Ducks 42, Cowboys 31

Life is good.

Pet-of-the-Quarter

Richard and I have decided to initiate a program at home designed to encourage, and reward, good behavior among the four pawed population of our homestead. (Okay, Richard is going along with the idea as long as he doesn’t have to do any more work and it doesn’t disturb his rest.) We call it the Pet-of-the Quarter. It is designed after the Employee-of-the-Month program that many businesses have been using for decades to coerce their workforce into acceptable performance modes.

The program is simple. One week before the end of the quarter, we accept nominations from the floor (and countertops) for the soon-to-be prestigious honor. Each family member may nominate one family member who bears fur. They need to give a short presentation, not only mentioning who they are nominating, but also why they are nominating said darling creature. Then Richard and I will contemplate the nominations for a week and the two of us will put our heads together and come up with the winner of the Pet-of-the Quarter. The winner will get extra treats, a paw massage and other various and sundry rewards. We discussed a special parking place, but thought that was a tad over the top.

Max was the first to nominate someone. He nominated himself. He claimed that his superior hunting prowess had garnered him the respect and admiration of all his housemates, and he had obviously saved lives by catching and destroying a disease-infested mouse two months ago. (Authors note: the mouse was still attached to our computer when Max caught it, and there is no conclusive evidence that it had a virus.)

Spike, being more humble and retrospect, took his turn to nominate his big brother, Ralph. He pointed out that Ralph had never stepped on him and taught him all he knows about drooling. (Pound for pound, Spike is one dynamite drooler. Ralph taught him well.)

Trixie just shook her head and muttered something about “another ridiculous idea put out by the Bourgeoisie designed to keep the fur-bearing masses in line.” She then snorted and lay down, her disgust obvious.

Ralph was just watching his co-horts with a touch of amusement, and then we watched his eyes light up. He nominated Maxine. (Maxine is Alix’ wiener dog. They both stayed at the house when Richard and I were in Europe.) Ralph was quick to point out that not only has Maxine caused no problems around the homestead this quarter, but apparently while house-sitting she actually bit Max. The other kids still laugh and tell jokes about the incident. Unless Max is around, then they are eerily quiet.

Neither Richard nor I could come up with a candidate. We stared blankly into space.

So, for the fourth-quarter of 2008, the nominees are:
Max, the hunter
Ralph, the graceful teacher
Maxine, the trouble-free comedienne

Do we honor the computer accessory killer, the teacher of drool or a biting outsider? It will be a tough decision.

White Christmas

32" later. I think I can safely say this is the whitest Christmas I've had the pleasure to meet.

I am getting tired of shoveling; my back just ain't what it used to be. But as long as there is snow, I will be happy.

Snowzilla has caught my fancy. I do have 3 days off. I've done more bizarre things in my time.

Joyeux Noël

Christmas day nears. I wish you all a joyous holiday.
Frolijk Kerstmas en gelukkig niewe jaar.

And so this is winter.

Much has changed in the last week. The Upper Valley has finally gotten a touch of real winter. Just in time for the solstice.

We have about 2 feet of snow on the ground now. Interstate 84 between Hood River and Troutdale is closed and Highway 14 is closed between White Salmon and Washougal. This morning, for the first time this winter, I had to shovel the driveway. Please note, I did have to shovel it twice in late fall of this year. I even took a day off work last week to keep our driveway passable. Richard’s car gets in and out fine. My pick-up has been stationary since Tuesday.



But, it is so beautiful. And I get invigorated when I’m out in it. (Okay, this morning it was 0⁰. It was a tad too invigorating.) I do love the snow and winter.


We are a house divided on that sentiment. Three enjoy winter: three wish it banished to the hinterlands. I’ll let you guess the stands of the rest of the brood.

The Blizzard of '08 - Day Whatever

Finally, a real snow!

Christmas Cactus

It isn't every year that this happens.

We're Saints

Finally, the weather suits our desires.

The Blizzard of '08 - Day Two

Mother Nature, with her icy tentacles, has dished a second day of Arctic weather to the Columbia River Gorge. With 48-hour snow totals nearing 2 inches, the entire region is paralyzed. Public transportation has ground to a halt. All public schools in Skamania, Klickitat, Wasco, Hood River and eastern Multnomah counties are closed for the second day in a row. (The Sherman County School District is expected to make an announcement, regarding the status of classes today as soon as mass is over.) Municipal and County offices, except for emergency personnel are also closed for a second day throughout the region. After a truly harrowing day of delivering mail through the melting slush yesterday, the USPS has curtailed mail service for the day.

