Interesting question

.

Another blogger posed this question over at R,M&P:

"These are fun pictures to look at, but what did this experience make you feel? The thing I like most about travel is how it changes and enriches me. Can you share how this experience made you feel? I'd like to get to know you better."

My immediate inclination is to think to myself, what does that have to do with posting pictures of (mostly) local scenery? But I do remember wondering if it was one of our local craftsmen who fabricated the sign (the wood part, not the concrete) in the picture. We have a number of excellent artists who do all types of woodworking here in the North State.

My thoughts and feelings really didn't go much deeper than that. Besides, the photos I shoot are mostly spur of the moment targets of opportunity.

As for travel, there always seems to be something else holding my thoughts so the journey isn't necessarily a consideration. The part about traveling I enjoy most is when I'm driving because I concentrate on the moment and what is happening on the road. It's called living in the moment and is pretty relaxing.

To get to know me better from the blog is a long term thing because I really don't like talking about myself all that much. That said, both blogs are about me. Just don't expect me to take myself very seriously.

at least not often
.

About this weekend

.

Well, it's kinda hard to explain except to say it was almost all Lions all weekend... like since Thursday. Grandma Skip and I found ourselves on the committee our Lions Clubs District put together to host the meeting of the Council of Governors of the State of California. It was not hard work. It just really required a lot of time. There are some pictures posted on the Anderson Lions Club's blog of some of the on site activities and R,M&P has some photos taken during one of the outings for those who were not participating in any official activities. I may even be able to stretch those pictures well into next week if I post them one each day.

We also had houseguests since Friday afternoon, who we managed to enjoy the entire time they were here. They're Lions, too.

At this point one might get the impression we live and breathe Lions. That was a couple of years ago. But it is a major component of our lives.

Last night we wen to dinner at Jack's Grill. We were fortunate that we only had to wait an hour and a half for a table. It was worth the wait.

looking for the duck post
.

Ducks ...again

_


There are a few folks out there who will relate to this immediately ...a few others who may have read some of the duck posts ...and those who will say, "Huh?"

All I can say is you really had to have been there.

five years ago this weekend

Rueben

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The best thing about corned beef leftovers are the things that can be prepared with them. Even when there's no sauerkraut you can make a great sandwich.

GS and I are off meeting and greeting Lions who are attending a Council of Governors Meeting in Redding. There's slightly more information here.

We going to have company, too, this weekend. I may not get back here for a couple of days.

Two of the commenters on yesterday's post should know each other. They are both bicyclists. One of them even has a blog about cycling that he last posted to on December 29, 2010. He posted about a Huffy... Suldog might be interested in that [GRINS]

not a red Huffy
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Quake

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So the folks in the hills, where it was somewhere in the low 20s last night (early this am), were a little shook up. There was a 4.7 magnitude earthquake followed by a few aftershocks. That will probably chase whatever snowbirds are left up there off to wherever it is they disappear to. The cold, by itself, isn't normally enough to urge them on.

My friend, who is working up there, can't leave until the job is done. The cold is not enhancing the chances for an early completion. The quake could... but probably didn't... undo the work already completed.

Last night I had a dream... almost a nightmare... about making pizzas. There may be a story in that.

we'll see
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Last Night's Dinner

_

It doesn't have to be St Patrick's Day to boil up a good meal.
Nobody used the yellow mustard.

yum!
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No comment II

.

As a followup to this morning's post I present the following:


(you have to click it to enlarge... but it's worth the effort)

Aggie?

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No comment

_

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I am tempted to call this post: For Carolina

.

The problem begins when bacteria are attracted to the sweat on your feet and start feeding on it. The bacteria’s excretion has a strong odor that causes your feet to smell bad. Since each foot has over 250,000 sweat glands in it, and produces over a pint of sweat a day, there’s a lot for the bacteria to eat. Shoes and socks even make the situation worse. They trap the sweat, and then the bacteria have their favorite kind of environment: dark and damp, causing them to go into a feeding frenzy. Bionote: Men’s feet smell at least 40 percent worse than women’s. So what else is new?

from the fountain
of useless knowledge
.

.

It's funny how there are tons of interesting things that flow through the mind...

