Annie and I were trying to figure out how long ago the chickens were attacked by the raccoons. Yes, there is a point to this mental exercise, but in typical fashion, I will wait until the end to provide it...

Ultimately, after discussing various events that have happened to us in that space in time, we realized that it has been over two and a half years. Lila Bird lived with us (i.e. in our house) for at least four months while she healed, and disgustingly pecked off her flesh that was hanging off her body after being carved alive. I think it might have been closer to six months...

At any rate, the trauma of the ordeal left her incapable of providing eggs. My threats of turning her into a stew chicken did not help things, I guess. However, I had come to grips with the fact that she had become my parrot, and was not going to lay eggs again. She is the coolest chicken we have ever had, though. She still talks to me when she sees me. In fact, she can see me sitting on the deck punching on the computer from the coop pen, and talks to me from there. Our new rooster seems to have a problem with that, as he has a tendency to step up to her, stretch out, flap his wings, and crow when she does that.

So, after all she has been through... the struggle of having her muscle carved from her body by sharp claws... having other chickens attack her because she looked more like food then a chicken after that... living in a box (ok, that's not accurate given that she had become a pet that walked around getting fed from Annie's hand and perched on my chair, but still)... Lila Bird surprised us today.

Lila Bird blessed us with two blue-green eggs (she is an Aracauna). I am constantly amazed with Nature's ability to adapt and deal... I suspect we could all have something to learn from that should we ever move past our self-proclaimed authority over life on this planet...

Bowing to the order of life...

Alright, I have recently received some e-mails that suggest that I should be more diligent about writing. After all, I have to pay for this freakin' web-hosting thing... Starting tomorrow...

Gearing up for it...

I have typically had the responsibility and gift of calming Annie when she was upset since she was a baby. Annie was only several months old when I started taking her out to the deck and swaying back and forth with her. The wind would blow and the redwoods would sway like we were. They would travel about 100 feet side to side at the tops. I would tell her that the trees were dancing for her. When this started she was too small to really be able to focus on the trees, but she would immediately calm down. We did this the first few years of her life.

It was always special. I would walk into Annie's room, and she would be standing in her crib, and bouncing in anticipation of my arrival. We would go out and see the dancing trees before I gave her breakfast.

Now flash forward until she is almost ten. She made me a Father's Day card. She described various things that she perceives of me, but the one that was the most taken to heart was about my voice...

My Daddy's voice is like the Trees Dancing...

It practically brought a tear to my eye. I chose to accept this as 'my Daddy's voice calms me.' Heck, I almost tear up writing about it.


Just want to be a good daddy...

The interpretation of the Second Amendment has long since concerned me. I see both sides, although I have never stopped believing that all Americans should be armed. My concern stems more deeply from the fact that we have a small 'representative' body of people that make decisions for the rest of us, and recent bills have demonstrated that the 'people' are largely considered ignorant and unable to decide or be responsible for themselves.

The court system is run very much like parenting, or at least my parenting. If a situation/request/behavior is new, discussion is had, arguments are made on both sides, and the judge (me) makes a ruling. Granted, the judge and the defendant (sometimes the plaintiff) are typically the same person in these cases, but the process is very similar. The decision is final without the admittance of new and significant evidence or testimony. Precedence also comes to play. 'No, we can't do that my dad will say no because once...' There are many issues in our society that I believe must necessarily be discussed and rediscussed. Not because the current legal interpretation is wrong, but because I don't want the importance of the concept to be lost (e.g. abortion rights).

Personal armed defense I don't see as one of those issues, though. I have friends that tell me I should not stop on the road to help a stranded motorist or pick up a hitchhiker. The reasoning is that they could be a whacko and kill or hurt me. My answer is always the same: I will not stop doing what I think is right because their are bastards out there that would turn my good nature to their advantage. I have yet to hear an argument against being personally armed that I can accept myself.

At any rate, the Second Amendment is very particular (in my opinion) regarding its intent: State Militia to maintain an internal defense if the government goes overboard. Interestingly, I think the current and recent governmental establishments would find this frightening, and do what they could to curtail such an organization. I read one treatise on the subject that said that the founding fathers were short sighted given the technology and sociology of today. I think he was right, but not for any of the same reasons. He felt that his analysis demonstrated the need for the removal of the Second Amendment. I disagree. If it were not for the automatic jail time, I would call the local law enforcement, tell them I am in fear for my life, and see how long it takes them to get to my house. I'd lay money on the probability that I would have been ripped off and injured before they got here. They might catch the person on their way given the one-way access to my house, but the damage would have been done.

I am puzzled by why the Founding Fathers did not consider personal security issue. It was brought up at the Pennsylvania ratification convention, but was denied by the majority. I don't know why. Everyone at the time was packing except for the Amish. Maybe that's why Pennsylvania turned it down. Maybe they were just worried it would cause conflict and delays with what the other colonies had voted on.

I have been unable to find a reference on-line, but someone I trust and was alive at the time told me that Khushchev said that America could never be taken because everyone was packin'. Of course, I am paraphrasing, but I can see the thought being accurate. A recent poll of criminals in prison indicated that their only fear when committing a crime was that the other person involved was packing.

