These days, it’s hard to come up with something to write about on my blog. Ever since Sarah Palin threatened to sue me (no, she never mentioned me by name, but the implication was pretty specific), I’ve been afraid to write about politics. And now I’ve read about a comedienne who is being sued by her in-laws for insulting jokes. I’m not sure I can ever mention my family again.
So, I should write about my real life? Do you have any idea how boring my real life is? I sleep through a good portion of it as it is. Do you want details of my diarrhea last night? I don’t think so.
I have always loved the quote, “Fuck reality, give me one good fantasy.” I don’t know who said it, but perhaps some of you are getting the direction I am going.
And how was my weekend?
It was glorious. Richard and I flew to Paris on Friday night, caught the TGC to Marseille and watched the opening of Communité Théatre du Marseille’s presentation of Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” I now remember why I never liked the movie, (but the book was pretty good.)
When that was finally over, we caught dinner at one of those trendy restaurants on Rue Braves, then, took a long walk on the shores of the Mediterranean. The moon was glorious, the sand soft and it slowly abraded all the corns and calluses off my feet.
After a wonderful sleep in the Ritz-Carlton Marseille, we awoke to a breakfast of champagne and caviar before renting a car and taking a carefree drive along the steep, winding roads of Provence. (We’re all gonna die!!! We’re all gonna die!!!) We enjoyed the wildflowers, met Chagall, ate delicious foods and ended our day in Avignon. We had a dinner to die for immediately beside the Palais des Papes. There was soft music being played by a string quartet. It was totally amazing.
This morning, we awoke and strolled down to the local boulangerie. After a cup of espresso, a croissant, some delectable cheeses, yogurt and some fresh fruit, we drove back to the airport and flew home.
How was your weekend?
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Vacation's Over.
Real life begins again. And, thanks to my having ignored upkeep chores around the old homestead for longer than I care to admit, it is not a benevolent real life.
I am painting the house, officially. Unofficially, I am digging and scraping and hammering and doing all those things that I have done before and should not have to do again. I am not the type of person to stay in any one place long enough to have to re-do anything I have already done. (That is not meant to relate to “poor craftsmanship” issues, just the “you’re supposed to do that how often?” issues.)
I wish I would have taken a truly “before” picture, but I didn’t. So you will have to settle for “early in the process” pictures.
I am painting the house, officially. Unofficially, I am digging and scraping and hammering and doing all those things that I have done before and should not have to do again. I am not the type of person to stay in any one place long enough to have to re-do anything I have already done. (That is not meant to relate to “poor craftsmanship” issues, just the “you’re supposed to do that how often?” issues.)
I wish I would have taken a truly “before” picture, but I didn’t. So you will have to settle for “early in the process” pictures.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Day Seven: The Silver Anniversary.
No gathering of the Cornelison kids is complete without an inspiring performance by the Four Younger Siblings and Their Much Older Sister, or some various subset thereof. But this one was even more special. It was the silver anniversary of the group.
Yes, twenty-five short years ago, the Four Younger Siblings first performed at Karla’s 40th birthday gala. (And no, being a consummate gentleman, I will not divulge Karla’s age at this point and time. It’s none of your friggin’ business!) In a short quarter of a century, they have entertained literally dozens of people with their amazing talent. Who can forget the standing-room-only crowd at the Las Vegas Hilton, or the outdoor concert in Homer, Alaska? It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.
If you missed the performance, not to worry. Soon the Four Younger Siblings and Their Much Older Sister will be releasing their greatest hits album!
Yes, twenty-five short years ago, the Four Younger Siblings first performed at Karla’s 40th birthday gala. (And no, being a consummate gentleman, I will not divulge Karla’s age at this point and time. It’s none of your friggin’ business!) In a short quarter of a century, they have entertained literally dozens of people with their amazing talent. Who can forget the standing-room-only crowd at the Las Vegas Hilton, or the outdoor concert in Homer, Alaska? It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.
If you missed the performance, not to worry. Soon the Four Younger Siblings and Their Much Older Sister will be releasing their greatest hits album!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Day Six: The Mean Streets of Pella.
