tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18310088883935288902024-03-16T11:19:05.336-07:00Wilderness Blues- Ramblings from the Great LandA look at various scenes around Southeast Alaska with commentary on whatever happens to come to mind at the time.From fishing for salmon and halibut to cooking Mexican Quiche, there is no shortage of subjects that catch my attention. There is always a story to everything- sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but hopefully always entertaining.tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.comBlogger582125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-40025529863814947652024-03-11T22:42:00.000-07:002024-03-11T22:42:02.656-07:00 Freedom isn't Free<p> </p><p><br /></p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanstory.com/usr/925216/thumbnail.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I heard that spring break is happening now down in Florida. It's a wild time for college kids to go hang out, drink a lot, do drugs, have sex with strangers and let their hair down. In some towns, the residents have had enough of the rowdiness that comes with spring break.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Some time back, my older brother Mark forwarded me this picture as a reminder that someone else paid a high price for the freedoms that we enjoy. A day on the beach can mean different things to different people. It's food for thought.</span></div></div></div><br /><center style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></center><br /><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><table align="center" border="0" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 658px;"><tbody style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;"></td><td align="center" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td><td align="center" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td></tr></tbody></table>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-39875298362336453322024-03-01T12:27:00.000-08:002024-03-01T12:27:44.092-08:00 Chickadee Jerks<p> </p><p><br /></p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/374467/w-374467-561464.jpg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think we could all pretty much agree that human beings have the ability to be world class jerks at times. It doesn't mean we're that way all the time, but when something doesn't go our way, we sometimes exhibit behavior that is less than stellar. A perfect example is when we get behind the wheel of our cars. The mild mannered neighbor down the street can turn into a jackass when he's sitting in a two thousand pound machine rocketing down the road at sixty five miles per hour. If someone pulls out in front of him or isn't going fast enough, or perhaps is tailgating, the transformation is akin to Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde.<br /><br />Would it surprise you though that humans aren't the only animals that behave badly? When I was living down south, I had a neighbor who kept a dog, a mongrel, that would bark uncontrollably whenever someone walked down the street past its yard. Fortunately it was fenced in. One day a fishing friend of mine named Bunny was walking down the road with his dog, Little Guy. Bunny stopped to talk to me, and the dog across the street went ballistic. Little Guy, a German Shepard, walked over, lifted his leg and peed on the other dog. It shut him up, but I thought it was rather rude behavior, even for a dog.<br /><br />Last year, on the Channel Two News out of Anchorage, I saw a video of a lady walking down the street, close to downtown Anchorage. She had her dog with her on the sidewalk. A moose, enjoying the easy traveling on the sidewalk, came up behind her, knocked her down and then kicked her as it passed. Fortunately she wasn't hurt. I think the dog was OK too, but why the kick afterwards?<br /><br />When we were living out at the farm, there was a black mustang named Sunshine. I don't know who named him that; a better name would have been Spawn of Satan or Demon Possessed or some such thing. That sapsucker was mean. We had a green house that had been made out of steel beams covered in thick plastic. It looked like a Quonset hut. It was big, about forty feet long. Because of the short growing season, it was necessary to start a lot of the plants inside the greenhouse, and some, like the tomatoes grew there from start to finish. My wife was looking out the window one day and watched Sunshine take a big stick in his mouth and start walking down the length of the greenhouse poking holes in the plastic. What would have possessed a horse to do such a thing? I've no idea.<br /><br />I didn't trust that horse. I came in from town one day, and after I had anchored my boat at the point, I had to walk a mile or so across the mudflats to the camp. When I rounded the corner, I saw Sunshine eating some beach asparagus on the mudflats. He stopped what he was doing and looked at me and it appeared that he was going to come over and cause trouble. Fortunately I found a big stick of my own and waved it at him. I'm sure he was weighing the joy he would get from trying to bite me against what I would do to him with that stick and decided to go back to eating. I kept the stick with me all the way in to camp, and frankly, I kept looking behind me, in case he tried sneaking up.<br /><br />One final example. I like to feed the birds. With all the really cold weather and the snow here in Alaska, especially this year, I've felt bad for them. There was too much snow to get to the feeder out back or the one on the side of the house, so against my better judgement, I started feeding them on the front porch railing. What a mistake that is. Apparently they have discerning tastes, and will kick off anything they don't like onto the floor. My porch floor is about two inches deep in sunflower seeds, and bits of corn and millet. I don't even bother to put out thistle seed for them. For reasons unknown they like the sunflower kernels but not the whole seeds. In fact I've had to put the kernels through the coffee grinder so they'll eat them. They're really spoiled. I'm starting to spend more on bird seed than I am on fresh produce. Even with that, you would think that they would have the decency not to crap on the porch, but no such luck. They can get nasty with each other too, fighting pretty viciously if one gets too close or is eating seed where another one wants to be. I'm certainly not going to go out there and try to be a referee, they might beat me up. I can almost guarantee that come spring, none of them will volunteer to help paint the porch, they'll leave that to me. I will say this; I'm glad they don't drive cars.</span><br /><br /></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-37631510664958883942024-02-19T22:04:00.000-08:002024-02-19T22:04:07.329-08:00 Where's My Eyebrow? <p> </p><p><br /></p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/457186/w-457186-586584.jpg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I got an email from a friend where I used to live. His name is Tim. He used to work in the woods as a logger, climbing hillsides and cutting down huge old growth spruce and hemlock trees. Now he's working at the local sawmill, running the saw, turning those logs into lumber. He's tough as nails, a real he-man. We developed a friendship some years back when he started coming to church. He knows enough about some of my misadventures in life that he felt comfortable relaying to me a story of his own misfortune.<br /><br />While getting ready for church a week ago, he took a look in the mirror and realized that he was starting to look pretty shaggy. Hoonah doesn't have a barber shop. There are a few people in town who cut hair, but by and large, most folks either opt to cut their own, or get a haircut when they take a trip to Juneau. Tim decided to trim up his hair and shave his beard. Then he noticed that his eyebrows were really getting long. He said about an inch and a half in length. He already had the hair clippers in his hand, so he decided to use them to trim his eyebrows. That was a mistake. He inadvertently shaved off one of his eyebrows.<br /><br />While he didn't elaborate on how he dealt with the situation, and much to my dismay, didn't include a picture, I, nonetheless, thought I would offer a few suggestions on how to deal with his problem.<br /><br />I wrote back-"Hello Tim, it's so good to hear from you, and it's a real bonus to read the fascinating story about the eyebrow caper. So, what are you going to do? Do you have an eye patch that you can wear to cover the bald spot until it grows back? It's too bad it's not Halloween, then you could say it's part of your pirate costume. Maybe Michelle has some eyebrow stencil that you can fill in the back round, then get some glue, or maybe wax, and cut off some ear hairs and paste them in. Perhaps some huge sunglasses would work, though I don't think they make men's sunglasses that large." I try to be helpful when I can.<br /><br />I went on to relate a story from when I was working at the school. One of the young high school girls, named Amanda, showed up one day looking like an alien. She was tall and thin and had a very high forehead that stood out when she pulled her hair back. For reasons unknown, she longed for any attention she could get. She would often pull some outlandish stunt to get noticed and was a frequent visitor to the principal's office. Her dad happened to be the local police chief, so I don't know if she was trying to embarrass him or what. On that particular day when we passed in the school hallway, something looked out of place. It wasn't until the school secretary mentioned it that I realized she had shaved off both of her eyebrows. It looked freaky. I'm not sure how it would compare to having just one eyebrow shaved though. While the story wasn't at all helpful, I wanted him to know that we've all done stupid things.<br /><br />I recall working in the back room of the L. Kane store years ago unloading freight with a gal named Susan. I was bent over putting a box away, and when I stood up, she reached over and grabbed a hair on one of my eyebrows and yanked for all she was worth. It was of course, attached. She didn't think it was, it was so blasted long. Periodically I have to trim my eyebrows because they poke me in the eye when I'm driving. However, I've never considered using a hair trimmer to deal with them.<br /><br />Speaking of eyebrows, I recall once when I was about eight years old. School was out for the summer, and my brother and I were hanging out in our room. I had watched a cowboy and Indian show the night before, and wanted my older brother, Mark, to paint my face like an Indian's. I wanted war paint so I could go wander around the neighborhood shouting and acting like a fool. My brother found the Prang water color paints from school and proceeded to paint my face. I could feel him making circles on each cheek with the red. I couldn't contain the smile on my face as I thought how vicious I'd look. Then he got some black paint and painted my eyebrows. I asked him about that and he assured me that the Indians used to paint their eyebrows. I should have known something was up when he started snickering. When he put paint on my lips I got suspicious and went into the bathroom to check out my war paint. I looked like a lady of the night. Needless to say I didn't ask for any help from him in the future for much of anything.<br /><br />I still haven't heard from Tim about how he dealt with the one eyebrow issue. Of course if he was a Cyclops, it wouldn't be an issue at all, but since he's not, I'd love to know. I may have to do a follow up email.</span></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-47962752068402928622024-02-14T17:04:00.000-08:002024-02-14T17:04:43.088-08:00 Valentines Day Poem<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">From time to time I like to share a poem or story that I've read on the writing web site, Fan Story. The other day, a writer in Texas who goes by the name Pome Lover wrote this poem for America. She speaks from her heart and is a patriot who is frustrated with the direction that the country is moving in. I share her feelings and worry what is to become of this once great nation if we don't change the path we're on. </span></p><h1 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 2.1em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;">A Different Valentine</h1><h3 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;">by <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/mypage.jsp?userid=786358" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 22.5232px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_top">pome lover</a></h3><table border="0" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 70%;"><tbody style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td style="background: rgb(238, 238, 238); border: 6pt ridge rgb(238, 238, 238); font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 2pt 4pt 1pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><center style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.9892px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></center><table align="center" border="0" style="background: transparent; border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 100%;"><tbody style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td align="left" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;"><img border="0" src="https://www.fanstory.com/usr/786358/America_s_heartbeat.jpg" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.9892px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="95%" /><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 12.9892px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My country is my valentine!</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This poem is for her.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She’s in a lot of trouble</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And I think most folks concur.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I love my country, and I fear</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">what “they” want her to be:</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Americans</span></span></em><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> who hate her,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">want to change her, totally.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">They called her names and burned her flag,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">caused riots in the streets;</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">those in power didn’t stop them,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">so of course, there were repeats!</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those horrors really happened</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And are quickly getting worse;</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If Americans don’t take a stand</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">There could be no reverse.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Why</span></span></em><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> have some Americans,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">turned Marxist, of all things?</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s as if they’re unaware</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of what Marxism brings.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">What will it take for folks to see</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The havoc Biden’s caused?</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">He is giving us to China</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And he’s broken many laws!</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">He swore to serve this country</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">But instead, he’s brought us pain—</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We’re in debt into the billions</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And illegals’ numbers gain.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">God, please help our young folk</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">For our country, to stand tall,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 13.26px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Let them know the gift of freedom</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Is the greatest gift of all.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"> </p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">America, my Valentine,</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I pray that you survive</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And earn, again, respect that’s owed</span></span></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.96px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #c00000; font-size: 19.04px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">To those who gave their lives.