas, not these soft Virginia hills. Maybe that’s true, but looking at them under the gray November sky, with the mountains rising behind like folded blue paper, they seem right at home. Far be it for me to deny any creature welcome to this place.

The cold wind lifts their fur; they blink, unbothered. The ridges breathe mist, and for a moment it’s easy to believe the world fits together in ways that make quiet sense.

#SalemRidgeYaks #SalemVA #MountainLife #RoanokeValley #RoanokeVA #doodle #earlysnow

Mr bean xmas

scottobear — Fri, 07 Nov 2025 23:46:26 GMT

Scotto's Wall Scrawls

Hours old - 499,686

570000075600

Day 20,799 big round numbers

The Death of Renee Nicole Good: Why ICE is a Failed Experiment That Must End

The Minneapolis Shooting: A Catalyst for Outcry

A Pattern of Lethal Failure

Sources and Linkable Citations

The Minneapolis Incident (Jan 2026)

Systemic Neglect & Mortality Data

Legal & Policy Critiques

20,791

20,769

I enter whamhalla early

Holiday shopping, peeking at little free galleries

Yellow leafs

Day 20,752 - thanksgiving 2025 pre dinner

Day 20,750

day 20,750

Playing catch up

introduce yourself with four starships.

nubbin tail mouse montage

revised and reskinned martian chess

birds and cricket

skunk and mouse

dreams of mars

martian chess 2 to 6 players

martian chess ai / atrophy

pente experiment

mari lwyd

Today

november 19, 2025 – the scotto grotto (org)

Deer visitor

deer visit

Quiet day

day 20,743

20,740

day 20,740

Day 20742

Day 20,738

day 20,738

Aurora last night

Some stuff on Tuesday, nov 11, 2025

snow! salem ridgeyaks!

Mr bean xmas