Pella is an adorable town about 40 miles southeast of Des Moines, IA. It has worked at maintaining (or creating) the image of a Dutch town. Most of the architecture is smugly American, but it does have a couple of windmills and some buildings that have a touch of Nederland in them. And there are flowers everywhere.
Pella would be idyllic, but for its horrific problem with street gangs. It is hard to feel safe on the streets, even in broad daylight.
Day 6: In Search of Chads and Lottie.
“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right. We go up to the next street, hang a right and go back to the road. We turn left and go to the second rise, just past the red tractor, unless that worthless sob Joe has moved the red tractor, but that is unlikely, as Joe is as lazy as the day is long. The tractor has been up there since the ball game last Sunday. We turn right on that lane and head until the first right, where we go down to the two houses, which naturally are big white farmhouses, then go to one of the houses and ask permission to cross their cornfield to get to the cemetery.”
“Yep, you got it.”
Valeria, Iowa is small town. Streets and roads may have names, but nobody knows what they are. We found the farm houses, got permission (and directions) to go to Sams (or Valeria) Cemetery. So we took off across the cornfield, and as predicted, there it was at the top of a hill. We never found Chads and Lottie’s gravestones. Maybe we were in the wrong cemetery or, more likely, their markers are among the dozens that are broken, unreadable or under the sod.
“Yep, you got it.”
Valeria, Iowa is small town. Streets and roads may have names, but nobody knows what they are. We found the farm houses, got permission (and directions) to go to Sams (or Valeria) Cemetery. So we took off across the cornfield, and as predicted, there it was at the top of a hill. We never found Chads and Lottie’s gravestones. Maybe we were in the wrong cemetery or, more likely, their markers are among the dozens that are broken, unreadable or under the sod.
Day Five: Do you Wahoo?
We’ve left Odell, buzzed through Beatrice and are now approaching Lincoln. We’re late! We’re late! Why in hell did I mention stopping by the University of Nebraska so Karla could see if it has changed in the last 45 years? Get real, it’s been 45 years. It has changed. What more do you need to know?
She says nothing. I say nothing. We skirt Lincoln and continue heading north on US 77 toward Wahoo.
We see the turnoff to Swedeburg. We are both abuzz with cackle about the old house we lived in for a month, many, many moons ago. Maybe we can come back and check it out. But Wahoo calls!
We pull into town and hang a right on Fifth Street. Down a couple of block and there it is on the left hand side next door to the Wahoo State Bank: The Wigwam Café. At last, lunch!
We step inside, and there, at the first table, is Beth, Jane and Trudy. I’m not sure if Karla was surprised or not, but I was. They really made it! I had been more than minorly concerned that they would somehow end up at the wrong restaurant in the wrong town. But there they were! And Karla and I were only an hour and a half late.
(Unpaid advertisement: If you are ever rumbling through Wahoo, Nebraska at lunch time, stop at the Wigwam Café. Great food, great service and very reasonable prices. You will not regret it!)
We talked about spending the night in Wahoo, but after driving every street in town (twice) we felt it might be prudent to leave town. The locals were getting nervous.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Day Five: Odell
Nebraska, you silly, not Oregon.
Karla and I stopped for a short break. I’m standing in the shade, looking at a building that is either being seriously renovated or torn down. A man walks by, goes to look at the building then returns. I ask him about the status. He explains that it was the old hardware store, but some guy had been storing crap and corruption in it for years. Apparently in it and around it. The good citizens of Odell coped with the eyesore for a years and years, but finally, enough was enough. He was given three months to get everything inside and make the place look pleasant. But he was unable to meet the goal. It seems his wife died and his dog ran away... or no, his dog died and his wife ran away with a warehouseman from Grand Island, and so he was given another month. But he turned to the bottle, so the townsfolk had no choice but to kick him out. They were so lucky to find somebody from up in Beatrice who would tear it down just for the wood and all the crap inside. Everyone is so happy.