</span></span></span></span></p></div></div></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-23846933111074180032024-02-10T18:22:00.000-08:002024-02-10T18:22:41.164-08:00 Am I A Criminal?<p> </p><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I was making my bed today. Actually I was changing the sheets before I made it. While the pillow case was off I noticed the tag that hangs on pillows and mattresses. It's like an official government notice not to remove the tag under penalty of law. Really? Are you kidding me? What, is there a pillow police? If I remove the tag, will a couple of guys show up to my doorstep wearing trench coats, fedoras and dark glasses? What is the fine for removing the tag off the mattress? Is it higher than the fine for taking the tag off the pillow? Why do they even put it on there? Can you imagine ripping off the tag and thoughtlessly tossing it into the bathroom waste can, and the next day the feds show up?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Picture this if you will- you're drinking coffee in your easy chair. It's 8:30 on a Tuesday morning. You're watching the news and getting royally pissed off by the latest blunder by our leaders. The doorbell rings and you look at your wife quizzically. She wasn't expecting anyone, and neither were you. Maybe it's the neighbors asking to borrow a cup of sugar. You reluctantly answer the door when you realize she isn't getting out of her chair. You open the door and the two feds I mentioned earlier are there on your front porch, looking official.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Hello, Mr. Botts?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yeah."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Mr. Thomas Botts?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes, that's me. Who the heck are you and what do you want?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Sir, my name is Agent Bildock, and this is my partner Agent Flannery. We're with the United States Division of Pillows and Mattresses. It's come to our attention that you tore the tag off a Serta Sleep Comfort pillow- Extra Firm. Can you confirm that you own such a pillow sir?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes, I do, but I don't see how that's any of your business. How did you even know about the tag? Are you guys in the planes that I hear flying overhead after I go to bed? That's really irritating, I have to tell you. Also, if you have any clout with the Serta people, let them know that the Extra Firm isn't that firm at all. After about a week of sleeping on it, it starts to flatten out."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Sir, judging by the size of your head, I suspect it's what is known in the business as Fat Head Syndrome, but we're not here about that. If you bothered to read the tag, you would realize that the government frowns on it's citizens ripping important documents off certain bed related items."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"BUT IT'S MY PILLOW! Why does the government care about what I do with it?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Mr. Botts, we're the government. We care about everything that happens to our citizens. If you get into a pillow fight and feathers fly as a result, we care. If your blanket is washed in warm water and dried to the point that it starts to pill, we become very concerned. If your mattress starts to sag, or unsightly stains appear on the surface, we don't ask how that happened, but we do take notice."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Wow, I had no idea that the government cared about me so much. Does it matter what kind of sheets I use?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Sir, don't be ridiculous. While the government considers white cotton with no elastic on the bottom sheet the standard, you of course can choose whatever color or type you like: cotton, bamboo, silk, it's up to you."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Wow, that's good to know. I don't want to get on the bad side of the government. So, what am I supposed to do with the tag for the pillow?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Agent Bildock reached into his jacket pocket and produced a new government warning tag.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">" Take this and have it sewn on the pillow that is tagless, then fill out the forms I'm giving you with the hour and day the tag was replaced. Send it in the envelope provided by the Division of Pillows and Mattresses. You have seven days to comply. If your paperwork isn't in our office by next Tuesday at 4:00 PM, you'll be hearing from us." They turned to walk down the steps and were almost to the driveway when a question formed in my mind.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Wait! Agents, when my pillow gets too old and smashed down, what do I do with it?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Bildock smirked and looked at Flannery before addressing me. " Sir, you take it to the fire station to be burned, just like the national flag. Have a good day sir."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I closed and locked the door and put the paperwork and tag on the kitchen counter, thankful that I didn't get hauled away in cuffs for my serious infraction.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-54187574078887721742024-01-30T21:59:00.000-08:002024-01-30T21:59:37.187-08:00 The Colonoscopy That Wasn't<p> </p><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tbody style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.9892px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">FAQ:</span></td><td style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.9892px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://www.fanstory.com/faq.jsp#norate" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">What are certificates?</a> | <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/faq.jsp#starswhatare" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">What are stars?</a> | <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/faq.jsp#rankedauthor" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">How do I become a ranked author?</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://www.fanartreview.com/displaystory.jsp?id=428060" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></a><span style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;"></span><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/222961/w-8626466-428060.jpg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Sometimes I feel like a character in the Gary Larson cartoon- The Far Side. He always portrayed goofy looking animals or characters in bizarre situations. One of my favorites showed a lady jumping out of a burning building, striking a trampoline - like device that the firemen are holding, and bouncing into another building that is also on fire. I found that hilarious, but then I have a weird sense of humor.<br /><br />The reason I mention this is it appears that no matter what I do in my life, something out of the ordinary always seems to come up. For instance, I was at my doctors office a few months ago. We talked about private matters like my prostate. I told him I wasn't going to go for any more prostate exams. The exam entails a doctor sticking his digit up your back side and feeling around. The last time I visited my old doctor, I told him I wasn't going to do the finger trick anymore.<br /><br />"How about a fist then? he said.<br /><br />Everybody's a comedian. Anyway, my present doctor also mentioned my having a colonoscopy. I can't remember agreeing to it, but somehow I found myself filling out paperwork for one a few weeks ago. I had finally resolved to go through the procedure, since it would be the only time in my life I would do it.<br /><br />Part of the preparation is to clear out your insides with a powerful laxative that has to be taken over the course of two days. The name of the stuff is Golightly. Talk about a misnomer. Golightly. It should be called Crap-your-guts-out, or Thunder-in-a bottle or some such more appropriate thing. I had to drink a whole gallon of the stuff. It was really salty and I can promise you, it worked well. In fact when the pharmacist gives you the laxative to mix up, they should include a couple handles for the toilet seat and a seat belt. That's some powerful laxative. Believe me when I say, you don't dare fart.<br /><br />I wasn't looking forward to the procedure. The idea that someone is going to be shoving a lighted tube with a camera up my yin-yang was rather disconcerting. I was told I would be given something that, though it wouldn't knock me out, would make the procedure more acceptable. I just wanted to get the whole thing behind me.<br /><br />I arrived at the hospital a little early, and got right in to admitting. That was the end of the smooth sailing. I received the necessary paperwork and told to go to the lab for an EKG. There was a whole bunch of people waiting, and the line was moving at a snail's pace. After thirty or so minutes without much movement, I heard a bell ring over the P A system and a lady said,<br />"Code black! All department heads report to the office."<br />There was a lot of scrambling of personnel, and we were all left looking around at each other like a bunch of scared kids. After another ten minutes or so, a spokesperson came out and mentioned there was a major car accident, and all personnel were needed for whatever was coming. I was told I could probably still get the EKG in the operating area and was directed to go there.<br /><br />I spoke to the doctor who was going to do the colonoscopy and I guess the EKG as well. He shook my hand and apologized and then mentioned he didn't know when he could do the procedure. There was a fellow in front of me who had been waiting an hour and a half already, and suggested that I may want to reschedule. I told him I wasn't planning on rescheduling. One bout of Golightly in my life was enough. So, I was saved from the humiliation of a colonoscopy by the unfortunate decision of some local drivers to speed on icy roads. So, I may never know until it's too late if I have polyps growing in my colon, but I don't want to live forever anyway.</span></div></div></div><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><center style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></center>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-54679894189797827422024-01-19T21:06:00.000-08:002024-01-19T21:06:42.421-08:00 Mr. Clean<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdHE9T0f6rMUuMxl1QTaCpf91W4qHi1ZKjdZce9Qs6C5w3csTY04zRX3PK_yaqdfcqaDdxPbBLGle0Bfrz_6qW9MhykKul74i_PaT-0jyR6cBJe70Kmucgxre7DM89CyZgyJ0s6dc8dYPRqwUOYKHwkkDVdOFaMpQXdcCqrtfNBml2vjaWc5deL7etTXd/s2048/DSC00244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdHE9T0f6rMUuMxl1QTaCpf91W4qHi1ZKjdZce9Qs6C5w3csTY04zRX3PK_yaqdfcqaDdxPbBLGle0Bfrz_6qW9MhykKul74i_PaT-0jyR6cBJe70Kmucgxre7DM89CyZgyJ0s6dc8dYPRqwUOYKHwkkDVdOFaMpQXdcCqrtfNBml2vjaWc5deL7etTXd/w640-h480/DSC00244.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbRfO3M9OOafQdykvbglN4iKelrhxO0aSniKn4Qxx5kO0_TWf9cTamNJO0CBBBIyS_xEwK00YuP3qsrVOiR-2AqLLCU8ewLHP_FZpKFuIdpY9Vab6FE4oiLFD6UG35ld9CglsBWB7C9LViz6ZrekIpazJ38uWg-Rcmz0NauVLvENFXVXm0lKi2LY3GBw_/s640/DSC02208%20(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbRfO3M9OOafQdykvbglN4iKelrhxO0aSniKn4Qxx5kO0_TWf9cTamNJO0CBBBIyS_xEwK00YuP3qsrVOiR-2AqLLCU8ewLHP_FZpKFuIdpY9Vab6FE4oiLFD6UG35ld9CglsBWB7C9LViz6ZrekIpazJ38uWg-Rcmz0NauVLvENFXVXm0lKi2LY3GBw_/w640-h480/DSC02208%20(1).JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <span style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">When I moved to Alaska and discovered that I could be paid to catch fish, I was ecstatic. All I needed was a boat and a license, both of which were procured within two years of moving here.</span></p><span style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br />Like most jobs, there are certain aspects that are enjoyable and others that aren't so much so. Catching fish was a lot of fun; cleaning up the mess it created didn't bring nearly as much joy.<br /><br />Because I was catching salmon using hook and line, the fish brought a higher price than ones that were caught in nets. Each fish was brought on board individually, stunned, and bled by cutting the gills, and then cleaned and put in ice. Salmon have a tendency to put up a fight and even though they may be clubbed and gaffed, they sometimes would thrash around the deck, especially Humpies. Pink salmon, or Humpback salmon- Humpies, are the smallest of the Pacific salmon, ranging from two to five pounds on average. They are worth the least amount of money and are the hardest to kill, frequently tearing off the hook and thrashing around the boat spattering blood all over the bulwarks, the floor, the windshield and of course, the fisherman. At times they would flop all the way to the bow. Sometimes they would actually jump out of the boat. They are spastic little creatures.<br /><br />Because bringing fish onboard is such a messy business, every boat has at least one bucket, a gallon of bleach and a bottle of Joy dish soap. I don't know why Joy was so popular, I guess because it could be used to remove any sign of gas or oil on top of the water, plus it had a pleasant lemon scent. A scrub brush was a necessity as well. You needed something stiff enough to get fish scales and blood off the surface of the boat, but soft enough that you could really put some effort into it without scratching the heck out of the more delicate parts. One last thing almost all fishermen needed was a good set of rain pants. In part because we lived in a rain forest, but even more so because the blood that inevitably spattered on them could be removed with the same brush that was used to clean the boat.<br /><br />One summer morning, after a successful fishing trip, I sold my fish and motored to the transient dock inside the new boat harbor. One side of the dock had a few sailboats and pleasure craft moored to it, and the opposite side was taken up almost entirely by a large, flat, wooden barge named the Roughcut. It was a floating saw mill owned by a logger from Oregon. A number of loggers came up looking for work in the newly formed Whitestone Logging Company just outside Hoonah. They were a tough group of people, rough around the edges, moving from one logging camp to another, like nomads of the forests.<br /><br />After tying to the float opposite the barge, I grabbed the bucket and leaned over the side of the boat, filling it with clean salt water. After I put in what I felt was the right amount of soap and bleach, I dipped the brush and got to work. Blood and scales had dried on the bulwarks and they were starting to dry on the deck. I was scrubbing pretty vigorously when I noticed a fellow standing alongside my boat. When I looked up at him I could determine that he was a logger right away.<br /><br />The standard dress for everyone working in the woods was a blue and white striped shirt, which very much looked like the ticking on a pillow, and a pair of dungarees, usually loose fitting with pockets and loops for hanging small tools from. Every logger I ever saw had cut the hem of their pants off, leaving them ragged with threads hanging down. Most either wore heavy leather or rubber boots called corks. They had spikes on the soles that allowed them to walk on the slippery logs that they felled.<br /><br />I'd never seen the man before and wasn't sure what he wanted. Stringy grey hair was sticking out from under his dirty cap, and he was sporting a few days growth of beard. He stood looking down at me for a minute, picking his teeth with a splinter before he finally spoke. I was working up a sweat trying to disinfect my small vessel when he said, "When you get done with that, I've got a pair of shorts that could use some attention." The image that was racing through my mind was less than pleasant, and I was relieved when he started to chuckle. It was a strange introduction to a man who would one day be my neighbor.<br /><br />I'm happy to report that I got the boat clean, and whether or not he ever got his underwear washed, I'll never know, fortunately.</span><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.7842px;" /><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.7842px;" /><br />tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-65338613842763336652024-01-07T21:09:00.000-08:002024-01-07T21:09:33.105-08:00 Putting Away Christmas<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktxB-INsrwVgWd5qcCprasAJymI6VG3Ou61sssTgGJBR-z2Is3ca0HTaKTxUg9anaC7dC8XzRYCVlkNLAsN2eR0cWeXqPgA-EuKJ83YeR4HDjOq7M4EcBLjnYkjka6NBujhS2jkN1dK5bCiCDI4p49hvgSonx67EsjhhxSggPBXjPTD7X2GKKiTXkqQoI/s3264/DSC06286.