Happy New Year!!!

Under a blue moon, we start a new decade.
Peace on Earth.

Only 30 Hours to Go

Need to rip down the Christmas decorations so we can put up the Duck decorations!

Boxing Day

‘Tis the day after Christmas, and all through the ‘stead,
Only one creature is stirring, the rest ‘round the house are spread.

The cats are both curled in cute little balls, sleeping off the night’s antics where they climbed up the walls.
Their angelic, sweet faces, so easy to adore, hide the evil-cat dreams I’ve learned to abhor.

And the Saints are snoring as they lay on the bed, thank goodness there are pillows for their tired little heads.
The way their exhausted and unable to play, you’d think they’d spent the night guiding Santa and his sleigh.

And Richard has claimed a small spot ‘twixt the dogs, where he’s nestled in tightly, sawing some logs.
There’s no need to worry about him keeping warm, he’s got living space heaters to keep him from harm.

So, my communication to you on this bleak winter day
Is keep yourselves warm and happy Boxing Day!

A Little Seasonal Humor

Merry Christmas

From our home to yours!

Why is everyone so reality oriented?

Happy Solstice

The shortest day is here. The rebirth begins.

"tis the Season

Yesterday was spent tromping through the woods, harvesting a mighty evergreen, dragging the tree back home, placing it in its stand and decorating what turns out to be a really big cat toy.

Ho Ho Ho

When you're desperate -

You'll try anything!

Io Saturnalia

Yes, 'tis the first day of Saturnalia.

Do you have your Saturnalia shrub trimmed?

Are you singing the beloved songs of Satunalia?

Have you planned your Saturnalia feast?

It's time for some tomfoolery!

Freezing Rain in Pictures

Morning
Afternoon

Evening

A frail attempt at capturing nature in pictures.

I didn't say they would be good pictures.

And yes, you can click on the pictures to enlarge them.

... It Might Be Black Ice.

If your 200# Saint Bernard straps on ice skates before heading out the door in the morning… it might be black ice.

If you find yourself in an unexpected, but welcome, embrace with the tree alongside your front walk… it might be black ice.

If your neighbors Christmas lights reflect beautifully off their front lawn… it might be black ice.

If your windshield wipers have become one with the windshield… it might be black ice.

If the all-wheel drive Subaru you are following into town (as you drive your death-trap-of-a-rear-wheel-drive-pick-up) starts to fishtail and spin… it might be black ice.

If you pass a snow-plow that has slid into the ditch… it might be black ice.

If you find yourself wishing you had a rosary to clutch… it might be black ice.

If you arrive at work to find that you are physically incapable of releasing your grip on the steering wheel… it might be black ice.

If the most expeditious and safest way to get from your car to the office includes crawling on your hands and knees… it might be black ice.

If you are a half hour late and your arms are too exhausted to lift the flask you keep in the bottom drawer of your desk… it might be black ice.

MadHatters

Kathleen, Joe and I with our favorite hats!

The Beauty of Cold

It truly has been a beautiful week in the icy Gorge.

Oh, and do you know what is colder than 1 with a Fahrenheit behind it?

A "0" (that would be as in 'zero') with a Fahrenheit behind it. I don't remember when the last time was that we saw a thermometer reading higher than 32. The Hood River is pretty much frozen over.

Christmas in the Hood!

Yes, we do add a new twist to the holidays here in Hood River. Granted it would take a whole mess of wine before I could truly enjoy watching the Hood River Public Works Department and Pacific Power work crews try to get a tree erect, but hey, I'm open to new experiences!

One, Un, Een, Uno, Ein, Um.

Doesn’t really matter how you say it, throw a Fahrenheit behind it and it is frickin’ cold.

It was long ago and far away.

Thanksgiving 1989.

The world was younger than today.

A Brief History of the Oregon Ducks and the Rose Bowl.

Okay, I’m going to come clean. There is no way I could have written a long history of the University of Oregon’s involvement in the Tournament of Roses, without conjuring up a major piece of fiction. So, I will stick to the facts and keep it short.