Then Karla joined us. The conversation continued for another 15 minutes, covering the old hospital, the buildings on main street and the building with murals that went into the bathrooms. I now know more about Odell, Nebraska than I do about Odell, Oregon. I’m pretty sure Karla can say the same thing.
But, it is one of my favorite memories of the road trip. A man in Odell, Nebraska made his home town sound so inviting and interesting that I really would have liked to hang around for the afternoon. Under different circumstance.
But don’t say anything to spoil Karla’s surprise.
Karla and I stopped for a short break. I’m standing in the shade, looking at a building that is either being seriously renovated or torn down. A man walks by, goes to look at the building then returns. I ask him about the status. He explains that it was the old hardware store, but some guy had been storing crap and corruption in it for years. Apparently in it and around it. The good citizens of Odell coped with the eyesore for a years and years, but finally, enough was enough. He was given three months to get everything inside and make the place look pleasant. But he was unable to meet the goal. It seems his wife died and his dog ran away... or no, his dog died and his wife ran away with a warehouseman from Grand Island, and so he was given another month. But he turned to the bottle, so the townsfolk had no choice but to kick him out. They were so lucky to find somebody from up in Beatrice who would tear it down just for the wood and all the crap inside. Everyone is so happy.
Then Karla joined us. The conversation continued for another 15 minutes, covering the old hospital, the buildings on main street and the building with murals that went into the bathrooms. I now know more about Odell, Nebraska than I do about Odell, Oregon. I’m pretty sure Karla can say the same thing.
But, it is one of my favorite memories of the road trip. A man in Odell, Nebraska made his home town sound so inviting and interesting that I really would have liked to hang around for the afternoon. Under different circumstance.
But don’t say anything to spoil Karla’s surprise.
Day Five: New Best Friend.
About thirty miles north and west of the World’s Largest Ball of Twine is the Geographical Center of the Contiguous United States. It’s an inauspicious monument, but after the Ball o’Twine, the Taj Mahal would seem bland.
We saw the sign, saw the shrine, saw the chapel and heard the rooster crow. Hmmm, more to this place than meets the untrained eye.
I searched high and low for the source of the crowing, until finally, there he was.
I never caught his name, but he alit from his perch and followed me around for the rest of the time that Karla and I perused the site. (Karla has pictures of the rooster and I together.) Leaving was such sweet sorrow. I afear that I may have broken another heart.
We saw the sign, saw the shrine, saw the chapel and heard the rooster crow. Hmmm, more to this place than meets the untrained eye.
I searched high and low for the source of the crowing, until finally, there he was.
I never caught his name, but he alit from his perch and followed me around for the rest of the time that Karla and I perused the site. (Karla has pictures of the rooster and I together.) Leaving was such sweet sorrow. I afear that I may have broken another heart.
Day Five: The World’s Largest Ball of Twine.
I tossed and turned all night and nary got a wink of sleep. Like a child at Christmas, I woke well before dawn. I lay in bed, my heart racing. Seemingly hours later, Karla finally awoke, after I accidentally set the alarm clock to go off. Four times.
I sit in the car, waiting for Annie to shower. What in the name of god is taking that woman so long? Just as I’ve decided to leave without her, she stumbles out of the room, carrying her luggage, my luggage and the ice chest.
YEEHAW!!! We are on our way!!!
We head north out of Osborne for 4 miles, then head east on US 24. The excitement is palpable. Eight miles down the road we pass through the small town of Downs. Only eight more miles to go. I start to fidget and can’t sit still. The miles tick by slowly, one by one. Finally, we enter Cawker City.
On the right hand side of Wisconsin Street is the Largest Ball of Twine in the World. It is amazing, it is great, it is humbling.
Forgotten is that stupid gully in Arizona, the odd trees and rocks in California and the old cliff hovels in Colorado. I have found the Holy Grail of tourist attractions. My life is complete. I have seen, no it is more that I have experienced, the Ball o’Twine.
Guess where I plan to be on the third weekend in August 2010.
I sit in the car, waiting for Annie to shower. What in the name of god is taking that woman so long? Just as I’ve decided to leave without her, she stumbles out of the room, carrying her luggage, my luggage and the ice chest.