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktxB-INsrwVgWd5qcCprasAJymI6VG3Ou61sssTgGJBR-z2Is3ca0HTaKTxUg9anaC7dC8XzRYCVlkNLAsN2eR0cWeXqPgA-EuKJ83YeR4HDjOq7M4EcBLjnYkjka6NBujhS2jkN1dK5bCiCDI4p49hvgSonx67EsjhhxSggPBXjPTD7X2GKKiTXkqQoI/w640-h426/DSC06286.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41ZPmihZEWLjKDb6PAIRhkP4EgzbW8eIslDQ_XgGgzXIX_Bl-f6Fb4vMhBuV_xlIr5xtFlhBA_Wq8TIwGXpfNX10HzurwgHKatavyxvblyP_qOh_T-64hxuXi0c3MFO_4zyI9VFXjNj0Crbyic87NvdLsyNVYPsoXRM5litklYEKgBAm-maEa4BQ2I5oE/s3264/DSC06287.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41ZPmihZEWLjKDb6PAIRhkP4EgzbW8eIslDQ_XgGgzXIX_Bl-f6Fb4vMhBuV_xlIr5xtFlhBA_Wq8TIwGXpfNX10HzurwgHKatavyxvblyP_qOh_T-64hxuXi0c3MFO_4zyI9VFXjNj0Crbyic87NvdLsyNVYPsoXRM5litklYEKgBAm-maEa4BQ2I5oE/w640-h426/DSC06287.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMDOY8s2C2-YPzR9ym7qt5nk8CHds_Bm5-UwHK21nQJ9wWz4DKjYwjU2KKaYSu9QpWkiiGa2HQlTkL61f7HFGCwjP2eAVtgfb3U9rGjb2-q7ib_xps3YY3iCk-ClJRQXXDOrUOID0fdHFBrGF5W5k1AdnZKsbJ2XtHnP3dXzxCqgA6WrxD_NcOR4vKOu_/s3264/DSC06288.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMDOY8s2C2-YPzR9ym7qt5nk8CHds_Bm5-UwHK21nQJ9wWz4DKjYwjU2KKaYSu9QpWkiiGa2HQlTkL61f7HFGCwjP2eAVtgfb3U9rGjb2-q7ib_xps3YY3iCk-ClJRQXXDOrUOID0fdHFBrGF5W5k1AdnZKsbJ2XtHnP3dXzxCqgA6WrxD_NcOR4vKOu_/w640-h426/DSC06288.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm sure we're all familiar with the old saying that what goes up must come down. While it may not be referring to Christmas decorations, the same is true nonetheless. Today I got started on the mighty chore of having to remove the decorations from outside. All the hard work I had to go through a few days after Thanksgiving has to be reversed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was decorating the house, I had my I pod and was listening to Christmas music. It helped me to get in the mood. I always enjoy having the lights and garland on the outside of the house. When you live in a place where the winter nights last about eighteen or more hours, coming home to some brightly shining colored lights helps to lighten the mood.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was a kid, we never decorated the outside of the house. Those were the days before LED lights, so each bulb drew a fair amount of power I'm sure, and they got hotter than a welder's apron. Lighting the outside of your house was something that was reserved for those who were better off financially. Actually, I can't think of anyone on my block that had Christmas lights on the outside of their homes. We used to get in the car after supper if Dad wasn't too tired and was feeling generous, and we'd drive to the better part of town where people had the money to afford the extra electricity. We'd ooh and ahh with each new display, happy to have a little entertainment that ushered in the season.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was supposed to be around thirty degrees today, which for January in Wasilla isn't too bad. That's what the weather service said it was supposed to be. I'm not sure what the exact temperature was, but it felt considerably colder. Frankly, it was a lot more fun to put the decorations up than it was to take them down. There was no Christmas music to put me in the mood, which frankly, I was glad of. After Christmas, I don't like to hear holiday music. I was thinking what kind of music would be good to accompany a chore that I disliked, and I thought of the country song- Take This Job and Shove it. I had visions of an unfortunate victim going in to his proctologist with a string of Christmas lights protruding from his backside. I should probably have thought of a better song.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I first decorated, I had carefully wound the lights and garland around the banister and down the hand rails in a cheerful holiday manner, making everything look festive. After having snow blow up onto the railing of the porch and then melting and freezing again, the very act of unwinding all that lovely holiday cheer became quite the chore, as I had known it would be. Of course I couldn't very well wait until May when the snow is all gone to take down Christmas, so I grabbed a rubber mallet and went out and went to work. Finding the push pins that held things in place, I started to unwind. Then of course, the garland was caught in the ice on the railing. Not wanting to rip it, I pounded the rail hoping to bust the ice and freeing the garland. It kind of worked, but I was left with strands of bright green, red and silver tinsel still frozen onto the porch rails. It will probably remain there until it thaws out some, and hopefully the birds will retrieve it to line their nests, giving them a fashionable look that is sure to be the envy of birds in other neighborhoods.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was taking down all the lights and garland and putting it inside on the living room floor to dry out, I started thinking that they must have magically multiplied. I can't recall putting up that many strings of lights or that much garland. How is that possible? I know that the male plugs fit into the female plugs on the lights, but they're inanimate objects, there's no way they could produce offspring- or in the case of lights- offstring. Oh well, I guess I have the rest of the year to contemplate how that could be. The mystery will only be outdone when I plug in the lights next year and find out that the lights that I put away working, will have entire sections that won't light anymore. Perhaps I could get a huge government grant and study that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-57439665398364536402023-12-30T20:38:00.000-08:002023-12-30T20:38:44.426-08:00 Been Thinking About Pockets<p> </p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/8896/w-8896-553440.png" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">From time to time, I like to vent my frustration out in the open. In part because it makes me feel better to get something off my chest, and in part I'm hoping for a solution, or at the very least some agreement with my view.<br /><br />Today I'd like to say a few words about pockets. They have been around for about five hundred years, and are a necessary part of every man's attire. Where else could we put our keys, glasses, pencils, telephones and dozens of other doo-dads? While I don't wear cargo pants, you know those trousers with umpteen pockets, I would probably be tempted to. However, I know how I am. In no time at all I'd have every pocket filled with something, just in case I needed it that day. Before you know it, I wouldn't be able to walk. Something like Swiss Army cargo pants might be a good idea. They would come pre-filled with only the necessities that the average man might need, plus a few extras, like some fishing line and a few hooks in case you passed by a stream and were overcome by the desire to fish. They would have to leave a few pockets empty so you could fill them with your billfold and keys. Perhaps you could have some custom made with an insulated lining to keep a sandwich hot while you were busy working. A cup holder on the side would be handy too.<br /><br />The issue that got me to thinking about pockets, was the shirt I was wearing yesterday. Most days I wear flannel shirts. They are comfortable, come in a variety of colors, and as a general rule have two pockets in the front. The shirt I was wearing yesterday only had one. It was totally unacceptable. I have to carry my glasses in my shirt pocket, and usually I have a pen as well. Then of course I often stuff my I pod into the front pocket, and I always have a pack of Trident chewing gum, the package of which is wider than say, Juicy Fruit. By the time I have all that stuff in there, it looks like I've grown a lumpy boob. Men's flannel shirts should always have two pockets. For one thing, it kind of balances out the shirt. For another, there is never enough room for all of our stuff. One other feature that all flannel shirts should have is either buttons or snaps to keep the pockets closed and the contents within safe. On more than one occasion, I've leaned over the back of the boat to gaff a fish, and my glasses have fallen out. Twice I dropped a flip phone that I had stashed in a shirt pocket. Once it fell into the bilge, which was full of salt water and of course was ruined. The other time I was untying from the dock and it fell on the concrete float and broke apart.<br /><br />I briefly looked in to a fly fishing vest. They have lots of pockets, and special loops for hanging your scissors, or small pliers or whatever else fly fishermen might use. I believe some have Velcro-like pieces on the vest for holding the flies. That would be cool. If I had one it would be my luck that real flies or more likely wasps would be stuck in the Velcro and I'd go nuts trying to remove them.<br /><br />The bottom line is that men need pockets like women need purses. We've got to have a place to put our things without looking like chipmunks storing up for winter.</span></div><div style="font-size: 13.5139px;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 13.5139px;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As a side note, I'd like to present a little history. Prior to the time of trousers, men used to carry their things in pouches, similar to purses. Fortunately they don't do that anymore, although things were looking pretty shaky when fanny packs came out.</span></div><div style="font-size: 13.5139px;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 13.5139px;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The word pocket is believed to be derived from the Anglo-Norman word, pokete- little bag. I've never referred to anyone as a little bag, although there have been a few gals I've considered old bags.</span></div><div style="font-size: 13.5139px;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 20px;">I hope this you've found this post enlightening, and short of that, at least entertaining. And ladies, if you should ever have the urge to buy your male counterpart a shirt, please insure that it has two front pockets. Just consider them small bras that men wear on the outside and fill with things other than boobs.</span></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-70327725165233797012023-12-21T15:10:00.000-08:002023-12-21T15:10:46.307-08:00 Tis' the Season- To Put on Pounds<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2huZDhpvHoq8ryIy1QtYULyKuRS50-YGSoptfS2DHUZs2Egtutk9EiW1AkZTw9xA2KDPPvez1tHmo2rCtHzNg4W2gT01DU4WOD_vr5sGDS4yU0E6D-rDn4pg9TRVQCgwOPLASh4ezsk-hpxtF3vRnIkxLKgaGxa6g5sHklVqk01kCQLYCuWlJQ2A7eup/s3264/DSC06282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2huZDhpvHoq8ryIy1QtYULyKuRS50-YGSoptfS2DHUZs2Egtutk9EiW1AkZTw9xA2KDPPvez1tHmo2rCtHzNg4W2gT01DU4WOD_vr5sGDS4yU0E6D-rDn4pg9TRVQCgwOPLASh4ezsk-hpxtF3vRnIkxLKgaGxa6g5sHklVqk01kCQLYCuWlJQ2A7eup/w640-h426/DSC06282.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My wife, Jan, has spent the last few days baking. It was quite a monumental effort requiring her to clean the kitchen three times one day alone. I can attest to the fact that baking is a messy business. Whenever I make Mexican Quiche I incorporate all the counter space. I'm too cheap to pay for pre-made pie crusts, so I make my own, thus I need room for the flour and Crisco and a big bowl. Then I have to drag out the eggs, a cutting board for the veggies, and bowls for the salsa and canned milk. What a mess. In any event, I was glad that she cleaned up after herself. It makes eating the cookies she's baked all the more pleasant.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As you can see, she made ample amounts of chocolate chip cookies, both with nuts and without, some sugar cookies, and another kind that is coated in powdered sugar and rolled in crushed pecans. I can't recall what she called them, and I didn't have room for them in the picture, but it doesn't really matter. The bottom line is that they're fattening. Oh boy!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course we also have two boxes of candy on the table, plus some Kirkland egg nog; the kind that doesn't need a refrigerator. It's got whiskey, spiced rum, brandy, Irish cream and French vanilla. Hell, it's got the whole bar in one bottle. That's more booze than I drink in an entire year in one glass. My dear friends and neighbors, Butch and Patty brought a bottle over one night when we were playing cards. We each had two short glasses of it, and at the end of the night I really didn't care who won the game. Needless to say, it was tasty.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What I don't have shown in the above picture is the beef log that is so popular this time of year. Nor do you see the cheese, crackers, chips, salted nuts and sundry other goodies that I'm sure are stashed somewhere in the house. Just to kind of balance things out, I bought a three pound bag of mandarin oranges. You can't be too healthy you know.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">To make matters worse I'm going to ask my oldest daughter Jen to make some halibut egg rolls when she comes for Christmas. They're cooked in a Fry Daddy deep fat fryer. Really, really healthy. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In my defense, I do exercise four or five days a week, but the twenty minutes a day that I put in doesn't offset the other sixteen hours that I'm shoving something into my face. It that's as far as it went, I'd be fine, but it ends up on my gut. How can that be? My butt feels like it's shrinking, but my gut is growing like mold in a dark place. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm holding out some hope for rescue though. Jen and Brian are both coming up for Christmas this year, and I believe my granddaughter Kaylahni as well. The problem is they don't eat that much. Tomorrow is Jan's birthday, and I think the whole family is coming over, so we might be able to get rid of a few dozen cookies then. I really hope so. I have a love/hate relationship with them. I love to eat them, but I hate what they do to me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I hope all of you have a blessed Christmas, and if you find yourself in need of a cookie fix, you know where to come.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-61380564272756597282023-12-04T16:25:00.000-08:002023-12-04T16:25:30.558-08:00 A Magical Christmas Story<p> </p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I read this post last night on the writing web site Fan Story, and asked permission from the author, Diane Truelove, if I could post it here on my blog. She graciously allowed me to. I found the story to be a truly delightful gift to the readers, and I hope you agree.</span></p><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tbody style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td align="left" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Biographical Non-Fiction posted December 16, 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; float: right; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: 997px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 199px;"><aside class="right_sidebar is_stuck" id="sidebar" role="complementary" style="border-left: 1px solid rgb(216, 216, 214); float: right; padding: 0px 0px 0px 25px; position: fixed; top: -122px; width: 173px;"><div class="mobileHide" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; display: inline; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="sidebar-widget" style="background: transparent; border-bottom-color: rgb(254, 254, 252); border-bottom-style: solid; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: initial; border-top-style: initial; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; float: left; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px 0px 34px; padding: 0px 0px 34px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 173px;"><p style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13px; line-height: 2; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">er and is holding the #56 spot on the <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/listtopreviewers.jsp" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 13.26px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;">top ranked reviewer list</a>.<br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://www.fanstory.com/myportfolio.jsp?userid=177747" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Portfolio</a> | <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/formfan.jsp?userid=177747" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Become A Fan</a></span></p></div></div></aside></div><h5 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.3em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;">A Christmas long remembered and cherished...