Namaste or At Home I'll Stay

I recently attended a wood turning symposium in Franklin, Tennessee where I learned, among other things, a new word: Namaste.

A presenter was demonstrating how he makes small bowls from wood in a series he calls Namaste.  When I watched the demonstration I didn't think too much about the word but later got curious and looked up the meaning.  The term refers to a greeting used primarily in India used upon meeting someone or taking leave from the person.  The greeting involves a slight bow, the hands held up to one's chest, palms inward and pressed together, similar to what I grew up thinking of as praying hands.

I didn't think much of the word until a short time later when the US president visited India and used  and was greeted with the gesture.

I heard the term again recently when it has been suggested that this be used to replace the handshake or hug traditional in western greetings as it is safer in a time of concern about spreading a virus.

At the symposium I spent two days in close quarters with others and was concerned about the flu so I took extra precautions, washing my hands frequently and using hand-sanitizer even more frequently.  Two days after I returned home, I was diagnosed with Flu A!  Makes me wish I had known about Namaste earlier!

Health experts tell us that the most serious threat from the COVID-19 virus is to elderly men.  While I don't consider myself to be elderly, I do fit the demographic to be concerned so I'm trying to find ways to protect myself and those around me.  My experience in Franklin shows that good hand hygiene, while critical, alone can't protect against airborne viruses.  So I'll practice "social isolation" when I can.  I mean it will be hard to spend more time in my workshop alone but I think I can make that sacrifice for the good of mankind!  And, since our emergency stock of food includes a lot of cans of beans, you'll want me to stay in my workshop!

As far as greeting someone, I'll use the elbump instead of a handshake and a wink instead of a hug and I might even greet you with a Namaste but if I do, consider that I'm saying "I'm pleased to see you but let's not share cooties right now" when I do.

We've been taught that a firm handshake is a sign of good character.  How do we judge character in an elbump or a Namaste greeting??

At Home I'll Stay until this passes.

Namaste!

A Dresser for Maddie

The ultimate compliment I can get as a woodworker is when someone asks me to make something special for them. This is true even if it is a family member asking and made even more special when it is a request for one of my grandkids!  I'm not certain if those type requests are made because they think it's the best way to get a well made piece furniture or if it's a way to get Poppy to pay for it!

Either way, when Jonathan and Kim asked  for a dresser for a growing Maddie, there was noway I could refuse.  It was time for her to give up the transitional furniture of her toddlerhood and get big-girl stuff.

I first had a design consultation with the clients (that's the way professional custom furniture makers talk). Kim gave me a basic idea of what she wanted in the dresser then we spent some time discussing the dimensions.

I then took to Sketchup for a design.  I use this software drawing  package about once a year so I spend more time re-learning than designing but I gave it my best shot.  Pictured below is what I present for design approval.

Maddie's dresser as designed in Sketchup

 After getting the design okay'ed, I set out to make the dresser.

 I learned that they wanted it to be painted rather than stained and varnished.  I have come to realize after decades of making items from wood that paint tends to make the more difficult.  You would think that the paint would cover up any boo-boos one might make but I've found paint tends to highlight errors.  No problem, I tried my best to make this piece perfect.

After four-dozen trips to Lowe's for wood, a special order to Amazon for a new DeWalt thickness planer (honey I swear I need this for Maddie's furniture!), and many days and nights of shoptime, the dresser began to take shape.

As I neared completion, I started asking for color selection along with the choice of hardware, the knobs or pulls for the drawers.  Maddie chose pink for the color.  Kim chose "distressed" for the style of finish.

Now, I've never made anything to intentionally look like it was old and beat up but I can learn!

So to Google I went to find out how to make this finish.  I found that I needed a contrasting base color to make the distressing more evident.  We chose a medium gray for this.  I painted it medium gray.  The best paint for this finish is a chalk paint., a very expensive type of paint.

So after priming the wood, painting the base gray then several coats of pink chalk paint, it was time to sand the pink off!

Turns out, while paint might not cover up boo-boos, sanding to create a distressed look does!  If I drop a tool into the middle of a perfectly sanded piece of wood, no problem!  I meant to do that!

Once I put the pieces all together, it was quite difficult to move to a place where I could get good pictures so I took them in the shop.  Selective use of Photoshop isolates the clutter that I call a workshop.

So now it's done and delivered.  Time to start another project.  Oliver, it's your turn!

Ashes to Ashes And a Box to Keep Them In

I've been involved with woodworking in some form for a very long time.  Over the years, I've been asked to do tings for people, build furniture, refinish furniture, repair items, carve a special item.  I've sold many of my works.

But I recently received a phone call asking for something that was a first for me:  the caller asked that I make a box to contain the ashes of a cremated loved one. I was certainly intrigued so i made an appointment to meet and discuss the project.

I met Judy McCreery and her daughter, Jennifer Morgan at Judy's home.  Her husband, Jon, died recently and was cremated.  Rather than scatter the ashes, Judy chose to keep them and wanted a special container for them.  She also wanted a container big enough so that when she died, her ashes would also be placed in the box.

She and Jennifer had searched the internet for a box and found many of the size and basic shape they wanted.  Many boxes can be purchased with a theme meaning that if the deceased was a sailor, one could be purchased with a scene of a sailboat on it, a golfer could be placed in a golf themed box.

None of the ones found on the internet matched Jon so they wanted one to show Jon and Judy's interests and nothing quite fit.  That's where I came in.

Most of us have at some point been involved with the planning of funeral arrangements and meeting with a pastor who would get the family to talking about the deceased to get to know him or her better.  This is exactly how I felt in our meeting.  I had to get to know a man I'd never met so I could design the perfect box for him and keeping in mind the box was also for Judy.

Jon was a creative doer.  By that I mean, if he wanted a gate for the driveway, he built it.  Not just any gate, but a well designed, well made, attractive gate.  When it came time to make a new mantle for the fireplace, he designed and built it along with a surround for the fireplace.

I was shown these and other things that Jon built.  One of the favorite activities of Jon and Judy was to sit on a bench they had in their garden and watch the hummingbirds at their feeder.  This bench was at the end of a long pathway made of bricks that Jon laid.