While temperatures plummet to something in the 20s, public safety officials are calling on residents to stay home, unless they don’t want to. Fearing shortages in proportions not seen since the great storm of ’82 (or ’84, depending on who is telling the story), the public has rushed Rosauer’s, depleting the supply of toilet paper in the Mid-Columbia to catastrophic levels.

This is a humanitarian crisis in the making. I’m not sure what the greatest needs are in the Gorge at this desperate time, but send me donations and I will make sure they get to those with the greatest necessities. I thank you in advance for your generous contributions to the “Save the Gorge from Ma Nature Fund”.

Local denizens gather to discuss the crisis in the Gorge.

The Blizzard of ‘08

Winter has hit the Upper Valley. The storm started yesterday evening and continued all night. We woke up this morning to damn near an inch of snow. Somehow, in the weather forecast, it sounded like a much harsher storm.

I was kind of hoping for a little more. I’m ready for a good snow.

Hanging up the Gloves

A while ago I was reading about some boxer from Rumania. He was making quite a stir. Apparently, he is still boxing at the feeble old age of 51. The article went on and on about how the poor dimwit was too old to be boxing, too old to take the pounding, too old to tie his shoes without assistance.

And, of course, I kept nodding and thinking to myself, “What is that old geezer thinking? Men of a certain age shouldn’t be doing things like that.”

Then in a bizarre twist of events, I did the math. Born in November. November 1956. That would make me: too old to take up boxing.
Damn, and I was so looking forward to a round or two.

December 8th, 1996. 6:00AM

Won't you let me know

That life is eternal

And love is immortal

And death is only a horizon

Life is eternal

As we move into the light

And a horizon is nothing

Save the limit of our sight

- Carly Simon

Natural Born Enemies

Although it may look like Max has fallen his prey and will soon begin dinner, the truth is he is having a tender moment with his brother, Ralph.

A Rare, Vibrant Sunset

Because of the way our house is situated, we rarely get a beautiful sunset.

But tonight was different.

I know, the picture does it no justice. You should have been here.

World AIDS Day

Faces of AIDS.

They came with Wayno from New York City. They survive in a physical state only temporarily. They were never fired. Survivors decided they never should be. A tribute to the fleeting moments of life: dust to dust.

The four men depicted and the artist all died of AIDS. I can’t give you dates: I just know it was before 1989.

I don't know their names. These four men and their creator are strangers to me, and yet they are my past. The faces may be of a different cast, but they are so many of my friends.

They Had a Romp.

Before anything else is stated, I need to categorically deny the recent accusations against me personally, and my household in general. I am not now, nor have I ever been a member of any anti-cat movement or party, nor have I actively taken in part in any anti-cat activities or festivals. I have never knowingly associated with any anti-catists nor do I believe in any of the basic tenets of anti-catism. To the best of my knowledge, all members of my household can make the same statement without perjuring themselves.

It is unfortunate that I feel the need to make such a statement, but due to the recent slanderous accusations that have been made against myself, and my household, it is imperative that I set the record straight. Apparently, someone (with a heavy “Mad-Cat” accent) called the local ASPCA branch (and repeated the call to the Oregon Chapter of PETA) to lodge a six-fold complaint against me and my household. The complainant claimed:

#1. An innocent feline is being held captive, without his consent, in a tiny house with no access to fresh air or the out-of-doors.
#2. The poor, blameless cat is being forced to live on store-bought cat-food, water and a few pre-packaged “cat” treats per day.
#3. The mistreated, but adorable kitten, is forced to cohort with large, unsavory canines, totally against his will and against all common sense. The generously proportioned dogs do things that, well, the complainant couldn’t bring himself to mention over the phone.
#4. When the cute little cuddly tom tries to talk to his jailors about the deplorable conditions he is forced to live in, he is often physically tossed of the bed.
#5. When trying to get exercise in the cramped environments the adorable little bundle of fur is forced to survive in, he is often yelled at, even pushed off, while strolling along the kitchen counters.
#6. The catnip provided is totally unsatisfactory. There is no chance of catching a buzz off the inferior crap that is offered.