Oregon has been to the Rose Bowl (other than to kick UCLA’s butt during the regular season) four times: 1917, 1920, 1958 and 1995. Then there is the moral equivalent of the Rose Bowl, the 2002 Fiesta Bowl, which capped a great season of being screwed by the BCS. But that is another rant: I mean historical conversation.

So, in 1995, Oregon was beaten by Penn State 38-20. I remember being thankful that it wasn’t an embarrassing loss. I’m old school Oregon… and an embarrassing loss is going down 62-0 to the JV Cheerstaff from Central Oregon Community College. (Not trying to criticize the COCC Cheerstaff.)

In 1958, Oregon lost to Ohio State (boo…hiss) 10-7. History will not repeat itself.

In 1920, the perennial football power, Harvard, beat Oregon 7-6. Most Oregonians are still bitter. Harvard graduates have troubles finding a job in Portland to this very day.

Ahh, but 1917 was the glory year. The Ducks beat back the nasty Quakers from Penn, 14-0. Few people could afford to get to Pasadena, but everyone in Eugene was glued to their television to watch the game. When the broadcast was done, everyone ran out into the streets and partied til the wee hours of the morning. Or, at least, that is what I have been told.

No, I wasn’t there.

No Words Needed

Traffic Update

For those of you attempting to get to Autzen Stadium for the 113th Civil War, apparently it is pretty much a nightmare all the way from Wilsonville to Eugene. If you're just leaving Corvallis now, don't bother. You aren't going to make it. Best just to sit tight and watch the game on ESPN.

GO DUCKS

GAME OF THE CENTURY

(Actually, as every true Oregonian knows, it is the game of this century, last century and the century before!)

The Civil War for the Roses!

The Entire Thanksgiving Gang

The Winter Rush to Bed – or – Golly-Gee-Willikers, the Floor Looks Awfully Comfy!

It has begun.

It has been cold out the last few nights. Hence, the winter ritual has begun. I trundle off to the bathroom, and after finishing my duties, I step into the hallway and announce to the gathered family in the living room that I am retiring and bid them all a bonne nuit.

Ralph jumps up and trots after me. Well, sorta after me. Until we hit the turn to the bedroom, when he knocks me down and jumps up onto the bed. Trixie, sensing the kill, follows him to the bed (“accidentally” knocking me over on her way) and jumps up, claiming her territory.

As I crawl on my hands and knees to the bed, Max jumps up on my back and then onto the already over-crowded bed.

I stand and judge the status. Ralph is covering 62.75% of the bed. Trixie is covering 46.8% of the bed. And despite his diminutive stature (comparatively speaking), Max is covering 18.34% of the bed. My chances of a good night’s sleep are looking dim.

But it is amazing the small spaces you can squeeze into, when you are tired and desperate and have totally lost control of your household!

Bonne nuit, tout le monde!

World AIDS Day

Thanksgiving in Pictures

The Pinochle Crew. Don seems to have taught us all the love of the game. Yes, we were full of the love, but the rule book pretty much went out the window.

The Binder Clan: the next generation.

Mom's Kitchen - just messier than she would have allowed.

The Beach: bitter cold.

Dad's Office, or what we called the "Time-Out Room". Richard had been a bad, bad boy!

Mom & Dad's House

The house is suppose to be blue... someone has desecrated the old house!

But there is proof it is ours.

Who's Says I'm Loonie?

There is a method to my madness!

My good buddy, DB Cooper.

I’ve decided to take the day off from reality and channel DB’s spirit so that I can locate the missing $194,120.00 of the ransom he was paid for the plane he hijacked on November 24, 1971.

Frankly, it seems a more reasonable retirement plan than relying on my bludgeoned 401K.

Ripped From the Headlines!

"Heidi, Spencer Shop Own TV Show.

Heidi and Spencer Pratt, Seeking More Television Time, Want To Star In Their Own Reality Show

from Cbsnews.com

I read the whole article. Oddly, I was left reminiscing about my good ol’ days at Tyee High.