Since Jon was a woodworker and had a supply of wood, I was asked to incorporate some of it into my design.

Jon was also a doodler, stopping to sketch items that caught his fancy, often working on a napkin or any piece of paper that might be handy.  One such drawing that is prized by the family is a group of rose bushes drawn on a yellow legal pad.  While Jon would have never consider this art, his loved ones cherish the image.

Judy asked that I somehow include Jon's birth and death dates, her birth date and their marriage date.Within a few minutes, I felt I had an idea what I wanted to do.  I left to put together a design and proposal.

My research led me to design the size of the box to accommodate the ashes of two people.  An interesting fact, a cremains container must provide 1 cubic inch of capacity for each pound of the deceased's weight at the time of death.

I spent several days working with my drawing table and then on my computer using a program called Sketchup.  This is the design I arrived at.

The blank white space is where I would insert the scene I carved.  I took this image and the drawing of what I proposed to be carved to meet with Judy and Jennifer.  I'm always nervous when I present a proposal to someone, not knowing if I'm on the right track or how it will go over.  When the tears started flowing, I knew I was on track.

The finished box is pictured below.

 The low relief carving of a man and woman on a bench reflects Jon and Judy's love for their garden and sitting at their favorite spot, watching the hummingbirds.  Their gate, complete with supporting bricks columns, sits at the end of their brick path, emblazoned with their names and dates, symbolizing their journey through life and to eternity together.

Jon's drawing of the roses bushes is copied on the lower right.

Jon's wood is used for the splines that help bind each of the four corners together, providing strength.  It is also used as the cap of the box's top.

I delivered the box last week.  I spent many hours over two months working on every detail.  It was all worth it when I finally got to present it and see their appreciation, and tears.

In some ways I felt like I got to know Jon and wish I had met him while he was alive.  With our similar interests and tastes,  think we would have gotten along just fine!

Grandma's History Museum

Grandma Sellers lived in an aged two-story house on a few acres of land on North Mobile Street in Citronelle, Alabama.   She and my grandfather, whom I never knew,  bought the house and moved there in the late-1940's.  Grandpa died in 1949 and Grandma lived in the house until her death in 1966,  leaving the property to my father and his siblings.  Daddy bought out the others and then owned the house and land with the intent of repairing the house for our family's use.

It was determined that renovations on the house were more costly than the value of the house so it was to be torn down, a task we would do ourselves.

So we started at the very top by taking off roofing materials.  At that point we had no idea exactly how old the house was but one indication was the number of layers of shingles, tar paper and rolled roofing.  I recall removing up to 10 layers of such materials on some areas of the roof.

But the surprise was what was under all the roofing: layers of newspapers! Most of the paper was brittle and crumbled at the touch.  The paper was made even more difficult to save as one doesn't remove roofing gently, a heavy shovel is wedged under the material and use to  pry the nails from the boards so not much of the newspaper was salvaged.

But we were able to collect large portions of some pages containing interesting tidbits of news from  1913 and 1914!  We saved what we could although newspaper print that was over 60 years old at the time and full of nail holes doesn't lend itself for unlimited handling. A few years later, my younger brother, Johnny, would use the salvaged newsprint in a high school history project, placing some of the material in a photo album, thus preserving it for the future and our current use.  Please understand that this also makes for a tough job in copying or photographing them for their use in this writing so I apologize in advance for the faded images and difficulty in reading them.

The newspapers were dated in 1913 and 1914.  Many articles were from The Evening Post, a newspaper in Mobile, Alabama.  Some material was from another Mobile paper, The Register.  The Register is still around today (kinda) as a part of AL.com, an on-line news source that publishes the Mobile Press Register three-times weekly.

Although I can not find any reference to The Evening Post at any on-line sources, including the Library of Congress, it carried the below banner:

It was surely a newcomer to the area as this banner comes from Volume 1, Issue 9. It may not have survived very long but 1 cent per copy might explain that.

The Register touts itself as the only paper in the area authorized to print news from the Associated Press wire service:

Bright school boys are solicited to become carriers of the Post with an opportunity to enrich themselves!

One thing about "news as history" is that news is reported by those living in that particular time with the biases and attitudes contemporary to the era.  That is very evident in the stories we found as they were told during a time of change in the role of women in society.

The picture at the left is titled She Manages her Garage and Does Not Need Any mere Man to Help Her, Either.  The story comes from the mid-teens of the 20th century.




















The next picture and article tell of a Parisian fashion designer touring the US in 1913 or 14 and alerting readers that Women Will Soon Wear Trousers!  Compare to the story on the right from the news this week!  You can own a pair of these "trousers" for only $695!

At the time these newspapers were published, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States was still 6 years away from ratification by the states and giving women in the US the right to vote. But some states and localities were allowing women to vote.  However, this article suggests they needed help! The article, which could not be copied sufficiently to be read here, states that suffrage organizers in Chicago were holding classes to teach women the registration and voting process.

My readers from my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama may find it interesting that the county school board was considering bids to build a new school  Could this be the three-story building that was recently demolished?

Modern news has been filled recently with stories of hazardous materials being sent through the mail with the intent to cause harm to the receiver.    According to this article, that's nothing new except this time it was physician doing the mailing and the state health department being shut down after the workers were exposed to diphtheria! The physicians only wanted to confirm diagnoses.

What newspaper could survive without advertisement?  This grocery market ad gives then-current prices for all the groceries you would want, and some you don't:  Tripe or Smoked Tongue!  Who would have thought that Smoked Tongue was more expensive than Tenderloin!  Of course, Brains and Liver are cheaper!

  I don't know what grade Johnny got when he presented this as a history project some 40-plus years ago but I think the effort deserves an "A"!

Ballet of the Bullfloat

A couple of weeks ago, I spent two entire days watching a ballet. Now before you think I've suddenly gotten all cultured or something, let me explain.

Now this ballet was not staffed with men with names like Rudolf Nureyev or Mikhail Baryshnikov, nor did they wear tights and satin toe-shoes.