...then you sit down to write something.

I think the weekend activities may have had something to do with it. Visits with my daughter and family always seem to be a bit too short. There's a long, long story there, but this is neither the time, nor the place for it.
.

Yes... you can come home again.

.

We spent the day, yesterday, with my daughter's family in Sacramento. The day was, to say the least, beautiful. Even the traffic cooperated, at least until we were three block from home again.



Some of you have met the little fella who captivates me. He may become known as the two minute man. This young man has picked up a habit of negotiating those things he wants to continue doing by saying, "Just two more minutes."

I like his positive attitude.


There are two things I know he really likes:
Books - he'll grab one in a minute so he can help read it... and
Trucks - he has lots of trucks and needs more.




Then there are books with trucks in them.

he like bare feet, too
.

_

Go here to see the full video.

My faith in internet stories has been restored

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Finally, some honesty in big buck hunting stories ...



Here's a picture of the new world record whitetail buck.

It was taken by the cousin of a co-worker's sister's, uncle's, best friend's, son-in-law's, niece's hairdresser's, neighbor's ex-boyfriend's oldest nephew. Reportedly it will score 2603-1/8 by B&C standard and was shot in West Texas on a really windy day, 85 degrees downhill, around a curve at 900 yards with a .22 cal. rifle.

Supposedly, this deer had killed a Brahma bull, two Land Rovers, and six Jehovah's Witnesses in the last two weeks alone. They said it was winning a fight with Bigfoot when it was shot. It has also been confirmed that the buck had been seen drinking discharge water from a nuclear power plant.

All this has been checked and confirmed on Snopes.

Really. Honest!!!

Sincerely,

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You can't go home again, bicycles

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This post doesn't have much to do with any of the other YCGHA posts so I won't link them.

I've owned a few bicycles in my lifetime... pretty well destroyed and rebuilt one a half dozen times. I learned on my brother's bike, a little Schwinn with 20 inch wheels designed for kids with short legs. Once I learned, it then became necessary for each of us to have a bike. That situation might have been handled a little better. "His" bike was just a shade small for either of us. The decision had been made to buy a used bike for me. The three of us, Dad, brother and I, piled into the car, a '51 Chrysler only a few months from the showroom floor, and drove to South Palo Alto, near Page Mill Road/California Street. The bike shop had what seemed like hundreds of used bikes (that's probably an exaggeration, but then I was eight years old). Stanford University's married student housing was nearby and many of the students would buy and sell at the end of term. Anyway, there was a lot to choose from. <--[preposition at the end of a sentence]

The first mistake was bringing my brother. He thought he was going to pick out MY bike. The next mistake was when I thought I was going to pick it out. It turned out to be a nice shiny red (frame) and black (fenders) rebuilt Columbia with 24 inch wheels and a larger frame than "His" bike. That was the third mistake. We might as well still had only one bike because nobody wanted to ride the "little" one. The issue was resolved at Christmas with the assistance of Santa Claus and three and a half sets of grandparents. The good news was we both got new bikes. The bad news was there was some assembly required and there was a fight over who got the first one assembled. The new bikes were identical (for awhile) and had even larger frames and 26" wheels. That took a little time to adjust to. <--[preposition at the end of a sentence] These were the single speed, balloon tire bikes with heavy frames and coaster brakes and I think somebody got a really good deal on them because every other kid who got a bike that Christmas got a three-speed, lightweight "English" bike that could run circles around our bikes.

We were politely informed that those would be the last bicycles we would be given. In the future we would be required to buy our own. We were also given " opportunities¹" to earn the funds necessary for said purchase. It took three years... and irony of ironies, the bikes arrived on Christmas and there was some assembly required. The real bummer was that, although we'd made the purchase, somebody else selected the bikes and they were... again! ...identical, such that neither of us would have necessarily made that exact selection. However, on the other hand, we recognized the manufacturer's name. By this time every other kid had three years head start on customizing their bikes. We were informed we'd not be adding long-horn handlebars or removing fenders from ours. We were allowed to raise and lower the seat and handlebars, though.
Meanwhile the old bikes were relegated to the shed. Well, actually all of the bikes were kept in the shed (the building of the shed is another story that needs to be told... some day). The only problem challenge with putting the bikes in the shed was that there were two separate gates to negotiate and a dog who wanted outside of either or both gates and would resort to trickery to get his way. Anyhow the old bikes gathered cobwebs. The new bikes were and upgrade and a lot newer than the '51 Chrysler that the folks were still driving. And we had new bikes and our one-year-old sister didn't... neener, neener!

