Wilderness Blues- Ramblings from the Great Land

Shopping At Wal-Mart

2026-10-06T12:27:18.698-07:00

I don't mind admitting that I shop at Wal-Mart. I know that the place has gotten a kind of bad rap, and rightfully so. You never know what you're going to encounter when you go there.

In the picture above, you can see an elderly Wal-Mart employee with pink and green hair and a teddy bear on each shoulder. While this is an AI generated picture, there is actually a rather weird lady who works at the local Wal-Mart that I used as a model for the picture. I'm not sure what the thinking is behind this. I can more or less understand the pink and green hair. Perhaps she owned a boat once and wanted to let people know which side of her head was port and which was starboard, I don't know. The teddy bears are kind of a questionable look though. Unfortunately, there is also a middle aged male employee who apparently thought they looked really cool, so he wears them too; one on each shoulder. I hope the trend doesn't catch on. In all honesty, it looks kind of stupid. Those two give me all the reason I need to go to the self-checkout counter. I just happened to think, maybe the teddy bears are there to distract the customer, so you won't notice that the cashier bungled the sale and charged you $8.90 a pound for 89 cent a pound bananas.

On one occasion I was in shopping and spotted a lady bent over, practically laying in the cart she was pushing. Her watermelon sized breasts were taking up almost half the cart, which I guess would be a relief not having to pack those puppies for a bit. I can only imagine the back problems.

Then there are the fellows who wear pants too large or too loose for them, or their guts are pushing their pants down, I don't know. The bottom line is that their hairy butt cracks are on display, though no one wants to see them. Guys, if you're guilty of this, do all of us a favor and buy some suspenders.

Of course you get the young folks in there who think that pajamas and slippers are fine fare for shopping in public, but if people are running around with teddy bears on their shoulders, I guess it's not that weird.

Unfortunately for folks like me, who like to do their own shopping, there is a growing segment of the population that wants to have an employee shop for them. The end result is that on any given day, there is a cart or two or three in the aisle blocking access to the wheat bread or green beans or whatever it is that I happen to need at the time, while the employee, phone in hand, goes searching for whatever the various customers want, and I have to wait until they get out of the way. They don't shop for one person at a time, oh no. That would be too simple. They've got a whole stack of racks they are filling for different customers all at once.

The only thing more aggravating are the people who get in the motorized carts and bang into the shelves, the other carts and people. I've made an observation. Inevitably, they want something on one of the upper shelves, so they have to get out of the cart anyway, so it kind of defeats the purpose. So many of the folks who are utilizing these carts would do well to get out and walk. They could really use the exercise, and frankly, they should probably stay away from the Twinkie shelf. In retrospect, perhaps Wal-Mart should look out for their portly patrons and put all the snack items on the upper shelves, so that the cart dwellers would have to make repeated trips up and down, thus giving them some well deserved exercise.

When I go shopping, I always have a list. That doesn't mean that I only buy what's on the list. I usually see something else that I feel that I need, but normally, I know what I'm after and I don't goof off. I go get it and check out. I happened to notice that most of the men in the store were like me. They were pretty much straight forward, moving at a steady pace, picking up what they wanted and moving on. The women, on the other hand, were like browsing deer, moving slowly, looking at every item on the shelf, picking up boxes or bottles and reading the labels, putting them back, picking up the next item. What is that about? Can anyone explain that to me? A man can go shopping and be out of the store in fifteen minutes, if he doesn't get stuck behind the tubby person in the motorized shopping cart or have to wait while an employee tries to fill a dozen orders, blocking the one item you need to complete your list.

There is one last thing I would like to touch on. The checkout line. As I mentioned, I prefer to check out my own groceries. Frankly, its faster than going to the check out where someone is being paid to do what I can do for myself. Plus, as I mentioned, I really don't want someone who wears teddy bears on their shoulders like epaulets waiting on me.

Apparently the schools haven't done a very good job teaching people to read. There is at least one check out aisle that is devoted to people who have fifteen items or less. There are usually four or six cash registers there. The reason being is that they know some folks don't want to wait in line behind someone who has a cart full of groceries, when they themselves only have a few things. Inevitably, there is always someone who doesn't understand math or is unable to read, and so they show up with a week's worth of groceries and a crying kid hanging off each side of the cart. When they finally get done running their goods through the scanner, and the receipt is as long as a roll of toilet paper the cat's gotten hold of, they try to use a credit card to pay. First they have to find it in that duffle bag they call a purse. Then there is a search for the right card, and the non-stop punching in of buttons. Meanwhile, the ice cream has started to drip on the floor and the potatoes are starting to sprout it's taken so long. It's enough to make a person want to call in their grocery order.

Destination- Hatcher Pass

2026-09-29T18:16:56.686-07:00

The Little Susitna River coming down from the Hatcher Pass area

Looking down on the Mat-Su Valley

We're right up in the mountains

Ben on the mountaintop at sunset

Trying to catch one of the slippery little jerks that kept biting but not getting hooked

Success at last!!

Summit Lake in September

My granddaughter Abby with her two Japanese friends. Not sure why they closed their eyes

Two foreign exchange students trying their hand at fishing.

Abby commandeered my chair

The first fish! It doesn't matter that its on Grandpa's pole

The Little Su again

Hiding in the bushes taking a leak

Several times over the past week, I've had an opportunity to go up to Hatcher Pass and go fishing. While its not quite as exciting as fishing for cohos in the Eklutna Tail Race, it was a lot more profitable, in that I actually caught something. Actually, I only caught two in two different trips up.

The first trip up, I took my granddaughter, Abby and her friends who are Japanese foreign exchange students up to the pass to try out Summit Lake. I had been there a few weeks before with a family friend, and we'd had some success, even though it was incredibly foggy all the way up the pass to the lake. We were fishing by the hot spot, when we started hearing noise. I looked over and the entire cross country team from Colony High School in Palmer was standing thirty feet away, boys and girls. All of a sudden, the girls started taking off their tops. I guess they had sports bras or swim suits or something on, and before we knew it, they were wading into that frigid water. Pretty soon the boys were stripped down and they went in too. Needless to say, fishing pretty much ended right then. Fortunately we had caught our limit of rainbow trout and it didn't bother us as much as if we'd just gotten started.

My oldest son Ben is up visiting from Ketchikan, doing some more flight training. I don't think you can have too much training if you're going to go flying around in Alaska. Yesterday was one of those drop dead gorgeous days that we sometimes get in the fall up here. While it's fairly warm down at ground level, by the time a person goes up the 3800 plus feet to Summit Lake, the temps are considerably cooler. I had told both groups of people who I took up there to dress warm, and bring an extra coat. I was assured that they were going to be OK. Of course that wasn't the case. We could have fished a little longer, especially with Abby and her friends, but they were freezing their buns off, and it's no fun fishing when you're uncomfortable, even if the fish are biting. In any event, both excursions were so much fun. I fear that it won't be long before the Park service will shut off the road leading to the lake because of snow, so I was really happy to have a few great days of weather to make a fall trip up there. When the winter winds are howling and I'm sitting in my easy chair trying to recover from blowing the snow from my driveway, I can look back fondly at these pictures and remember that better days are ahead.

Family Friends

2026-09-19T13:01:09.787-07:00

It's hard to believe, but for over fifty years Jan and I have known Bud and Helen Burnette and their family. These pictures won't mean much to those who don't know them, but for family members and friends who have known these people, they will give a small glimpse into their lives.

We met Bud and Helen back when I was in the navy in Charleston. Bud had been a navy seal and spent time in Vietnam, and when we met up with them through the church, he was still in the navy working as an ET, an electronic technician. They were the guys that fixed all the radios, radars and other electronic devices on the ships, and they kept pretty busy.

We moved to the farm in June of 1976. I'm not sure when they moved to Juneau, but they were living there by the time our third daughter Amber was born in 78. Amber was the first of five of our kids who were born in Juneau, at the Bartlett Memorial Hospital. Because Hoonah was forty miles away from the closest hospital, and there was no set delivery date for each of the babies, we opted to go to Juneau early, often spending several weeks at the Burnett home, though they didn't have an abundance of room themselves. For several weeks they blessed us with not only their friendship, but a warm place to stay and good, nutritious meals. Living on the farm and having a limited variety of things to eat, being able to stay with Bud and Helen was always a treat for us.

After we had moved to Hoonah, and the kids were all grown and on their way, we kind of lost touch with each other, as happens sometimes. Eventually they moved north to Palmer and we never heard from them. In 2020 we moved north as well, to Wasilla, about thirty minutes away.

A few months ago, Helen ended up in the hospital and Bud reached out to let us know and for some prayer support. We of course prayed for our friends, and on a few occasions were able to turn the tables and bring them a few tasty meals. Its been a long time to wait for payback, but they seemed to like the food and it was so nice to be part of their lives again.

Last week we were invited to a birthday celebration for both of them. They both turned 80 within a month of each other, so their three kids, Buddy, Michael, and Christie came with their families and together with a few friends, celebrated the birthdays of these wonderful people. I hope we have an occasion to get together for a number of years to come.

Extreme Motion Pants

2026-08-30T00:22:23.157-07:00

After I took a shower today, I got a pair of jeans out of the closet. As I was putting them on, I realized that jeans aren't the same as they used to be. For one thing, they're consarned expensive. I don't think they last as long as they used to either, but that's a story for another day.

I looked inside the waistband before I donned them and noticed that they were Extreme Motion jeans by Lee. What that basically means is that they've made them a little stretchy at the top, so that, I guess, if you eat too much, you don't get too uncomfortable and feel like you've got to unbutton your pants. Personally I've never done that, even after a Thanksgiving meal, but I believe some fellows do. I'm not sure how far they will expand. I suppose I really don't want to test the limits though.

I do enjoy having a little stretch to the waistband. I've lost a few pounds that I never should have found to begin with, but its good to know that if they come back, I'm not going to have to rush out and get some more pants to wear. I used to wear Carhartts all the time when I was fishing. They were advertized as being able to withstand the claws or teeth of a Grizzly bear, and frankly, they might have. Fortunately, I never found out. They had rivets on the pockets and a few other places and they were the ultimate in manly pants. They even had a loop to hang a hammer if you wanted one banging against the side of your leg when you were walking. I can promise you, no one wants to mess around with a guy who has a hammer hanging off his pants. It looks pretty cool.