These were guys with names like Willie, Billy, Freddie, Dave, Albert, Tim  and their leader Matt.  The shoes they wore were work boots for most of the time then calf-high rubber boots for the rest.  You see, my guys are concrete guys, they put in a concrete driveway for me.

About now you're thinking there's no way this rube (the writer) can be at all cultured if he doesn't know the difference between pouring a driveway and ballet! Au contraire, mon ami! (I threw in some French to show I do have a little culture!)

Matt and crew showed up on a Wednesday morning to begin demolishing the poor tired asphalt drive that should have been replaced years ago.  With picks and shovels and sledge hammers they began their work.  Without a lot of planning and scheming about how to tackle this job, they turned in and started.  After Matt, the owner, left there was no clear foreman on the job, they all knew their job and did it. 

A short time later a tractor and driver arrived to do the heavy lifting.  The tractor was equipped with a front loader and a box blade on the rear.  As the guys with the hand tools loosened the asphalt around the edges, the tractor would move in to scrape it away then pick it up to haul to the dumpster parked on the street.

This is where the ballet comes in.  As the tractor did its work going back and forth, the men would move in synchronization with it.  He pushed debris forward, they moved in to clean up.  As he backed up, they moved out of the way just in time.  To and fro they went for hours.  I sat in amazement that they weren't run over or caught with the blade of one of the tools.  There was no shouted warning or instructions, they moved as if choreographed.  This is art even if it does involve a Kubota tractor and guys in work boots!

As the work progressed down the drive, some of the men started putting in the form boards. this continued until the drive was clear and the forms ready for the next day when the concrete would be poured.

The next day, the art continued but this time without the tractor. Now it involved three concrete truck loads of wet, heavy concrete mix and the men spreading it while wearing their rubber boots.

The truck backed close to the back of the job site, lowered its trough and began to pour the mix.  As it hit the ground, the men using special rakes and shovels, moved it to where it were needed.  Again, there were no instructions or orders, these men knew their work and did it.  As two men would use a screed board to start leveling the mix, others were ready with shovels to throw in extra in the low spots or to pull excess away with their rakes.  Again this appeared to choreographed. They moved to where they needed to be, they made  the motions they needed to make as if they were following a script or a musical score.

What adds to my amazement of these men and what they do is the fact that Freddie, I'm told, is over eighty years old!  Two of the others are in their seventies!  They worked harder than men half their age would have.

You've probably wondered in reading the title of this missive about the word "bullfloat."  As pictured above, (an internet photo, not my guys), a bullfloat is a large flat metal piece attached to the end of a really long arm.  This metal is glided over the surface of freshly poured  concrete to help create a smooth, level surface.  The worker stands outside the concrete and, using the long pole, gently pushes the float across the surface in a continuous motion.  It is important to keep the blade of the float at the correct angle for the duration of its travel. It reminds me of a violinist moving his bow across the strings except that the bullfloat is 20 times longer! It is true artistry in motion to watch someone who does the job well.

When I was probably a senior in high school, I had a conversation with Mr. Melvin Rosen, a highly respected merchant in my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama.  Our conversation was comparing college football with professional football.  I was arguing that college was much more interesting to me.  Mr. Rosen, who was a season-ticket holder for the New Orleans Saints told me that he preferred pro football as all the players were highly skilled.  He stated that he could spend all day watching brick masons work if they knew what they were doing. That comment has stuck with me over the years and I've taken it to heart. 

I enjoy watching guys like my concrete guys work.  It is truly a pleasure to watch, much more than watching a ballet! 

But now I can't get the image of Freddie in a tutu out of my head!

The Power of Words

word

noun

1. 1.

   a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence
2. (Source:  Google)

There is an age-old debate about which is mightier the pen or the sword, interpretation: can words cause more harm than weapons?  Philosophers and essayists have weighed in over millennia on each side of the issue.  I submit that the pen, words, should be declared the more powerful. 

Mary and I were in a doctor's office recently where the nurse practitioner was asking questions of Mary and establishing her health history.  As she finished, she looked at Mary and uttered the words: "You are disgustingly healthy!"  Now those are the words you want to hear from a health professional as they're reviewing your current condition.

That is until we remembered why we were in the doctor's office in the first place. More words from a healthcare professional: "invasive lobular carcinoma,"- breast cancer.  Mary has breast cancer.

There is no debate in my mind, a sword can inflict harm and even cause death but words like those in the line above can and did cause a lot of harm.

An "annual OB/GYN checkup" and "mammogram" are the words that led to more words.  A technologist doing the mammogram said "let me take another image, I didn't get a good image", medical speak for " I found something that I can't tell you about and I want to make sure I get a good image for the radiologist to see."

The OB/GYN doc saying she's very concerned, you need to see a surgeon.  The surgeon using words like I think this is cancer, you need a biopsy.  The radiologist doing the biopsy using words 'this is very worrisome" and the path report will be back after 3 pm on Monday.

So now there is a weekend, a long weekend of running those words over and over in my  mind, interpreting them in so many ways that they cease to have any relationship to reality.  Words coming like water over a tall waterfall, there's no way to stop them or corral them or manage the way they bounce around.

Then Monday arrives and the official diagnosis of cancer is confirmed.  Appointments are set with medical oncologist, radiation oncologist and a surgeon.  During these visits we learn new words, acronyms and abbreviations for drugs, tests and procedures.  Things I could have lived my whole life without knowing and been much happier!

Then we hear words that at the same time offer encouragement and instill more anxiety:  "people don't die from breast cancer, they die from the cancer spreading to other organs.  Since yours has already spread some, we need to see if it has spread beyond the lymph nodes we know about."  So now there is more waiting for the test to be scheduled then for the results to come back.

At a time when the words have overwhelmed, other words come to the rescue.

Karen, a former co-worker and now Facebook friend, is a breast cancer survivor.  Karen chronicled her experience with the diagnosis and treatment with almost daily posts on FB.  At first, I didn't want to read her posts.  I didn't want to hear about her experience because, I guess, I was afraid of the outcome.  Before her journey to recovery was complete, I looked forward to hearing the latest. She was so open that it was encouraging and her outcome was very positive.  

At the point where I was being overwhelmed, I recalled her words about her experience and was calmed.  Her words gave me hope and thus, some relief.