These bicycles proved to be the last ones anybody picked out for us... sort of. I would venture to say I wore mine out. I don't know how many times it was in the shop for bent forks, or how many times I had to replace spokes, seats, goosenecks, handlebars, pedals, seats or other parts. I just barely remember that about the only way it wasn't damaged was in a collision with a motor vehicle. The paper route caused a lot of wear and tear so it was a good thing the old bike was in the shed as a back-up.

Sometime, while I was in the Navy, those bikes disappeared. They were replaced by girls bicycles ridden by my sisters. I can't say whether my sisters' bike every got the workout my brother's and mine got.

Some years later, after the Navy and college, when I finally had an apartment of my own and was seeking ways to save, I decided I could commute by bicycle. It was only about a mile from work in Downtown Palo Alto. Again, I went to South Palo Alto, though further south this time, to a bike shop with a large selection of bikes with previous experience with Stanford students. This time, though, I was selecting a ten-speed... and it was French-made, but rebuilt. It was a really nice bike. It took some time getting used to riding with my head between my knees, but eventually I got the hang of it. So for about a month I commuted by bike. Then someone decided they needed the bike more than I and expropriated it.

It was probably another five or six years before I again sought two-wheeled transportation. By that time I was a newlywed and we were a one bicycle (hers) family. She (not GS) wanted to ride, but didn't want to ride alone. I wanted to accommodate. We were living in Sunnyvale. It just so happened there was a bike shop nearby having a sale. Ten-speeds were cheap ...and inexpensive, too. About all I remember about that bike is it was yellow and no matter what I did I could not adjust it for comfort. On the plus side, one morning I couldn't get my car started (or somesuch) and the bike seemed like the only alternative. It was a lot further to work than from where I'd lived before, but I found the commute on the bicycle to be almost as fast as in my car. Still, I chose not to ride the bike to work again. I don't know what ever happened to that bicycle... and I really don't care.

Recently, I have though again about bicycling, even to the point of investigating some of the newer hybrid bikes. I may investigate further.

keyword: may

¹yard work... and we could make more working for neighbors

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Bacon update

_

Where can I download this?

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Maybe you noticed?

.

There's a minor change at the top of the blog... and over on the sidebar, at the top, there's a small repeat that also a link. I will explain these by saying there are a number of us who are slightly revolted by the exploitation of a certain holiday at the expense of other holidays. It is almost sickening to see back to school stuff replaced by merchandise intended for use at the end of December.

Yup, Thanksgiving does come first relative to... well, go read Suldog's annual post.

Then bear in mind that Thanksgiving is preceded by Halloween and Veterans Day.

no wonder bears hibernate
.

You can't go home again, part IV

.

I originally said this series was inspired by Craig's post. That's only partially true. That was what gave me the impetus to actually sit here on some really nice days and write stuff. The real inspiration was visiting the old neighborhood on the weekend of the Class of '61 reunion. Someday, soon... I hope... the mailman will deliver record of the events of that weekend in September. Meanwhile you get to see reminiscences here, here, and here. Before I forget I'd better mention Suldog's post also helped kick-start this thing.

Today it's about some other kids, schoolmates, not neighbors, who were friends.