</h5><h1 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 2.1em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;"></h1><h1 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 2.1em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Magic of Santa's Christmas Box</h1><h3 style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 12px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px; vertical-align: baseline;">by <a href="https://www.fanstory.com/mypage.jsp?userid=177747" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #0087c2; font-size: 22.5232px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_top">Mrs. KT</a></h3><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanstory.com/usr/177747/Magic_at_Christmas.jpg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14.0599px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.3411px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Afternoon shadows are now gathering on this snow-tossed December Sunday as I sit here by the glow of a warm, cheerful fire. My Christmas shopping is completed, cards have been mailed, and baked goods have taken over the kitchen counters. Soon, our home will be filled with the laughter of our adult children, grandchildren, and dear friends as Christmas festivities begin. But in these quiet moments, as I await everyone's arrival, I smile, as my thoughts turn to remembered laughter and conversations from Christmases long ago.<br /><br />In my mind's eye, I can still see my father's mischievous smile and tilt of his head as he proudly proclaims that, as the official taste-tester of my mother’s famous Christmas sugar cookies, his sampling abilities simply should not be confined to a meager three cookies:</span></span><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“They’re good, Annie, but I need one more to be sure.”<br /><br />“But you’ve already eaten three!”</span></span><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.3411px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Just one more…for the road. It’s Christmas. One more and that should do it. I have to keep up my strength."<br /><br />Remembered sounds of long ago laughter fade as I turn to admire my own family’s current Christmas tree, decorated with hand-painted glass ornaments and festive garlands, along with dried berries and hydrangeas from my garden. The fragrance of pine permeates the living room, and once again, I am reminded of the annual holiday treks my father and I made to Kluck’s Nursery Christmas Tree Farm near our home in Saginaw, Michigan.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">During my childhood, the first Sunday after Thanksgiving was designated for finding and cutting down our family's Christmas tree at Kluck's. For as long as our fingers and toes could tolerate the cold, the two of us would search among seemingly endless rows of Fraser firs, Douglas firs, and Colorado blue spruces to find the most perfect imperfect Christmas tree waiting for us somewhere amid acres of possibilities. We always knew what we were hoping to find: a Christmas tree that had housed a bird’s nest and whose feathered branches clearly reflected that they had served as shelters for nature's travelers caught in a sudden northern Michigan snowstorm. <br /><br />“Our Christmas trees have character, don’t they, Dad?”</span></span><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“They certainly do, Diner. They certainly do.”<br /><br />“I hope Mom likes the one we pick this year."<br /><br />“Well, if she doesn’t, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”<br /><br />"Pa Ingalls didn't cut down a Christmas tree in <em style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Little House in the Big Woods.</em> Laura and her sister and their cousins just hung stockings by the chimney."<br /><br />"Well,</span></span><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Diner,</span></span><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> bet Ma Ingalls wasn't as particular about Christmas as your mother."</span></span></strong><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0599px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I chuckle quietly, remembering that conversation and how my mother was, indeed, a whirlwind of particularities when it came to Christmas. But she was also the heart of any Christmas magic I experienced as a child. She is the main reason that amid all the cherished memories I have of past Christmases, one memory stands out from the rest. For the past fifty-eight years, the Christmas I received what has come to be known as "Santa's Christmas Box," has continued to define for me the true magic of this beautiful season...<br /> <br />It was just a large cardboard box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon, sitting upon the front porch of my childhood home on that night of all nights when magic is sure to happen for those who still believe.<br /><br />I believed. But I yearned to believe even more fully.<br /><br />Much to my dismay, my two adolescent sisters, whom I adored, no longer believed in Santa. Their excited whispers and giggles behind closed doors, snickers whenever I came into view, and raised eyebrows when I mentioned Santa's name, had worked another kind of magic on me to gradually begin to dispel my sense of Christmas wonder. As my doubts grew, I was convinced that somehow, Santa could see directly into my seven-year-old heart and know that I harbored more than a few growing questions regarding his existence.<br /> <br />But all doubts evaporated upon seeing that large box addressed to me – only me – in handwriting I didn’t recognize.<br /> <br />When we returned home from visiting my grandparents that Christmas Eve of 1960, there it sat on the front porch, halfway hidden under a decorated wooden bench, but illuminated by the front door’s outside lights and casting a shadow upon the door itself.<br /> <br />My father was the first to spy it as he fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.<br /><br /> “Santa must have had second thoughts about trying to get this box down our chimney later tonight,” he mused.<br /><br />“Who’s it for?” my mother innocently asked.<br /><br />“It’s kind of hard to read the tag, but it looks like it says, ‘To: Diane.' Wait! There's more: 'From: Santa!'”<br /><br />I wiggled my way past my sisters and took a look for myself. <br /><br />“It is for me!” I exclaimed. “And look! There are boot prints in the snow around it. Those must be from Santa’s boots!”<br /><br />And there were boot prints…boot prints that didn’t match any of our own. Boot prints that appeared to have paused at the bench, continued about three feet past the bench, and then, suddenly disappeared over the edge of the porch into my mother's snow-covered rose garden.<br /><br />My sisters excitedly gathered around the box as well, until one of them realized that no box was waiting on the porch with either of their names on it.<br /><br />“Where are our boxes?” my eldest sister asked.<br /><br />“Guess you have to believe in Santa’s magic for a box like this to be delivered to you,” was my father's knowing reply.<br /> <br />It probably was selfish of me, but at the time, I really wasn’t concerned whether or not my sisters had also received a Christmas box from Santa. Not at all. I just needed for the contents of "Santa’s Christmas Box" to be revealed.<br /> <br />The box was too heavy and cumbersome for me to navigate, so my father lifted it to bring it inside as my mother held open the door. Once inside the foyer, kneeling by the box, still dressed in my winter coat, hat, and boots, I tossed off my mittens and carefully removed the beautiful bow and tape. <br /><br />A few moments later, I leaned over to discover the treasure waiting inside its depths: books!<br /> <br />Hard-covered chapter books! <br /> <br />Reverently, I lifted each one, read its title aloud, and gently placed it alongside me.<br /> <br />Newly met old friends greeted me: Laura Ingalls Wilder, Francis Hodgson Burnett, Marguerite d’Angeli, Astrid Lindgren, E. B. White, and Marguerite Henry.<br /><br />Ten books altogether.<br /><br />All the books I had told my parents about and had toted home from my school’s library or my town's public library were gathered around me. All the characters and books I had innocently woven into family conversations were now mine to enjoy and read again and again. Each one was crisp and clean and covered with a beautiful matching book jacket. Each was a treasure that somehow had been magically delivered to me.<br /><br />How had Santa known? I hadn’t written a list. I hadn’t told anyone how I longed to have my very own collection of chapter books.<br /><br />But Santa had known. He had to have seen all of us, gathered in the living room after dinner, and heard my mother or father read chapters of these beautiful stories aloud. Did the free-spirited ponies of Chincoteague Island, especially Misty, remind Santa of his own reindeers? Were there spiders and pigs like Charlotte and Wilbur at the North Pole? Did Santa also laugh at the antics of Laura Ingalls or worry that Sara Crewe would never find happiness after being treated so terribly by Miss Minchin? He must have...<br /><br />I stood up, and I hugged both of my parents, harder than I ever thought it possible for a child to hug.<br /><br />“How did Santa know I so wanted these books for Christmas?” I whispered to my mother.<br /><br />She responded with words I have never forgotten, “'Santa knows a book is the best gift anyone can give to a loved one at Christmas. It’s a gift that, if treated with care, lasts forever.'”<br /><br />And together we all laughed ~<br /><br />Laughter that dispelled any doubts.<br /><br />Laughter that dismissed any siblings’ teasing.<br /><br />Laughter that still fills every fiber of my being on Christmas Eve when brown cardboard boxes mysteriously appear for my loved ones. Cardboard boxes that are tied with beautiful bows and filled with longed-for Christmas magic…<br /> </strong></span></span><br /> <span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20.4px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><<<</strong></span><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20.4px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>>></strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0599px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18.36px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">T</strong></span></span><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14.0599px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.3411px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">ime steals away from the known landscapes of all our lives. So much of the Christmas season is a compilation of treasured memories that gather and drift just as gently as snow swirls and clings to the windows of this beloved house. But in these quiet moments of remembrance, Christmas magic will always be the sight of a cardboard box, wrapped simply in brown paper with a huge red ribbon, and the sounds of genuine laughter and love that still echo through years that even time, distance, and death cannot erase…</span></span></strong></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="Image result for brown gift parcel tied with red ribbon" src="https://www.bing.com/th?id=OIP.sj3F7DMfmnpc35oUqr2uHAHaE6&w=222&h=160&c=7&o=5&dpr=1.1&pid=1.7" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 24.48px; height: 160px; margin: 0px -111px 0px 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 222px;" /></span></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-10128055239933216452023-11-28T18:17:00.000-08:002023-11-28T18:17:42.317-08:00 Turkey Fatigue<p> </p><p><br /></p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/26051/t-8054144-135118.jpg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. It's my favorite holiday. I think it's appropriate to take at least one day of the year and give thought to our many blessings, and thank God for them. It's also the one day of the year when a person can get away with eating massive amounts of delicious food and not feel too guilty about it.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Like many households in America, we had turkey for dinner. One of my sons-in-law wanted ham as well, and since he donated one, we cooked it also. Of course there was all the trimmings to go with the meat- green bean casserole, candied yams with marshmallows, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry Jello salad with cream cheese, a relish tray and of course pie. Pumpkin and apple both. </span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Even though there were eleven people at my table, our stomachs can only hold so much at one sitting. That means leftovers. I don't mind leftovers for a day or two, but we still have turkey in the refrigerator, and frankly, I'm getting tired of turkey sandwiches; and I like them.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">For some reason, one son-in-law can never figure out how much of any one item to cook. He always makes enough to feed many more people than are present. For Thanksgiving, he made mashed potatoes. I guess he really likes them, or figured that we all did. He cooked up a ten pound bag. Then, fearing that there wouldn't be enough, he cooked up another five pound bag of spuds. Fifteen pounds of mashed potatoes for eleven people; and two of them were under five years old. Holy crow! Needless to say there were plenty of potatoes left over. Can you say potato pancakes?</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We had cooked a twenty pound turkey, plus the ham, so everyone left the house with ample amounts of food for the next day or two-or three. The problem is, even though we got rid of most of the turkey, there was still so much left. I guess we can freeze it. I would make up some sandwiches and go out to the homeless population, but we don't have a large homeless population where I live, and if we did, I fear that by the time I handed out the sandwiches, the bread would be soggy from the mayo, and then instead of a God Bless You, I might earn a curse. They would know that I was making a desperate attempt to unload our extra turkey on them.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Have you ever noticed that the pie never lasts for too long? By the time the family has picked through the food to take home, much like the hoards of Ghengis Khan, you're lucky if there is a piece of pumpkin or apple pie to have for a midnight snack. I should probably make a separate one and hide it in the garage. I did that with a really, really good custard pie I made once. When my daughter Jennifer showed up with my granddaughter unexpectedly, I spirited it away to the pantry and closed the door. I know that I should be ashamed of myself, but honestly, that pie was so good.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I suppose I should be glad that there wasn't any extra pie to go around. When I stepped on the scale today, I found that I'd gained a pound or two just since Thursday. This is just the beginning of sorrows. Christmas is next, and no matter how much I plead with people not to send goodies to the house, they do. I'm going to assume it's because they love me, or perhaps they just like fat people and want me to join the ranks. Ah well.</span></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-74498559504771175862023-11-25T17:46:00.000-08:002023-11-25T17:46:13.143-08:00 BULLWINKLE BOTTS<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi044Kf-GCuCk_kcO-2wEqWvj60rXOrCesMNvYQjZ3uxtFO9cXN75Qv3mFJidYmgZJpSpk7Zt_LGdJF_xNYvmk2CrSKraHUObRup801yOv6vgIr68cvxUBODvPp-Rn_mEkxVWFcroqn8t3lfgjcuTypVBzhnnOYj-luENtYNyAyoU5phXPvv6Hgpt0j_I4o/s3264/DSC06268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi044Kf-GCuCk_kcO-2wEqWvj60rXOrCesMNvYQjZ3uxtFO9cXN75Qv3mFJidYmgZJpSpk7Zt_LGdJF_xNYvmk2CrSKraHUObRup801yOv6vgIr68cvxUBODvPp-Rn_mEkxVWFcroqn8t3lfgjcuTypVBzhnnOYj-luENtYNyAyoU5phXPvv6Hgpt0j_I4o/w640-h426/DSC06268.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRlrz-Y0c7-D7FwbgFWAtJgoGwMwbsXZcNUtozaXXNtynWmbZRCYjwvrgmWEPMkUMlbsuSK6txcdZHpMdgJz4mnzbWiuWKBwBjBf6dyPtGLoe3B-jOxQXLj7SdhFZ8WiE7HFaLIjGIYXSulGB4hGIZlmY_COAG7qkcArz2zK8UXgfWraeElcypMfOb2T4/s3264/DSC06271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRlrz-Y0c7-D7FwbgFWAtJgoGwMwbsXZcNUtozaXXNtynWmbZRCYjwvrgmWEPMkUMlbsuSK6txcdZHpMdgJz4mnzbWiuWKBwBjBf6dyPtGLoe3B-jOxQXLj7SdhFZ8WiE7HFaLIjGIYXSulGB4hGIZlmY_COAG7qkcArz2zK8UXgfWraeElcypMfOb2T4/w640-h426/DSC06271.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeLZaWG8HlJM4z3LQkdMg1APvF05A4jHSyMAA4Wg88o-oPQ1JTPX5MSdoYO_0dOz-fPYOKdnZreUWsvCFIYQ8IzDGvjsptnAjGgae9eqlratsAl4t4LEK7uCbQb9y6RKaN3A-oWeFX59ULLTtHKiChxFQr-xhfX5AYWb1rVEgnoQkgEy4w8V93tsQ7QPp/s3264/DSC06273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeLZaWG8HlJM4z3LQkdMg1APvF05A4jHSyMAA4Wg88o-oPQ1JTPX5MSdoYO_0dOz-fPYOKdnZreUWsvCFIYQ8IzDGvjsptnAjGgae9eqlratsAl4t4LEK7uCbQb9y6RKaN3A-oWeFX59ULLTtHKiChxFQr-xhfX5AYWb1rVEgnoQkgEy4w8V93tsQ7QPp/w640-h426/DSC06273.