Anyway, back to my Lee's Exteme Motion. What do I need extreme motion for? What do they think I'm going to be doing when I'm wearing my jeans? I guess one could wear them if they were mountain climbing or roller blading, but for every day use, why do I need them? About the only exteme motion I have is running to the bathroom. Damned prostate.

Exteme Motion sounds like what you'd want to wear if you were making an appearance on Dancing With the Stars. Perhaps if you had to climb up and down a ladder all day they would come in handy. I just had a thought. If you were skydiving, and the chute didn't open, you could take off your Exteme Motion jeans and use them to capture more air. Just tie the pant legs shut so that the air doesn't escape and you're all set. They may not work as good as a parachute, but don't think about that on the way down. That extra elastic that they've woven in to the fabric could be a life saver. You'd be darned glad you weren't wearing Carhartts then. A hammer won't help much when you're falling out of the sky.

What is a body to do?

2026-08-20T19:29:24.128-07:00

I haven't had too much to write about lately. I guess my life is more boring than usual or something. Part of the problem of getting older. Who wants to read about how many times I was up during the night to take a leak or what new pain cropped up while I was attempting to sleep? There isn't a lot to take pictures of around here, so I thought I'd look through some of the thousands of pictures from back when my life was a little more eventful. I came across this one from our trip down to the Grand Canyon.

We had crossed a huge bridge that spanned the Colorado River and on the other side, a group of Navajo women were selling their wares- necklaces, bracelets, Christmas ornaments, arrows, and Lord knows what all else. It was interesting, and I ended up buying Jan an ornament. When we travel, we like to buy something that helps us to remember where we had been. Ornaments are nice, because we're sure we'll at least see them once a year. I asked one of the ladies if I could take their picture and she said no, unless I bought something from them. OK, fine. I did get a picture of the lady I purchased the ornament from, so that worked.

I had to take a leak, which is really incredible, since it was like 93 degrees outside and I felt like my bladder should be shriveled up like a prune. What does that say about me that I could be crawling through the desert in a sand dune, and have to pee? I know I'm weird, but this is ridiculous. Anyway, I saw an outhouse there by the stand where we had made our purchase. Initially, I felt relief, until I got close and saw the sign above. What's this? They want me to buy their goods but won't allow me to take a leak? Must be revenge for the mistreatment of the native peoples by the white man. They sit in their cool booths while we do the pee-pee dance in the heat. Obviously, some folks won't take no for an answer, and let fly around the base of the porta-potty. I was kind of feeling like doing the same, but decided not to risk getting one of the decorative spears thrust through my kidneys.

I'm trying to remember what exactly I did. Being denied an opportunity to use a bathroom can cause an uncommon amount of stress for me and create an even greater problem. I can't be sure, but I may have crossed back over most of the bridge and let fly into the Colorado River. If I did that, and you happened to be traveling down the river in a whitewater raft, please forgive me. It was nothing personal.

Pillow Talk

2026-07-23T13:44:09.490-07:00

I'd like to say a few words about pillows. I would venture to say that the vast majority of us use one every night. With that in mind, I would like to ask, do you like your pillow? Does it provide you with the comfort you expect, and can you get a good night's sleep with it?

The reason I'm asking is I haven't had a good pillow in years. Every night I have a battle with mine. Oh, it starts the night out pretty much OK. I use two pillows to prop up in bed for reading, but then remove the one and sleep on the primary pillow. Frankly, it's a little bit too fat and it elevates my head more than I like. Sometimes in the morning I awaken with a sore neck or a headache. It still beats the Puffy pillow that came with my Puffy mattress. Puffy. What the hell kind of a name is Puffy for a mattress? Its not really puffy or fluffy-wuffy. Its kind of stiff and stuffy. Anyway, I'm writing about pillows, not mattresses.

In any event, I wake up several times during the night to go pee. Inevitably, I notice when I wake up that the pillow is hot. Maybe my fat head is generating mass amounts of heat while I'm dreaming. All those thoughts drifting around inside might create friction, I don't know. I wonder if dreams about sex create more heat than ones about the work place? I should check on that.

I've read about cooling pillows, but I don't think they really work; maybe I'm wrong. I just hate to go spend a bunch more money on pillows that don't do what they say they'll do. I tried one of those My Pillow pillows once at a friend's house. She had taken some of the fill out, and it was still too fat. Don't get me wrong, I hate pillows that, after you've laid on them for five minutes, become flatter than a pancake at Ihop. Some years back I had a pillow that was perfect. I used it for ten or so years until it finally gave up the ghost. I think it was a feather pillow or a combination feather and foam, I don't know. I tried to find a replacement, but there was none to be found. Since then I've searched high and low, but haven't discovered a great pillow yet.

Yesterday I was looking for pillows on-line. Good Lord, some of those things are almost a hundred bucks! Some are shaped just for side-sleepers, some for folks who sleep on their backs, and some for stomach sleepers. I've seen some that resemble horseshoes and some are better suited for reading in bed. I'm afraid to order anything on-line and then find out it's not what I want. It doesn't seem to matter which brand you look up, there will be dozens of folks who like that particular brand. Go figure.

I decided to do a little research on the history of pillows. I discovered they have been around a long time. They were first used in Mesopotamia about 7,000 B.C. They weren't invented with comfort in mind either. They were made out of carved stone and were meant to elevate the head so that insects wouldn't crawl into your mouth, nose or ears. Apparently they were expensive, so only the wealthy could afford them. I guess the poor folks had to accept a nightly invasion of their cranial cavities by bugs.

According to this article, ancient Egyptians also used pillows, but for a different purpose. They believed the head was the seat of spiritual life and should be cherished. They used marble, ivory, ceramic, wood or stone. Some Egyptians carved their pillows with images of the Gods to keep bad spirits away. I wonder how that worked, waking up in the morning with the image of Rah imprinted on the back of your bald head. Sexy!

The Chinese were advanced enough to create textile pillows, but they also believed that soft pillows would sap your strength. They preferred hard pillows made of bamboo or porcelain. If that's the case, why invent soft pillows? Another mystery to contemplate some day.

Apparently King Henry VII banned soft pillows for whatever reason. He was probably as frustrated as I am trying to find a good pillow. Eventually though, by the 16th century, they were back. Unfortunately the stuffing had to be changed often because of mold and mildew issues and vermin. How would you like to put your head on your pillow in anticipation of a good night's sleep and it starts to move? Gross!

In the 1960's polyester was invented, and since then, it seems to be the standard fill for pillows. You can still buy feather pillows, and I think you can get them with feathers and polyester fill. There is also buckwheat and lavender pods available. You know, I'm 74 years old. Before I die, I'd like to find a pillow that really meets my needs. I don't think that's asking too much. I just hope the one that works doesn't come with a coffin.

Choices

2026-07-15T14:12:36.205-07:00

I'm not sure at what age we begin to make choices in our lives. I suppose it starts at an early age. You go to the barber shop, and if you sit still and don't fidget too much, the barber might give you a choice between a green sucker or a red one. I like the color green, so it wasn't too hard to choose.

Somewhere around the age of eleven or twelve, I got a paper route. On Friday nights I would collect for the papers I'd delivered. Unfortunately for me, there was a drug store down the street from where I delivered. They had a soda fountain, as well as a pinball machine, and they carried the latest copies of comic books every month. I used to spend an uncommon amount of money at that drug store and when I got home several hours later, I'd lie through my teeth when mom asked how much money I collected. Needless to say, my dental hygiene suffered from the vast amounts of junk food I consumed. I'm a little surprised that I didn't end up with juvenile diabetes or some such thing. Fortunately, I was fairly active, so maybe that saved me at the time. Still, it was a stupid choice to make.

About the time I got to Junior High School, I was doing odd jobs, mowing lawns and finding projects around the neighborhood to make money, so I bought some of my school clothes. One thing sticks in my mind: socks. When Mom bought me socks, they would be white, like gym socks. That's great if you're in the gym, but frankly, they made you look like Gomer Pyle if you wore them with street shoes. I used to get my socks at J. C. Penney. I always bought black ones. I remember they were really soft, they retained their color and if you had a hole in one, there was no problem finding a match for it somewhere in your drawer. Periodically, I'd take a trip to Penny's and come back with a few pairs. Unfortunately, during those years of puberty, my feet sweat like I was in a sauna and when I took my shoes off, I could clear a room because of the stench. Still, it beat looking like Gomer. Good choice.

When I was twenty-four, I made the decision to pack up my small family and travel across the country to Alaska, to join a Christian community. I can't begin to tell you the number of times I regretted that choice, especially in the early years when we were struggling without electricity and living like the folks on Little House on the Prairie, only in a rain forest and without the common sense that those people had.

There is nothing I can do about what happened in the past. I made a choice and had to live with the consequences, just like all the choices we make. At this stage of my life, I'm dealing with some medical issues. Apparently I have some gall stones- oh boy, gallstones! What fun! Not only that, but my heart has some plaque somewhere, and I have what is called a fatty liver. Too much cheese and crackers I guess. I'm trying to eat better, and I'm doing a little better with riding the stationary bike, but frankly, I'm not going to give up enjoying what gives me pleasure entirely, just so I can live longer. What's the purpose? I remember reading an article that I wish I still had. Some Oriental doctor had written a funny post that put down so much of what the healthy leaning folks were pushing. He mentioned getting in shape, but also mentioned that round is a shape, so not to worry too much. He said when he died he wanted to go out enjoying whatever it was he liked, with an ice cream cone in his hand and chocolate smeared on his face. Sounds good to me.

Back in the early days, after I had bought the Bonnie J, I had the opportunity to go to the ocean and spend a week or so there fishing. I was trying to make money, so it made sense to leave. Unfortunately, Jan hated to have me go, and it was always a struggle, weighing staying home and perhaps enjoying sex more often, or going fishing and making money and catching fish. Honestly I enjoyed both a lot. While few things can compare to sex in terms of pleasure, catching fish is an awful lot of fun too, and frankly I could fish for hours on end. There is always a downside to everything, isn't there? While I could be fishing for hours, it didn't mean I would be catching for hours. Sometimes I would go for long periods of time without catching a thing. With sex, while I may not endure for hours, I was fairly certain of the outcome. Choices!