YEEHAW!!! We are on our way!!!
We head north out of Osborne for 4 miles, then head east on US 24. The excitement is palpable. Eight miles down the road we pass through the small town of Downs. Only eight more miles to go. I start to fidget and can’t sit still. The miles tick by slowly, one by one. Finally, we enter Cawker City.
On the right hand side of Wisconsin Street is the Largest Ball of Twine in the World. It is amazing, it is great, it is humbling.
Forgotten is that stupid gully in Arizona, the odd trees and rocks in California and the old cliff hovels in Colorado. I have found the Holy Grail of tourist attractions. My life is complete. I have seen, no it is more that I have experienced, the Ball o’Twine.
Guess where I plan to be on the third weekend in August 2010.
Day Four: Drawing to a Close.
We’ve done Dodge City at 102°. Eerily alone. We’re heading for our overnight headquarters. We have chosen Osborne, KS (I am sure Kurt and Betty will make sure it’s okay.) But I have lingering concerns.
“Karla, maybe we should get closer to the Ball o’Twine. We could camp out there, so we’ll be first to see it in the morning. We would avoid the crowds and the long lines.”
Karla was polite, but firm. “Mac, you blathering idiot. I am not camping out by the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. We will get a motel in Osborne. It will only take us a half hour to get there in the morning.” She slowly turned away a shook her head. “Brother, you are going to be crushed in the morning. There won’t be queues or throngs or anyone else but us at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. You are the only loser on Planet Earth who is totally into the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.” [I paraphrase.]
We slept in Osborne.
“Karla, maybe we should get closer to the Ball o’Twine. We could camp out there, so we’ll be first to see it in the morning. We would avoid the crowds and the long lines.”
Karla was polite, but firm. “Mac, you blathering idiot. I am not camping out by the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. We will get a motel in Osborne. It will only take us a half hour to get there in the morning.” She slowly turned away a shook her head. “Brother, you are going to be crushed in the morning. There won’t be queues or throngs or anyone else but us at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. You are the only loser on Planet Earth who is totally into the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.” [I paraphrase.]
We slept in Osborne.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Day Four: Liberal, Kansas.
I will not call it an oxymoron. I will not call it an oxymoron. I will not call it an oxymoron. Too easy.
I wanted a picture of the “Welcome to Liberal” sign. Gotta admit, they outdid themselves.
I wanted a picture of the “Welcome to Liberal” sign. Gotta admit, they outdid themselves.
Day Four: Texas and Oklahoma.
We were welcomed in Texas by a big, friendly sign.
But there was no buoyant billboard greeting us when we rumbled in Oklahoma.
I have this theory. You see, Texas and Oklahoma have one of the those reciprocating agreements that you read about. So, if just as you hit the Texas state line, you screech to a halt on a four-lane highway, blatantly ignoring the abundant shoulder, then jackrabbit away, making a sliding right turn onto Farm Road 1086 followed by an abrupt u-turn before heading north on Farm Road 1086 straight for the Oklahoma border, Texas authorities will call Oklahoma Authorities. To ensure there are no mixed messages, Oklahoma Authorities pull down all the “Welcome” signs.
Kansas is not part of this reciprocal agreement.
But there was no buoyant billboard greeting us when we rumbled in Oklahoma.
I have this theory. You see, Texas and Oklahoma have one of the those reciprocating agreements that you read about. So, if just as you hit the Texas state line, you screech to a halt on a four-lane highway, blatantly ignoring the abundant shoulder, then jackrabbit away, making a sliding right turn onto Farm Road 1086 followed by an abrupt u-turn before heading north on Farm Road 1086 straight for the Oklahoma border, Texas authorities will call Oklahoma Authorities. To ensure there are no mixed messages, Oklahoma Authorities pull down all the “Welcome” signs.
Kansas is not part of this reciprocal agreement.
Day Three: Bedding down for the night.
When we pulled into Springer, NM, looking for a place to stop for the night, I wasn’t expecting to find a Hilton. I was thinking it was possible Karla and I might have to let our standards slip just a tad.