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8xxPgZuAPEhs9dUOBW3-CKzSJTVaY_1jbW0dDK0yBB8vtlt0YyN9Z-jGQDGQUCXCku1pxlJaowqNvs9WVwB2zGxMh400J5ssaIol3lmjbAKAmcCgrkJrvtdOu0yLfM3PGGrlqpczhvXMiJEEAiABXlX8Ky_ybIcG-eP_pXcXWEWnU8ScPNOqIOjrad8X/s3264/DSC06274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8xxPgZuAPEhs9dUOBW3-CKzSJTVaY_1jbW0dDK0yBB8vtlt0YyN9Z-jGQDGQUCXCku1pxlJaowqNvs9WVwB2zGxMh400J5ssaIol3lmjbAKAmcCgrkJrvtdOu0yLfM3PGGrlqpczhvXMiJEEAiABXlX8Ky_ybIcG-eP_pXcXWEWnU8ScPNOqIOjrad8X/w640-h426/DSC06274.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I took this picture last month before we got any snow- obviously. It's been a kind of slow time as far as writing a post goes. Nothing too exciting happening in my life, which I guess I should be glad about. We did have the power go out four times in the past few weeks. Once because of heavy snow, once because of a transformer catching fire and once because of the wind I suppose. The last time I have no idea why it went out, it just did. Unfortunately, all that power surging and fluctuation caused my garage door opener to quit working. I tried to reset it, following the directions on the back, but that didn't work. Then I watched a video that showed the same things that the back of the opener said, but that didn't work either, so now I have no recourse but to call someone and pay big bucks to either get it fixed or buy a new one. What a hassle. Of course none of that has anything to do with the moose that came to visit last month.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My friends Patty and Butch had just come over for a visit, and when I came downstairs, I noticed a large, dark shape pass in front of the window. Of course I opened the door and called to it. He turned around and came over to the porch, probably wanting a carrot or a head of cabbage or some such thing, but it's not a good idea to feed them, however much you may want to. If they come by looking for something after getting in the habit of eating at your house, they may get violent and kick you butt if you run out of goodies. Like angry trick or treaters.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This guy munched on the mostly dried flowers from the planter boxes. Not much nutrition there. He didn't seem to care for the Dusty Miller that was planted, and when it was obvious that we weren't going to give him a snack he went on over to the alders and helped himself to a few branches before wandering off to visit the ladies that were down the street eating some other twigs.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I looked at the pictures, I was reminded of Bullwinkle of the Bullwinkle and Rocky cartoon show that I used to watch when I was a kid. I didn't much care for the cartoon, it was kind of goofy, but any port in a storm I guess. There is a Bullwinkles pizza parlor in Juneau. I ate there a time or two. It's not my favorite. I think it was more of a hang out for young people, and I haven't been young for a very long time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm a little worried about the moose population here. We've had a fair amount of snow, but I haven't seen any for awhile. Usually by now they would be all over the place. Maybe they've found a greenhouse somewhere and have broken in and are ravaging it. I hope they haven't all been killed crossing the highway and train tracks. They refuse to move off the tracks and hundreds of them are killed every year. Being stubborn can get you killed. Hopefully they'll show up soon. They provide a little entertainment on a cold winter day, just watching them destroy my trees.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-77985683096891107932023-11-18T19:54:00.000-08:002023-11-18T19:54:13.522-08:00 The Travels of the Meandering Package<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSMiAPe0G2C2T-n3IPrEk8YmQwdIySIJmTfn89YRrfieH1_qHz7ccicmPq7r8kFmo-szlaNn0ZRcl-tgEJB8t9mbz1KUQ7te57B_XkZahJqYi-ul4Q24CebxYOC88Jhywlmdgs4sT9mV5bVmHFgN9lFy6P_UPabUCLjBcqDUbUZxhF0gJVm4q6Drx8uyR/s3264/DSC06279.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSMiAPe0G2C2T-n3IPrEk8YmQwdIySIJmTfn89YRrfieH1_qHz7ccicmPq7r8kFmo-szlaNn0ZRcl-tgEJB8t9mbz1KUQ7te57B_XkZahJqYi-ul4Q24CebxYOC88Jhywlmdgs4sT9mV5bVmHFgN9lFy6P_UPabUCLjBcqDUbUZxhF0gJVm4q6Drx8uyR/w640-h426/DSC06279.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> On September 6th this year I sent a package to my friend Buffalo Bob Holden in Townshend Vermont. I sent it media rate, since it had a book and and a CD in it, and that's the cheapest way to send it. I fully expected it to take a few weeks to get to him. Since I don't pay the full price of first class mail, which would be roughly twice the amount or more than media mail, I expect it to take longer. However, what I didn't expect was that it would take two months and ten days to arrive. Fortunately, there is a tracking number on the package that allows me to see the progress of the package. To say the least, if this package was eligible for airline miles, it could probably take a trip to Europe and back with miles to spare. One other time I had sent Buffalo a similar package- media rate. That one also took over six weeks as I recall, perhaps longer. When he asked his postmaster about that one, the guy mentioned that along the way it had been delivered to several distribution centers around the country that had experienced flooding, so the packages were re-routed elsewhere. It happened like three times. Apparently there was a lot of flooding going on around the country at the time, or perhaps the post office buildings were built on flood plains, I don't know. The following is an exhaustive list of the post offices and distribution centers that this little package has traveled. I haven't spoken to Buffalo yet to find out if there is anything left of the package, or if it's just the label that made it to the final destination. That happened to me once. After tracking a package I had sent from Colorado Springs, the mailing label landed back in Colorado where it originated, sans the contents- two new sweatshirts, some assorted miscellaneous things and a number of books that I had picked up to read. That was a pisser. Anyway, as hard to believe as this is, here is where the package has traveled.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Wasilla -9/6 2023</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Anchorage - 9/6</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Anchorage- 9/8</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Seattle - 9/15</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Seattle - 9/15</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Anchorage- 9/26</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Seattle - 10/6</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Seattle - 10/6</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Atlanta - 10/18</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Atlanta - 10/19</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 10/19</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 10/19</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Toulon Ill. - 10/20</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Peoria Ill. - 10/22</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 10/23</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 10/25</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Peoria Ill. - 10/25</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 10/26</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 10/26</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 11/3</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 11/4</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Peoria Ill. - 11/5</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 11/8</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 11/8</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. St. Louis - 11/9</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. St. Louis - 11/10</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Peoria Ill. - 11/10</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Champaign Ill. -11/13</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Champaign Ill.- 11/14</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Springfield Ma.-11/15</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Lv. Springfield Ma.- 11/15</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ar. Nashua Nh. - 11/15</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Ar. Townshend Vt. - 11/16</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wish I was making this up, but I'm not. I don't know what the problem was in St. Louis. It went back and forth between the distribution center and something else umpteen times. I can only say that people who want more government in their lives either stand to benefit from some government payout or they are nuts.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-25009892435088669622023-11-09T16:48:00.001-08:002023-11-09T16:48:15.196-08:00 Muffoons for Buffoons<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtC82etYeh3N-4gDSL-ECSQgFGxarGgdJzAV_4LFUISLTYidEybAh5Tk116iAjpQxz_3JgcI1xA1r4Q_c0eZtI4rBikoNPgqRb_LU3QBPn-VjNGsMp9PJeWLlhii6EavDTWD8js2V3WXcfYIlg_JCT6uhp6735NUGaQIRFhgT7LkK16YmxRA6noKOxjUZ/s640/muffins2013%20003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtC82etYeh3N-4gDSL-ECSQgFGxarGgdJzAV_4LFUISLTYidEybAh5Tk116iAjpQxz_3JgcI1xA1r4Q_c0eZtI4rBikoNPgqRb_LU3QBPn-VjNGsMp9PJeWLlhii6EavDTWD8js2V3WXcfYIlg_JCT6uhp6735NUGaQIRFhgT7LkK16YmxRA6noKOxjUZ/w640-h480/muffins2013%20003.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I made muffins again the other night. If you're a buffoon, I could make muffoons, but they wouldn't taste as good. The church board was supposed to meet at our house on Tuesday because Jan can't see to drive at night, and though I can kind of see in the dark, why take a chance on wrecking the car to go to a church board meeting? If I'm going to wreck the car, I'd rather it be because of something exciting. Anyway, it was decided that everyone would come over here instead. Wanting to be a good host, and of course wanting to expand my already voluminous belly, I opted to make some muffins for our guests. It's a recipe that I've written about before, involving sour cream and blueberries. As expected, they turned out really, really good. If you follow the recipe, it's amazing how well your product turns out. What a concept.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It just so happens that Tuesday it started to snow. I mentioned to Jan that they might cancel the meeting, but it wasn't until after I had made the muffins that we discovered that the meeting was indeed cancelled. How tragic. All those muffins and no one to eat them- except us. Oh well. We had already sampled ONE. I didn't want to serve them to guests if they weren't up to par. Once we realized how good they were, we knew that the guests would love them. However, no guests. It was with some reluctance that I accepted the fact that we couldn't justify eating all dozen muffins ourselves, so I opted to send some over to the neighbors across the street. They have four little kids and the mom keeps pretty busy just trying to stay on top of them, so most likely she doesn't have much time to bake. I saw her the day after she got them. She thanked me and said they didn't last five minutes after they made an appearance. Perhaps I should open a bake shop and sell muffins. I could even have a little section of the shop selling muffoons, as there is no shortage of buffoons around. One five minute car ride on our roads will certainly enforce that statement.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-5461209198355692562023-10-22T19:39:00.005-07:002023-10-22T19:39:45.866-07:00 Tales From the Cemetery<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7a0P7y87OJFf3Meeg-O-WmyX-ANRhiAed8Y6iHVwVhelm4MjI107HyIxGH0NW4EKHyFv6nqVxL3yafPV3irFxAH7W7oh4Iqk8ztACvoCqbD56wJLQn8BpRlgyqAtlQbq07BsWbnTHYihKvW6nVKUTpz0DXfqdBb1rA1FneMfjKy4uEuAQZ1yRs1XXzMMG/s3264/october%20delight%20003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7a0P7y87OJFf3Meeg-O-WmyX-ANRhiAed8Y6iHVwVhelm4MjI107HyIxGH0NW4EKHyFv6nqVxL3yafPV3irFxAH7W7oh4Iqk8ztACvoCqbD56wJLQn8BpRlgyqAtlQbq07BsWbnTHYihKvW6nVKUTpz0DXfqdBb1rA1FneMfjKy4uEuAQZ1yRs1XXzMMG/w640-h480/october%20delight%20003.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> It's the time of year when so many people start to decorate their homes and lawns with Halloween themes. We drove down a street today just looking at new areas, and one house we passed was covered top to bottom with witches and tombstones, spiders, pumpkins, cob webs, ghosts and Lord knows what all else. I don't really know what pumpkins have to do with Halloween, except that they are harvested this time of year. It's funny that a holiday that is supposed to be spooky utilizes one of the same icons that Thanksgiving is known for. Does anyone have pumpkin pie for Halloween? I wonder how that would go over. The neighborhood kids knock on your door and instead of bags of candy corn or popcorn balls, you give them a piece of pumpkin pie. Would they soap your windows or string toilet paper around your trees if you didn't top the pie with whipped cream? It's hard to say. Kids can be vindictive.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm reminded of a conversation that I had with some friends from my neighborhood so many years ago. We were talking about memorable Halloweens or some such thing, and they mentioned that when they were living in Findley, Ohio, they went to one of their neighbor's homes and when they said -"TRICK OR TREAT- the old fart sack said "TRICK" and poured soup in their bags. What a jackass. Those were the days when all of your groceries were bagged in paper bags, there were no plastic bags when I was a boy. That's how old I am. When you went trick or treating, you used a paper bag; unless of course you could get your mom to agree to let you have a pillow case, which was a lot stronger. My mom made me settle for the ol' paper grocery bags. You had to pray it didn't rain.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, for whatever reason, graveyards are supposed to be spooky, and I guess they are if you were to walk through one in the middle of the night. I've never tried that. Jan and I went through the Marion Cemetery once or twice though when we were dating. It was a beautiful place, full of old trees and sloping hills and of course multitudes of gravestones. It was really quite peaceful.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For some reason I was thinking about back when I was young and I recalled riding my bike through the Marion Cemetery. I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and when I ran across a spot in the back of the cemetery with a mound of old flowers and green styrofoam blocks, I decided to check it out. It was obvious that the flowers had been discarded after they had been used for a ceremony at some of the grave sites. Being the little twerp I was, I sorted through them and picked out some of the better ones to bring home to mom. It never dawned on me that it was probably not a good thing to do. What really caught my attention though, wasn't the flowers, but the green, plastic, spear-like points that the flowers were set in so they would stay in the styrofoam. Being the genius I was, I figured I'd scarf up a pocket full of them to make spears and arrows from some of the branches of the bushes that grew around my home. It's been so long ago, that I can't remember if my mom was delighted with the flowers or horrified. I might have told her where they came from, I can't recall. Sometimes the less said, the better. I do remember that the spear points were rather useless as weapons. I don't doubt that if you had poked someone in the eye with one it would have done major damage, but to just toss at a tree, or a target more solid than Jello, they were no good. Because they were plastic they broke on impact. I don't think I ever went back for more flowers or spear points, which is probably a good thing. The spirits that hung around there might have gotten irritated.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-64848338554000416722023-10-10T22:11:00.003-07:002023-10-10T22:11:51.283-07:00 CLEAN UP! CLEAN UP! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtLfbTEPFWg4MqxAHE8gHmGGUIWuVJSMvNhBGLqgLnh7eDtgewc1slFGoL7pYXeEqXGXH1dybcGKG2wLLR5GQ48xkHWGxw_hXP22FSrzfNcjeumK03RKHCmcut_lK5u2HhmSTFk1TxYrnItMQKM47myVxusFtMLbftLkLFfKGMCeghUeIWD1ELBK4aKFx/s3264/DSC06266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtLfbTEPFWg4MqxAHE8gHmGGUIWuVJSMvNhBGLqgLnh7eDtgewc1slFGoL7pYXeEqXGXH1dybcGKG2wLLR5GQ48xkHWGxw_hXP22FSrzfNcjeumK03RKHCmcut_lK5u2HhmSTFk1TxYrnItMQKM47myVxusFtMLbftLkLFfKGMCeghUeIWD1ELBK4aKFx/w640-h426/DSC06266.