Okay, lets cut through the doo-doo. This can only be referred to this as fur-mongering (similar to fear-mongering, only fluffier.) And there is only one “person” I know of who could have made the call. Damn speed dialing. I should have been suspicious when Max asked me to put ASPCA at #1 so he could “call to see if there were poor animals who needed a good home.” I am such a sucker.

So when the ASPCA or PETA contacts you, I just ask that you tell them the following, “To the best of my knowledge, Mac is not now, nor has he ever been a member of an anti-cat movement or party, nor has he actively taken in part in any anti-cat activities or festivals. As far as I know, he has never knowingly associated with any anti-catists nor does he believe in any of the basic tenets of anti-catism.”

Thank you for your support.

Yeah, Max is innocent!

Thanks

Corrective Lenses. Okay, I admit it is a somewhat odd thing to be thankful for, but with my eyesight, I can’t imagine life without them. You think I’m a menace to society now, just imagine what it would be like if I couldn’t see well enough to even walk safely.

Alcoholic Beverages. Some may feel it a tad gauche to admit to being thankful for booze, beer and wine. But think about it. Imagine you had to spend every waking moment with me. You too would find some comfort in a bottle.

Macaroni & Cheese. My favorite food, not only for the flavor and texture, but also because it makes me feel like I’ve just crawled up on Mom’s lap and she is gently rocking me to sleep. Good stuff, Maynard.

Power Tools. No, I’m not a great craftsman. With that said, but for the grace of power tools, and a dedicated father, I would be living in a tent in the backyard.

An Old, Worn Sweater. We all have one. The sweater you took with you when you went camping on the beach. That time that it rained solid for four days, and the sweater was the only piece of dry clothing you had left. You swore to cherish it for eternity. And you will.

A Good Book. A vibrant tale that can whisk me away to a fantasy world where I can be a dashing buccaneer, a Maestro, an eminent scientist on an adventure to Mars. Or well written verse that can make me think and feel.

Comic Strips. Come on folks, have you read the newspapers lately? They are pretty gruesome bits of journalism. But for the comic page. It is a smile in a sea of dour news.

Friends. I know. You were all starting to mumble to yourselves. “That unappreciative old bastard, he’s thankful for contact lenses, but not the important…” I do have some clue as to what is important. To my friends, old and new, thank you.

Family. I’m blessed with Richard and four furry critters. They keep me sane. (Well, as close to sane as is reasonably possible.) I have four amazing sisters, who I don’t get to see often enough. But when we do get together, we always seem to have fun. And for the most part, they married pretty well. And the 10 nieces and nephews and their spousal units, who I see even less often and wish I knew better. And the 10 grandnieces and grandnephews, some of who I’ve never even met. I need to do something about that soon. Thanks to you all.

From the Sunday Oregonian

(Click to enlarge)

I couldn't help myself.

I see the similarities even if you don't.

Despite what Max claims, no animals were hurt in the scanning of this comic. (He fell off the desk, it had nothing to do with the scanning, and he wasn't really hurt - except his feline pride.)

Grandpa

Ira Beam McCracken

June 13, 1883-November 20, 1952

In the spirit of Thanksgiving.

On this date in 1620, my 7 Great Grandfather, Peregrine White was born in Plymouth Harbor, Massachusetts. He was the first English child born in New England. Don’t bother with the genealogical details. He somehow ties into the Newell clan.

I have done some fairly extensive research into my family's histories, and trust me, other than the ever popular George Custer (third cousin, four times removed), and some truly dubious ties to Abraham Lincoln (Mary Todd’s fourth cousin married my great-great-great-great-great aunt), there is no one in my family tree that anyone would have any reason to know. (I do think that calling him “Uncle Abe” is fair game. Genealogy isn’t really an “exact” science.)

So, I put Peregrine White out there as my most respected and famous relative. (No, Ryan, Peregrine White is not the the Air Force Academy's mascot. That would be a Peregrine falcon. So close, yet so far.)

This is a picture of the Peregrine White house in Marshfield, Massachusetts. Yes, I stole it off of someone else's webpage, and as such will probably spend time in a federal penetentiary.

Mark Begich defeats Stevens for Senator from Alaska.

Dear Alaskans,

I must apologize for thinking of you as bumbling idiots. I am sorry I spread the idea of selling Alaska back to the Russians. I was wrong to think that would serve the Red Empire just desserts.