Jean, Jerrie, and other breast cancer survivors' stories made us realize that, although the road to recovery may be long and difficult, at least there is a road!

Then more encouraging words, this time from the oncologist: "the scan was negative for the spread of the cancer!" And his words on which we hang:  "This is curable!"

As we talked about the battle we faced, Mary's words were "God has this. I won't worry about it." And then she says, "I'm tough, I can fight this if you'll help me." I can't think of many more humbling but empowering words!

So Mary has commissioned an Army.  God is, of course, the Commander in Chief.  I've been commissioned as General, I really wanted to be an Admiral since I was a Navy man but.... She granted various ranks to our family as we wage battle but we also solicit the support of other warriors.  We, along with other cancer victims and their families, need your prayers, kind thoughts, encouragement and support.  You are all drafted!

Today Mary received the third of six chemotherapy treatments.  She has fared extremely well and we are encouraged by a shrinking of the tumor and the lymph nodes even after just two treatments.  She will follow the chemo with surgery and later with radiation therapy.

The effects of the words has softened.  They are now more like water in a mountain stream as it cascades over the rocks, they're still there but maybe less frightening.

We look forward to the day when the words we hear are: "You're cured!"

On Calf Licking and Quality Assurance

I suppose we all reach a point in our lives where we suddenly have an appreciation for things our parents said to us while we were growing up.

Now I don't mean those things like "close the refrigerator door, we're not cooling the whole neighborhood," or  "don't make me stop this car."  Nor do I mean that comment that got immediate action like when my Mama would tell me to"come in now and let me whip you or wait til your Daddy gets home and I'll let him take care of you."

I mean those things that you hear many times over and thought were so stupid but then at some point, usually a lot later, you suddenly realize the wisdom of the statement.

My favorite of these that my mother was fond of saying is "you'd better lick that calf over. "

Now I claim absolutely no expertise in things bovine other than that relating to the glass of milk I have every morning with my breakfast but as I understand it, the first thing a mother cow does when she delivers a calf is to start licking it.

This serves several purposes.  First, it cleans the calf of the residue of the birth and it bonds the mother to the calf, making sure she knows which calf is hers.  Otherwise she would reject it and wouldn't allow it to nurse.  In fact, this step is so important that farmers and ranchers may cover the calf in grain to help insure the cow continues to lick the calf until the identification and bonding takes place.

Mama's admonition to "lick that calf over" was her way of saying the job I did was insufficient and that a "redo" was in order. Although I knew at the time what she meant and carried out her instructions, I didn't understand the need to do it right the first time.  I only knew I needed to do the job quickly so I could go play or do something I wanted to do, not what she would be inspecting!  Besides, it was a hokey expression and I didn't care anything about cows or calves!

I would later spend almost four years in the Navy working on aircraft.  As a structural mechanic I would be called on to make repairs to components that make up the body of the aircraft, everything from changing the tires to repairing control surfaces.  For every repair I made, I signed a work order indicating what I had done, what parts I used and that the job was complete.  Every repair had to be countersigned by a supervisor and a quality control inspector.  The lives of the flight crew and the completion of their mission were that important.

I would later spend 34 years in hospitals where quality monitoring, measuring and improvement was a constant emphasis of everyone involved.  The licensing and accrediting agencies made sure that hospitals developed programs addressing quality in every aspect of the operation. From cleaning of the floors to the details of patient care, all aspects were covered by the quality programs. Again, peoples' lives depended on the healthcare team getting the job done right.

Over my years in hospitals, the name of the programs designed to insure proper and improving care changed every three to five years.  We had quality assurance, quality improvement, quality management, and others including process improvement.  My mother never worked in healthcare other than that involved in trying to keep her 8 children reasonably healthy on limited resources, so she would never have used the terms above.  She would have said "do it right the first time" or "lick that calf over."  The many fine people I worked with over the years with titles like Director of Quality Assurance or Manager of Process Improvement would never had cottoned to being called the Director of Calf Licking but it's all the same.  Mama just said it the best way she knew.

As much as I now appreciate my mother's lesson and know the importance of doing a job right the first time, I also feel at times like her words are a curse.  I don't call myself a perfectionist but I derive a certain satisfaction when I know I've done something correctly or have done it well.  And then there those times when I've failed that Mama's words ring in my ears: "you better lick that calf over."

Most readers will know that I am a serious hobby woodworker. The last two furniture projects I have made, I have completed only to become dissatisfied with the finish I applied.  Correcting this requires that I remove the finish, either with chemicals or laborious sanding.

In fact, I'm in the middle of removing the finish on my latest project, spending many hours correcting my work.  It's tedious, messy and very time consuming.  I think I'd rather lick a calf, literally!

Thanks, Mama!

Smile! You're on Camera!

I recently had to replace the key fob remote for my truck.  The fobs that came with my now-13-year old truck no longer worked.

My research to find a replacement took me to a dealer's website where each fob would cost almost $200!  Being the cheapskate that I am, I searched further until I found where I could buy two for less than $30 total.  My kinda price!

The website where I ordered the remotes said that instructions for programming the remotes would be in the package I received.  When the package arrived, I found this complicated set of instructions:

Now I guess if I took the truck to a dealer or a specialist, they could hook up to the computer and program it to interact with my new remotes in minutes.  But, did I mention I'm a cheapskate?  I was determined to do it myself!

So I proceeded to the "privacy" of my carport where I began to open the door, close the door, open the door, close the door, etc.  Now imagine trying to carry out this list of tasks while holding the instructions in one hand, carrying out the commands with the other, trying to hold the key, making sure the fobs were in close proximity when I needed them.  Needless to say as I got about halfway through the process, I messed up and had to start over, not once but multiple times!

As I was doing this, I started thinking that I was the victim of a hoax!  Surely someone was "punking me" as is said today or, I would look and see Allen Funt jump from behind a bush and say: "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!"

For the younger readers, Candid Camera was a television show (back in the dark ages) where an average person would be placed unknowingly in an embarrassing situation where a hidden camera would capture the action and, at the height of the embarrassment, Allen Funt would enter the scene and tell the person  they were being secretly filmed, for which the audience expected the poor soul to be happy.