We'll start off with Bugs (you'll get an idea why in a minute). Yep, that was his name, not the one his folks gave him... the one that rhymed with his brother's nickname, Mugs. Bug's real name was Ken. He was even called Ken, or Kenny... sometimes... by people who barely knew him. Bugs was the kid who showed me where the rope swing was... over across the highway, hanging from a eucalyptus tree, next to the underpass for the railroad. We road the same schoolbus... when I road the bus. Bugs and I... and one other kid... spent part of the eighth grad in jail sitting in the school office every recess. It was my fault. If I'd never pantsed the other kid (who will remain nameless), he wouldn't have slugged me and Bugs wouldn't have had to get [further] involved after pantsing me. Of course, if none of us had been wearing low rider Levis®, the temptation to pants any one in the schoolyard would probably never have occurred to us.
Then there was Earwig. Well his name sounded like earwig. He and I were like best friends for a couple of years from about fourth grade until seventh grade. Being best friends meant you could beat the crap out of each other but nobody else could without having to deal with both us... kind of like brothers only we didn't have to live with each other. His dad took us to a Browns (does the name Otto Graham mean anything? How about Lou Groza?) vs. 49ers game at Kezar stadium once... and actually found a parking place (only a San Franciscan of a certain age will understand that. It's a whole 'nother story). Anyhow, we were best friends. Then his mother died and they moved away. It seems to me he and I managed to pretty much stay out of trouble... other than our little disagreements.
Sow Bug was kid who was a year behind us in school. He was always around, but never in the way during grade school. He was the kid you called on to make sure, if you were playing a team game, that both teams had the same number of players. Yep, his name sounded like sow bug (only we said it sowbug). I had a class with him at college. He politely asked me not to call him Sow Bug. I seem to remember he always seemed to travel some distance to hang with the older (like a year) kids.
There is one more kid I'll mention. Toad was a neighbor, kind of. We had to climb a fence and go through somebody's back yard to go over and antagonize him. Remember Steve Urkel? What I mean is Toad... the real name was Todd (I won't tell you whether it was first or last)... was an example of the one kid who was uncool, meaning he was just too well behaved and thought he should police the rest. He once accused my brother of arson. I'm not exactly sure of the details of what led up to it. But, in the end, the investigation never found out who started the fire. We just know it wasn't my brother... not that he wouldn't have like to burn Toad's house down... really, and there were some others, too. The house didn't burn down. It didn't even catch on fire. Though, there was a fire and some flammable liquid and some rags. Needless to say, we all avoided Toad's house after that.
I'm going to stop here for now. I have to refresh my memory such that borderline criminal activity does not come into these posts. That does not mean that antisocial activity won't be brought into the discussion.

what?

Nowhere near any record

Reference point

_

As a service to those who've taken a brief moment to stop by, I offer the map to the right [click it to embiggen]. My world currently begins just about in the middle. As you can see, San Francisco is nowhere on the map of the North State.
Heck! Sacramento barely made it.
On the other hand, a good portion of Wine Country is in the North State, as well as a large number of craft breweries.
We (not me personally) grow lots of stuff here, some of it is even legal.
I just realized, while looking at this map, while my siblings live in Northern California, none live in the North State. Fortunately, none live in Southern California, either. Otherwise, I might have to disown them.
In the future I may, if my memory allows, reference this map when speaking of locations.

key word: may
.

About the river excursion

.
Originally I thought I was going to miss it. I'd driven up to Gridley to assist with an orientation session for the brand new Oroville Ophir Lions Club that was to be an all day affair. I had a session scheduled just before lunch and another for 2:00pm. The boat ride was scheduled for 3:15 and it's nearly 60 miles and it through Yuba City. I had taken GS's cellphone to recharge it in the car. I'd forgotten the regular charger.
We'd started the sessions late because the new Lions were running behind schedule and didn't hit the door until 9:15. By the time they had their coffee and donuts it was almost 9:30. Then the laptop someone had brought wouldn't recognize the projector. So it was 9:45 when we commenced. I snuck my cell phone out and texted one of the PDG's wives that I wasn't going to make the sailing. By 11:00 we'd caught up and I started my first presentation. When I'd finished, lunch had not yet arrived so we went right on to the first afternoon session. Then we ate... probably not as well as if it had been at the hotel where the PDGs were.
The afternoon sessions were started early and I was first up. I either confused the group so much they didn't have a clue, or I covered it so well there were only a few questions. In any event I was cut loose and away by 1:30pm. I didn't even have to rush to get back to Sacramento.
When I did arrive back at the hotel there was no sign of any of the others. Even the hospitality room was unoccupied. I knew I couldn't call GS. I had her phone, too. I called the person I'd texted earlier and announced I'd returned. I was told Sharon was shopping in Old Sacramento with her and they'd be back at the hotel in a few minutes.
Then things began to get very interesting. The persons who'd organized the reunion (and a mighty fine job they did) had gone over to the boat landing in Old Sac to confirm everything because all of the arrangements had been made online (it seems the only way to contact the excursion boat folks is in person or via the Internet) at their headquarters in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. Evidently the folks in Florida aren't privy to the same information as the folks in Sacramento. It seems the last excursion of the day on the river is at 3:00pm. There was no 3:15 boarding for a 3:30 cruise. Our host was informed he should call everyone and have them at the dock before 3:00. He countered that even if he had everyone's phone number, there wasn't enough time.
A compromise was reached. There would be one more excursion on the river at 4:00pm exclusively for our group.
The first picture was posted here, yesterday. The sign in the photo has absolutely nothing to do with the excursion company. Pictures from the excursion may last for a few days.