Somewhere in my past, I've heard a saying something along the line of - Make stupid choices, win stupid prizes. Sounds about right.

Often, when my daughter is visiting, as she's going out the door, she says-"make good choices." Hmmm... something we probably should have been saying to our kids when they were growing up. For the most part, I think they did.

I'd like to comment on one last thing. Apparently we're in the political season, where all these candidates are running. Personally, I'm sick to death of hearing all the commercials on TV and having my post office box overflowing with ads. I don't like to bring up politics on this site. I don't want to alienate any of my friends here, and I don't think this is the place for politics. Let me just say, that we will have to make a choice on who will represent us. Will we keep with the incumbent who we are somewhat familiar with, or go with the radical new person who lacks experience and wants to change our entire financial, judicial, electoral system and way of life? Frankly, it's like choosing between a kick in the groin with a steel toed boot, or a knock upside the head with a ball-peen hammer. It's our choice, and one that really warrants some serious prayer.

If you're reading this post, you've chosen to do so, so thank you.

Pleasant Memories

2026-07-03T12:58:40.267-07:00

I was going to do this post back in May, but it got put aside when we had the car accident. Then, because I often have to do things when I'm thinking about them, I did a post about giving blood and receiving a box of delicious thin mint cookies. Not just any old thin mints, these were Girl Scout Thin Mints. I think they should sell them year round, but I guess they would loose their novelty if they did.

In any event, I'm now getting around to writing about our oldest daughter, Jen's visit at the end of May. It was such a pleasant trip, and to add to our pleasure she brought us some halibut from Hoonah, part of which she bought, and part was given to her by some friends in Hoonah, Julie Jackson and Denise Grey. A huge shout out of thanks to the two of them for their extreme generosity. We've enjoyed several meals so far, and to say the least, it has been delightful, a real blessing to have.

Jen likes to be on the go, so I went with Autumn and her to the Eklutna Tail Race, a beautiful body of glacier fed water that is stocked with salmon. Unfortunately it was too early to fish for them when Jen was here, and the temps were uncommonly cool for May. We took along Autumn and Aaron's new dog, Missy, and all of us had a grand time. We're fortunate to have a good relationship with our adult children and enjoy their company whenever we're together.

Jen had bought a fishing license, and we didn't want it to go to waste, so we went down to Wasilla Lake and tried our luck there. I had bought some nightcrawlers, but I guess even the fish thought it was too chilly to chow down, so instead we froze our buns off while an artic wind blew. Even so, we were fishing, so as they say, a bad day fishing is better than a good day working.

One thing that the car accident has shown me is that life is uncertain. We can be going along minding our own business when life throws us a curve ball. There are no guarantees in this life. In the time that's left to each of us, we need to get our priorities right. Enjoy time with your family and friends. Make good memories. Some day they may be all you have left.

Give Blood, Get Cookies!

2026-06-21T22:23:05.489-07:00

I dropped in on the Wasilla Blood Bank a few weeks ago to make a donation. I think I'm allowed to give blood about every eight weeks, maybe its six weeks, I can't recall. They gave me a card with my blood pressure, temperature and pulse, and a date when I can donate again. I think it's August 6th, but I'll have to check.

Anyway, when I went in, behind the counter there were three stacks of girl scout cookies. What the heck? Are they trying to sell cookies at the blood bank? It seems like they'd have more luck if they tried across the street at the WalMart parking lot. I looked at what they have and was disappointed to see that of all the many cases of cookies, there were no thin mints. I mentioned it to the young gal, Kaylee, who is now managing the place, and she pointed across the room to four or five more stacks of delightful, however, most likely unhealthy treats. There was a stack of my beloved Thin Mints. I merely needed to depart with a pint of my blood to walk away with one of the boxes, not an entire carton, just one box.

As it turned out, with my latest donation, I was now at the 3 Gallon mark. Since I first started giving blood here, I've donated 3 gallons. That doesn't seem possible. I would love to live long enough to make it to the 10 gallon mark, but chances are I won't live that long, or if I do, they may not want wrinkled blood. You know, blood that comes from an arm that's so wrinkled they feel like they have to bring out the ironing board before they can poke you with the needle. If I can make it to the 5 gallon mark, I'll be pretty happy.

On a previous visit, Kaylee had mentioned that you lose a pound every time you give a pint of blood. I asked if I could come in once a week and donate and she said no. Who needs Ozympic or Zepbound or one of those other GLP1 drugs when you can lose a pound a week just giving a pint of blood? A person might look a little pale, but think of the benefits. You'd lose weight, you could save another person's life, and Dracula would lose interest in you.

Fortunately, they don't give away Thin Mints year round, or the blood loss/ weight loss would probably fail. I'd still rather have a box of Thin Mints as apposed to a T-shirt with a mosquito on it. In any event, if you can, they could sure use some more blood of all kinds, regardless of where you live.

I Dodged A Bullet Again!

2026-06-01T17:04:42.534-07:00

Well, as you can see, the current Bottsmobile is out of commission. Jan and I as well as our friends and guests Bob and Judy Clark were on our way to a memorial service for our fellow Game Creeker and friend Rocky Hughes yesterday in Wasilla when we had an unexpected situation happen.

When word got out that Rocky had passed away, Bob contacted me and asked if we could pick them up at the airport in Anchorage on Saturday morning and if they could possibly spend the night with us. We said yes to both requests. At one point Bob had mentioned that if it wasn't convenient they might be able to find other lodging or an alternate way to get from the airport to Wasilla. I would imagine he might wish he had opted for door number two.

As it is, we had a delightful time renewing our friendship and talking about a multitude of subjects. We visited Autumn at her house before we came home and even dropped off at the Eklutna Tailrace to see the beautiful glacier water that flows there and check on the fishermen there to see if anyone was catching anything. Saturday evening our good friends and neighbors, Butch and Patty came over to visit. I think everyone had a good time as they shared stories, and Bob enlightened me as to how he came to be in Alaska and get involved in The Move. He's lived an interesting life, even before he ever showed up at the farm.

Yesterday( Sunday) we had a leisurely breakfast and around 1:00PM left to go to the memorial service. The service was to be held at 2:00 and we wanted to be there early because we were sure there were going to be a lot of people there. I wanted to insure we got a parking spot and frankly, I wanted to try and secure a seat on the end of an aisle, since I was sure that I'd have to get up at least once to pee and didn't want to suffer the humiliation of asking people to excuse me while I squeezed by them, possibly passing gas in the process.

We were tooling down Church Street doing the speed limit when we approached the flashing yellow caution light at the intersection of Spruce and Church. Out of the blue, a car flew through the intersection, not bothering to stop at the stop light. We came into contact with each other and the result of the collision is evident in the pictures above.

It all happened so fast there was no time to even react. Neither car applied brakes, so there was a lot of momentum when we met. We were turned around in the opposing lane, the airbags blew, as they were designed to do, and with a screech of metal we came to a stop. At first I thought the car was on fire because there was what I thought was smoke in the cabin, but it was just the propellant from the air bags. Of course there were no airbags in the back seats where Bob and Judy were sitting. We sat in silence for a few seconds and then Bob opened the back passenger door and stumbled out and sat down in the gravel and dirt on the side of the road grasping his chest. I didn't know if he was having a heart attack or if he had hurt his chest. He was dazed and kept asking about his wife, if she was OK. Judy was dazed, but she didn't appear to be hurt. Both and Jan and her stayed in the car, and I recall a stranger coming over to the driver's side door and reaching in and praying with Jan. We were so grateful for that act of kindness. A lady in a cab who was behind us told me she had called 911 and within five minutes or so, there were three of four ambulances, at least one fire truck and two local cop cars. We were grateful for the quick response. The EMT's checked us all out on the spot and determined we should all go to the emergency room for a check up.

As it was, Jan is suffering with whiplash and her body hurts, in particular where the seat belt crossed her chest. Initially they thought I had a cracked rib, but a CAT scan revealed the ribs were just bruised or possibly separated a bit. Nonetheless, it hurts like crazy and I was given a plastic doodad to breath in to and try to keep the void in my lungs from filling with pneumonia. I sure am having fun. Judy initially was thought to be having a bleed on her brain, but they ruled that out, though she has a considerable lump on her head, and I'm sure she's terribly sore from seat belts and the shoulder harness. Unfortunately, Bob suffered the worst of the injuries. He's got a cracked sternum and there is a chance he has a laceration to one of his kidneys. It was determined that he would get better care in Anchorage, so he was transferred to the regional hospital there. As of this writing, I'm certain he's still in a tremendous amount of pain, but there is a chance he will be released tomorrow if he can eat and get up and walk around. I hope he can be. Hospitals aren't fun places to be.

Throughout yesterday and today, we've heard from a number of friends and family members and it's been encouraging to see the level of care so many have for us. It's been a bit overwhelming, but nice. Butch (my neighbor) came over and mowed my lawn for me and Patty brought us cookies. Our pastors are bringing dinner tonight. If only I'd known that a car accident was all it took to get so much attention, I might have tried it sooner.

I don't suppose there is a lot more to say about the accident. I've been dealing with the police, the insurance company, and the company that towed the car, and it's been stressful. I don't know what's going to happen. The car is a total loss, but of course I'm sure I'll only be compensated the minimum amount that the other guy's insurance will pay, so through no fault of my own, I'll have to pay for another car. Lovely. We'll see where it goes. In the meantime, I want to thank all of you who called or texted us with your love and concern. We truly appreciate it. We would covet your prayers, especially for Bob, that he will recover fully soon and they can return to the comfort of their home.

Two N Glenn

2026-05-04T18:37:12.236-07:00

When we lived in Hoonah, we knew just about everybody in town. Most folks came to the store where I worked at least once a week. Some folks came several times a week and some came in every day. I guess they wanted to plan dinner based on what we had on the shelves at the time. In any event, in a small town of 850 people, it was hard not to know everyone.