I know this will come as something as a surprise to many of you, but I was in debate back in my school days. Actually, I should say competitive speaking, as it included no only debate, but also interpretive speaking, expository speaking, oratorical speaking, improvisational speaking and a couple other categories. (It was decades ago; decades of brain cell abuse, some might call it brain-cell-o-cide.) I was best in improv speaking. (You better sit down kids, but I went to state!)

Improv is pretty basic. You enter the room. You are handed a topic. You read it out loud. You read it to yourself and then you read it out loud again. And then you talk for three to five minutes about the topic. Then, you are done. Once you have completed your talk, you can stay in the room to see how you do compared to those who come after, or you can wander off into the sunset. I always enjoyed listening to those who followed. Each contestant was given a different topic, so it could be very be interesting.

Senior year of high school – at state: I am done with whatever I did. It was not memorable. I have chosen to forget it. I knew I was done for the season; my career was over. The last person in our flight comes in. He is handed his topic.

“The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is silence while he reads the topic to himself. “The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is a pregnant pause. “Who cares?”

He leaves the room.

I Love My Ducks

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hrjpe1VCNg

I couldn't resist!

Somehow, I should be able to do something so you don't have to cut and past, but I have no friggin' idea what it is. So cut and paste and enjoy!

We don't need no stinkin' polar bears!

(Click to enlarge.)

Le Fête du Bon Père est fini.

Yes, the feasting is over. The candy corn in long gone, as is the Macaroni and Cheese; and tonight, the last to pass, the Ice Cream and Johnny Sauce.

My heart is full of sorrow: my belly happy as a lark. But now, another year to wait.

Everything is Just Ducky

Dare I say: everything is coming up roses!

Ten Signs you are not aging with Grace and Panache.

#1. You have to look “Panache” up in the dictionary to find out what it means. You are stunned to discover that it is in no way related to “pancake” or “ganache”, despite the large number of shared vowels and consonants. You are quite disappointed. (Frankly, you were looking forward to growing old with Ganache!)

#2. The closest you’ve ever come to “Grace” is watching she and Will on TV, and half the time you had no clue what she was babbling about.

#3. Your verve has been compared, unfavorably, to a wet woodchuck.

#4. You need to shave your ears as often as your chin.

#5. When you admit to your real age, people are flabbergasted. You get a little cocky until you hear one of them whisper something about, “…obviously ridden hard and put to bed wet!”

#6. While counting from one to your current age, after getting confused and needing to start over (twice), you must sit down at about the mid-way point, due to utter exhaustion.

#7. You crack some rude joke about the old blatherskite sitting down the bar from you, only to have someone point out that there is a mirror at the end of the bar and, well…

#8. A boy scout tries to help you across the street. If you could remember where you left your cane, you would beat the tar out of the little whippersnapper.

#9. The little girl next door just graduated, magna cum laude, from one of those snotty law schools back east. If you could dredge up her name, you’d send her a card.

#10. You vividly remember when they put the stop sign at the foot of highway 35, but you are still surprised to see it each morning.

Dad and Granny

I'm guessing the picture is from the 1935-40 era, but I'm not sure. (Thanks for the picture, Bethie!)

Happy birthday, Dad.

Dad, this may be an inappropriate question, but do they have Macaroni & Cheese in heaven?

Snow!

Impressive: no. Even Ralph and Trixie are nonchalant.

I can't even say it is our first snow of the year: it snowed on October 13th, but I missed it. I was at work.

BUT IT SNOWED TODAY!!! YEEHAW!!!

Can You Spell "Old"?

It looks something like this.

I would like to point out that it is a prime number.

So, with a touch of bizarre logic, I can honestly state that I am still in my prime.

From the Oregonian, Sunday, November 8th, 2009

Some of you, like me, may recognize this house. It's in Road's End, near Dory's Cove, the restaurant north of Lincoln City (past the Safeway), that we ate at everytime we went to see Mom & Dad.

A Dreary Day.

Yes, it is possible that summer may be over. While I will miss the sun and long days, I am fully anticipating the Fête du Bon Père.