I don’t want to bad mouth competition, but I think the picture of the closet is indicative of the overall quality workmanship and attention to detail that resonated from the every nook and cranny of the room.
Even the cockroaches had moved out.
I don’t want to bad mouth competition, but I think the picture of the closet is indicative of the overall quality workmanship and attention to detail that resonated from the every nook and cranny of the room.
Even the cockroaches had moved out.
Day Three: Photo Ops
The Rio Grande Gorge (or Canyon). I'm old, I forget.
Been there, done that.
Chimney Rock. It was near an archeological dig Karla and I almost went on.
Day Three: Mesa Verde
Okay, I admit I was kind of excited to see the ruins at Mesa Verde, well, because they call them “ruins”. They have to be in worse shape than Richard and my house.
Wrong, they’re in better shape. It’s enough to piss off the pope.
But I do know why they were vacated. It’s the ½ mile trail that pretends to be your front walk as it descends hundreds of feet into a cool canyon. I don’t know about you, but if I had to lug the groceries down that path more than once, you better believe I’d be moving out.
And “Hi” KC!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Day Two: The Grand Canyon and More
You’ve all seen the pictures. You’ve heard the hyperbole. It’s been acclaimed as one of the seven natural wonders of the world, yadda, yadda, yadda. I was prepared to be unimpressed. I was sure it was overrated.
OMG. It is amazing. No words or photos can do it justice. (So, I’ll post an attempt or two of mine. And you will all "oooh" and "aaah" appropriately!) Stop what you are doing, get in the car and go there now. You will not regret it.
Two hours later, after an invigorating jog to the canyon floor and back, Annie and I are off to the Four Corners.
I have to say the Four Corners was… well, damn, I got to stand in four states at one time. It was pretty incredible.
Cortez, Colorado for the night.
OMG. It is amazing. No words or photos can do it justice. (So, I’ll post an attempt or two of mine. And you will all "oooh" and "aaah" appropriately!) Stop what you are doing, get in the car and go there now. You will not regret it.
Two hours later, after an invigorating jog to the canyon floor and back, Annie and I are off to the Four Corners.
I have to say the Four Corners was… well, damn, I got to stand in four states at one time. It was pretty incredible.
Cortez, Colorado for the night.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Day One
The plane touches down on the tarmac, we taxi to the terminal. I walk the plank to the gate. It is Ontario, California. I breathe deep.
With a precision rarely found in my family, I grab my bag from baggage claim and step outside as Karla pulls up to the curb. On her first time around. Miracle. This is going to be one amazing road trip.
Highlights:
Joshua Tree National Park: Odd trees, amazing rock and blazing sun that will boil your bodily fluids. 116°.
Lake Havasu City: Just a hint. If it is 116° outside and you think you’re going to be impressed by the London Bridge, you’re wrong. And that liquor store on the right hand side as you enter town from the south; don’t let it freak you out. You may never see another liquor store in Arizona. But they sell booze at the grocery store. So, as Karla said, “Calm down, brother. It is going to be okay. We’ll find you some spirits, somewhere.”
Kingman (or as I call it, the town in northwest Arizona where the freeway takes a right hand turn.): Don’t bother cruising the main drag looking for a liquor store. The Safeway has everything you need. And it is just off the freeway.
Williams: Dark and late. We retire.
With a precision rarely found in my family, I grab my bag from baggage claim and step outside as Karla pulls up to the curb. On her first time around. Miracle. This is going to be one amazing road trip.
Highlights:
Joshua Tree National Park: Odd trees, amazing rock and blazing sun that will boil your bodily fluids. 116°.
Lake Havasu City: Just a hint. If it is 116° outside and you think you’re going to be impressed by the London Bridge, you’re wrong. And that liquor store on the right hand side as you enter town from the south; don’t let it freak you out. You may never see another liquor store in Arizona. But they sell booze at the grocery store. So, as Karla said, “Calm down, brother. It is going to be okay. We’ll find you some spirits, somewhere.”