And I am sorry I said you were cute. No Alaskan is cute. You are stately or mature, beautiful or handsome, but not cute. Mea culpa.

Okay, there is that bit about hating Polar Bears, but, hey, I meant it in the nicest way possible.

How about we just shake hands and call it even?


Come on dudes, big bear hug!

Another New Era in Communications.

Many of you will recall back in June when I excitedly announced that Richard and I were entering the 1990’s in our communications systems. New cell phones, new email address and new blog. Well, we’ve just received notification of a couple of serious set-backs.

First, our land-line telephone company, Embarq, has sold. (Please note: in our little corner of the world, land-line telephone company = internet access.) In February, we will be on our sixth or seventh phone company in 20 years. I know little about the new company, Last-Century Tel, but their motto, “Committedly Indifferent to the Needs of Our Customers” does not inspire confidence. (To say in their defense, they wanted to use "Raising Ernestine", but Lily Tomlin slapped them with a lawsuit so fast , it made their heads spin.) Now, if it were your new phone company, I would find their honesty in advertising refreshing. But it is our new phone company; it’s not funny. We don’t know how this will affect our internet connection. Last-Century Tel reports that have a team of scientists trying to determine if they can pillage cyberspace for a tidy profit. They report there will be some changes a-coming to our service. Fortunately, Richard and I still own a rotary-dial telephone, so we won’t be left totally out in the cold.

On an equally unnerving note, Valley TV Co-op will suspend service on January 1st, 2009. I am particularly concerned by this catastrophic collapse in the television industry. (We are customer number 110 to give you an idea of the scope of this disaster. Literally, dozens of people will lose access to the reruns of Law and Order.) Richard and I have no known recourse. Satellite TV is not an option for us, due to the large hill to the southeast of the homestead. When I spoke with Valley TV Co-op about viable alternatives, they suggested buying a good book. So funny I forgot to laugh.

On the bright side, it has been announced that a wholly-owned subsidiary of Western Union will be opening a state-of-the-art telegraph office in Parkdale next spring.

The future of television in the Upper Valley is bleak at best.

The day after the day after.

The meager remnants of a great feast. (The ice cream and Johnny Sauce are long gone!)

Some thoughts on the eve of the Fête du Bon Père

Return with me to a simpler time. Ward and June have just won the “Parents of the Year” award sponsored by Better Homes & Gardens. On the cover of Time Magazine is an artist’s rendition of a nuke blowing Nevada to smithereens. Glamour’s cover is graced by Grace Slick… er, Grace Whats-Her-Name. You know, the queen of Monaco.

Anyway, it was long ago and far away. It was a time of innocence. The seven mortal sins were just being discerned. It was up to me to give them true definition.

Lust – Karla gets the first serving of Ice Cream and Johnny Sauce. I look at it. My god it is beautiful. Cool, creamy, so seductively sweet. The sauce dripping down the ice cream, I just want to lick it off. I want it so bad. Oh, somebody stop me before I do something really, really embarrassing.

Gluttony – More. More. More. I want more, more, more.

Greed – There are so few kernels of candy corn left. I’m sure I saw Beth looking at them. I just know she is going to take some. She can’t have any more. Who does she think she is? I must stop her. I must get them all for myself. From where I sit I can reach the light switch. It is suddenly dark. Then it is light again. The kernels have all disappeared.

Sloth – I have eaten. More than I ever thought possible. I lay on the floor. Motionless. Semi-conscious. I have no desire to move. No reason to move. No way I could move. I am sated. I will lie here until enough food has settled as to allow me to crawl to bed. Hey, could somebody slide that half eaten plate of Macaroni & Cheese my way?

Wrath – Dammit, Jane got more Ice Cream that I did. She is going to pay. I will not allow her to get away with this. Sometimes you just gotta take a woman down a peg or two. She will rue the day she took a bigger helping of ice cream than me!!

Envy – Why is it Puds always gets more of the cheesy crust than I do? I just don’t understand why Mom would give her the best plate, with the really crusty cheese. It isn’t fair. Trudy always gets the best!

Pride – I ate more than you did ‘cause I’m better than you!

Fifty-two

No animals were hurt in the posting of these numbers.

Preparing for the Fête du Bon Père.

The macaroni has been harvested and dries by the hearth. The cheese has been pressed and aged to its prime. The ice cream has been mined and awaits the feast. The Johnny Tree has been tapped, its sauce flowing into pails. And the candy corn has been baked, it cools on the sill.