My good friends across the street informed me the other night that the neighbor who we had known as Dwight, was in reality Glenn, with two n's. I was only repeating what Jan had told me a few years ago. She had gone and introduced herself to Dwight/Glenn and his wife Maxine. They are about our age, elderly, apparently childless, and pretty much keep to themselves, which is kind of hard to do when you live in a cul-de-sac of 9 homes. How in the world she managed to mangle his name is anyone's guess. Dwight doesn't sound anything like Glenn with two N's. His wife was talking to my friends and mentioned that it was spelled with two N's. I don' t know why she mentioned that, unless she was expecting someone to write him a check or something. Oh well.

Names are pretty important; you don't want to be addressing someone with the wrong one. I have twin boys and understandably people get them confused. When all the kids were living at home, I would get upset with one of them and end up running through the whole list before I got to the offending child. It was frustrating.

When I was young I used to get mail addressed to Tom Box, Tom Batts, Tom Butts, Tom Bartz, Tom Boats and a few others I've long since forgotten. As long as the right name is on my driver's license and bank statements, I don't care all that much.

Years ago we had a fellow show up at the farm who claimed his name was Roland Megow. He said he'd read about the farm in an article in Alaska magazine and wanted to come visit. I asked him about his name because it was unusual. He mentioned it was German. When I inquired about his vocation, he said he was a sandwich salesman for infra red sandwiches. Turned out he was hiding from some unsavory characters after he had cheated them in Las Vegas or Reno. His real name was David someone or other, a far cry from Roland.

Speaking of the farm, there was a fellow named Russ who lived on one of the farms farther north in Alaska, on the Delta farm. He was an accountant and used to travel to all of the farms before April 15 to help those folks who might have had an income, with their taxes. He was also very vigilant at the Delta farm, meeting the people who worked off the farm when they came home every pay day, to make sure they paid their 50% that the farm demanded. My friend, Matt, mentioned that his dad nicknamed the guy, I R Russ. It stuck with him, rightfully so, since he was similar to the treasury department in wanting his pound of flesh.

I would like to mention here that names aren't limited to people or animals. Different dishes on a menu can take on a completely different meaning if the name is mis-spelled. I recall traveling on the Alaska state ferry, Aurora some years ago. There was a cafeteria on board that offered cold sandwiches and snacks as well as two or three entrees every day. I was in line waiting to see what was on the menu, when one of the workers came out and started writing on a clear lucite board in bright pink marker. There was clam chowder. Hmmm, not a big fan. I love digging them but hate to eat them. They also offered grilled rock fish. I don't like to eat fish unless I caught it and cooked it myself. Last but not least was Beef Strokenoff. Wait, what?! Strokenoff? It sounded like something that would be on a menu in a Nevada brothel. Perhaps it was the nickname of a male porn star. I was wondering if the crew hand who was printing up the menu was Russian or Ukrainian and was spelling it the way they spoke it. In any event, I agreed with one of my fellow passengers who said, "I think I'll have the cheeseburger."

Flannel Shirt Wars

2026-04-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

The other day I was on my way down to the den when my wife stopped me. She was in the laundry room holding one of my old flannel shirts. Apparently she had just washed and dried it, and was getting ready to put it into the laundry basket to bring upstairs when she had a change of heart.

"Do you want this shirt?" she asked. "Its old and the collar is frayed and there's a rip in it."

I looked at the offending item for a few seconds, and decided it wasn't worth getting in to an argument about, although it was the only blue flannel plaid I had. She didn't mention all the white paint I had somehow gotten on it, which would have boostered her complaint. I let her toss it in the waste basket and went in to the den. On my way out I glanced at the shirt again and decided to give it a closer exam. I didn't see any rip in it. Granted, the collar was frayed all the way around, and it didn't look nice, but I wasn't planning on wearing it to church or anything. It has served me well for a number of years, although for reasons unknown, it's gotten tighter in the chest and belly area. Nonetheless, for jobs like mowing the lawn, shoveling snow or fishing, it was perfect. Who would want to put on a dress shirt and then fillet a few salmon? That's what flannel shirts were made for. They come in a variety of colors, they're soft cotton and feel good, and in a setting with manly men, they fit right in. About the only recommendation I would have to the manufacturers would be to install a bit of stretchy fabric so that as the shirt aged, it would still fit the wearer some years down the line.

This wasn't the first time Jan has ridiculed my clothing. For some reason, she thinks if there is a bit of wear on a pair of jeans or a touch of paint on a flannel shirt, it has been rendered useless and must inhabit a bin with old towels and pillowcases that are no good for anything but polishing the car. By that standard, half of my clothes would be rags, which she claims they look like anyway. What? Does she want me to wander around the neighborhood naked? Good Lord! No one wants to see that!

I'm sure I've seen homeless people on the street dressed better than me, but that's probably because Jan won't let me donate my clothes to the Salvation Army or Good Will.

You would think she would applaud me for getting the most out of my clothes, but she doesn't. I suppose I could bring up the argument that men in Africa would be glad to have my flannel shirts, but she would suggest I send them my whole closet. For the briefest of moments, I considered mentioning that some of her clothes aren't exactly flattering, but I thought better of it.

As I was contemplating writing this, I had a memory of being down in Florida visiting. My dad came in to the kitchen holding a short sleeved shirt that mom had apparently tossed out. It was basically the same reasoning that Jan had. In mom's opinion, it looked tatty, and she couldn't see why he wanted to keep it when he had a closetful of much nicer shirts. Women just don't understand. Old shirts take time to develop character. They get better with wear. They become like familiar friends; you can drink beer in them or spill a little mustard and no harm, no foul. If you need to wipe your hands on them after you've caught a fish, or put a worm on a hook, they don't complain.

Dad didn't argue, he just put his shirt back in the closet. I'm pretty sure he wasn't buried in it.

I've already let Jan know that I don't want her to waste money on a suit for me when my time comes. I'm going to be cremated anyway. I want to go to the undertakers in a pair of blue jeans and a flannel shirt, hopefully not a newer one. She can choose from a variety of plaid ones in the closet. There are several green ones I really like. Maybe she'll give the rest of them to some outdoorsman with impeccable tastes.

Surprise!!!!

2026-03-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

I vividly recall walking in to one of the bedrooms in our house back in Ohio. It was an older home, and at the time the registers to transfer heat upstairs were on either side of the walls opposite each other, one in each bedroom. There were metal vents that could be opened or closed so that you could heat one room, but not the other, if you so desired.

I must have been around two or three years old, and for some reason I had awakened early, before my folks were up. I knew that there was a Santa Claus doll filled with sand in the bottom drawer of a dresser in the room I came in to. I had been told in the past not to play with it because the doll had a small hole in it, and the sand would leak out.

When you're a little kid, Santa is like a hero. He's never crabby, doesn't make you eat broccoli, and even if you're sometimes bad, he seems to have forgotten all that by the time Christmas rolls around, because he's brought you a bunch of toys. He never gives you socks or pants or jackets like your Grandma does. Plus he fills your stocking with candy. How great is that? So naturally, I wanted to spend a little time playing with Santa, regardless of what my parents thought.

Because I hadn't mastered the art of being quiet, my mom heard me open the bottom drawer where she had shoved Santa, even though she was supposed to be sleeping.Through the vent I heard her say, "Tom, put that away, it leaks." Under my breath I whispered, "oh, shut up." Little did I know that somehow what I had spoken in secret would be transmitted with stereo like precision right to my mother's ears.

With super-hero like speed, she was upon me like flies on stink. I had no sooner spoken the last word before she slapped the spit right out of my mouth and I was back in bed. I never knew she could move so fast. Needless to say, I never bothered Santa in his resting place again, nor to the best of my knowledge, did I ever tell either of my parents to shut up again, at least not where they could hear me.

The Peep Show

2026-03-12T21:10:00.000-07:00

I suppose the title probably doesn't line up with the picture when one thinks of peep shows. I did a little research and found out that peep shows have actually been around since sometime in the 1500's. The first known version was traced back to Europe to one Leon Battista Alberti. I think they started innocently enough. Apparently, a vendor would wonder around the country with a box on their back. Inside the box would be drawings of far off places or miniature figurines, or theatrical scenes or other things of interest. A candle would be lit and for a small fee the customer could look inside the box through a hole. They used to be called Rarees short for rarity shows. In the 1890's, machines were created that projected slides of naked ladies. Go figure

They eventually were given the name Peep Shows after a tailor, who allegedly cut a hole in the shutters in order to get a glimpse of Lady Godiva as she came riding by naked on her horse. While the story may be fabricated, there apparently really was a Lady Godiva. If she had indeed passed by on a horse riding naked as a jaybird, I doubt many men would have been able to resist a peek, even if it meant repairing the shutter.

On a similar note, I recall being in Radarman "A" school in Great Lakes Illinois at a recreation building on base. They used to sell junk food and had pool and ping pong tables and I can't recall what all else. There was even a comic book vending machine in the lobby. One thing stands out above all else though. Along with the normal pin ball machines, a different machine showed up on base. It projected an image of a fully clothed woman on the screen. The image had a bullseye somewhere on her body, and the whole picture would rotate around the screen. The sailors would put a quarter in, and shoot at the bullseye. If you hit it, the next scene she would be wearing less clothes. Of course once it was discovered, it quickly became the most popular source of entertainment on the base. Guys who were marksmen were given all the quarters they could handle in an attempt to view the gal without a stitch on. I think the machine stopped working after the first night because the coin box was too full to accept any more. Needless to say, it was the most popular attraction on the base.

As pleasant as it is to recall days gone by, this post is about another kind of peep show, the kind you see at Wal-mart and other retail stores this time of year. I was in shopping a few weeks ago, giving no thought whatsoever to Easter or candy or bunnies or any such thing, when I passed by an aisle that caught my eye. It was loaded, top to bottom with candy, baskets, grass, stuffed bunnies, and chicks and who knows what else. Of course, I immediately started thinking about Peeps. For those who might not be familiar, Peeps are the sugar coated marshmallow candies shaped like chicks or bunnies or even squirrels now. At one time they just came in yellow, and were shaped like chicks. Now you can get a multitude of colors and even flavors. There's blue and pink and lavender, as well as the traditional yellow. Of course there is the original flavor, but also things like Rice Krispies Treats flavors. They always do that; take something good and in an effort to improve it, or make more sales, they go overboard.