Kingman (or as I call it, the town in northwest Arizona where the freeway takes a right hand turn.): Don’t bother cruising the main drag looking for a liquor store. The Safeway has everything you need. And it is just off the freeway.
Williams: Dark and late. We retire.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Prologue.
4:10AM – I lie in bed. Richard is in the kitchen grinding coffee beans with all the subtleness of a bull-elephant rutting. Ralph and Trixie are outdoors, announcing to the world that… okay, I really have no idea what they are barking about. Max and Spike are doing their best impersonations of Whirling Dervishes, tossing furniture aside like match sticks. Peace and tranquility are dead. The day begins.
6:45AM – We near Portland. Nature calls. We stop at the TA truck stop. (I think the TA stands for Travel America, but being ever-witty, I call it the Tits and Ass.) In the barbershop of this rough and tumble trucker’s haven (and I am not making this up), they sell “vintage doilies”. I shake my head. What is this world coming to?
7:55AM – I settle in at gate A-7 with my cup of coffee and scone. (Note to self: Next time you buy a scone, ask what’s in it before you finalize the transaction. Those nummy looking cranberries may actually be salty little bits of bacon. You will be disappointed.) I am still a bit disgruntled at having to pay $15.00 to check my bag. I contemplated dragging it with me and, in my traditional style, wreaking some major havoc. But in the end, maturity (read: old age) wins out and I pay the fee. One less gift for Richard this Christmas.
Just to rub a little salt into my wounds, the airlines is offering free coffee between gate A-7 and A-6. Free coffee very similar to the $2.00 cup I just purchased, but it costs $2.00 less. Under different circumstances, I would applaud their hospitality. But I just paid $15.00 to check my small suitcase that was loaded down with more contact lens solution than you can legally carry on to an airplane, and those dirty bastards are offering free coffee to those slimebuckets who have 20/20 vision and have opted to carry their steamer trunks on to the airplane with them. Breathe… breathe deep.
8:30AM – “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to begin pre-boarding flight 2062 with service to Ontario at this time,” a barely understandable voice screeches out of nowhere. “Anyone needing extra assistance, traveling with an infant, or dragging luggage slightly heavier and larger than a hippopotamus, is welcome to board at this time.” (And to the lady in the red blouse: I know that your “infant” was a cabbage patch doll.)
8:40AM – “At this time, we would like to welcome members of our frequent flyer club, ‘The Horizon is Bleak’ along with the members of our partner airline’s club, ‘I Can See Russia Clearly’ to embark flight #2026 to Ontario, California.”
8:45AM – “My bad. Everyone knows Ontario is in Canada. Sorry for the confusion.”
8:51AM – “We would like to start general boarding of flight 20something heading to Canuckia at this time. We invite those in rows 17, 21, 6 and 13 along with all redheads to jump on board at this time.”
9:00AM – “We would love it if everyone in rows 3,7,19,4,12 and 16 along with everyone who’s last name starts with a “J” would jump up and clamor on board of flight whatever that is heading to some other airport.”
9:15 AM – “Okay, the rest of you losers got 15 minutes to get your fat asses on the plane or we’re taking off without you.”
But I saw the most glorious sight while waiting.
6:45AM – We near Portland. Nature calls. We stop at the TA truck stop. (I think the TA stands for Travel America, but being ever-witty, I call it the Tits and Ass.) In the barbershop of this rough and tumble trucker’s haven (and I am not making this up), they sell “vintage doilies”. I shake my head. What is this world coming to?
7:55AM – I settle in at gate A-7 with my cup of coffee and scone. (Note to self: Next time you buy a scone, ask what’s in it before you finalize the transaction. Those nummy looking cranberries may actually be salty little bits of bacon. You will be disappointed.) I am still a bit disgruntled at having to pay $15.00 to check my bag. I contemplated dragging it with me and, in my traditional style, wreaking some major havoc. But in the end, maturity (read: old age) wins out and I pay the fee. One less gift for Richard this Christmas.