Only two days to the Fête du Bon Père. The celebration will begin in the Midwest and spread to the West Coast before finally playing its final notes in the wilds of Alaska.

The anticipation is almost too great.

We have voted.

A new president. After eight years as an international pariah, we can once again hold our heads high. All Americans can take pride in that, even if your favorite candidate wasn’t selected. McCain’s concession speech was so classy, I almost regretted he had lost. (I had consumed copious amounts of vodka by that point of the evening – I wasn’t in my correct mind.)

Arizona, California and Florida all chose to ban gay marriages by inserting clauses in their state constitutions. Not a highlight of the evening for me, but I can live with it. Frankly, I’ve already done California and have no intentions of ever making the state my home again. I have no desire to even see Arizona again. I’ve spent way too much time there already. And Florida, well I would like to visit the state one day, but I don’t see me contemplating eloping to the state. On the bright side, Californians did vote to make egg-bearing chickens’ lives a little more tolerable.

And of course, the state of Alaska has voted to return a felon to the senate. Let me see if I’ve got this right. In February, when he is sentenced, he will lose his right to vote in a general election, but he will still be able to vote in the senate. Don’t they vote on Very-Important-Things in the senate? Does anyone else see us jumping off an ethically ambiguous precipice here?

You Alaskans, you are just so cute.

So, a mixed bag for me, as I’m sure it was for many people. But enough for dancing in the streets!

VOTE

No animals were hurt in the scanning of this image.

Time to pull out an atlas.

Since my posting yesterday, I have been barraged by communications from people claiming to know the name of the largest city in North Dakota.

It is not "A Clockwork Orange".

Nor is it "Best Little Whorehouse In Texas".

And please, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"?

Celebrating the Dakotas

Yes, 119 years ago today, North and South Dakota became the 39th and 40th state in the union. I imagine that there are great celebrations planned in both states today. Party in Minot! Party in Minot!

Many people know little about the Dakotas, so I wanted to give you all a brief synopsis of the history of these great states.

For centuries, the area currently known as North and South Dakota, was inhabited by members of the Sioux tribe. They lived in harmony in a land that bore an uncanny resemblance to Eden. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and zebras and gnus romped on the prairie. But sadly their paradise was soon to be altered forever.

In the early 19th century, retail pioneers Pierre Bismarck and Belle Fourche-Dickinson crossed over the Red River from Minnesota and traveled from village to village of the Sioux selling “top quality” silverware. Yes, they had nice knives, nifty spoons and Grand Forks. Pierre and Belle were successful beyond their wildest dream; bringing table manners to the Sioux, a tribe known here to fore for its horrific etiquette.

A medicine man of the Sioux, Rapid City Eddy had purchased flatware from the itinerant salespeople. Sadly, the craftsmanship of the nice knives, nifty spoons and Grand Forks was not up to R.C.’s demanding standards. He called up Belle on her cell phone and demanded a refund of the purchase price. Belle just laughed at the shaman and hung up.

R.C. was pissed. He conjured up a plague on the land. He brought an Arctic wind to the territory and the palm trees packed their bags and headed south. Mal temps had come to the Dakotas.

Survival was tough: it was an extreme time. People turned against each other. Neighbor was pitted against neighbor, dirt farmer against sodbuster, cross-dresser against school district superintendent. Nothing was sacred.

And the violence was nasty. There was hair pulling, eye gouging and low blows. The Dakotas were in turmoil.

When news of the brutality reached Sweden, good King Olav-Ingmar Bergman decreed that it was the duty of the Swedes to bring peace to the territory. So a Concorde load of blond-haired blue-eyed men and women flew to the new world. With their calm aura and non-violent poise they set an example for all to follow. Four hours after the Norsemen and women came to the area, the battling inhabitants were sitting around the campfire, holding hands and singing Kum-by-Yah.

Oh, and a few years ago, North Dakota named its largest city after a quite good, if not somewhat quirky, movie.

All Saints’ Day

As a child, I was mostly unaware of All Saints’ Day. I was raised Lutheran. From what I can tell, saints are something of enigma to Lutherans. I remember learning about Francis of Assisi, and knowing he was a saint, but his sainthood was totally downplayed.