Of course I had to have a package of Peeps. I got the original flavor ones, though I didn't see any yellow chicks, so I had to settle for lavender bunnies. The stupid thing is, I don't even like marshmallows; yet for some reason, Peeps have found a way into my heart, or more accurately, into my belly. I'm glad they only come out once a year.

ED Who?

2026-02-27T16:35:00.000-08:00

I came down to the office the other day and opened up my email. I scanned through the usual stuff, most of which was of no interest to me whatsoever. Then I saw I had an email from ED Trick. That's a weird name. Who the hell is ED Trick, and what does he want? I don't know anyone named Ed. The last guy named Ed that I knew was a family friend who died years ago.

It finally dawned on me that this was an advertisement for E D- not education- Erectile Dysfunction. What the heck? Why are they sending me this message? I've never asked about it. Frankly, I don't need it, and if I did, I wouldn't be inquiring about it on the internet.

I guess because I'm old now, they naturally assume that I'm still interested in sex, which I have to admit I am, and that I need some help, which I don't. Aside from that, whose business is it anyway?

I think its weird that nothing is off limits now, even on TV. If you fart a blue streak, there is a pill for that, and a commercial advertising the pill. If your bladder has a mind of it's own, no worries, they have special underwear to use, and a place to order it from online so you won't embarrass yourself buying at the local store. If it's that time of the month, the ladies have a vast variety of products to choose from, and a commercial to explain in graphic detail how well they work. Is there no sense of modesty anymore?

If you suffer with diarrhea or constipation, no doubt there will be some actor playing a doctor with a pointer in his hand showing a chart of what causes your particular problem, compete with drawings of your colon or digestive system. Perhaps there will be an actor with a look of panic on their face as they're in the car miles from any bathroom, and the gas station taco they ate a few hours ago comes back to extract revenge.

Along that lines, we have commercials about toilet paper that go well beyond Mr. Whipple reprimanding the house wives for squeezing the Charmin. Now Charmin has cartoon bears that explain how other brands of TP won't get you clean. What is that about? I don't believe I've ever had a conversation with Jan about our toilet paper, and whether or not it was getting the job done, and I certainly never danced around naked in the house with a pack of TP praising the way it worked. Aside from all that, when did bears use toilets anyway? For years I lived around bears, and I never once saw them use toilet paper, of any brand.

Perhaps I should purchase an Alexa so I can discuss my bathroom habits with it and get an informed opinion of proper toilet etiquette. Did Emily Post ever discuss this?

God forbid that you do some research about a product online; you're in the system as a potential customer and you're going to be inundated with spam and ads for products that are even slightly related to the subject you were inquiring about.

I downloaded a recipe from an on-line place, and now every day I have about six or eight different recipes for quick and easy ways to serve my family broccoli or macaroni and cheese or beef stew.

When I shop at Wal-Mart, there is a camera at the self-help register. It watches me unload my groceries and of course gives me an itemized receipt. Is it really necessary for them to know that I purchased 2.3 pounds of green grapes last Wednesday? Will the grape police come and arrest me if I buy some more before the end of the week?

Its nice, I suppose, that there is so much information at our fingertips, but I don't like my life being on display for the whole world. If I want something known about me, I'll get on Fan Story and mention it myself.

Step Off!

2026-02-05T21:16:00.000-08:00

I'm a firm believer in the idea that the more gadgets you have, the more problems you're going to encounter. A case in point is a modern car. Not only do they cost as much as a house used to, you can't work on them yourself. I suppose I could change the oil if I wanted to climb underneath it and dismantle the cover beneath the car. Lord knows if I would be able to unscrew the filter and open the oil pan plug. I know that you can't grease the axles because they don't have zirc fittings anymore. I guess if something wears out, you have to buy a new one, at an enormous price. My car, which isn't fancy at all, has a back-up camera, which I love, as well as heated seats, which I'm also very fond of. There is also a feature that allows me to plug in my smart phone, but I don't have one, so I don't use it.

At one time, stoves, refrigerators, and washers and dryers used to last twenty or more years. They had one job to do and they did it. They didn't call you on the phone to remind you that you were running low on milk, or play a ditty when the clothes were dry. We have a washer and dryer set that came with the house. If the door isn't shut on the washing machine, a bell dings and a message lets you know you screwed up. When our clothes are dry, we get a thirty second mechanical song to tell us to remove them from the dryer. There is no "fold" option, but that's probably coming soon. The thing is, appliances have a much shorter life now, in part, I believe, because of all the gadgets. They aren't content to do what they were designed to do, they're taking on extra responsibilities.

When we went on vacation with the girls this past summer, we rented a Lincoln Navigator, not because we wanted to appear rich or snooty, but because it had three rows of seats, which we needed, and also I wanted to be comfortable if I was going to drive several thousand miles. That car had a built in massage function for the driver and front passenger, with five different settings. It also had a hands off feature, so you didn't have to hang on the wheel the whole time. Like other modern conveniences, it came with a bossy feature. I took my hands off the wheel so I could look around at something besides the road, and it dinged after a few seconds and commanded me to look at the road. When Autumn was driving, it yelled at her about every thirty seconds. When did the things we own start telling us what to do?

Today I went up to take shower after we got the appliances installed. While I was butt naked, I stepped on the bathroom scale. The weight jumped back and forth like a roulette wheel until it finally settled on what it said was my true weight. Then a message showed in neon blue that said -STEP OFF. What the hell? Can't I stand on my own bathroom scale without it commanding me what to do? What's next? Is it going to demand that I don't stand on it until I lose a proper amount of weight? Is it going to humiliate me while I'm standing naked as a Jaybird? "Hey Tubby, don't even think about it!" or, With that gut, can you even see your feet?"

There are refrigerators that have doors that you can see through now. What is that about? Are we so lazy now that we can't even open the door to see what's inside? What if there was a snack burglar roaming the neighborhood? He could just check the outside of your fridge to see if there was anything worth stealing before he moved on to your neighbor's kitchen.

What's next, toilet paper rolls that tell us how much to use? "Roll that back on dude, you've used enough for one sitting!" Perhaps toilets that speak to us. "You're killing me down here, hurry up and flush!" What about a shower nozzle that monitors how long you've been in the tub? "You're clean enough! Get out!"

It's an amazing time we're living in. There have been lots advances in science over the past twenty or so years, and while I'm glad that I can sit in the comfort of my own bathroom and relieve myself, I'd rather not have my possessions monitoring me.

What's For Supper?

2026-01-25T15:50:00.000-08:00

Almost every day, either Jan or I will ask the other "what do you want for supper?" I used to come up with a menu for the week, or at least I did for a few times, then I stopped doing it for some unknown reason. As much as I like to eat, you'd think that I could take the time to look in the refrigerator or the freezer and come up with a plan. It's not like we don't have anything to eat.

For some reason, all the healthy stuff that I've bought, like the broccoli, lettuce and peppers are just sitting in the refrigerator getting brown and wilty, while the non- perishable canned goods get used up. What's that about? Do we have an aversion to healthy eating now? It almost seems that way. Produce costs too much to throw away. We eat the grapes and bananas pretty quickly, but I have a container of fresh spinach that Autumn gave us that hasn't been touched yet. What gives?

I spoke to my friend Buffalo Bob the other day, and he was complaining that he just doesn't have an appetite anymore. I wish I could say that. Sometimes he resorts to eating cereal for supper. We've done that a time or two lately as well. I think it had something to do with neither of us feeling too good, but I can see where we could fall into the habit of just eating sandwiches for dinner. That's really not all that appealing.

Since the winter began, I've made several pots of different kinds of soup. Vegetable beef, bean, corn chowder. Yum. Usually we can eat off of that for two or three days, but eventually it runs out and we have to think of something else. We've got the ol' standby, hamburger, but I hate to eat it more than once a week. I bought several large packages at Costco and spent over $70.00- for what used to be a pretty cheap meat. I may have to take up hunting again, God forbid. I'm getting too old to drag a moose out of the woods.

When we lived in Hoonah, we always had a supply of frozen halibut, as well as venison. We don't live there anymore, and it's not practical to fly down and spend a few days trying to catch a halibut. I could buy it for cheaper than I could fly from Juneau to Hoonah and back. Oh well.

Without any kids at home, there isn't the same need to figure out meals. Maybe I should scour the neighborhood and find some hungry children and take them home and feed them. If the pressure was on, I'd probably come up with a plan pretty handily.

It's kind of pathetic that I have a readily available supply of food at my disposal, and half the world can't find enough food to eat. I'm sure if they had a choice between eating whatever they could scrounge up, and eating what I have on hand, they'd figure out pretty quick what to have for supper, or any other meal for that matter.

Memorable Gifts

2026-01-03T15:26:00.000-08:00

I know that Christmas has come and gone, for better of for worse. Of course now comes the aftermath of having to pay for it all. It's always better to give than receive, until the Visa bill arrives. I'm just glad we don't have to give gifts on New Years Eve.

As you can see at the top of the page, we completed the book that documented our trip through some of the southwest states on our way to the Grand Canyon. As I had mentioned in previous posts, Peeing Across America finally came about. We gave a copy to all the kids for Christmas, and the book seemed to be enjoyed. Unfortunately, Autumn got a first hand look at it because I didn't have the technical ability to put it together. So she knew she would be getting a copy for Christmas. Also, we used her pictures, although I had some great ones that probably looked a little bit better, sooo...

I won't go in to all the gifts given or received. Let it suffice to say, I think we all had a pretty good Christmas. I had seen this book by Senator John Kennedy, one of the senators from the great state of Louisiana. Whenever I see him on TV, I turn up the volume, because he is always entertaining, and this book is a continuation of his wit and humor. I don't know if I'm allowed to share some of his quotes, but I think I can if I give him the credit. Lord knows I'm not witty enough to come up with some of these sayings. On the back cover he's written-

"Always be yourself... unless you suck,"

"If you trust in government, you obviously failed history class."