...even weeks
.

Stop that!

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Yesterday =]V[= tagged three bloggers in this post. I'm flattered. Now I feel the necessity to mention three of my own. They're over on the sidebar to your left. I will let you decide which ones are most deserving [hint: APOD is not on the shortlist].
I am grateful this wasn't one of those memes that requires jumping through hoops. Also grateful that it isn't an award (well, it's kinda like an award) requiring the answers to a bunch of questions and the victimization awarding of same to other bloggers. It seems I've managed to let the deadline pass for inclusion on the list... c'est la vie [the sum total of the French I can both pronounce and spell correctly].

Every year about this time I bring up the subject of the pomegranates on the bush in our front yard. Usually I have a picture or two of the fruit and mention I can hardly wait until mid to late November when they will be ripe for picking. This year the story's a little different. Early on there were numerous blooms on the bush, about 20. Almost half of them appeared to have been pollinated. Eventually there were three fruit. I watched them as they grew, and grew some more. They were big... like grapefruit. Then one day a month ago the two closest to the street and highest on the bush disappeared. I'm certain the thief was disappointed... if he even knew what they were... because the seeds at that time aren't even close to being mature. There was still one of the fruit left at the back near the bottom of the bush. Sometime in the past 24 hours or so the thief return and picked the last unripe pomegranate. The sad thing is if he'd asked I have said he could have them... when they're ripe.

Three wouldn't have been enough of a crop for a batch of jelly... which I should be avoiding anyway... but it would have been nice to include some home grown fruit.

I think I'll cut the grass lawn in the back yard.

Try this.

Thursday's post already has more pageviews than any other post this month.

don't ask me why
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You can't go home again, part III

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This is kind of fun... the not going home, I mean. It started here and continued here. Last time we were waxing poetic about my paper route.

Today, for some reason, only adults deliver newspapers... from their cars... and they can't seem to be bothered with leaving the paper where the customer can find it. I learned about responsibility from my paper route. Most of my customers paid monthly, with cash, and I had to collect from them so I could pay for the papers I'd delivered. There were some incentives from the circulation department to get this done quickly. We were also required to calculate what the customer owed if they had stopped delivery for any part of the month. There was even a form we filled out each month to show how much profit we'd made. When a carrier had done all of these and had two missed delivery complaints or less a star was awarded. I had 60 out of a possible 66 stars (yeah, I had that paper route for five and a half years). The six I missed were for times I had a substitute delivering for me. Ironically, when those same kids got their own routes they did much better.
Periodically, the newspaper had get togethers for carriers. Sometimes they'd take some of us for a milkshake and a movie. They had a variety show at the Elks Lodge a few times. But what we really looked forward to were the summer softball games and the Christmas vacation basketball tournament. The winning team was treated to a prime rib dinner at Ed's Chuckwagon. There was one year that the team my brother and I were on won both softball and basketball. Well, it was the only year we won either. We almost didn't win the softball league. It was my folks fault. They went on a vacation trip... for six weeks. They couldn't leave my brother and I under the same roof for that long without a referee, so they farmed me out to my paternal grandmother for part of the time and I missed four games. We lost two. I hate to brag... really... but I batted a thousand that year and I played first base. Oh, the reason I batted so well is that I was able to bunt safely every time I came to bat... even though the other team knew I was going to bunt. I was also able to pretty much steal any base I wanted. But the idea behind the whole thing was to have fun.
Something else I learned delivering newspapers was bicycle repair.