This show's popularity in its heyday came at a time when almost no one owned a movie camera and the cameras the average person owned didn't capture audio.

Fast forward to today, a time in which it is a rarity for a person not to  have a video camera  on them at all times.  Almost every business in existence that is open to the public has a video surveillance system to monitor customers (and employees).  Most major intersections in urban areas have several cameras, some even recording drivers failing to stop at red lights and issuing traffic citations via the mail.

Increasingly, private residences are protected by video security systems.  In fact, my antics while programming my truck to accept the new key fobs was captured on at least two cameras of my neighbor's system.

Think you can get away from prying cameras by going to the country or to the woods?  Hunters are prolific users of motion-activated video cameras to monitor game and to find the best hunting spots.

But those cameras pale into insignificance compared to the video cameras that the majority of the earth's population has on them at all times, the cell phone!  The ubiquitous cell phone camera has become the tool for sharing precious moments, for recording our adventures and for those "gotcha" moments.

The cell phone camera has also brought out something of human nature that is disturbing:  we will capture events, some of which are horrific, so that we can post them to some social media outlet where we hope the video will "go viral," instead of intervening or calling for help.

It also tells us about events we may not what to know about.  I was once told of a video that had been posted on YouTube featuring a fight between two women at a Waffle House.  I did a search for "women fighting in Waffle house."  Try it yourself, Google returns 140,000 hits while YouTube returns 14,500!  There are only about 2,100 Waffle Houses in the US!

In any video showing this type event posted, you can usually see three or four other witnesses videoing away and no one is trying to stop the fight or get help.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not against the use of video cameras either by fixed surveillance  systems or by individuals and their phones.  But, has their use changed our morals?

I use my phone all the time to photograph or video things.  It's usually when I've been sent to the grocery store and I'm verifying I've chosen the right product!

Mary and I spend time almost every day in video calls with our children and grandkids, enjoying them although they may be far away.  This time is very special to me.

Another caution we must heed is that we have lost some of our privacy.  I read a statistic some twenty years ago that indicated those most American citizens were recorded on video an average of 100 times per day.  I doubt that in 2016, we can go 100 minutes of our day without being recorded.  I take the approach that if I'm in a public area anywhere, I have no privacy and shouldn't expect any.

So back to my original story. I finally got through the programming sequence only to find one of the remotes was flawed.  Any button I pushed activated the truck's alarm system which caused me great frustration in getting it stopped!  I returned that remote for a replacement which may never get linked to my truck as I'm not sure i can go through that process again!

If you decide to search the web for videos of people doing embarrassing stuff and you see me, I'm just programming my truck, honest!

Big Sky Adventure- Day 16- North Dakota Prairie

It is said the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain and the wind in North Dakota blows everywhere and very strongly!  And in the prairies have nothing to slow the wind.

But nothing can detract from the beauty of this part of the country.  The rolling hills with the miles of wheat, canola and other crops mixed with pasture show nature and cultivation at its best.

We left Dickinson heading east following a scenic bypass.  We diverted down what is called the Enchanted Highway, a thirty-mile stretch between Gladstone and Regent.  A retired school teacher from Regent decided that something was needed to attract tourists to the very small town so he created a series of super large metal sculptures that are spread out over the drive between the two cities.  Apparently his idea is successful as there were several people visiting the pieces of art as we were.

But the drive was well worth the effort regardless of the sculptures.  Such beauty!  The fields of green grass, I couldn't identify what it was, spread over the hills looking like the manicured grass of a resort golf course.  But the highlight was the fields of golden blooms on the canola.

There are very few structures in this stretch of road except the occasional silo so we were surprised when a steeple appeared on the horizon.  We found a very small community with a church that dates back to the early 20th century.  Down a gravel road we found St. Elizabeth's Catholic Church, built by German and Scandinavian immigrants.

Out there in the country, all the side roads are gravel.  the sign posts indicate that all these roads are named street and avenue as is illustrated here!

Back on the scenic byway, we headed east toward Bismarck.  Over the rolling hills on a weather- and time-worn asphalt highway except for the 30 mile stretch that was gravel.  The gravel road is so well maintained that we were able to go 50 mph. Other than the dust generated, it was a good diversion as we saw only two other vehicles on that road.

Tomorrow we visit birding sites around Jamestown, ND before, alas, we head for home.

Big Sky Adventure Day 3

Not much adventure today but an awful lot of driving!  Omaha to Custer, South Dakota is a long drive, over 9 hours.

I never realized the size of Omaha but it's a fairly large city, situated on the border with Iowa.  Leaving out of there and heading northwest, we first got to see an abundance of corn.  At this time of year, it's all very short but it's everywhere!  The rolling hills of the central part of the state is nothing but corn and the industries that support its growth.

The rolling hills give way to the flatland, flat as far as the eye can see.  The road is straight, interrupted every 20 to thirty miles with a small town, centered around the grain silos with the business district away from the main road.  One small town’s sign directs one to the business district which is down a gravel road!

Next comes the higher hills in cattle country.  You can drive dozens of miles between houses with the pasture land lining the road on both sides, ranging to the horizon.  Beautiful grassland!

The last part of Nebraska has the hill tops flattened, forming the buttes.  This terrain continues and gets even higher as we got into South Dakota. This is also cattle country.

We are now at Custer State Park, just south of Rapid City.  This is a beautiful park, at least the little we've seen so far, with lots of wildlife.

The only wildlife we've gotten to experience so far was in the restaurant where we had an appetizer of sausage made from rabbit and rattlesnake!  It was a very good sausage although I'm not sure I could have told the difference between it and a Polish sausage in a blind taste test!  My main course was bison tenderloin while Mary enjoyed walleye.  Maybe we’ll see more tomorrow!

Who Invented Grits?

I find myself fascinated with a lot of things nowadays, everything from new technological developments to political shenanigans to words and foods.

My fascination with technology leads me to dream of the future and what life will be like, my review of politics makes me wonder if there will be a future to worry about!  But those are topics for another day.