Just to rub a little salt into my wounds, the airlines is offering free coffee between gate A-7 and A-6. Free coffee very similar to the $2.00 cup I just purchased, but it costs $2.00 less. Under different circumstances, I would applaud their hospitality. But I just paid $15.00 to check my small suitcase that was loaded down with more contact lens solution than you can legally carry on to an airplane, and those dirty bastards are offering free coffee to those slimebuckets who have 20/20 vision and have opted to carry their steamer trunks on to the airplane with them. Breathe… breathe deep.
8:30AM – “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to begin pre-boarding flight 2062 with service to Ontario at this time,” a barely understandable voice screeches out of nowhere. “Anyone needing extra assistance, traveling with an infant, or dragging luggage slightly heavier and larger than a hippopotamus, is welcome to board at this time.” (And to the lady in the red blouse: I know that your “infant” was a cabbage patch doll.)
8:40AM – “At this time, we would like to welcome members of our frequent flyer club, ‘The Horizon is Bleak’ along with the members of our partner airline’s club, ‘I Can See Russia Clearly’ to embark flight #2026 to Ontario, California.”
8:45AM – “My bad. Everyone knows Ontario is in Canada. Sorry for the confusion.”
8:51AM – “We would like to start general boarding of flight 20something heading to Canuckia at this time. We invite those in rows 17, 21, 6 and 13 along with all redheads to jump on board at this time.”
9:00AM – “We would love it if everyone in rows 3,7,19,4,12 and 16 along with everyone who’s last name starts with a “J” would jump up and clamor on board of flight whatever that is heading to some other airport.”
9:15 AM – “Okay, the rest of you losers got 15 minutes to get your fat asses on the plane or we’re taking off without you.”
But I saw the most glorious sight while waiting.
Road Trip 2009
I have been away from real life for over a week now. Almost no television, internet or newspaper. I begin my explanation.
Monday, August 3, 2009
The temperature drops on the one hand, and it rises on the other.
After seven days of triple digit highs, Hood River has fallen into the 90’s. It wasn’t a great decade, but I’m okay with that. But if I expected any relief from my personal heat and suffering, perhaps I should have considered extra-preventative maintenance yesterday.
Yesterday, I tubed the Klickitat River with the Faux family. Trust me, there is a punch line in that one. Although I covered myself quite liberally in sunscreen, I still managed to fry myself to a crisp. Seems three and a half hour on the river, splashing through rapids, eventually erodes much of the effectiveness of sunscreen. Who would have known?
So, it is cooler, but I am enveloped in bright red skin, driving the heat up the few degrees it dropped.
Ahh, but for a snowdrift!
Yesterday, I tubed the Klickitat River with the Faux family. Trust me, there is a punch line in that one. Although I covered myself quite liberally in sunscreen, I still managed to fry myself to a crisp. Seems three and a half hour on the river, splashing through rapids, eventually erodes much of the effectiveness of sunscreen. Who would have known?
So, it is cooler, but I am enveloped in bright red skin, driving the heat up the few degrees it dropped.
Ahh, but for a snowdrift!
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Sixth Consecutive Day.
This is not supposed to happen in my corner of Oregon. Monday was 102°; Tuesday 106°; Wednesday 107°; Thursday 104°, Friday 102° and Saturday 102°. (The temperatures are from Hood River… subtract 6 or 7 degrees for the Upper Valley reading.) If I liked this weather, I would have stayed in Riverside.
My brain, which in the best of times is a marshmallow-like substance, has melted: picture molten marshmallow crème. It isn’t a pretty scene.
My body, which on a good day, wouldn’t be called agile and strong, has been turned to jello by the unrelenting heat. I have to pull myself by the hair to get from room to room.
Isn’t it odd. In February, global warming doesn’t seem like that bad of a thing. In heat of summer, it is the consummate enemy.
My brain, which in the best of times is a marshmallow-like substance, has melted: picture molten marshmallow crème. It isn’t a pretty scene.
My body, which on a good day, wouldn’t be called agile and strong, has been turned to jello by the unrelenting heat. I have to pull myself by the hair to get from room to room.
Isn’t it odd. In February, global warming doesn’t seem like that bad of a thing. In heat of summer, it is the consummate enemy.
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