It seems like most weekends in the fall a bunch of us would go up to the high school (it was at the far end of the street next to our house about 3/4 mile away) and play football on the athletic fields. We didn't play any wussy touch or flag, either. It was full contact tackle football. We didn't have helmets or pads... or even uniforms. If we didn't have enough players we'd play kill the pill carrier, an every man for himself free for all. The concept is simple. One player throws the football backwards, away from the acting 'endzone'. Whoever catches the ball tries not to get tackled as he heads towards the endzone. If he is tackled, he has to give up the ball. All players without the ball try to tackle the player with the ball and get the ball for themselves. There are no winners and no rules and the game can continue ad infinitum. We'd play until a responsible adult made us stop. If the field was wet and muddy, so much the better.

Another place we could often be found was Flood Park. It was named for James Flood, one of the Bonanza Kings, who made his fortune during the silver boom in Nevada. He had had a mansion in the area. The main attraction at the county park was the swimming pool. The pool was open in the summer every day except Monday. Most of the kinds in the surrounding neighborhoods learned to swim there. There were also lots of places to play hide and seek type games, or king on the mountain (similar to kill the pill carrier only there was no ball), or we'd pretend we were cowboys and have fake gun battles. At one spot in the park there was a cannon, probably a relic from the First World War. A lot of kids hung around it. More fun than the cannon was when one of the big old oak trees fell over. There were a lot more places to climb.

Every Saturday afternoon the Park Theater had a kids matinee. For 25 cents there were two movies, a couple of cartoons and a serial. Popcorn was a dime. Then on the way home we'd stop at Foster's Freeze for a nickel cone. Then we'd have to hurry home to deliver newspapers.

It's funny, out of all the places I've mentioned in this post, Foster's Freeze is the only one still around (at least the building is still there).

It's on Thursday!!!

You can't go home again, part II

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This is a continuation of the post started here

So I lived at that house that was my home for two months shy of the next ten years. At the time it seemed like forever (probably because at that time it was more than half my life).
We rode our bicycles everywhere most of the time (that is once I learned how to ride a bike). Almost from the time we moved there, we'd ride them to school, unless it was raining. Then parents would send us to the bus stop to stand in the rain instead of riding our bikes in the rain. We knew all kinds of shortcuts that kept us mostly off major thoroughfares on the one mile ride. We went on pleasure rides, too. This was back in the day when even a three-speed bike was exotic. But we rode in the foothills anyway and discovered so pretty neat places out behind Stanford University before there was a freeway and any commercial or light industrial development. A couple of times we went out through the town of Woodside and up to Skyline Blvd just so we could enjoy the thrill of riding back down that hill.

One of our favorite places to play was at the campus of a private elementary school only a couple of blocks from the house. What made it so much fun was that there was stuff no public school had, like rope swings and unusual climbing apparatuses. There was also no pavement, just dirt, so we could count on a relatively soft landing. Another place we liked to play was on the site of a house under construction. It seems like there was always at least one sand pile and other places to amuse ourselves. The earlier years there were lots of small estates being subdivided and new homes being built.

At one time there was a small field just up the street where some horses were kept. We kids used to take carrots, apples and, sometimes, sugar cubes to tempt the horses close to the fence so we could pet them. Eventually, though, that property, and a parcel beside it, was squired through eminent domain to build an elementary school. The irony is, that because it was an the very edge of the school district, kids who lived across the street could not attend without a waiver from their home district and the one that built the school.

I mentioned, I think, it was a big house. The first addition to our family was Smokey, a nine-month-old Cocker Spaniel. He endeared himself by peeing on the rug upon arriving on Christmas day. From that day forward he was not allowed beyond the kitchen. Even then he was only allowed indoors for a few minutes at a time. His favorite pastime was chasing trespassing squirrels and bluejays, a tennis ball, or escaping into the neighborhood whenever the gate was left unlatched. We were sure we had to have a leash on him when the gate was opened. I discovered several years later that he could be invited to come along on my paper route and he'd stay with me the entire time.