Yes, I have been harvesting the tasty sap of the Johnny Sauce Tree, reaping the crop of macaroni, preparing the ice cream and making ready to bake the candy corn. The cheese is approaching its most flavorful apex.

If only we could celebrate such a feast more than once a year.

I Had a Dream.

In my dream (aka: nightmare), Max is sitting in bed, propped up against the pillows in a very human-like position. He has a breakfast tray across his lap and is being served kippered herring by a tuxedo-clad Richard.

Some claim that it is a sign that we have lost control of the household.

My only point of contention with that theory is that it implies that we had some semblance of control of the household at a point in the past. There is no truth to that postulation.

Just Hoping

As I wait to hear the election returns from Maine and Washington, I am reminded of a dark time from my past.

It was the late ‘70s. Gay rights was the latest fad and it turned up in some of the oddest places: Miami (Dade County), FL; Wichita, KS; St. Paul, MN; Eugene, OR; Seattle, WA.

I hope no one else in this room ever has to experience being 20 years old and hearing that 69% of the people in Miami, Florida think that you are a pervert and don’t deserve the same rights as other Americans. Similar results came out of Wichita and St. Paul. And particularly horrifying was Eugene – the liberal town of Oregon. (Seattle saved the decade!)

Of course, Anita Bryant was a catalyst to the overthrow of gay rights. I came across these quotes from her on the web:

"As a mother, I know that homosexuals cannot biologically reproduce children; therefore, they must recruit our children" and "If gays are granted rights, next we'll have to give rights to prostitutes and to people who sleep with St. Bernards and to nail biters."

I can’t be the only person who sees the amazing humor.

Why shouldn’t nail biters have full rights?

They are still lying in Maine.

Or maybe they aren't lying. Maybe I'm going to hell, but I'm going in a prettier handbasket than the rest of you.

'Cause I'm a queer and damn it, we've got the best handbaskets!

Just another Beautiful Day in the Gorge.

The sky is clear blue. The air is crisp. The Ducks beat the holy bejeezus out of SC.

Life don’t get better than this.

Oregon 47, USC 20

Oregon, our Alma Mater,
We will guard thee on and on,
Let us gather 'round and cheer her,
Chant her glory, Oregon!

Roar the praises of her warriors,
Sing the story, Oregon,
On to vict'ry urge the heroes
Of our Mighty Oregon!

Synopsis of Sibling Call: October 25, 2009.

Beth started the Sibling Call at precisely 6:00PM (PDT). Her precision was amazing. At 6:01PM (PDT), Beth deftly connected with Karla, after a brief reminder to Trudy that we weren’t going to include her this week.

Our dialogue was rich and robust. Naturally, we spoke viciously and with great cruelty about the two siblings who weren’t involved; making fun of their spouses and their children, ridiculing their appearance and how harshly the aging process has hit them and denigrating their intelligence. It took all of two minutes. We mostly just nodded in silent agreement.

No conversation with Beth is complete without an in depth and articulate discussion of the dump facilities at rest areas in South Dakota and Iowa. This may come as a surprise to many of you, but apparently you can flush the septic system of your motor home there for no charge. The discussion is always invigorating; no matter how many times you have it.

We talked about upcoming vacation plans: Beth to Florida and Las Vegas, Karla to Las Vegas, Mac, with some good fortune, may get all the way to Mosier sometime before Christmas. There was some brief contemplation regarding the “other” siblings and their plans for Yosemite, Hawaii, Santa Barbara… you know, those mundane, overdone “hot spots”. We yawned and changed subjects.

And then I kind of drifted off into a soft haze. I know we were still talking, because my mouth opened and noises came out, but I have no idea what we could possibly still have been discussing. At some point, I realized I was home alone and there were dogs demanding attention. I wandered off. I returned. I’m not sure they really knew I was gone.

The Sibling Call ended at 7:15(PDT)ish.

Report respectfully submitted by the Soon-to-be-ex Secretary General of the Sibling Call.

Sorry to see you go, Soupy Sales.

The last pie has been thrown!

We Call It “The Pick”.