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOcUjFB5kMH4MRzuoJLGfdd2Ws6BBEgf3IRK7W03SUXTNS-0zKWPOU2IktjHiFaHAMJSmIwIfpPL2oluTVI4QbYNbu5UziHAPPt51MOj7Ux7-Da-Ku5wuLA-09koMrF2OQl1AXa97NC1zUXdZa9PhMhQVvvJ_mFRECb5okAbTtfZF8gs4r228QsVsydSV/s3264/DSC06265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOcUjFB5kMH4MRzuoJLGfdd2Ws6BBEgf3IRK7W03SUXTNS-0zKWPOU2IktjHiFaHAMJSmIwIfpPL2oluTVI4QbYNbu5UziHAPPt51MOj7Ux7-Da-Ku5wuLA-09koMrF2OQl1AXa97NC1zUXdZa9PhMhQVvvJ_mFRECb5okAbTtfZF8gs4r228QsVsydSV/w640-h426/DSC06265.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> When my oldest daughter, Jennifer was a teacher, she used to sing a little song. "Clean up, Clean up... I don't know the rest of the words, if there were any others. She used to sing it to the class and around her house to her kids too I believe. That song was running through my mind a couple days ago when I went out into the neighborhood with my long handled grabber and a trash bag.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The day was really nice; sunny and about fifty degrees, which may sound chilly to those farther south, but it was comfortable for me. I just donned a jacket and got busy. My biggest fear was that someone would be watching me as they drove by and would run into me while I walked along the side of the road picking up other peoples trash. There is a city wide clean up in May, but I didn't want to have to see trash all over the ground until the snow falls. I like the idea of driving by and not having to see a bunch of plastic fast food cups, paper, booze bottles and all other manner of junk on the ground. I think if the area is kept clean, there is less chance that people will throw their trash out the window. Of course there are always the slobs who could care less, and I don't doubt that a lot of the trash that ends up on the ground is from young people who haven't been taught any respect for the environment. I base that on the trash that I see laying around. This past spring my granddaughter and I picked up over 270 one shot bottles of booze in about a two block area, both sides of the road. The other day the amount was much less, about thirty or forty, but still too many.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the short time I've been cleaning up the roadside, I've found a few items that have value. I picked up 12 foot tape measure, a handle for throwing balls for a dog, a number of balls, including a golf ball and several tennis balls, and my most recent find, a party size container of Fireball liquor. I was walking along the grass and weeds picking up plastic, cigarette butts, umpteen grape flavored Mike's Hard Lemonade bottles, which collectively are really heavy, and assorted other junk when I ran across the bucket. I didn't realize until I picked it up that it wasn't empty. When I got home I looked inside and found fifteen one shot bottles of Fireball. I've never tried it, but apparently it's whiskey with a strong cinnamon flavor. I knew that my neighbor across the street liked that, so I offered it to her. She told me to hang on to it so I could serve it when she came over. She recommended that I put it in the freezer as it supposedly tastes better if it's really cold. That very night her and her husband came over for a visit and she had two in a glass of ice. I can only imagine that the kids who tossed the bucket had big plans to come at a later date and finish what they started. Sorry kids, if you snooze you lose. Beware the Picker - you little twerps.</span></p><p><br /></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-86882640781972234792023-09-30T19:13:00.000-07:002023-09-30T19:13:23.204-07:00 Winter is Cominig<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPN_lRhi5n-Dr58ly56X1VOmHv7n-mY6M1awbC_Tzw3ArR0scG-5k-Pms_4qJELstIyZBeTozKA9S6cQ94iPfjhYFEN7LX4jN4A_89bs6txNjDAIlMa_pZIF93zglGz9ajjQux3GJZtuopImnANk0i1cL53bbvA0XemtTdUmTBUrMiSLVAuGABswNs-tl/s3264/DSC06251.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPN_lRhi5n-Dr58ly56X1VOmHv7n-mY6M1awbC_Tzw3ArR0scG-5k-Pms_4qJELstIyZBeTozKA9S6cQ94iPfjhYFEN7LX4jN4A_89bs6txNjDAIlMa_pZIF93zglGz9ajjQux3GJZtuopImnANk0i1cL53bbvA0XemtTdUmTBUrMiSLVAuGABswNs-tl/w640-h426/DSC06251.JPG" width="640" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc4vty278vUUmYkukE_9f4q4mRSPwLEa7HXVWWNlqzMGe9oBM3HQQe9W7zyI-YIvx0AO_tcNacFdhTi9a0XEOEtR6Hyt8YWcmJWz-p6i7VMQL1yA6A6KFvZFy7C67052z1awKJbaFio5aLfchk6JGyJhGg3xrqqWLMzM1lrrgOkzTrzdmO3NB9JOZVlDE/s3264/DSC06252.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc4vty278vUUmYkukE_9f4q4mRSPwLEa7HXVWWNlqzMGe9oBM3HQQe9W7zyI-YIvx0AO_tcNacFdhTi9a0XEOEtR6Hyt8YWcmJWz-p6i7VMQL1yA6A6KFvZFy7C67052z1awKJbaFio5aLfchk6JGyJhGg3xrqqWLMzM1lrrgOkzTrzdmO3NB9JOZVlDE/w640-h426/DSC06252.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1psDgcXHmqCEUQy3JCzP2H3DU2lAGv2RFHAe2moBESAE4NuPhHA9hP62CDCWYhkRHFHv8GMaPSw7PLKYnY-1zxKkA_XE0m88n2bN9HfQwnSlLDopI0-HZ1NWLTVNDx1GMQKyp0bc-LCzmSYDLyGaTGV_hJh4cdg4B4k0c9wGZSjsw6uHZdPCi5UFz2892/s3264/DSC06250.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1psDgcXHmqCEUQy3JCzP2H3DU2lAGv2RFHAe2moBESAE4NuPhHA9hP62CDCWYhkRHFHv8GMaPSw7PLKYnY-1zxKkA_XE0m88n2bN9HfQwnSlLDopI0-HZ1NWLTVNDx1GMQKyp0bc-LCzmSYDLyGaTGV_hJh4cdg4B4k0c9wGZSjsw6uHZdPCi5UFz2892/w640-h426/DSC06250.JPG" width="640" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyARBEVFaOndaorwNRNyUctmpLE3AJDXLdnuZGo6LiO8ihx3WkiqaCsWtNKSQHg-1OtJuKm2bL4vhQZcgac57swjjFKoLkH3cM9iXUIvUghJ5vw9a-1QpeXVntC57fSNa8ml3ukJPB8gSKAT2yrloGi21WpBaNyu9Wh55gW2Jep9yjExWTnVNntHzEdqq/s3264/DSC06256.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyARBEVFaOndaorwNRNyUctmpLE3AJDXLdnuZGo6LiO8ihx3WkiqaCsWtNKSQHg-1OtJuKm2bL4vhQZcgac57swjjFKoLkH3cM9iXUIvUghJ5vw9a-1QpeXVntC57fSNa8ml3ukJPB8gSKAT2yrloGi21WpBaNyu9Wh55gW2Jep9yjExWTnVNntHzEdqq/w640-h426/DSC06256.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">I went up to Hatcher Pass about ten days ago. Jan and Autumn had gone to Anchorage to go shopping, and since the day was picture perfect, I decided to take a trip back up to Hatcher even though I had been there the week before. It was amazing how fast things had changed. When I was there the first time, I went up with Jan and her sister Jill. We drove all the way up to the Independence mine, and there was no sign of snow anywhere. As you can see, that all changed rapidly. I was actually hoping to get some more pictures of the mine. When I was there the first time, the battery on my camera died- go figure. This time the gravel road that goes over to Willow and passes by a lake that I was hoping to fish, was closed. There was also a sign warning of icy roads by the toll area before the mine, so I didn't bother going up. The last thing I need is to go sliding off the road and down a mountain.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The bottom picture is of the Little Susitna River. It's clear as a bell and runs really fast. I believe it's glacier fed, so you can imagine that if you fell in, you'd stand a good chance of freezing before you ever got out. I've never seen anyone fishing in it up near the pass, I'm not sure if there are even any fish in it up there. However, I believe that salmon and trout can be caught further down stream, closer to the salt water. There are spots in the pass where you're allowed to use a gold pan and try your luck. I've never heard if anyone has ever found any gold, but the Independence Mine was a fairly profitable operation before they shut it down at the start of WW II.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I doubt that I'll go up to the pass again this year, but once spring comes, I'll be making my way there again. Perhaps I'll get a chance to see if I can catch one of the trout that are supposed to be in the lake up there.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGvBI_d8kIGwfxRAb6KCQWaRNH0yBcmqjWhCiNXM0B3FIftpwUxC6LIUXgISjzzG1rav9_ESisTDg56TakwOgz7OVkKP0qsx7wxCcBdTXgoz65eeD5ptz-t2DinbEN94Hf64L9CUIlziy-_JD-SmDNPpZzERBE9pxUd60nQbOWALl6x4-Ov9WN0-ueuY3/s3264/DSC06260.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGvBI_d8kIGwfxRAb6KCQWaRNH0yBcmqjWhCiNXM0B3FIftpwUxC6LIUXgISjzzG1rav9_ESisTDg56TakwOgz7OVkKP0qsx7wxCcBdTXgoz65eeD5ptz-t2DinbEN94Hf64L9CUIlziy-_JD-SmDNPpZzERBE9pxUd60nQbOWALl6x4-Ov9WN0-ueuY3/w640-h426/DSC06260.JPG" width="640" /></span></a><p></p></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-45503879126594368542023-09-11T17:40:00.000-07:002023-09-11T17:40:03.414-07:00 Tripping<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQGYM38pXrqGymhgtnfJQschSaoaLV0eZmZfAZhFndi9dfEoiqA7Vvrqy24yDOMu5CgVDjIJ1-bHYU-uWnVAaawARziVmVIgioFYoxx7tWSoju5SF6WpyeEnQoBaOrFew_y7r_sUJCAvGs_mc9NmJQOoejrYY5ozL-qOBtuO7Si1NaL86GMeXvKgNwzTH/s3264/DSC06191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQGYM38pXrqGymhgtnfJQschSaoaLV0eZmZfAZhFndi9dfEoiqA7Vvrqy24yDOMu5CgVDjIJ1-bHYU-uWnVAaawARziVmVIgioFYoxx7tWSoju5SF6WpyeEnQoBaOrFew_y7r_sUJCAvGs_mc9NmJQOoejrYY5ozL-qOBtuO7Si1NaL86GMeXvKgNwzTH/w640-h480/DSC06191.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbpctZbuUyjFFSuM3KaynpYXPVXkQlXS4xR69VdZHuNe4tJYCyhxPZim1C2Erkj6rB2cW3qYGIQQTKAi3r_LcYY0-o8jRGYJuUwxCC2wWA4O6ZI9LSUdq2wU-IK3pt2dK0PsUPPKSWSmElWmqsM62Tgj0TUHnMReEwgxeEjLJ29rjMx-KqrOlko4_Cezi/s3264/DSC06192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbpctZbuUyjFFSuM3KaynpYXPVXkQlXS4xR69VdZHuNe4tJYCyhxPZim1C2Erkj6rB2cW3qYGIQQTKAi3r_LcYY0-o8jRGYJuUwxCC2wWA4O6ZI9LSUdq2wU-IK3pt2dK0PsUPPKSWSmElWmqsM62Tgj0TUHnMReEwgxeEjLJ29rjMx-KqrOlko4_Cezi/w640-h480/DSC06192.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjup-4j4xAIO3jaNyaWs0jTSW1WwZun2id6xJIeI-vwyotgfRBK-_hczlY5kiiu2LDwInz7oZ2Ytr673bV84eeYE08LJXNdL45ygFTjAUU76LgUHTPFlXqCcuLyMPMWpjtESJ6vXvchaRKg9tm5HtSSZhy3MkPJ3r99NPQRpKA15dY4709q7IzVsaNHOIQy/s3264/DSC06210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjup-4j4xAIO3jaNyaWs0jTSW1WwZun2id6xJIeI-vwyotgfRBK-_hczlY5kiiu2LDwInz7oZ2Ytr673bV84eeYE08LJXNdL45ygFTjAUU76LgUHTPFlXqCcuLyMPMWpjtESJ6vXvchaRKg9tm5HtSSZhy3MkPJ3r99NPQRpKA15dY4709q7IzVsaNHOIQy/w640-h480/DSC06210.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPmKnTEsi3HjpygqkNoUELQisx4Lks7vyM0wFWAAUFWeYEkyZUFQB4yRj_ZnHw-JXSmDWq-XFSCHvaghREovwFGkRPjuVBvxTZpTjzx79R4KYwOJeUVKDVWlctAmbHELuyz-XhnRxzjwPXXx9FIhHDH-Wnmeqr-bNAF8i6UAp2Z5LsxIR06aBKst2dd8O/s3264/DSC06229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPmKnTEsi3HjpygqkNoUELQisx4Lks7vyM0wFWAAUFWeYEkyZUFQB4yRj_ZnHw-JXSmDWq-XFSCHvaghREovwFGkRPjuVBvxTZpTjzx79R4KYwOJeUVKDVWlctAmbHELuyz-XhnRxzjwPXXx9FIhHDH-Wnmeqr-bNAF8i6UAp2Z5LsxIR06aBKst2dd8O/w640-h426/DSC06229.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBO0YyaKtmA_c68DRRFA0R0bR6jjqEtTv6d96xtXMi_pAGpTgdWZSe5i5qDusvA3cgiU7nvPsXszFOJxXb5ShRA33uACrHkAZ4tsut4hkPDSE1Fj9gg26opdtIXTeaBRNHS0acfJhqmYgo4-wEn7pX5RK1L9j43CpTqSTg8FOF1EY5osOO-L45OyRhvcuQ/s3264/DSC06240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBO0YyaKtmA_c68DRRFA0R0bR6jjqEtTv6d96xtXMi_pAGpTgdWZSe5i5qDusvA3cgiU7nvPsXszFOJxXb5ShRA33uACrHkAZ4tsut4hkPDSE1Fj9gg26opdtIXTeaBRNHS0acfJhqmYgo4-wEn7pX5RK1L9j43CpTqSTg8FOF1EY5osOO-L45OyRhvcuQ/w640-h426/DSC06240.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvcIkMS0qLalIubxCUofmlr-E_HzKgR7Ru29TFkRVvuiEEQvc_1DSu7jzLeJ4knsBNkSjpQhF_KdT2sKs1vbYYcNggAyH2ji3WLCEQbsbZxtChNjbEcK-MHvagBLet6QLCiIrldsWjdWLFsijfNzWOzOAEa8dtuZOpa4Rr8CVE7ib_KaJaWM74KMwlA4i/s3264/DSC06229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvcIkMS0qLalIubxCUofmlr-E_HzKgR7Ru29TFkRVvuiEEQvc_1DSu7jzLeJ4knsBNkSjpQhF_KdT2sKs1vbYYcNggAyH2ji3WLCEQbsbZxtChNjbEcK-MHvagBLet6QLCiIrldsWjdWLFsijfNzWOzOAEa8dtuZOpa4Rr8CVE7ib_KaJaWM74KMwlA4i/w640-h426/DSC06229.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For the past few weeks my sister-in-law, Jill, has been visiting. She came for a visit once or twice when we lived in Hoonah, so it was nice for her to get to see something totally different this time around. This past Saturday, we drove to Hatcher Pass, about forty-five minutes away. The bottom three pictures are from there. The week before we took about a four hour trip, one way, to Denali National Park. It was Labor Day weekend, and I was a little leery of all the traffic, but it wasn't too bad. Once inside the park, you can only drive about twenty miles to Savage River, and there really isn't all that much to see. There is an unpaved road beyond that but you have to take a tour bus or some such thing in order to run on that. I'm not sure how far it goes or if you ever get to see the mountain (Denali) once you get to the end. There were several spots along the way while we were still about a hundred miles away where we could pull off and stop, but of course we didn't do that, thinking we 'd see it up close and personal. WRONG! I actually enjoyed the scenery on the way up to the park more than I liked the park itself. Like all tourist destinations there were dozens of places that were trying to get you to part with your money. When we pulled in to Healy, before you take the highway to Savage River, there were at least twenty tour busses, plus places to rent bikes, and kayaks and God knows what all else. It really detracts from the experience. We managed to see one small moose once we got into the park. It was confused, probably by all the traffic, and couldn't make up it's mind whether or not to cross the road. It finally did, which I was eternally grateful for, since traffic was stopped because everyone wanted a picture I guess.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My oldest daughter, Jen, had come up to visit with her aunt, so she and two of her sisters and a niece all drove in Autumn's car together. We were supposed to leave at nine, which Jan and I and Jill did, but of course car two was delayed, as expected. There were even more delays once they got underway because of multiple potty breaks. Jen can't function without a gallon or more of coffee to start her day, and apparently Liz has developed a slow leak, so needless to say, the progress in car two was somewhat hampered. At one point, they called to say that they had passed us. I didn't see how that was possible, but for some unknown reason, I believed them. It wasn't until a later phone call that we determined that they were miles behind us, and we had to wait in Healy while they caught up. Typical of tourist places, everything is sky high, and the price of gas was no exception. If I recall correctly, gas was going for about $5.51 a gallon, which in California would seem like a bargain. Bidenomics is really working well, at least in Joe's world. Needless to say, we didn't buy any there.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Frankly, I had a better time the other day just driving less than an hour to Hatcher Pass. The view was breathtaking. We paid the $5.00 fee to go up and park near the Independence Mine. I knew that Jan and Jill wouldn't be up to walking there, and if I had walked up there, I'm not sure I could have walked back. It was worth the fee though. The view was spectacular, and we got to see inside some of the buildings. The girls stayed behind when I went on a half mile hike up the hill to a waterfall where the water was used to transport ore down the mountain. I saw some of the ore cars and a mucker that was used to haul them. If I recall correctly, three times a day the ore train hauled 50 tons of rock out of the mine to be processed. I can't recall how much gold they mined out of there, but it was enough to employ a pretty good crew. It's been shut down for years. I think during World War II the government determined that what they were doing wasn't necessary for the war effort, and it just shut down. Such a shame. It's become a tourist attraction but without all the usual shops, busses and overbearing hucksters that go with it, like so many places in Alaska. I'm hoping it never resorts to that. For now it's just a great place to visit, maybe pan for a little gold in one of the streams and pick some blueberries, and of course, enjoy the view.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-13870226665657272592023-08-26T14:23:00.004-07:002023-08-26T14:23:57.520-07:00 Uncle Bill Courtney<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QnY9NkhZwdMhMTKo1tr8QcTiE8WcBPvhqDoaa5e7dRKu5PvSxP4D226C4NVrCCuB1RX0g2wghGnmhPsDof6JoNCZBFunEgyu5RQS14sAU0a8Yl9zmxeIiUydq9i_QpGu6mdDaRMifJamLf5EgcLZ1A8anak_ocY7FHvW2xu89fRadG5eVzhPUSBaMSbJ/s2048/DSC03053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QnY9NkhZwdMhMTKo1tr8QcTiE8WcBPvhqDoaa5e7dRKu5PvSxP4D226C4NVrCCuB1RX0g2wghGnmhPsDof6JoNCZBFunEgyu5RQS14sAU0a8Yl9zmxeIiUydq9i_QpGu6mdDaRMifJamLf5EgcLZ1A8anak_ocY7FHvW2xu89fRadG5eVzhPUSBaMSbJ/w640-h480/DSC03053.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The longer I live, the more of my friends I lose. I suppose in part because some of my closest friends have been older than me. Last week, as I was sitting in my easy chair, Jan came upstairs and let me know that Uncle Bill had passed away. I knew that he was dealing with cancer, but I thought it was more or less under control. When I spoke to his oldest son, Doug, he mentioned that Bill had been hospitalized for pneumonia. I guess in his weakened state, his body just couldn't fight off the inevitable anymore. I wish he could have hung on for a little longer. Jan and I were planning a trip down south in October, and we had planned on dropping in and seeing Bill and his wife Sally. His passing is a bittersweet reminder that we only have today to make a phone call, or send a card or letter or drop in on a neighbor or friend. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed to any of us.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I first met Bill when I was in the navy, almost fifty years ago. I think it must have been the beginning of 1974 when the ship I was stationed on in Key West was decommissioned and I was assigned to another one in Charleston South Carolina. Driving around the base, I realized I didn't want to live in the housing that the navy provided for the enlisted men, surrounded by thousands of other sailors. I wanted to live off the base. We dropped in at a realtor that we had passed by and he showed us a little cement block house located on a dirt road behind the real estate office. The only other house on the road was Bill and Sally's place. I can't imagine that Bill was any too happy to have a young Yankee couple moving in beside him, but he never expressed any displeasure. It seems like most weekends he was off in his little fiberglass skiff fishing, so I didn't see him much initially. Eventually we saw more of each other and developed a friendship. He took me out with him a few times in his boat, and showed me a whole new way of fishing using crickets and a cane pole. It was so much fun. He had quite an accent though, and I had to strain to understand what he was saying at times, but he was always patient with me, and would repeat himself if need be.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Bill and Sally grew to be good friends. Lord knows how many gallons of sweet iced tea that I drank at their house. In time, because Sally was an elder in a church that believed that we were living in the end times, and God was providing a place for his people in places like Alaska, they moved. I missed them both. After they had been living there for some time, Bill came back to Charleston for a visit. He didn't say a whole lot about the way things were up north. I wish he would have, I might not have joined him a year or so later. It wasn't until I moved there that I found out how much he hated that place, and some of the elders who were in charge at the time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Things on the farm, the Christian community that we moved to along with Bill and Sally and dozens of others, were challenging, to put it mildly. I discovered shortly after I got there that Bill was still smoking cigarettes- a no-no on the farm. It didn't take long and I was joining him, sneaking off to the woods and begging for one of his Pall Malls. We were the outsiders, or the rebellious ones, something that we liked just fine.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Because neither of us cared for the farm, and all the malarky that went on there, we joined Terry Barry working at the Thompson Fish House. Somehow I was stuck sliming fish and standing in ice water and fish guts, while Uncle Bill was given the assignment of driving the fork lift. He mastered the art of driving it so well, that the only time he had to leave the seat was to use the bathroom or to go to lunch.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Bill used to be privy to what happened in the elders meetings because Sally would share with him. He would in turn share with me all the unsettling issues and we would commiserate about what was happening.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Before he moved to the farm, Bill was a foreman for a construction company, an outfit that used to build shopping malls and whatnot. I watched him working around the farm or in town and was amazed that he could get so much done so quickly while appearing to move so slow. He just knew what needed done, and didn't waste any time doing it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He and Sally left the farm before we did, and moved back to South Carolina. His boys lived in Alaska still, so they came to visit them and the grandkids a few times. Bill had a soft spot for kids and dogs and would spoil both if given a chance. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I regret that I never made it back to visit them before he left us. He may be gone from this earth, but he'll always live in our hearts. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Goodbye Uncle Bill, I'll see ya sometime. I hope they have fish in heaven, we'll have a blast.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-26611503864790909992023-08-15T18:35:00.002-07:002023-08-15T18:35:45.247-07:00 Sound of Freedom<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe_x8hTQadsCwTZsUQmH7NX27FYNS01n3BlroQunzMTjXkPBCLoAh_OYy1ttDvY1IK_U6wTPAQwPd7kY8XnxpLhY4zNBQCpJqxCpiTU6W12Jj6W2CxWir8Wd0QrDCoxSZfFjOpC__s9IElB-53Nr2F4zq3VFI806vx5TR5BpGmRVAuthz2tI7hGGVtAFr/s3264/DSC06173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe_x8hTQadsCwTZsUQmH7NX27FYNS01n3BlroQunzMTjXkPBCLoAh_OYy1ttDvY1IK_U6wTPAQwPd7kY8XnxpLhY4zNBQCpJqxCpiTU6W12Jj6W2CxWir8Wd0QrDCoxSZfFjOpC__s9IElB-53Nr2F4zq3VFI806vx5TR5BpGmRVAuthz2tI7hGGVtAFr/w640-h426/DSC06173.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I don't usually like to put out new posts before the last one has run for a bit. However, I feel the need to write this while it's still fresh in my mind. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Today I went to the movie theatre for the first time in almost fifty years. The last movie I saw in a theater was Bo Derrick in the movie-10. The movie I saw today left me with a much more inspired feeling and was just overall a better movie, delivering a message that needs to be shared with the world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sound of Freedom explores the world of child sex trafficking. Unfortunately, it's a world wide problem. The movie is based on a true story. It takes place initially in the country of Honduras, and then Columbia. It stars Jim Caviezel , who was also the main character in the hit TV series Person of Interest and the movie, The Count of Monte Cristo. He's an excellent actor, and I believe he's been involved in several movies that address spiritual issues. He may have even played Christ in one movie.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While the subject matter is disturbing, it nonetheless needs to be addressed. Not all of the children abducted for the sex trade are from foreign countries, and even if they were, it's still not acceptable. The movie states that child trafficking is a multi billion dollar business and that most of the children are sold into slavery in this country, the good ol' USA. What does that say about us? There is so much public outcry about global climate change, and yet so little about something that affects us even more than that. Can you imagine that your little girl or boy or one of your grandchildren was abducted and then spirited off to be abused by some pervert who gets his jollies from raping children? We all need to take a stand and put an end to this despicable practice. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the movie Jim Caviezel says - God's children are not for sale." They are most certainly not. One might wonder why God allows this to happen, why doesn't He save them? Maybe He's calling on us to act.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The movie is put out by Angel Studios. On their web site they have a button that allows you to donate a ticket to another person who may want to see the movie but doesn't have the money. For $15.00 you can get the word out to someone else. It's money well spent I believe.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I saw that the studio had to fight for the right to publish this movie, there were powers that be that didn't want the movie to be made. Disney may have had a hand in trying to stop this. So much for the happiest place on earth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you haven't seen this movie yet, I hope that you will before it's no longer available. I think it will be an eye opener.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-58536839267957340902023-08-12T18:05:00.003-07:002023-08-21T09:46:36.984-07:00 All Good Things Must Come to an End<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqtzJFL2mFhARV6kTE15cn7kBvYWcvNzLXrIXYVRnEJveYLmh05evqj0MGvMJtdHxxI5Y3BL9jVf7jjQjLtPWJ8jLD416QWSfHHeTHVuYf1rXlBmmKVRveuN4seGtkUwKv6elep_IdFdU0F4emje4hdnc-xGeLbsZSrj21JYkOSONuBOclp0T1BTGDTHY/s2592/DSC03522.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqtzJFL2mFhARV6kTE15cn7kBvYWcvNzLXrIXYVRnEJveYLmh05evqj0MGvMJtdHxxI5Y3BL9jVf7jjQjLtPWJ8jLD416QWSfHHeTHVuYf1rXlBmmKVRveuN4seGtkUwKv6elep_IdFdU0F4emje4hdnc-xGeLbsZSrj21JYkOSONuBOclp0T1BTGDTHY/w640-h480/DSC03522.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MbCKQ5-qkt7KqbHxsMp9x6lHuIVVsSaajNq01n7H_tJDiT40b62XT1ZM5UL8z3IioE3DUZvu0SNkR4eOwGGLi_4rJas-zHFDdIXICu9Jz5-uYS4Yf7hcaC2v22CzcEMZVqUvfIDshoAVpzVETEteWeG1h8-EdnGaadTn2Oq0luBTXlfhGkRJ4jKP-pft/s2592/DSC03700.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MbCKQ5-qkt7KqbHxsMp9x6lHuIVVsSaajNq01n7H_tJDiT40b62XT1ZM5UL8z3IioE3DUZvu0SNkR4eOwGGLi_4rJas-zHFDdIXICu9Jz5-uYS4Yf7hcaC2v22CzcEMZVqUvfIDshoAVpzVETEteWeG1h8-EdnGaadTn2Oq0luBTXlfhGkRJ4jKP-pft/w640-h480/DSC03700.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGWAUbQExRwZNY7kP_h6ytf1M_hXa_IyJUKs1wUQ5JFGBoo9I3AG9mtR2ZqIu1KSqVJYwuDCXwsY6br-fuMtlPwnXM5_Pfo1U5zo1teI4fMXd0SvxFaAqXTOQFOI_KsDdxTVIj1uDtBPqnUD0DA4fny7aVxGvcbpjQq6-TEs6bdUDXcGEMUhl_StwNNpR/s2592/DSC03704.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGWAUbQExRwZNY7kP_h6ytf1M_hXa_IyJUKs1wUQ5JFGBoo9I3AG9mtR2ZqIu1KSqVJYwuDCXwsY6br-fuMtlPwnXM5_Pfo1U5zo1teI4fMXd0SvxFaAqXTOQFOI_KsDdxTVIj1uDtBPqnUD0DA4fny7aVxGvcbpjQq6-TEs6bdUDXcGEMUhl_StwNNpR/w640-h480/DSC03704.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I was going to write this post when I first got back from Hoonah, but life, and death, got in the way, and I've delayed doing it until now. I couldn't very well put off writing about the death of my good friend and fishing companion Fagan, so it took priority. Then I had multiple projects that needed tackled around the house, so either I didn't have the time or the energy to do another post until now. So, here it goes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Last year I had made up my mind to sell the Bonnie J. My body was having a harder time keeping up with the demands of wooden boat ownership, and though I was reluctant to sell on the one hand, I knew it was time. I put a price tag of $10,000 on it and hoped for the best. There were two interested buyers at the time. Both of them wouldn't have the money until the end of the fishing season or tourist season, as one of the prospective buyers worked at the cannery. I knew the one fellow, and while I wasn't sure that he would come through, he and his father came down and begged me not to sell the boat out from under them, so I waited until the end of the season, only to find out he'd bought a different boat. While I was mildly upset, I was glad on the other hand to have a chance to fish one more year.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I flew down to Juneau on June 10, thinking I would catch a flight over to Hoonah that same day. What I discovered was that the twenty minute flight was going to cost more than the jet from Anchorage to Juneau costs, so I opted to stay with my granddaughter until I could catch the ferry two days later.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Back in May, while I was still in Wasilla, the Hoonah harbormaster called to let me know that the bow of the boat was down in the front, and had to be pumped out. He took care of it, but of course I was left to deal with the mess when I got to Hoonah. All the water from the bilge had flooded the bow for about five or six inches, so the pots and pans in the lower cupboard had standing water in them and the residue from the bilge was covering the floor. As soon as I got to town I had to start cleaning up the mess. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Before I had left in the fall last year, I'd hooked up a battery charger, hoping to keep the bilge pumps going as needed. When I arrived at the boat, I saw the futility of that. The window had leaked onto the fuse panel and corroded it so badly that everything was green and the contacts were falling apart, thus no bilge pumps, which of course accounted for the water in the bow. That was just the beginning of sorrows.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a cushion on my chair because it was starting to break down and the springs were poking me in the ass. I came in one day and looked at the cushion and saw what looked like otter crap on it. What the heck? How could an otter have gotten in? Well, needless to say, I tossed the cushion and resigned myself to being goosed by my chair. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I hauled the boat out the next day and began the grueling work of having to sand, caulk and paint the boat, trying to beat the rain. The sun stayed out for the better part of a week, and I sanded the boat down to bare wood before priming it. The days were long and exhausting, and all the climbing up and down the ladder and working in the heat took a toll. It was the hardest time I've ever had since my days on the farm.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After I'd been hauled out for about two weeks, I figured I'd wash my bedding. I'd been sleeping at Jen's house and it hadn't been a concern, but I assumed I was coming to an end to my time being out of the water, so I wanted to start sleeping on the boat. I went to my bunk and saw my pillow and stared for a moment wondering what the heck was going on. There was a big stain on the pillow case. I looked at my hatch cover overhead searching for a leak. Not seeing any signs of leakage, I grabbed the pillow thinking I would wash it. When I reached for my sleeping bag, I felt something inside. What the... It's amazing how many thoughts can flood your mind in a very short period of time. At first I thought I'd left my flashlight inside the bag, although why or how I didn't know. Then I thought I'd left some rolled up socks or a shirt in there. I picked up the bag to shake it out when a cat shrieked and flew out of it. I yelled, it yelled and we parted ways. It ran under the bunk where I couldn't get to it, and I ran to the top of the steps, shaken by what I initially thought was an otter. I called the harbormaster to ask if the gal in the stall beside me had a cat. He checked in to it and found out that her friend was missing one for about two weeks. That blasted cat was on my boat for two weeks without my knowing it. It had nothing to eat, and no water except bilge water to drink. The bottom line is he came and got the cat and I threw out the pillow. Sometimes I feel like I'm a character in a Far Side comic.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After a few weeks of exhaustive work, the boat looked good, all painted and zinced and I figured I'd drop the price to $5,000.00 and take the loss. When we launched it, everything looked good. By the time I got to the stall, there was water coming down both sides of the shaft alley. I went back and hauled out again and stayed in the slings, hoping to find the leak. I found a small hole that would explain the water, so I cemented it up and went back into the water the next day. Again it looked good until I got tied up. So for the third time I hauled out. I reefed out a lot of caulking and re-caulked and sealed the seams, even ones that didn't appear to be leaking. I'd made up my mind that if it still leaked, I was going to give the city the boat, unless I found someone else who wanted it. When I launched yet again, the bilge was dry and the bow was dry, but the pumps were still coming on every thirty minutes. Apparently the garboard seam was leaking, something that wasn't a problem until I had hauled out. I think the racking back and forth of the boat by the travel lift caused the issue. I wasn't willing to put any more time or money into it. I was thoroughly exhausted and overwhelmed by the whole issue. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I happened to mention to Jara Goins that I was going to give my boat away, and she called her husband Jason. As it was, their fifteen year old son has a hand troll license and they thought the boat might be something that he could use as he got older.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Jason has property in Oregon with Douglas fir growing on it, and he and his brother have a sawmill that could mill the wood, so they could at least have the materials on hand to replace planks. He's familiar with diesel engines and has a good attitude about issues that come up. I was upfront with him and let him know what I had been dealing with. He seemed to take it all in stride, so for the mighty sum of one dollar, he bought the boat, complete with fishing gear, tools, fuel, electronics, totes, pots and pans and whatever else I had accumulated in the thirty three years I owned her.