The more important additions came a little later. The older of my two sisters was born a week before my tenth birthday. She's brilliant... really. A little less than two years later, sister number two was born... she's also brilliant. They are not alike. I still call them my "kid sisters." I teased them unmercifully... still do, sometimes.

I mentioned my paper route. I carried newspapers on that route for five and a half years, every day except Sunday (thank goodness for small favors). The route started across the street from our house and made a really nice seven mile (if you consider I made certain every paper was on the porch) circle through the relatively affluent neighborhood of dentists, business executives, retired admirals and assorted celebrities. There was a noted newspaper columnist, a magazine publisher, a department store founder, a Stanford basketball star (he and his wife were renting a room), an NFL quarterback (he was making his living selling insurance), and a bunch of kids I'd never have met (at least until high school). When GS and I were down there for the high school reunion we drove through that neighborhood (most of it anyway). It was fun remembering who had lived in which house. My last day delivering papers was just before graduation from high school and my enlistment in the Navy. By the time I left that route I was earning more each month than what I made in any month during my first year and a half in the service. On the upside, the Navy at least gave me more than Sundays off and 30 days vacation each year.

maybe there's more... later
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What a difference a day makes

.

Yesterday -


Today -

It's a good ten degrees warmer, too
Home is just south of the Interstate 5 symbol near Redding.

it won't last

Another inconvenience

_

[embiggens]
Story here

still working on the continuation
.

Lovely!

_

I'll get back to finishing the story I started on Friday... just as soon as I catch up on reading all of the blogs.

rain... again!

note: the video's from last Wednesday. but if I didn't say so, I'd challenge anyone to tell otherwise

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We're home

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There are some pictures. I may post some.

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Filler

If aliens invade earth, I hope they’re Bacon people.
Because then I could totally save humankind.

.

I kinda wish I was here.
Instead I will be missing a luncheon to give a presentation at a Lions Club orientation.
Everyone else is in Sacramento. I'll be at Gridley.

bad timing
.

You can't go home again

.

Suldog started it here and Desmond Jones Craig posted about it here. Since I have recently been back to my roots, I thought maybe I might add my two cents worth.
First let me bring ya'll up to speed. GS and I aren't home at the moment. We're in Sacramento at a gathering of Lions who think they used to wield some power in the organization and will expound on that at the drop of a hat. This is the second reunion in a month. The other being my high school class reunion. This post only mildly relates to that.

The house home we lived in was on the corner of a quiet cul-de-sac and a major thoroughfare a block west (well, we always said it was west--but if you look at a map it was really more south) of Bay Road, where it is intersected by Ringwood Avenue. Ringwood Avenue was a dividing line.


(when we moved there 101 was a four lane expressway with traffic signal every few miles
there were no frontage roads and the cross streets had access to the highway)

Across the street was the town of Atherton.
We lived in an unincorporated pocket of the county and had a Menlo Park address.
Across the street was the Menlo Park Elementary School District (which included most of Menlo Park and Atherton). We lived in the Ravensood Elementary School District (which included most of the folks who were excluded from the Menlo Park Elementary School District).
Across the street was a descendant of one of the founders of the Transcontinental Railroad. Nobody in that house had to work.
Across the street was affluence. We weren't suffering from want. In fact most of the folks in the unincorporated were little different from the other side of the street. We didn't get much opportunity to find that out until we reached high school.

We moved to that house at the end of the summer after I'd completed my second year in the first grade. My Mom and I had lived in San Francisco. My Dad (stepfather) and Brother (stepbrother) had lived in Oakland. When Mom and Dad got married they felt it best if we lived in neutral territory. I think I've mentioned that my Brother and I have six months difference in age (he's uglier older)? I started the second grade two days after we moved there. Two weeks later I was in the third grade (you should see the look on folks faces when I tell them I didn't even receive a second grade education). About the house – it was on about 3/4 acre with seven or eight huge oak tree. The house itself was a ranch style in a u-shape with three bedrooms and two baths at one end and the eat-in kitchen, garage and mother-in-law room with bath and a separate entrance at the other end, separated by a large open living room/dining room area. As a kid it seemed huge. We were the only kids in the cul-de-sac... unless you include Karma (yeah, that was her name, but they called her Mitzi), who was ancient three years older than us.