"Always follow your heart, but take your brain with you."

" I believe this country was founded by geniuses, but it's being run by idiots,"

There are other sayings scattered all through the book that are highly entertaining. Not only is Senator Kennedy funny, but he has a lot of wisdom and speaks the truth about what really happens in Washington D.C. If we could actually sit in for a week in congress, I think it would scare us to death. Why anyone would opt for more or bigger government control of our lives is anyone's guess, except no doubt there is some money to be made by those who like big government. In any event, I hope that you'll do yourself a favor and purchase a copy of this book. If you don't want to buy it, perhaps your local library will carry it soon.

One of the gifts I got from my daughter Amber and her family was a gift card to Amazon. I like Amazon. They have a lot to choose from, and they pay the shipping. This past year I went fishing for the first time at a local salmon stream. Of course it was packed to the hilt with people, something I don't care for, but I don't have a boat anymore, so I had no choice but to join the crowds. I discovered that lead head jigs tipped with a piece if shrimp and fished under a bobber seemed to work. Jan and I each caught a coho one day, in spite of the heavy competition using a rig like that. Unfortunately, jigs at the local Walmart and Sportsman's warehouse are fairly spendy. There are a lot of snags in the water, and it's not uncommon to lose a few jigs every trip, so I bought a package of brightly colored jigs from Amazon. I can buy lots more for much less, and though I may have to add a tail or some feathers to the jigs to make them more attractive, I think they will work nonetheless.

Jan has mentioned to me in the past that she likes the way Old Spice aftershave smells. I like it too, but I never bothered to buy any. Well, since I didn't get the hint, she took it upon herself to buy me some, which so far I've used after every shave. When I was looking at the package, it mentioned that "if my grandfather hadn't worn it, I wouldn't exist." Wow! It's hard to imagine those two old folks I used to visit back in Ohio used to have sex. Grandma used to give me a dime to go buy 7up at the local market down the street, and Grandpa took my little hand and walked me up to the train station where we could watch the trains come in. Afterwards we'd go to the bar and he would introduce me to the clientele while he sipped a cold beer. Really Old Spice, you're the reason I'm here? Hmm, I'll have to think about that; or maybe I won't.

Last but certainly not least of the gifts that I'll mention, is this little card that I have on my refrigerator that Liz bought me. As you can see if you look closely, it says- I went camping and burned my wiener. Sounds like a personal problem to me.

While I haven't mentioned all the gifts given or received, needless to say, they were all greatly appreciated. Each one means so much to me because family and friends gave them with much thought and love, so thank you all. I'm looking forward to putting them all to use.

A Last Minute Gift

2025-12-20T18:12:00.000-08:00

I don't doubt that there are a few people out there who might be panicking because there is only four more shopping days until Christmas, and they still haven't gotten a gift for their one and only. I'd be willing to bet that this isn't the first Christmas that you've been caught off guard. Time flies when you're having fun, and especially if you're down at Kelly's Bar and Grill forgetting all about your obligations back home. I'm primarily addressing this to the male population, as I suspect that your wife or girlfriend has had your gift bought, wrapped and hiding under the bed where it's been for the past month or more.

I know that everyone has a different financial situation to deal with, and unlike the commercials for Lexus or Kay's Jewelers, we can't all fork up tens of thousands of dollars to give our better half a luxury car or diamond bracelet. Not to worry guys, I've come up with the perfect gift; a fire extinguisher. Don't laugh it off. Listen to the reasons why this could be the most treasured gift under the tree this year.

For one thing, you can probably get one for $30.00 or less. It might be worth the while to get a bigger one though, depending on how accident prone the residents are.

I know the argument might be made that it's not sexy. Well, if you wanted sexy, you should have gone to the Victoria's Secret counter by now. As it is, if you were to put a garter on the tank, depending on your imagination, it could be pretty enticing. It is brilliant red, and with a little lace, it might pass as a sensual accessory.

Of course you might make the suggestion that you are being ever so practical. Think about it. Christmas is the time of year when people often light candles in their homes. An open flame in the house is a fire hazard right? Lots of people cook turkeys in pots full of oil outside. Often when the turkey is placed in the boiling oil, it spills over the side and creates a huge fire that can spread to the porch or out buildings. Try putting out a fire with a pair of panties. Those suckers wouldn't last a second.

Also, keep in mind that lots of folks serve a Holiday dinner, which involves a lot of cooking. Periodically something catches fire on the stove. Of course you might be able to put it out with a healthy dose of baking soda, if you can even find it in the drawer where it was supposed to be. Chances are, if you did find it, there wouldn't be enough left in the box to do any good, since cookies are a staple of the Christmas season and it was all used up. However, if you had a fire extinguisher right handy in the kitchen, a very thoughtful and practical gift, you just grab that thing, pull the pin, aim at the base and pull the handle. The fire's out in no time and the gift that your loved one was so disappointed in is suddenly the very one she couldn't live without. You become the hero, and who knows, maybe she'll have a little something special for you tonight. Don't count on the panties though, they got burned up in the turkey fire. However, Valentines Day isn't so far off. If you're looking for suggestions, give me a shout.

There She Blows!!!

2025-12-18T10:38:00.000-08:00

As often happens in Alaska, when the skies get clear, winds start to blow. This past Friday night, the wind started blowing harder than normal. The weather channel had mentioned winds in the thirty five to forty five knot range, with possible gusts to eighty. It seemed like they were being a bit extreme, but I know from experience that such hurricane force winds are certainly possible, especially in the winter. As the wind roared outside my window all Friday night, I could hear the glass flexing and branches hitting the side of the house, as well as the trees trying to resist the force of the wind, bending and snapping back in an endless game of stretching to their limits.

I spent a restless night, waking frequently, expecting at any moment to see the night light in the master bathroom dark, and the appliances in the house completely still. About six-thirty in the morning on Saturday, Jan said that we'd lost power. I was already awake in anticipation of such an event. I dressed and went down to the garage, grabbing a flashlight that I had positioned close by the night before, hoping that I wouldn't need it, but fearing I would.

The wind was screaming through the small cracks in the garage door, and I knew the temperature was hovering around nine degrees. Minus twenty with the wind chill. Dangerously cold.

The first winter we spent here in Wasilla, we had lost power for thirty nine hours due to some eighty knot gusts. I tried finding a generator the next day, but there were none to be found anywhere in town, not surprisingly. Fortunately my son-in-law had a small 2500 watt generator that he brought over. We hooked it up, but it didn't have the power to run our furnace, which was our main concern. We could light candles and keep the refrigerator and freezer doors closed, but without a furnace, the water pipes would freeze in those cold temps. Fortunately, I have a garage heater, which the small generator could run, so we started it, turned the thermostat all the way up and opened the garage door that leads to the inside. It kept the pipes from freezing, but just barely.

A few weeks later, I was able to buy a 7500-9500 watt gen set that runs on either propane or gasoline. For the past few years I haven't had to use it for more than a few hours. This time I had it on for over twelve hours on Saturday, shutting it down about midnight after the house heated up. I was anticipating having to run it again on Sunday, but the power was turned back on at six AM.

Even though we had power in the house, there was no water. The neighborhood I live in shares water from a community well. The company that runs it doesn't have a generator, so when the power goes out, there is no way to pump the water to the homes. That means no drinking water, no showers, baths, washing your face, doing dishes or flushing the toilets. Drinking water wasn't so much a problem, most of the stores carry bottled water, but a person doesn't want to try to flush a toilet with bottled water, a lesson I learned after the first big blow. Fortunately I had two five gallon buckets filled with water for that very purpose. I was able to find several cases of water for drinking and making coffee and several gallons also if push came to shove and it took even longer for power to come on.

The weather forecast was for another day of this horrible weather, so I went looking for a gas station to buy more propane for the generator, not knowing how long the power would be out. I traveled for miles without finding a gas station open, the wind had knocked out power to vast stretches of the valley. As I drove down the residential streets on my way to the highway, I was constantly assaulted by falling branches that were being blown sideways across the road. At the bottom of one hill, across the street, two trees were resting on some electrical lines, balanced there in a dance that lifted them up and down like a see-saw. I passed by several gravel pits where the wind picked up sand and small pebbles and sandblasted the paint on the car. Oh what fun. I felt like I was in a Nascar race trying to keep the car on the highway, with the wind shoving my Escape across the road while I tried to maintain control.

I dropped in to Wal-Mart, seeing that they had lights on. I thought I might purchase a few items, but one of the employees said they were closed. I found out that they had lost part of their roof to the storm. I watched an older gentleman trying to navigate the parking lot on his way to his car, as the wind knocked him down to the ground. Several people, I assume his relatives, helped him to his car, but not before he almost fell again. When I opened the car door, it was ripped out of my hand and was thrust as far as the hinges would go. I had to then fight the wind to close it, no small task.

This morning I went downstairs and Jan mentioned the gate on our wooden fence was swinging wildly. I put on my heavy coat and hat and stepped out to check the problem. I thought the small lock might have broken in the wind, but no such luck. As I looked around I noticed that a four by four post that was anchored in the ground had snapped in half from the force of the wind. With help from my neighbor, I was able to secure it temporarily. However, as I went around the corner to the garage, I noticed a four foot section of fence was laying on the ground and all the outdoor furniture, the grill and the burn barrel that I had so meticulously covered with tarps six weeks ago, were strewn on the ground with the tarps still strapped to them. What a mess.

Tonight on the news, I watched a woman, forced by the wind behind her, running down the street and twice falling. They showed pictures of buildings flattened and others with roofs gone. There was a small plane at the Wasilla airport that was strapped down with ropes on the tarmac, that was being lifted off the ground, kept from being air-born only because of the tie down ropes. I hope they hold. There are still areas in the town and surrounding area that have no power. There are three shifts of linemen working twenty four hours trying to cut down trees and restore power to homes and businesses. Much like me, I'm sure they would covet your prayers. Those heroes need all the help they can get.