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Some people have mentioned how generous I was to give away the boat. Granted, it would have been nice to have gotten some more money for it, but I would have had to stick around Hoonah and advertise it, and then there was the ongoing problem with the leak. I didn't want to try to piece it out. It had an aluminum mast, poles, hayrack, fuel tanks and water tank, plus a Furuno video sounder, and radar and an Icom VHF radio. I probably could have gotten something for all of that, but then the boat wouldn't have been worth anything. It was better to give it away as a package and know that it will be taken care of and fished for a few more years than to see it torn apart and pieced out.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For thirty three years I fished the Bonnie J. I've poured countless thousands of dollars and man hours into it. I had some of my best days on board and some of my worst. I may not have any money to show for my time and effort, but I've got a lifetime of memories.</span></p>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-25396350243737568302023-07-30T18:55:00.004-07:002023-07-30T18:55:51.485-07:00 The End of an Era<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3oMiTqszezTuOOp1c1Yciphn88meNNV1n9oja3Mcse1cRgZ2yFVdY0kp8LHlwZBS43eUjPGaclAT73Mb616k3p7PfT60rRx3UiuZ8TNlzjpnc2898Mu6d3yb8KiRnm92hAUVqgphfE8_K25rtA3CZzcN9Vs2EfkU5AFxzNQdavu_9jZ0VTuJt4VbCyeJe/s640/DSC02080%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3oMiTqszezTuOOp1c1Yciphn88meNNV1n9oja3Mcse1cRgZ2yFVdY0kp8LHlwZBS43eUjPGaclAT73Mb616k3p7PfT60rRx3UiuZ8TNlzjpnc2898Mu6d3yb8KiRnm92hAUVqgphfE8_K25rtA3CZzcN9Vs2EfkU5AFxzNQdavu_9jZ0VTuJt4VbCyeJe/w640-h480/DSC02080%20(1).JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: medium;">I was going to do a blog post about my last days of fishing on the Bonnie J. I've given the boat to a worthy person I believe and I wanted to reflect a little bit on my time with her, but yesterday my son Brian called with the news that my friend and long time Hoonah resident Fagan Skaflestad had passed away. It came as quite a shock to me for some reason. I don't know why. He was in his early eighties I believe, but he always seemed so robust, so full of life. He was one of those guys that just seemed like would live forever.</span><p></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I can't even recall when we first met, I feel like I've known him most of my life. His family has been around Hoonah for decades. His dad, Alf, had a logging business and he and the boys logged up and down Port Frederick for years. They had a camp up in Salt Lake Bay if I recall correctly, and Fagan used to tell me about running around in a skiff up in the Narrows, fishing for King Salmon. He had the uncanny ability of finding fish when few others could.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">For years he fished out of a twenty one foot glas-ply boat, hand cranking. He seemed to always know where to go and when to go there in order to be successful. At times he would come back with tales of incredible catches, which I sometimes met with skepticism until he pulled out the fish tickets and showed me.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He often told me where he fished, but not until he had already been there and caught most of the fish in the area. I recall once fishing in the bay down near Westport. Fagan had gone to Eagle Point and had bombed out. He came into the bay and asked how I was doing. I had a few kings and about twenty five cohos, which I was pretty happy with. Fagan didn't stick around, but instead said he was going to look around up near the Waterfall, up the bay. He said he'd call me on the CB radio if he had any luck. I stayed and fished where I was. After about three hours with no report from Fagan, I figured he'd found the fish. Not wanting to alert the other boats, I slowly trolled my way up the bay. By the time I got to where Fagan was, he had already caught eighteen kings. He claimed he tried to call me, but couldn't get through. Perhaps he did try, I don't know. In any event, he ended the three day opening with forty eight kings to my eighteen.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ten or twelve years ago, maybe longer, he parked the Glas-ply on the beach and bought a much bigger fiberglass pleasure craft with six or eight bunks and big windows. He re-named it the Janice K and added some trolling poles and some rigging as well as power troll gurdies and an aluminum troll pit in the stern. It didn't have any fish hold, so he purchased a bunch of half totes that he loaded on the upper deck for keeping his fish. I have vivid memories of Fagan being in the troll pit pulling cohos at Homeshore. He was a hard nose fisherman, often being the last one in to the anchorage if there as a bite late in the day. He knew all the best anchorages for the various winds</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">In the last couple years I'd noticed that he was slowing down. He wasn't as willing to go out on the ocean for more than a few days during the opening days of the king season, and often waited for a favorable report before venturing off somewhere. He'd mentioned problems with the engine overheating, and the last king opener he said his auto pilot had been giving him problems, so he came in early.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I spoke to a friend in Hoonah who keeps his boat on the same float as Fagan. He mentioned that Fagan had come in around eight o'clock Friday evening after fishing the day somewhere, I assume Homeshore or Spasski Reef. He'd mentioned that he wasn't feeling good. Apparently some time later he went to the clinic where he passed away. I'm not sure of the cause of death.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ol' Fagan. He was funny and rowdy and outspoken. He was a Hoonah icon and his passing marks the end of an era. I'm sure going to miss him. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Rest in peace my friend.</span></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-25125805353932934512023-06-02T16:06:00.005-07:002023-06-02T16:06:30.409-07:00 I've Been Thinking About Pockets<p> </p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/8896/w-8896-553440.png" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">From time to time, I like to vent my frustration out in the open. In part because it makes me feel better to get something off my chest, and in part I'm hoping for a solution, or at the very least some agreement with my view.<br /><br />Today I'd like to say a few words about pockets. They have been around for about five hundred years, and are a necessary part of every mans attire. Where else could we put our keys, glasses, pencils, telephones and dozens of other doo-dads? While I don't wear cargo pants, you know those trousers with umpteen pockets, I would probably be tempted to. However, I know how I am. In no time at all I'd have every pocket filled with something, just in case I needed it that day. Before you know it, I wouldn't be able to walk. Something like Swiss Army cargo pants might be a good idea. They would come pre-filled with only the necessities that the average man might need, plus a few extras, like some fishing line and a few hooks in case you passed by a stream and were overcome by the desire to fish. They would have to leave a few pockets empty so you could fill them with your billfold and keys. Perhaps you could have some custom made with an insulated lining to keep a sandwich hot while you were busy working. A cup holder on the side would be handy too.<br /><br />The issue that got me to thinking about pockets, was the shirt I was wearing yesterday. Most days I wear flannel shirts. They are comfortable, come in a variety of colors, and as a general rule have two pockets in the front. The shirt I was wearing yesterday only had one. It was totally unacceptable. I have to carry my glasses in my shirt pocket, and usually I have a pen as well. Then of course I often stuff my I pod into the front pocket, and I always have a pack of Trident chewing gum, the package of which is wider than say, Juicy Fruit. By the time I have all that stuff in there, it looks like I've grown a lumpy boob. Men's flannel shirts should always have two pockets. For one thing, it kind of balances out the shirt. For another, there is never enough room for all of our stuff. One other feature that all flannel shirts should have is either buttons or snaps to keep the pockets closed and the contents within safe. On more than one occasion, I've leaned over the back of the boat to gaff a fish, and my glasses have fallen out. Twice I dropped a flip phone that I had stashed in a shirt pocket. Once it fell into the bilge, which was full of salt water and of course was ruined. The other time I was untying from the dock and it fell on the concrete float and broke apart.<br /><br />I briefly looked in to a fly fishing vest. They have lots of pockets, and special loops for hanging your scissors, or small pliers or whatever else fly fishermen might use. I believe some have Velcro-like pieces on the vest for holding the flies. That would be cool. If I had one it would be my luck that real flies or more likely wasps would be stuck in the Velcro and I'd go nuts trying to remove them.<br /><br />The bottom line is that men need pockets like women need purses. We've got to have a place to put our things without looking like chipmunks storing up for winter.</span></div></div></div><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><center style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></center><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><table align="center" border="0" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 658px;"><tbody style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><tr style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.4848px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><td style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;"></td><td align="center" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td><td align="center" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td><td align="center" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td><td align="center" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 12.7345px; margin: 0px; padding: 6px; vertical-align: baseline;" valign="top"></td></tr></tbody></table><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><br style="background-color: #f4f4f2; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.9892px;" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 658px;">Prior to the time of trousers, men used to carry their things in pouches, similar to purses. Fortunately we don't do that anymore, although things were looking bad for awhile when fanny packs came out. A little history- pocket is believed to be derived from the Anglo-Norman word Pokete- little bag. I've never referred to anyone as a little bag, but there have been a few gals I considered old bags.</div><div><br /></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1831008888393528890.post-23718961776421052262023-05-27T10:39:00.000-07:002023-05-27T10:39:33.037-07:00 Am I a Bad Parent, or Just a Glutton?<p> </p><img align="left" border="0" src="https://www.fanartreview.com/farusr/461721/w-461721-615762.peg" style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" vspace="5" width="45%" /><div style="background: rgb(244, 244, 242); border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.249px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 676.797px;"><div class="section" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.5139px; margin: 0px; padding: 2px 5px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I recently received a care package from one of my Fan Story friends. It contained some really, really good brownies. No, they weren't laced with pot, if that's what you're thinking. They were just very tasty. When I wrote the sender to say how much we enjoyed them, I lamented the fact that my wife and I ate them all ourselves. I would have been happy to share them, but for some reason or other, the usual people we would normally share them with were all gone. It runs in my mind both my daughters were out of town, and my neighbors were still in Louisiana. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I don't think you can freeze brownies can you? Anyway, the bottom line is, we ate them all. I'm both ashamed of myself and pretty full.<br /><br />I was reminded of a time when I was living in Hoonah. My oldest daughter, Jennifer, was an elementary school teacher there. She had a habit of dropping by unannounced every other day or so. I had no problem with that, we always enjoy her company. However, I think that she sometimes forgot that she no longer lived at our house. She had her own house and family. If there was mail on the counter when she came in, she would walk over and start leafing through it. It wasn't a big deal, but it was kind of strange. She also felt free to help herself to whatever food might be in the refrigerator or on the table, like fruit or perhaps brownies or cake. That's fine. Sometimes she'd ask, and sometimes she wouldn't. I usually didn't mind.<br /><br />One day my youngest daughter, Autumn, was visiting from Wasilla. She had purchased some fun shaped erasers for Jen to give out to her class. She also brought with her a box of Jelly Belly Bernie Botts jelly beans. These weren't ordinary jelly beans though. Along with flavors like jalapeno, liquorice and popcorn, there were gross flavors like baby wipes, boogers, and dog food. Who thinks of this kind of stuff? Anyway, we all knew that Jen would be stopping by, so we put the jelly beans in a crystal dish right on the counter where Jen couldn't miss them. She came in, started talking to Autumn, thanked her profusely for the erasers and then spotted the jelly beans.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Heeeyyy! Jelly beans! I love jelly beans."<br /><br />She went to the dish and reached in. As she was lifting a handful to her mouth I burst out laughing. Of course she got suspicious and wouldn't eat them. I wish I had some self control.<br /><br />A few months later I figured enough time had passed that we could try to fool Jen into trying something else. We had a dachshund at the time and had bought him some Liv-a - snaps dog treats. Knowing full well that Jennifer would be coming over, I put some of the treats in the same crystal dish I'd utilized before, assuming she would think that the treats were little chocolate bites. True to form, she came in, saw the dish and headed for it. She picked them up and looked at them and I made up some lie about some new candy we'd found at the store. I was watching her intently as she raised the treats to her mouth, but once again, my lack of self discipline defeated my little trick. My hysterical outburst warned her off. Darn it.<br /><br />If you think that's bad, here's the real clincher. One winter day I put the skills that I had learned in Home-Ec class to work. I really like custard pie, so I decided to bake one. I got down the recipe book and first made the crust.(I'm too cheap to pay four or more dollars for a frozen crust) Then I made up the eggs, sugar, milk and vanilla and poured it into the crust. While it was baking, the whole house filled with the most pleasant aroma. It was like walking in to your grandma's house. When it was done, I didn't even wait for it to cool. My wife and I each had a piece, and frankly, it was heavenly. I left it sitting on the stove top to cool and went in to do something. Later, while we were watching TV, I heard the distinct sound of a car door closing out front.<br /><br />" Rats! It's Jen! I think she has someone with her too."<br /><br />That was unacceptable. I quickly ran into the kitchen and retrieved the pie from the stove top and scurried into the laundry room as the sound of people scampering up the steps reached my ears. I closed the door and acted like everything was normal.</span></div><div style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 13.7842px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I know it sounds petty and selfish, and in retrospect, I suppose it was, but that pie was so good.<br />Anyway, she was never the wiser... at least until I did a blog post about it. She was in the habit of reading my blog, so the jig was up. I did make another custard pie at a later date, and she got to eat some of it, just not that one. So I ask you, am I a bad parent, or a glutton or perhaps both?</span></div><div><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div></div></div>tbbottshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17080934753744624004noreply@blogger.com10