As such, I have no fond childhood memories of singing Gregorian chants around the All Saints’ tree. I don’t remember the lavish All Saints’ dinner, complete with roasted turnips and venison kidneys. My sad, misspent youth.

But a few years ago, All Saints’ Day was hijacked by a couple of large furry critters in our household and took on a whole new meaning. It is a day of gluttony and frivolity. The day more resembles a Samhain celebration than any modern holiday.

There are games. There is bobbing for kittens: not Max and Spike’s favorite game. There is the mud collecting competition: not Mac and Richard’s preferred sport. Let us not forget the legendary half-chewed food-spewing contest: not for the feint of heart. Give-me-Treating, Drooling Challenges, On-Demand-Dog-Petting. The list goes on and on.

Don’t forget the feasting. There is food being downed everywhere. It’s all Richard and I can do to keep caught up serving the party animals. Next year we may have to hire a professional waitstaff.

By the end of the day, we’re all exhausted. The Saints have already passed out on the bed. There rest of us seem to be out of luck.

Defending Sarah Palin

I never thought I would be writing something in defense of Sarah Palin. But here I am defending her in the light of recent criticism.

“’She is a diva. She takes no advice from anyone,’” said this McCain adviser.”

Excuse me, but how much more ‘mavericky’ can you get. And I am sorry, but how much more misogynistic can you get than 'diva'.

I do not agree with Ms. Palin on most issues. But I can not condone the rhetoric. Perhaps Sarah Palin is a self-serving, horrible person who cares little about the United States and should be sent to prison for the rest of her life. But I don’t think so. She is governor of Alaska, a large state with a small population. She was elected by popular vote. She is not the devil incarnate.

Sarah may be a ‘diva’, but what is the appropriate term to describe Barack, John or Joe. You think those men aren’t diva-ish in their own right? We don’t pay the president or vice-president enough for it to be a lucrative career move. Although the retirement plan is great, none of the current candidates really need the addition cash flow.

I am sorry to defend Sarah Palin, particularly from her own party, but you have to say wrong is wrong.

The light at the end of the tunnel

Traditionally, I receive an earnings report from my 401K Plan on approximately the 20th of the month after the end of each quarter. Using that history, I have been waiting to see the statement for almost a week. I finally lost patience and went online to see if I could determine why there was a delay. Well, duh! I don’t have enough money left in my retirement plan to cover the cost of the paper, much less the ink or postage, to send me any documentation.

My first thought was to do what everyone does in times of financial crisis: throw myself out a window. And, trust me I tried. I really didn’t have the energy to go through all the effort to go upstairs, so I opted for the piano room window. I had forgotten what a major pain it is to take out the screen. And really, the best I could have hoped for was a dislocated shoulder. So I stayed inside.

So, what does a person do in a time like this? I went online. Lately, I have become a real junky of this website that gives all the latest election polls; senatorial, house and, of course, the presidential polls. And the polls are detailed down to the state and sometimes even county levels. I could go on and on about the idiosyncrasies of the various and sundry polls, but that is not where I am going with this little side trip.

I had just completed analyzing an Oct. 20 Zimmerheister Poll breaking down the left handed vote in Randolph County, NC, when I noticed a tab that read “Donations”. It was the only part of the website I had yet to visit, so there I went. It was an interesting little blurb going over the costs associated with the website. The webmaster had spent $4,000.00 for some router bits and another $2,000.00 to install a new state-of-the-art thing-a-ma-jiggy. And s/he advertises on blogs. I quote: “It can run up to $500.00 per month to advertise on a popular blog.”

Bingo!

Does this just shout “Mac’s financial security!” or what?

Okay, I do have a couple of details to work out, but I am confident that this scheme is my ticket to a comfortable, nay, opulent retirement. And I’m sure you will all help in anyway you can. Your other option is hosting me in my golden years!

Big Day In Hooterville

I bought a new push broom today. I know, I lead one of those thrill-a-minute lives where buying a new push broom is actually quite newsy. And pretty exciting. I just hope it doesn’t send Richard over the edge.

You would think that I would have realized that it required some assembly, since the head and the handle were parallel in the packaging, but until I ripped the cardboard off and the head fell to the floor it didn’t really dawn on me that I was going to have to do some construction. But I was ready. I mean how hard could it possibly be to make a push broom ready to use.