This is the 15th anniversary of the greatest moment in Duck football history. No, this is the 15th anniversary of the greatest moment in the state of Oregon’s history.

And I quote:

"Huard's gonna go back to throw the ball... sets up... looks... throws toward the corner of the endzone... it is... INTERCEPTED!!! INTERCEPTED!!! THE DUCKS HAVE THE BALL!!! DOWN TO THE 35, THE 40!!! KENNY WHEATON'S GONNA SCORE!!! KENNY WHEATON IS GONNA SCORE!!! TWENTY!!! THE TEN!!! TOUCHDOWN!!! KENNY WHEATON!!! ON THE INTERCEPTION!!! THE MOST IMPROBABLE FINISH TO A FOOTBALL GAME!!!" - Jerry Allen.

That is pretty much how we all describe it.

It had been a pretty ordinary season for the Ducks: pretty much an even keel, no great wins but a couple of serious losses, but still 4-3. Ahh, the good old days. But it was:


OREGON VS WASHINGTON


Oregon had lost the last 17 out of 20 games to the hated Huskies. They led, but the Huskies were on the Duck’s 9 yard line. It was going to be another bitter…

But it wasn’t. Oregon won 31-20. They beat the (spit on the floor) Huskies and won all the rest of the games of the season, returning to the Rose Bowl for the first (and most recent) time in 37 years. Remind me to go into the whole Rose Bowl story later. There is a bitter irony involved.

Just raise a glass to Kenny Wheaton!

MIGHTY OREGON!!!

This One Caught My Fancy

I guess you had to be there, then, and have to be here, now, to find the riot.

One Day You Wake Up

And fall has come!

I Refuse to Grow Up

I read an article yesterday about 15 things that men can do to halt the aging process and look younger, longer. It was ludicrous piece of journalism, regurgitating the same worn out advice; like eating a well balanced diet, exercising regularly, not smoking, drinking in moderation, using sun block every time you go outside the house… you know, stuff that all those “health” gurus have been droning on and on about for decades.

Phooey on them.

I have my own five rules to looking younger.

#1. Sun block does nothing for anybody. If you really want to look younger, you must religiously avoid, not only the sun, but all bright lights. Let’s be brazenly honest: men of a certain age look their best in a pitch black room. The quality of image fades as the intensity of light increases. Anything brighter than a candle at fifty paces is a detriment to the appearance of the vast majority of mature men. It may be cruel, but life often is less than benevolent.

#2. It doesn’t really matter what you eat. More important is who you eat with. Eat with people who look older and significantly more grizzled than you do. Frankly, I look better eating a Mickey D lunch with some old geezer from the home than I do eating an ass-flattering salad with my co-workers. It is simple parameter of fact: youth is comparative.

#3. Don’t smoke in public. This has nothing to do with any of the unfortunate health related side effects of tobacco, this has more to do with rule #1. Cigarettes give off light. They must be avoided in public places at all cost. Jonesing isn’t a good enough excuse.

#4. Exercise is not going to do a damn thing to make you look younger. Get real folks, a wrinkled man, laying in the gutter and sweating like a pig after walking around the block doesn’t look any better than the kindly old gent sitting in the rocking chair on his porch. All the crap you read about “exercise making you look like a 20 year old rock star” is just marketing hype from the big exercise equipment manufacturing companies.

#5. Promote the consumption of alcohol. You look better in the mirror after your fourth cocktail. You look better in public after the public is on their fourth cocktail. This is pretty basic stuff, people.

A picture of me, looking my best.



Eating Cheetohs while I suck down my fifth drink, in a pitch black room, reclining in the easy chair with an 97 year old man next to me. I don’t get better than this.

I Can't Resist.

I don't know how long this link will be good, but the Saints are here.

http://www.thedalleschronicle.com/news/2009/10/news10-06-09-02.shtml

And you appear to have to cut and paste to make it work...

October 5, 1943

From the October 7, 1943 Ridgefield Reflector, or the Local Astonisher as Dad liked to refer to any small town weekly.