My fascinations with words and foods are the same: where did they come from and what led to their creation.  It is often easy to find the origin of words by consulting a dictionary or a book on etymology, the study of word origins.  Words can be traced to their origins and the changes that have taken place over the years can be followed. Many times the source of foods can be found with a quick google search.  Sometimes I find these sources less than reliable.

Albert Broccoli was a movie producer who died in 1998 or 2002 depending of the source (see I told you sources weren't always reliable,) and is noted for producing several of the James Bond movies.  I remember reading of his death in the newspaper where the story told that his family was noted for food engineering and creating what we now know as broccoli by crossing cauliflower with spinach!  This was the Mobile Press so I shouldn't have believed it in first place but I did.  Subsequently I learned that this story was not true although I have to admit it is a good story!

I often wondered about who ever thought to cover raisins with yogurt!  I love the combination but I was distressed to think that someone actually sat down and tried it!  Someone has too much time on his hands!

Several years ago, a television commercial tried to explain how Reeses came up with the idea of covering peanut butter, a nectar of the gods in my opinion, with chocolate.  They illustrated the possibility that one person was walking eating a piece of chocolate bumping into a person eating from a jar of peanut butter with the chocolate ending up in the peanut butter. It's feasible but I don't recall ever seeing anyone walking down the street eating from a jar of peanut butter.  I've been tempted to before but...

Which brings me to grits.  Who decided that taking corn, grinding it then cooking it in a pan of boiling water, then slathering butter into it or simply mixing it with eggs was a proper way to enjoy corn??  This person deserves a national holiday set aside in his or her honor! Something like Saint Bubba's Day!

Grits, the name which the dictionary says can be either singular or plural so don't wonder about my choice of the verb here, is the official dish of the State of Georgia!  A bill introduced into the legislature of South Carolina honoring the dish stated that if more people ate grits we would have a better chance for peace on earth!  I think they're on to something!

I grew up with grits at breakfast,  learning that the proper way to enjoy them was to add eggs, sunny-side up, and stir them together.  I have since learned that grits can be fully enjoyed by itself or as a part of wonderful dishes such as Shrimp and Grits, one of my very favorites. In fact, I am in a  never-ending search for the perfect Shrimp and Grits dish.

Wikipedia says grits originated with the Native Americans and was adopted by early Americans, primarily in the southeast.  Maybe, but I like this explanation better:

On the eighth day, He arose from His rest and called to the Man and the Woman.
  "Go to the southeastern part of the garden.  There you will find a plant that grows tall, its tassels reaching toward the sky.  Take the fruit of this plant, which you shall call corn, and grind the seeds between two large stones.  Then you shall cook the finely ground corn and enjoy it with other fine things from the gardens and from the seas.  This shall be called grits and is my special gift to my people."

The Man and the Woman went forth and did as He had instructed.

We Southerners are religious about our grits so it's not too farfetched!

"I've got my pants on, ain't I?"

That's what I heard when I would ask my Daddy if he had his pocketknife on him.  When I needed to open an envelope, cut a string or whatever else, I could always count on Daddy to have the tool needed for the task.  His knife was never a fancy one and it wasn't the sharpest knife around, but as long as he had his pants on, he had a knife.

During the time I grew up, every man I knew carried a pocketknife.  Carrying a knife was almost a rite of passage for young boys.  It might be a two-blade small knife or a larger three-blade model but he had one.  You didn't see any of the large blade models of today that are carried on a clip or in a leather holster on the belt.

A pocketknife was a tool. One never knew when the occasion would arise when a knife would be needed, whether it was peeling an apple, opening a package, cleaning fingernails or whittling on a stick, one needed to be prepared.

I remember my first pocketknife.  I had accumulated a little money, probably from a grass-cutting job, so I went to Andrews, a local hardware store.  I bought two knives that day, a smaller three-blade model and a larger fisherman's knife, complete with one blade for cutting and a second that was a fish scaler and hook remover.  i don't remember the brand but I do recall that both had yellow handles.  I paid seventy-five cents each.  I no longer have the original ones I purchased but do have a similar model of the fisherman's knife.

In my early school years, boys were allowed to have a pocketknife at school.  I recall playing a version of Mumbly Peg at recess with our knives.  Mumbly Peg, at least our version, involved throwing an open knife to stick it in the ground near the foot of your opponent.  Fortunately, no toes were injured during the playing of this game!

By the time I reached high school, the rules had changed and knives were not allowed.  Imagine if a child arrives at school today with a pocketknife.  I'm sure the penalty would be quite severe.

A selection from my collection of pocketknives

I've carried a knife at various times during my lifetime, mostly when it was useful for my job.  The Navy issued what is called a TL-29 knife.  It has one cutting blade and a second "blade" that locks open and has a screwdriver-like end.  I never found the screwdriver very useful but carried the knife nonetheless.

I would later carry a Swiss Army knife with several blades/tools, including a tweezer and a toothpick.  Who could ask for more?

I always thought I could sharpen a knife until I started wood carving. Every man thinks he can sharpen a knife, just ask them!  But few truly master the art.

There's an axiom among wood carvers:  a dull knife will cut you worse than a sharp one.  A dull knife requires a lot of effort and force to make a cut, often resulting in a slip that combined with that extra force, makes for a nasty wound.  Complete with a carver's set of knives and other tools is usually a box of BandAids and a story of an ER visit!

Woodcarving knives

So, I learned to sharpen a knife.  As my brother Woody remarks, my knives are so sharp they cut a quarter of an inch in front of the blade!!

It wasn't until the last couple of years that I've gotten to the point my Daddy was at, where, if I've got my pants on, I've got a knife!

It all started when Mary and I were in a jewelry store and I saw a display of William Henry knives.  One doesn't normally think of shopping for a pocketknife in a jewelry store but a William Henry is not a normal knife!  These knives are made with scales, the proper name for the material comprising the handles of a knife, of exotic woods, stone or animal bones, mammoth tusks and the like.  The blades are frequently made from Damascus steel, an ancient method of forging steel into swords and other cutting edges.

I started carrying a pocketknife at that point so I could one day justify buying a William Henry.   I had forgotten how often a knife comes in handy.  Nowadays, I use my pocketknife many times during the day and feel like I'm lost if I don't have one on me.