There were lots of vacant lots nearby. In fact there was one across from the front of our house that was entirely enclosed by a grape-steak fence (and was thus mysterious) and another behind the house that was immediately in back of our house (or next door depending on how you wanted to look at it) that had a big bay tree. That bay tree was where we established our tree house ...only we called it a tree fort. The difference between a house and a fort to a kid has to do with on whose property it is. Forts are built on property which belongs to either nobody (vacant land) or someone other than the parties who build it. They are forts because they must be defended. Sometimes if you manage to antagonize enough people you even have to defend your own place.
Just beyond the house behind (or next to) ours is where Jonesy llived. Jonesy was a year older than me (or six months older than my Brother). His house was old. I was two stories, had a basement, an attic, detached garage, separate servant quarters and some chicken coops. It definitely had no servants or chickens. In fact there was nothing fancy about the way the Joneses lived. Jonesy had an older brother, older sister and younger sister. The younger sister was the only one who was even a little bit close to our age. Elsewhere nearby (I mean you had to climb fences and cross people's yards to get there) were a number of other kids who went to the same school.

Note: I'd planned to finish this a give readers the entire weekend to read it. Instead it looks like I'll have to finish writing this later.

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Interim post

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So now there's been 2.36 inches of rain in the last 72 hours.

I wonder how long it will be before somebody says, "We're 200% above normal."

Only some idiot that looks solely at numbers and hasn't lived here very long would say something like that.

yeah, it's still raining...why?
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Uncle Skip gets political?

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Someday I may actually come out for someone. The last time I actually got on the bandwagon and supported a presidential candidate I wasn't old enough to vote. Nixon lost that election.

In my mind, somewhere, there's a small voice screaming, "Don't go there!"

I have to.

BTW - I won't say if my candidate was Kennedy or Nixon, nor will I say what political persuasion I am. Okay, I will say I'm not a Socialist, Anarchist, or Communist. We're getting way far away from where I was headed.

What I'm concerned about is that it seems the pols have reached a point where candidates are selected for all of the wrong reasons. That's at every level. It has become a case of what package looks best, not who will do what's best for the country [state, county, city, water board, fire district, etc.]. It seems the only qualification sought today is electability based on appearance and not on who can do the best job.

Anyway, that's about as political as I'll get... at least on my blog [grins]

gotta go take some pictures
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Why didn't someone say so...

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Oh, well... better late than never.
It's lunch time!

can they make them without the tortilla
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Re-post

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"If you get up in the morning expecting to have a bad day, you'll rarely disappoint yourself."

I don't know who said it.

from my Facebook status
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Rain!

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This is better than the image I was going to show.


Bolshoi Simulation from UC-HPACC on Vimeo.

Somebody was grousing about customer service in the online version of the local fishwrap. His complaint was about being put on hold when calling local businesses.
I found that just a bit ironic.
My complaint is almost the exact opposite. I am perturbed when someone takes a phone call and has an extended conversation in the middle of a transaction with me.

We're off to another reunion at the end of this week. It's nothing like the last one. This time it's Lions and it's an annual thing.

I found a little blog love over here. I found it quite by accident because I seldom go near the bottom of the page*.

Yeah, there's a little rain this morning. The real event isn't due until tomorrow night. By the weekend it is supposed to be back to "Sunny."
The Weather Service wasted a really good word when they they called 95 degrees, "Warm."

*look under diversions

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He never ceases to amaze

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The Governor of California has done it again. He may not have it 100% right, but at least he's getting attention in the correct manner... by doing his job. He's almost like a breath of fresh air after the last two.

...or so

1st Sunday

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GS and I are serving breakfast at the Frontier Senior Center this morning. The monies raised help support the operations of the center.

Remember?
I said the other day (Thursday in the comments) there was a high school picture I like a lot better than the one used on my name tag.
I found it:

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Follow-up

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I am going to lay odds that we don't make it to within 10 degrees of the predicted 77. It's currently 65.

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The local weather guys say it's supposed to actually feel like Fall today. That remains to be seen. But there's definitely a change in the works...

...and it finally feels like football weather.