CARDS and LETTERS

2025-12-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

I guess I'm old fashioned. I still address Christmas cards to friends, near and far. I know that a lot of people have stopped sending them altogether, and I can't really blame them. The cost of just one first class stamp is around 78 cents if I recall. I bought four books of them the other day. The post office that we use has a very limited supply of stamps. You can choose one design for Christmas or go with the old standard, the American flag. I could order them on-line from USPS and enjoy a variety of scenes, but the sap suckers charge me the postage to send the stamps, so I go with whatever this post office has.

It's nice to get any kind of greeting in the form of an email I suppose, but getting a card, something you can look at again and again without fear of erasing it is kind of nice. To me it also shows that someone cares enough to take the time to write a little something and sit down and address the card, and it's nice to know that they think enough of you that they'll spend the money on the postage.

I have a number of cards that I've gathered through the years from various charitable outfits. They send the cards close to Christmas in hopes that you'll support them with a generous gift. There are several outfits that I never support, yet year after year they give me cards and sometimes a pen or letter opener. One outfit sent some gloves, a pen, a flashlight and I can't remember what else, maybe some address labels. I still didn't send them any money. I think they would be better off spending the money they have trying to take care of whomever they are representing.

Speaking of address labels, I would have to write about a thousand letters and bills to ever use them all, and yet every year more and more show up. Unfortunately, all of them just have my name on them; I assume because my name is on the check of any of the charities I want to support. The fact of the matter is, Jan and I are a team, and the money we send come from a mutual checking account. I fear that my friends may get the idea that we aren't together, or that I'm the only one sending my greetings.

I know that the number of cards we get each year is less and less. As I was going through my address book I noticed that friends I've known for years are no longer living. It happens. The longer we live, the more friends we lose. I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier. I think I'm going to get a separate address book for those who have passed on. I don't want to forget them, if that were possible. Sometimes Jan will put a note beside a name letting me know that they are deceased. Some of them are my age or even younger, and it's a reminder that life is short, make the best of it. As often as you can, do good for someone.

We got a note in the mail today. I thought it was a Christmas card, but it was just a folded note on colored paper letting us know that the sender did this and that this past year, and was going to do this and that in the future. That's nice I suppose, at least they were thinking of us, although they didn't address it to us personally. Just a kind of generic letter letting us know about the current state of their life. It was kind of like reading an article from a newspaper.

Do me a favor. If your life has been peachy keen and full of all kinds of wonderful happenings, the kids are going on a vacation to Europe this year with the money they won from the state lottery, the grandkids have been accepted into an Ivy League college on a scholarship, and you are on your way to your second home in Belize for the winter, keep it to yourself please. Its not that I'm not happy for you, but I think a shot of reality would be refreshing.

If, however, like me, you are dealing with winter weather, you've had surgery on your knee and gained twenty five pounds in the last six months that you can't get rid of, and you practically puke when you see yourself in a full length mirror, send me a letter in a Christmas card. I want to enjoy this holiday season, and knowing that someone else is going through real life is encouraging.

Manly Tasks

2025-11-12T22:01:00.000-08:00

I'm sure most of you have heard of a bender, you know, a wild drinking spree? Well, lately I've been on a spender. Money seems to be running through my fingers like water. For example, Jan and I were with our youngest daughter, Autumn, a few weeks ago. Jan wanted to buy me a recliner for Christmas, which is kind of early, but as it turned out, they didn't have the color I wanted in stock so it was good we ordered it when we did. On the way home I happened to mention that I needed an air compressor. The tires on the garden cart, the two wheel dolly and the snow blower were all in desperate need of air. I tried to move a huge pot of flowers from the front of the house to the side with the two wheel cart and just about got a hernia. The tires were so flat it was like not having wheels at all.

Autumn checked on her phone and discovered that Lowes had compressors on sale for $99.00 so I picked one up that evening. What they don't tell you is that they don't come with any of the accessories, so unless you just want a tank of air for some unknown reason, you have to spend an extra $24.95 so the compressor you bought has some useable function. The hits just keep on coming.

The next day Jan had asked me to vacuum the living room, but by the time I returned from the post office, she was asleep in the chair. I couldn't very well vacuum, so I opted to go to the garage and put together my new compressor.

You would think the thing would come fully assembled, but you'd be wrong, just like me. The handle and the screws to attach the handle were in a separate bag. It says in the instructions to use a screw driver. OK fine. I looked at the screws and they needed a Torx type of screw driver, which I didn't have, so I had to dig out the drill. I managed to find the right bit, but of course it wasn't long enough to insert the screws fully in. I had to fiddle around and pull the bit most of the way out of the drill to make it work. What a pain where a pill won't reach. It's never anything simple with me.

In another bag there was a nozzle to blow air, one to fill tires, a tire gauge, a needle for filling balls, which by the way, the instructions mention not to use. Apparently you could explode the ball. Go figure. There were also some other fittings I'm not sure of and some teflon tape so the air doesn't escape.

When I was young, I was always in too much of a hurry to read the directions. Now that I'm mature, I read the directions after I discover that I don't know what I'm doing. I finally got the blasted thing all put together and turned it on. It worked perfectly, filling the tank with air just like it was supposed to, but when I tried filling the tires, no air came out. Now what? Good Lord in heaven!! Why can't I just be like every other guy? They seem to have talent for doing manly things. I'm a man. I have tools. I like women. What the hell is wrong with me? Apparently I'm missing the handyman gene or something. I re-read the instructions, which told me nothing I didn't already know; then I decided to turn the pressure valve past the point I'd turned it before. As a general rule, I usually manage to over tighten something and break it, or twist a cap on crooked or some such thing. In this case I thought, if I break it, I'll just take it back to Lowes and say the damn thing didn't work. I twisted the knob beyond where I thought was safe, and it worked. Miracles do still happen! Hallelujah!

I started filling the snow blower tires and got one tire filled when I thought I should probably see how much air it is supposed to have. I discovered it didn't need the almost twenty pounds I put in. It only required eight or ten pounds, so I had to get a screwdriver and let out some of the air. I went through the same procedure with the other one. I decided to check the recommended pressure for the garden cart. Of course I had to come in and check on the computer. I managed to get all four tires pretty uniform. Its amazing how easily things move when there is air in the tires. Imagine round tires, what a concept!

I then decided to try the nozzle that blows air with the trigger. I opened the hood on my car and tried to blow out months worth of dust, but pretty much to no avail. While the hood was open I figured I'd fill the windshield washer fluid. No sense in wasting the effort of lifting the hood.

While I had the nozzle on, I decided to blow some of the leaves out of the garage. It did an OK job, not great, but I'm still getting the hang of this. After looking around, I decided there were no more jobs that required the air compressor, so I drained out the air, took off the hose, and stuffed the accessories back in a bag. I put the compressor back in the box it came in and tried to close the lid, but it wouldn't close because the stupid handle was in the way. You would think the manufacturer would spend an extra fifteen cents on a little more cardboard so you could close up the box, but noooooooo.... I can tell you this. I'm not taking that handle back off. It's going to stay right there until I manage to break it off somehow.

I honestly don't know how the simple task of filling a few tires with air can take up several hours of my day, but it happens. So ladies, if you husband goes to the garage to do a simple chore, and doesn't return for half the day, don't worry. He's doing manly tasks, and it takes time.

The Last Drop

2025-10-26T20:33:00.000-07:00

This will be the final installment of my documentary, Peeing Across America. No doubt volumes could be written about our time on the road, and the many stops we made along the way to empty our full bladders, but I don't want to bore the reading audience, so it's best to shake it off, wipe it out and move on.

After watching the sun set on the Grand Canyon, we made our way to the Red Feather Lodge where we spent the night. It was kind of a two part lodging facility, something I've never seen before. They had a regular hotel, and a smaller, less fancy, but still fairly expensive motel on the property. Since we were only spending one night and didn't want to finance the next property they wanted to build, we opted for the motel. It was OK. Not great, but it runs in my mind that the shower was good and it did have air conditioning, which frankly was pretty noisy, but I didn't complain. The occupant in the bed next to me was snoring pretty soundly, and when the air conditioner came on, it helped to drown out the chainsaw sound.

We left the Red Feather and drove twenty miles to the Grand Canyon Watchtower. The girls wanted to climb it for more pictures. Jan and I were content with the pictures we had from the ground. We peed again- twice, before we left the Grand Canyon behind. Made it another twenty miles to Cameron, Arizona where we stopped to pee of course, and eat. We ate like kings at a Burger King, and we all donned cardboard crowns. No doubt the other patrons as well as the employees were wondering about the mental capacity of the folks who were sharing their dining space. Fortunately no one complained, and we were able to leave without incident.

We drove at least an hour to a little hole in the wall called Mexican Water, up near the Utah border. It was named for the wells that have long since dried up. From there we made a stop at the Kane Springs rest area. We wanted to visit Arches National Park, and drove up to near Moab, but the park was closed by the time we made it there. We mistakenly thought we would be close to Durango, Colorado where we were to spend the night, but ended up back tracking for a few hours and taking a different route. What fun!

Made a stop in Dove Creek, Colorado where the where the gas flows slower than the pee. On to Cortez where the urinal was out of order. It was the second time since we'd arrived in Colorado that I ran into a non-functioning urinal. Apparently urinal repair men are in short supply in this state. We peed in Pagosa Springs, and I stopped and marked my spot in the woods near Creede, Colorado. You don't have to worry about urinals out in the woods. We utilized the facilities in South Forks, Ft. Garland and Cuerno Verde. We must have had a lot of coffee. Stopped in Stankville for gas and of course a leak. I think if I lived there I would be petitioning the town council to re-name the city. Wait! Wait! I just discovered that the town is actually called Starkville. I'm fairly certain the sign said Stankville, but I won't argue with Wikipedia. Unfortunately, back in 1910 the town suffered a tragedy. There was an explosion in the mine that killed 56 miners. According to the 2020 census, the town has a population of 62. If indeed the name is Stankville, I'm not surprised, however Starkville sounds a lot more like the kind of place I'd like to live. Apparently whether the name is Stankville or Starkville, it's not drawing much interest as a popular place to live. Perhaps the residents like it that way.