Frankly, quite hard. To make this broom fully operational would require a doctorate from a prestigious engineering university. After about a half-hour of struggling, trying one thing, then another, cursing, trying one more stupid idea, then throwing a temper tantrum and calling the broom a horrible name, I glanced down and noticed that there were instructions on the cardboard that had bound the parts together.

Nonchalantly, I reached down and picked up the cardboard. I glanced around in case any of the neighbors could see me. Then I actually read the instructions. I caught myself thinking things like:

“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Sure, sure, I get it. I mean if I would have gotten step one, this step would have been obvious.”
“Gees, I sure am glad I didn’t actually use the tablesaw!”
“Wow, a screwdriver, why didn’t I think of that!”

So, I followed the directions and five minutes later a push broom was born. Now, I can enjoy the screwdriver!

Tragedy in Alaska

Click on image to enlarge

Memories

I have an amazing memory. Please, do not confuse “amazing” with “good”. One day last week a woman came into my office. We had a wonderful conversation. She asked about the dogs, how my vacation was and if I still lived on Highway 35. We laughed and exchanged hugs as she left.

I have no clue who she was.

But:

“Allo. Emil?"
"Oui, c’est moi. Qui est à l’appareil? "
"Ici Jean Dupuis. Tu es libre ce soir? "
"Non. Je dois aller à la bibliotheque. Il faut que je rends des livres pour ma mere. As-tu envie de m’accompagner? "
"Oui, d’accord. Si on ce retrouver vers six heur.”

Yes, from my eighth grade French class with Miss Colliton, I vividly remember the above conversation. It was rquired learning.

With that stimulating dialogue dancing in my pea-brain, I have spent the better part of four decades waiting to meet someone named “Emil” or “Jean Dupuis”. Sadly, the conversation's window of usefulness may be waning. While I’m not sure that I have ever had to return books for my mother to the library, it is a safe bet that I will not be required to in the future. And each day, fewer and fewer of my friends are returning books for their mothers to the library.

But, Jean and Emil, I am ready. Sadly, I’m not free this evening at 6. How about tomorrow night?

Happy Birthday, Suzie Q

Susan has finally joined three of her four office mates in the Half-Century Club. We do have one child working in the office (depite federal statutes about child labor). Raquel is 30 something.

I'm quite sure that this would not be Susan's favorite picture, but it is the best I have.

Between the five of us, we have something like 130 years experience in the hospitality industry. Now that is a depressing statistic.

But this is Susan's day. Enjoy it woman, and come to work tomorrow refreshed and ready to face another decade or two of hell at the Inn of the Damned!

We strive for mediocrity!!!

(And in my book, you don't look a day over 39.)

Choo-Choo McCracken

My great-uncle, Dale McCracken was an engineer for the C B & Q Railroad. The train engine he piloted is on display in downtown Ottumwa, Iowa.

If you close your eyes and really strain your brain, you can consider it a monument to my family!

Random thoughts

Richard and I were watching PBS the other night. It was about the movies of Warner Brothers Studios. It wasn’t a great show, but it kept my interest until way past my bedtime.

There was a quote from a movie that was something to the line of, “yadda, yadda, yadda (expletive deleted) fag.” I have to assume that the deleted phrase was the “F” word, or as I have heard the younger generation refer to it as the “F bomb”. “Fag” was obviously a reference to a gay man.

I’ve only heard one explanation of why gay men are called fags, or faggots, but it is not a universally accepted reason. A somewhat old-fashioned term, ‘faggot’ is used to define a bundle of sticks used to start a fire. Something like kindling. Apparently during the Spanish Inquisition, there was this theory that burning a witch at the stake was only effective if a male homosexual was used as fuel for the fire. Hence gay men became known as faggots. Ain’t history fun!

In truth, is doesn’t matter the origin of “fag”. There is no question but what it is on the line of the “N” word. (Sorry, I’m a gay man, I can type “faggot”, I can’t type the “N” word. I’m not black.)

So, liberal, left wing PBS doesn’t find “fag” offensive. I do. Would they have deleted the “N” word? I don’t’ know. But I’m guessing they might have had some serious conversations.

I’ve been asked why I am thinking about emigrating to Nederland. In 1811, all sodomy laws were repealed in Nederland (Napoleonic law). Admittedly, they were reinstated and repealed a few times until 1845 whenthe repeals became final. (The United States finally repealed all sodomy laws in 2002) In 1971 gay men and lesbian were given full rights in Nederland (yes, even to equal rights in marriage. Note: the Dutch government doesn’t give “marriage” to anyone, that is left to the churches. Nederlander have civil unions for legal reasons, marriage is a religious thing.) Still waiting for that in the US.