I've acquired several knives in the meantime, most of them eBay purchases where I try to find vintage models of unique knives.  but I also have several current models of popular brands like Case, Buck and Kershaw.

But times have changed and now even a small pocketknife is considered a dangerous weapon.  Courthouses, sporting events and most certainly airports prohibit any knives.  Several times I've made a trip back to my truck to put away my knife rather than having to give it up to enter a building.

William Henry "Katsumi,"  Number 06 of 50

For my birthday in 2015, Mary bought me a William Henry, one made with a Damascus steel blade and scales made of fossilized dinosaur bone , one-hundred million years old!  I don't carry it daily and it doesn't see much use in my work shop or when I'm working in the yard.  I consider it my "dress-up" knife! Any other time, the knife I carry might be used for just about any task.

So, if I'm around when you need a box opened or a string trimmed, just call on me.  After all, I've got my pants on, ain't I?

Kool Aid and Crafts: Memories of Vacation Bible School

I'm at that stage of life where I've had to bury both my parents, as has Mary.  Friends who have gone through the same have told me they, like us, have had the task of dealing with decades of stuff their parents accumulated.  Most complain about the "hoarding" of their parents and the sorting through, distributing and disposing of the "estates."

As we went through this process after Mama's death, the memories flowed as the treasures were given out.  Among the items I got returned to me was a gift I made in Vacation Bible School  in my childhood. It's a lot worse for the wear of over fifty years but a little glue and a dusting made it presentable again.

This bird, can't tell if it's a chicken, duck or what, was created to be a sewing center. There is a cradle for housing scissors, a number of dowels vertically mounted and designed to hold spools of thread and lastly, the "wings" are stuffed cloths shapes to be used as pin cushions.  This highly useful device is something I made at summer bible school.  My mother, the consummate seamstress, quilt maker and skilled artisan in the needle and thread arts, as far as I can remember, never used it as it was intended.  But, she kept it for over fifty years and displayed it for most of that time.

As I reflect on the bird, I recall the many years of attending Bible School, usually held the first couple of weeks in the summer after normal school let out.  Bible School was usually a half day session lasting about one week.  There was time to study the Bible, a time to play, singing, snacks and a time for making crafts.  I'm sure that I could attribute some of my limited knowledge of biblical stories to the training I received in VBS but my memories are pretty much limited to the crafts we did and the snacks: cookies and KoolAid.  I remember drinking a lot of KoolAid in my childhood and even in young adulthood but I haven't seem any in many years, is that stuff even made anymore?

There was a lady in our church, Mrs. Long, whose first name I can't recall,  who owned a ceramics studio.  Many years our crafts consisted of making something of clay which she would fire in her kiln.  Sometimes the ceramics were pre-formed items that we simply painted before they were fired.  We had one that featured a deer with a large rack of antlers.  We painted the deer in our crude way, it was fired and at the end of VBS, I took it home.  My older brother Joe saw it and decided the paint job needed more detail so he proceeded to "touch up" my art!  I never have forgiven him for that! That deer hung in our dining room for years.

A craft piece that  brings a chuckle to me now is the fig-leaf ashtray we made!  Mrs. Long brought clay and freshly picked fig leaves.  We molded the clay to fit the shape of the leaf, pressing the leaf into the clay to form the vein pattern of the leaf, then curling the lobes of the clay leaf where it would hold a cigarette and keep the ashes contained. I don't guess kids get to make ashtrays at Bible School today!  Unfortunately, the ashtray didn't survive the years.

One day, hopefully many years from now, my kids will sort through boxes and lament the things Mary and I have kept but I hope they will trigger warm memories as the bird has for me.  Either way, it'll be be their job to dispose of them , I'm too much like my Mama, I can't bring myself to do it!

Hey Mister! Throw Me A Memory!!

Mardi Gras tends to remind us all of Moon Pies, the ubiquitous treat tossed from the floats in the parades.  And Moon Pies, remind me of my late sister, Bonnie.

Bonnie loved Moon Pies.  I don't think she ever went to a Mardi Gras parade but  bought her Moon Pies in the grocery store.  When we were young and some of us still lived with our parents, Bonnie's late night snack was a Moon Pie and a small glass of milk.  She kept a box of the pies in the cabinet above the refrigerator and every night around 10 p.m., she would enjoy her snack.  If I was lucky, she would share one with me.

I don't think Moon Pies came in but two flavors in those days, chocolate and banana.  Bonnie didn't care for the banana so it was the chocolate pie at our house.  When a new box was opened, we always counted how many were in the box.  A normal box contained 12 pies but frequently, we would discover 13 pies in the box.  I don't  think we ever had less than 12 but we always had to check.  You would have thought we won the lottery when there was an additional pie in the box.

One hears the expression a " Baker's Dozen" describing 13 baked goods when a dozen was ordered and I guess that's why we got our extra treat.  Somebody at the Moon Pie factory was being generous, or careless but we benefitted.

Later in life, a visit to Bonnie's house would result in a Little Debbie Oatmeal snack cake but that never created the memories like the Moon Pies did.

This past weekend, we had relatives in from out-of-town for them to take their young children to a parade.  I asked one of the youngsters to bring me a Moon Pie.  He came back with a bag full of beads and several Moon Pies and shared one with me.

The Moon Pies today are about half the size I remember from my childhood and I doubt the revealer who tossed the pie took the time to count and see if he or she got a Baker's Dozen before showering the crowd, but whoever they are, they certainly helped me relive a special memory

The pie tasted good, maybe just like the ones from long ago,  but not nearly as special as the ones I shared with Bonnie.

More Than a Christmas Tree

At this time of year, our house, like many others, is filled with a variety of Christmas decorations, Nativity scenes, and, yes, Christmas trees.  Trees of all sizes and shapes and materials from which they are made can be found in nearly every room of our house.

But the largest and most special tree is the one in front of the living room windows where we put it so all the neighbors can ooh and ahh over it as they drive by.