We ate lunch at Denny's in Rock Springs, and I'm quite certain we relieved ourselves before stopping again in Lyman, Wyoming. Took a Lyman leak. The girls were highly entertained by the toilets there. Apparently, when they flushed one, it moaned loudly. So naturally they flushed it three or four more times and even took a video of it. It doesn't take much to entertain us. Unfortunately, the lady in the stall next to the moaning commode didn't find the situation very funny.

We gassed up and passed gas in Morgan, Utah, and made one last stop in Delco, Idaho before arriving in Boise for our final night away from home. I have to say, it was one of the best road trips I've ever been on. Having the girls along provided an extra measure of entertainment and also helped to offset the cost of renting a luxury vehicle. We got lots of pictures and recorded more than a few conversations. If I live long enough, I'd like to some day go on such a trip again. Whether I do or not, this was one trip we'll remember forever.

Still Peeing

2025-10-15T13:05:00.000-07:00

As we continued on our journey towards the Grand Canyon, we moved along through the great state of Utah, peeing as we went. We stopped to take a leak near an old corral. Extra, extra, read all about it, Liz takes a whiz in Virgin. We made it to Springdale, before we stopped again. I can't remember how far away it was, but probably not that far. Surprisingly, I didn't have to go. The girls declared I had a bladder the size of a watermelon, which of course we know isn't true. More like the size of a large grape.

Even though there are things like Google Maps and regular maps on the internet, somehow, we figured that if we went down to Zion National Park, close to the town of Hurricane, we could meander up to Arches near Moab in a few hours. Of course we were wrong, not surprisingly. Instead of returning the way we had come, we spent two nights in Hurricane. The girls hiked for the better part of a day in Zion, and later we all took the car to a different part of the park that was just breathtaking. I wish we could have spent more time there. The rock formations were outstanding and the colors were vibrant.

On our way to the park, we passed a tourist attraction that was closed, but we pulled into the parking lot anyway and looked around. There was some kind of cactus growing, and Jen claimed that there was a bird in amongst the plant. Sure enough, we spotted it and discovered it was a road runner. The only thing missing was Wile E Coyote and a container of ACME dynamite.

While packing our vast number of suitcases onto a cart at the hotel in Hurricane as we were leaving, somehow Baby, the watermelon, fell from the uppermost stack and split open, never having been tasted and tested for quality. There was no funeral, just an undignified dumping into the trash can for the maids to deal with. What a shame.

Having eaten the complimentary breakfast at the hotel after night one, we decided that a real breakfast was in order before we set out for Arizona. I had seen a local restaurant that looked appealing and we pulled in. It was the Rooster Run restaurant, and I was delighted with our choice. The interior was decorated with all manner of art and every day things that by themselves aren't especially special, but when paired with other every day items and displayed tastefully, become art. It was delightful. Our waitress, whose name was Celeste, did a wonderful job, and I wanted to remember her, so she agreed to let me take her picture.

Should you find yourself in Hurricane, Utah, do yourself a favor and drop in at the Rooster Run. If you do, please tell Celeste I said hello.

After a few more stops for the girls to go shopping, we made our way to Colorado City and took a pee at Bees, a nice market. We stood out like a sore thumb, with the girls wearing shorts and the local ladies wearing long, pastel dresses and the boys in dress shirts and trousers. They even had a couple of young lads in the parking lot sweeping up the sand that blows constantly there. No doubt it's a full time job.

We stopped again in Fredonia Arizona at a little gas station that appeared to have been around for years and years. I stopped inside and inquired about a restroom and the two ladies informed me that that there was no place to pee on the inside, but around the corner on the outside there was a men's room. I was glad I wasn't going to have to fight rattle snakes or scorpions in the desert in order to find relief. When I came back inside, I heard the girls laughing. They were standing around a display of signs. There were all manner of hilarious signs, and I couldn't resist buying one myself. As the sign says, "It's all fun and games until someone loses a wiener." Boy, isn't that the truth?

There was also a sign advertising Polygamy Porter- Why have just one? Hmm, good question.

Amongst the many things on display, I saw up on a shelf a yellow/green can that apparently contained some Spotted Dick. Of course my mind immediately went to a coarse image before I remembered that it's a British pudding. I checked it out on the internet and found that it's a traditional British steamed pudding that has currents in it and is served with custard. Even with that in mind, I don't think I would care for any, no offense to my British friends.

We left there and headed toward our primary destination, The Grand Canyon. We stopped twice on our way to the watchtower in the canyon, once on the side of the road so I could relieve myself in a bunch of pine trees. It was quite satisfactory. I'm more comfortable peeing outside with nature all around me.

At some point as I was driving, a camper pulled up behind me on the steep and winding road we were traveling, and was mere feet from ramming in to the back of the car. I was going at least the speed limit, and perhaps a little more, but the guy was determined to tailgate me. He finally found a spot of straight road and passed me in a rush. I can't stand people who tailgate, so I stomped on the gas and stayed on his tail for a half mile or so before letting up and resuming a normal pace. It seemed like a good Christian thing to do. As fate would have it, a few miles down the road there was a large pull out with a panoramic view that had to be photographed. The same camper was pulled in to the parking area, so we pulled a hundred yards or so in front of it. We all piled out and got pictures and stretched our legs and the lady from the camper came over and offered to take a family photo of us all. She was very friendly and we spoke for five minutes or so, while her husband hung back at the vehicle with the dog. It was just as well, we were on this trip to have fun, not to confront people we didn't agree with.

From there we moved on, getting ever closer to our residence for the night, The Red Feather Inn.

Bach'n It

2025-10-03T19:09:00.000-07:00

For those who might be concerned that I'm giving up on my documentary- Peeing Across America, let me assure you, I haven't written the last of that yet. I just thought I should share a little bit of what's happening in my life while I'm alone at the house.

Near the end of our trip south, we dropped Jan off in Denver to visit her sister in Wisconsin. It seemed to make sense, rather than going all the way back to Wasilla and then having to leave from Anchorage. In retrospect, I wonder if it wouldn't have been cheaper to have gotten a round trip ticket, but that's a moot point, water under the bridge, money already spent, whatever.

When I returned to my house, I had the whole thing to myself, which isn't that big of a deal, considering that just Jan and I live here. While there are certain benefits about being alone, like watching what I want to on TV or not having to share the computer, there are a few minor downfalls too. Things such as having to do all the cooking, and laundry. I do most of the shopping, so that's not a major issue, but trying to buy for one can be a bit of a hassle. Most things aren't packaged with one person in mind. I'm buying a half gallon of milk instead of a gallon, and a box of Cheerios is lasting an ungodly amount of time.

While I pride myself on my cooking ability, though granted I don't have a huge menu to choose from, I don't always feel like taking the time to get all the ingredients together and make a meal. Several nights so far, well maybe three or four, I've opted to eat a bowl of Bran Flakes. ( I finally choked down the last of the Cheerios) The flakes are actually quite satisfying, especially with plenty of cold milk and maybe an everything bagel. While the meal may not meet the guidelines of the government food pyramid, I don't doubt that it was healthy. At the very least my bowels are thanking me. Nothing like a little scrubbing of the intestinal lining to set things in the proper order again, especially after travel.

Speaking of cooking, on Thursday, I invited Autumn and her husband Aaron over for supper. It was another stellar fall day. The sun was out, the air was clean, the sky was blue and the trees were a brilliant golden color. I had already planned on using the grill, regardless of the weather, so I was especially blessed to have such a good day to grill outside. I marinated some pork cubes that I had cut up from a pork loin roast. Together with some peppers and onions and some canned pineapple, it was a real feast. I wanted to have a desert too, but I already had my hands full with all the prep, so I just bought a package of deep dish pie crusts. For some unknown reason, I stuck the crusts back in the freezer when I got home. About an hour later I decided to put the pie together. Well, the crusts were still frozen. I couldn't put them in the micro wave because of the aluminum pans, so I waited as long as I could and put the cherry pie filling in. For some reason I used two cans, I thought that was what Jan had told me to do before. If so, she was wrong, so of course, so was I. The filling came all the way to the top of the crust and threatened to spill over. After the fact I read the directions (who knew there would be directions on a frozen pie crust?) Anyway, I found out that I needed to wet the bottom crust and then put the top crust on. I thought about sticking the whole crust on top, pie pan and the whole works. It might have worked but I didn't want to take the chance. I figured I could gently peel the crust loose from the pan with a knife. It turns out you can't do that, at least not with a partially frozen pie crust. First the rim broke off. Then I tried prying the crust out of the bottom after I scored it, thinking it would be like a lattice top. What it was, was like Frankenstein pie. I think my little granddaughters could have done a better job. I'd created a monster. Fortunately, the looks didn't affect the taste.

Of course I'm still wearing the same amount of clothes that I always have; Jan's absence hasn't changed that any. The problem is that she usually does the laundry. I'm not whining especially, but like tonight I took the laundry basket to my bedroom and started folding stuff on my bed. Things like shirts and socks and underwear were no problem, I can only wear one of each every time I dress. The socks decided to become an issue though. I managed to pair up four pairs of socks pretty quickly, though I admit I did have to go back and undo one pair that looked similar but weren't. Of the other two pairs, only one sock of each pair made itself known. What's the deal with socks? Either they hide in the dryer on those side rails or they never make it to the dryer to begin with because they've taken up residence in the washing machine in some hidden compartment. Its so frustrating. I finally found the guilty culprits, but not until the end. It's like licking a Tootsie Roll pop, you can't get to the chocolate center until the end.

When Jan is home, she's the primary dish washer. Lots of the time she just piles them into the dish washer and waits until there are enough to turn it on. I don't want to wait four or five days before I wash dishes so I just do them by hand. I'm not one hundred percent sure how to do the dishwasher anyway, so washing by hand every night works.

My biggest complaint about living like a bachelor is that I don't know where Jan keeps everything. The other night I wanted to put down some placemats on the table and it took me twenty minutes of looking before I found them on the top of the refrigerator. It was like going on a scavenger hunt in my own home. While she's gone I should go through the house and move everything. In retrospect though, I better not do that if I want to enjoy her homecoming.