Oddly enough, Nederland requires that you speak Dutch before they will allow you to immigrate. Richard took up the the language today.

Twee grote wodka met ijs, alstublief!

Where are those sons of summer now?

Yesterday was the autumnal equinox. Today I scraped ice of the windshield of my pick-up. Sunday’s Oregonian had an article on preparing your garden for winter.

Time out.

My garden isn’t 100% ready to plant, and they want me to prepare it for winter? Am I the only one who sees the absurdity of this situation?

This could be tomorrow.

Juanita McCracken Cornelison

I’ve spent many hours trying to come up with a sensitive tribute to my mother that would give everyone an insight into the essence that was Juanita McCracken Cornelison. So far I have been miserably unsuccessful.

All I have been able to create is an over-sized document that is a delightful tribute to random hyperbole, ennui-infested thought, poor grammar, cliché metaphors and just-plain-old-shoddy writing.

Bad writing! Bad writing!

I’d send myself to bed without dessert, but I know me. I’d just get up in the middle of the night, while my conscience was sound asleep, and sneak a piece of cake.

But a picture is worth a thousand words.

Happy 94th Birthday, Mom

I miss you!

Juanita McCracken Cornelison #2

The quintessential toddler picture.

Juanita McCracken Cornelison #3

I love this series of Mom. I don't know for sure when they were taken, but I picture her in high school at one of those photo machines at the local drug store.

Juanita McCracken Cornelison #4

One of my favorites pictures of Mom. I think it really catches her spirit.

Juanita McCracken Cornelison #5

Mom in her backyard in Gleneden Beach

Bernard Soule Cornelison

And yes, continuing with the tragedies of my grandparents, Granddad died on September 15th, 1946.

No, I never met him, but thanks for asking.

Bernard, pictured above with his wife, Hannah Leah Taylor Cornelison (the only biological grandparent I ever met) was 65 years old when he left this world. There are many more people to remember Bernard than there are for Fannie. Leah and Bernard had four children who live to adulthood and 14 grandchildren.

From there the numbers get mindboggling.

Fannie Alice Newell

On September 14, 1921, eighty-seven short years ago, Fannie Alice Newell McCracken, my grandmother, died.

I know little about Fannie. And no, I never met her, but thanks for asking.

She was born on November 13, 1876, probably in Cincinnati Twp, Harrison County, Iowa, the eldest child of Nathaniel and Sarah Emily McNeal Newell. At about the age of 18, she moved with her parents and younger siblings to the state of Washington. They first lived near Deer Park, before they moved to Scotts Valley, just outside TumTum. In 1900, Fannie was living with Earl and Mary Ellen Schoonover and their family in Spokane, Washington as a boarder. She was employed as a telephone operator.

Earl Schoonover’s nephew, Ira Beam McCracken and Fannie Alice Newell were married on November 6, 1905 in Spokane.

They set up home in the area of TumTum. Their first three children were born in Scotts Valley and are buried in Scotts Valley Cemetery, along with Fannie’s parents. Their fourth child was born while Ira worked on the construction of Long Lake Dam. Juanita, my mother and Fannie and Ira’s only child to live for more than 48 hours was born in a tent in the work camp of Long Lake in 1914.

A few years later, the McCracken family moved, first to St. Helens, Oregon for a few month and then to Vancouver, Washington. In Vancouver, Fannie gave birth to her fifth child.

Fannie was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a radical mastectomy and underwent experimental radiation therapy. She died four days before her only surviving child's seventh birthday.

I know it is odd, writing about someone I never met. And yet, if I don't remember Fannie, who will?

Four sovereign nations. One great holiday!

Netherlands Germany
Denmark
Sweden

Photos from Bremen

Not to be outdone by the Dutch, Bremen has its own windmill.Yes, I can embarrass Richard in many countries on one vacation.
The main square in Bremen.
They are really into sculptures in Bremen.

Photos from Helsingor, Denmark and Helsingborg, Sweden

Helsingor Castle, home of Hamlet.Street in Helsingor.
And a short ferry ride away is Helsingborg, Sweden.

City Hall.
On a hill overlooking Helsingborg.