“POPULAR YOUNG COUPLE TAKE (sic) MARRIAGE VOWS.

At an informal but lovely ceremony Tuesday evening, Miss Juanita McCracken, daughter of I.B. McCracken of near Vancouver, became the bride of Robert Cornelison, son of Mr. and Mrs. B. S. Cornelison of Ridgefield.”

And so it began, 66 short years ago. Bob and Juanita tied the knot, and started the Cornelison Nut House.

Rocks.

I remember, from some archaic science class back in my youth, that there are three different kinds of rocks: Ignatius, Sedentary and The Other Kind. (This may not be an indisputable fact, nor the technical names, but don’t mess up my memories with your scientific superiority.)


It should be noted that when a large stone jumps up and grabs your big toe, causing you to trip and fall on a gravel walkway, all three kinds of rocks laugh.

Notes from Mr. Master Recycler-in-Training, Sir.

Just don't buy the garbage in the first place.

Really, think of other options. Go communal. Rent. Do without. Thrive at a different level.

Me and My Favorite Cock.

Come on folks, mind out of the gutter. You remember, my new best friend from Kansas.

The picture didn’t capture the emotions or the intense camaraderie, but it is all I have to remember him by.

On the Road Again.

On the face, it was a simple objective. Get to Seattle, do the tribute, come home. But it started poorly.

I left work a couple of hours before I really planned. Given the extra time, and the sentiment of the journey, I thought that it would be good to do something to remember my parents. My first thought was to drive by all their old homes between Portland and Seattle: Mom’s childhood home in Vancouver; “The Farm” where Mom moved to in Junior High; the house that Dad built in Kalama; the house they lived in during their years in Winlock. But then I remember the trip that I showed Richard all those highlights of my parent’s life.

It seems that knowing Mom’s childhood home was a block away from Vancouver High and at the end of the trolley line has lost some of its usefulness. The trolleys stopped running many, many decades ago, and they tore down ol’ Vancouver High in the 1970’s. Knowing that it was on a number street just off a main street was a good hint, but not enough to pinpoint the actual house. Richard got to see the part of town Mom spent her youth. Maybe.

I was sure that finding “The Farm” would be much easier. It was on Parker Road, out in the country when Grandma lived there, in the 1960’s. Thank goodness nothing changes. Vancouver has engulfed the area and changed the named streets to numbers. Once again, Richard got to see something that may have been like the area Mom lived in during her teen years. Well, the area after a few decades of relentless urbanization.

In Kalama, I was more successful. We were able to whittle down the possible houses that Dad built to 4 or 5. They were all within 10 or 12 blocks of where I thought the house should be. But none were at the exact location.

In Winlock I could pinpoint the exact house. I knew it. Later, Karla told me I was wrong. It wasn’t across the street from the Catholic Church. It was next door. Close, but no cigar.

So rather than go that erroneous route, I decided to do what I can do well; get flowers and put them on their graves. How was I to know that the Safeway in Kelso had moved? (The Safeway in Kelso is my flower source. Only the finest for my parents.) I pulled off the freeway and headed directly to the Safeway. You can imagine my horror when the building was empty. I asked a clerk at the store next door if she knew where I could get flowers… close and convenient. She told me at the Safeway. I pointed to the store next door and said, “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it’s not next door anymore!”

She looked at me like I had gone mad. “Safeway is just on the other side of the freeway. Gawd, it moved ages ago. What you on that you missed the last three years?”

I opted not to answer.

So I crawled back into my pick-up and headed out to find “the other side of the freeway”. It sounds easy, I know. But I was a block from Kelso High School (Go Highlanders!!), and while I was chatting with the clerk in the store next door to where Safeway used to be, the school allowed something in the neighborhood of 16,000 teenagers onto the street. Some on foot; some in cars. It was horrifying.

A few wrong turns and 15 minutes later, I found the Safeway on “the other side of the freeway”.

So I headed on to


Where I paid respects to


And saw the



And something new.


Winlock seems to be trying to vie with the Ball o’Twine.

Remind me to tell you about the rest of the trip sometime.