It's the one I have to drag from its storage place in MY SHOP into the house, unbox it, assemble and fluff it and make sure all the lights work.  If, by the time all this is done, Mary and I haven't strangled each other, I disappear and stay gone until she has it festooned with the contents of  two dozen boxes of ornaments she pulls from storage in the Christmas closet.

Mary takes her time to make sure each ornament is in exactly the place it should be.  It has to be so because each ornament has special meaning and needs to be placed just right.

We didn't go to WalMart or even Robert Moore to buy boxes of ornaments, we have built this collection, piece by piece,  over our 39-years of marriage.

There are ones from our first Christmas, a time when we hardly had money for a tree or decorations.   Mary's grandmother had some fabric balls so she and Mary decorated them with foil stars and snow flakes along with beads held on with pins, creating our first ornaments. As we finished our tree decorating, we realized we didn't have a star for the top.  I took gold foil wrapping paper, some cardboard and a coat hanger and made a star for our tree.  It has topped every tree we've had since and will continue to do so until it disintegrates.  The handmade ornaments from our first year are still there also.

That first year, we had a real, cut tree.  We left it up too long after Christmas so it dried and started to shed its needles which promptly embedded into the carpet.  Our vacuum could not get them out.  The needles were quite prickly so if one dared walk barefooted over that part of the room, an exclamation of pain was quick to come!  That continued as long as we lived in the apartment.

For the last few years, we've had store bought trees, completely pre-lit!!  While these are nearly as nice as a "real" tree, it does serve to reduce my yuletide frustrations and keep me from using the portion of my vocabulary usually reserved for times of exasperation!

Along with our handmade first-year ornaments, there are ornaments that our children have made over the years, starting in daycare and continuing through kindergarten and on.  It takes care to make sure they survive the packing and unpacking each year but they have special places on our tree.

Mary's birthday is only a week before Christmas so she has frequently gotten ornaments as gifts, especially on her 40th birthday.  One of the first ornaments to go on our tree each year is a motorized mobile-type ornament with angels revolving.  It always gets noticed on our tree.

There are ornaments that were hand-made by loved ones long since departed from this life, crocheted angels made by my mother and beaded bells by Aunt Grace.  They bring special memories and an occasional tear.

There are ornaments acquired on vacations to special places or to commemorate special events.

So, yes, it is much more than a Christmas tree.  And I guess the things hanging from the branches aren't ornaments but rather memories.  Our tree is a living, growing recording of our family history. It is a memory-recalling, memory-making gathering spot during the holiday season.

At Christmas,  Mary and I will be joined by Amy, Travis, Oliver, Jonathan, Kim and Maddie, around our tree.  We'll tear wrapping paper from the gifts, we'll laugh and shout thank you's as each gift is unveiled and we'll make more memories.  We'll probably also add an ornament or two to the collection and next year they will take their place of honor on the tree.

Awesomely Amazing, or What?

We all like to brag about ourselves, our kids, our parents or other loved ones from time-to-time but with social media, we take it to new heights.

Posts are filled with adjectives like awesome or amazing in describing a loved one when we all may have different thoughts about the individual being described!  We can no longer talk about someone as simply being special to the writer, we have to give the subject super-human characteristics, using superlatives in all cases.

What brought this rant on?  Let me preach on it!

This past Saturday, Mary and I attended an event in which Jonathan and Kim (son and daughter-in-law) participated.  The event was a fund raiser for a charity called Neverthirst whose mission of providing clean water to third-world countries.  The event was a Crossfit competition with an entry fee and donations accepted for the charity.

For those not familiar with Crossfit,  this is an exercise/fitness program which uses many different exercise regimens to achieve fitness and strength..  They use weights lifting, running, jumping rope, and among many others.  The first competition for the event on Saturday involved teams of two people who alternated jumping onto a wooden box, two feet high,  then back down, then doing a "burpee" which is a cross between what we used to call a "squat-thrust" and an pushup; and as soon as the first completed this series, the second would go.  The alternating kept up until they had each completed 50 repetitions. They then performed forward lunges down to one knee and back up while holding a barbell weighing 95 to their chin, 10 times.

That was followed by lifting a kettle bell ( a round ball with a handle) weighing 53 pounds, from between the knees to over the head and back, 10 times.

They then picked up a jerry can filled with water, (weighing about 40 pounds) and ran for 100 meters where the can was passed to the other person who carried it back to the starting point, where they repeated the activities two more times.  The carrying of the water is symbolic of the focus of the charity since a large portion of the world obtains their daily water needs in this fashion, frequently from contaminated streams or wells.

Doesn't sound too tough?  Try just one rep.  And that's just the first event!  The others are too strenuous to describe, much less do!

Neither Jonathan and his partner nor Kim and her teammate won their events so this is not about how awesome they are in their strength or how superior they are to the other competitors.  But it is about the dedication and commitment it takes for any of the people who participated in this event or similar events around the world to get their body in the condition to make participation possible.

There were many who could not complete all the events. But unlike most athletic competitions, when the first crossed the finish line, they stood and shouted encouragement to the others, urging them on to completion.

I don't know the stories behind all the athletes but by observing Kim and Jonathan I have a pretty good feel for what it takes to get to the point of being able to enter the competitions; training at 5 o'clock in the morning  then coming back home to get ready for a day's work and then back to the gym afterwards.  Trading off times so that one can tend a child while the other works out and then reversing the roles.

As I said before, this is not about how awesome Jonathan and Kim are but it is about how awesome the dedication they and their fellow athletes show as they constantly strive to improve.  They are not looking forward to multi-million dollar contracts with the associated fame that we see in so many athletic events.  They are seeking fitness and friendships, they have to pay to compete.

There were some events for the kids, mostly children of the competitors, since they live the Crossfit life too!  But it was all for fun, no competition involved.

As I took these pictures, I knew I would be writing about the them and the words awesome and amazing kept popping into my mind.  But I knew those words are used way too often and were inadequate to express what I was seeing.  I can't really say I know the words that are needed.  It is inspiring to see the strength, skill, dedication and commitment that is necessary in this individuals.  It is encouraging to see them put their interests into something benefitting to mankind. And, it's pretty neat that they raised over $83,000!

But, when it comes to talking about Maddie, there's only one thing to say:  She's the awesomest!!