I believe I have the right to carry. I know there are 'bad' people out there doing it, and they have to be monitored, but I just want to handle my own situation. I don't want to rely on law enforcement for encounters that I should be able to handle. That just costs us money, and we can't afford the police force that can handle it, nor do we want to. I don't think the county sheriff should have the ability to say I can't carry without a reason, but that is the way it is in California. I could drop a weapon in the seat next to me in the car with complete visibility, and technically that is not illegal, although I recognize that it would result in me spread eagle on the side of the car if I were pulled over for even the mildest driving infraction.

The fact is I have weapons at my disposal all the time. I have four cords of wood, I'm sure I have a substantial stick there that I could wield with malicious intent. I have hammers, screwdrivers, a nail gun, chickens... Ok, I don't know how I could use the chickens in an attack, but they can be brutal if raised away from people. Ask my sister. Anyway, every time I have to drive to work, I am in a potential weapon. I grant you that the hand gun or rifle only serves the purpose of killing, but I know that I could create a weapon myself if I wanted to. What is the point in taking weapons from citizens that can manage it on their own? Criminals will find it anyway, it is not hard to find if you want it... However, if you enable the population to arm themselves, it creates risk for the criminals. Isn't that a deterrent? Incarceration is obviously not a deterrent.

I have more, but am feeling frustrated after watching Sotomayor's thoughts on the subject. I respect her comments that indicate a separation from her personal opinions from legal interpretation. However, the whole thing seems scary to me. She admitted that the thought of personal protection has never been brought up before the court, although I thought the recent D.C. ruling was about that, but apparently there were other circumstances involved.

Please, government, get out of my life... Yes, I'll be packing as soon as California lets me... I just don't want us to get to the point where the only thing we have is the right to bare arms...


Clean Harry...

I was in the lab yesterday fairly early in the morning. It was early enough that the commute was a breeze, which was nice! I started rebuilding a machine for testing. A couple of hours later, with glazed-over eyes, we rolled it into the chamber, and tested it. It looked quite good, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I've got a couple of projects where the communication protocols are giving me a lot of difficulty in controlling the emissions. Confused? Good. Join the club. We have t-shirts.

Well, after a moderate success, I moved on to working on the other problem project. We were not making any progress. The data was confusing. I was frustrated, and my stomach was getting in a knot. Normally, I get in a zone at work, especially in the lab, and I skip eating. It takes too much time, and distracts me. Damned distractions. I need to be a solar creature. I can go pace in the sun for a while and think, and absorb the energy. However, I don't want to have a green tint... Anyway, I decided to run get something to eat. It was only 10:30 in the morning, but I had been up and at 'em for a long time.

My first thought was to go find something healthy. I punched the GPS for local food, and decided it was going to take too long. I was willing to accept the grease in a bun from Jack in the Box because it was close. I scooted down to Jack in the Crack, and found a parking space right in front of the door. Within two minutes, my order was being grilled and I was patiently waiting to receive it. I looked towards the end of the restaurant and saw a kid of about fifteen bouncing around outside, literally. From that angle, I couldn't see my beautiful car. I dismissed it, the kid came in, went to the bathroom, and started talking in Spanish to a lady behind the counter. She was either his mother, or he worked there.

My food was ready, and I happily ventured out of the restaurant with my grilled chicken and Coke in hand. I took two steps out of the store, and came to a stop. I haven't washed my car in a couple of months, and it had developed a thin layer of dust. Undisturbed, it was not too bad, but now? On the hood of my car was the obvious imprint of a butt. On either side were swipes in the dust from hands. Someone had freakin' sat on my hood, leaned back, and wiped their hands on my car. I was ticked. I am 85% sure that it was that kid. Aside from the employee that I saw earlier out there, and the mother and two kids I saw leave, he was the only one out there. I turned and considered going in to confront him, but decided he would deny it, and the establishment would argue in his defense. In frustration, I drove away.

Please, people, teach your kids to respect other people's property. Teach respect. I'm not saying I was always great when I was a kid. I did some things when I was kid for which I am not proud. I confess that I still laugh. Getting into the Volkswagon minibus and moving it two blocks down cracked me up. It hurt no one, and the person got up the next morning wondering how the vehicle ended up there. Probably wondered exactly how many joints had been smoked the previous night. My crowning moment was when my friends and I unscrewed all the light bulbs at the local electric co-op. We broke NOTHING. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree, and I found it ironic that an electric co-op would burn that much power. Without exaggeration there were three times as many lights on this small building as were necessary for security. The lights obviously did not provide security given that five of my friends and I were able to climb all over the place and unscrew them. I know I have written about this before, but I still find it hysterical. We turned that place to darkness, and ran away laughing. I felt a tiny bit guilty that it was reported in the newspaper that vandals had broken all the lights. I felt guilty only because I had underestimated the intelligence of the people working at the electric co-op. Honestly, who takes out a light bulb without looking at the filament to see if it is broken or not, screwing it back in, and checking to see if it works. I guess it was easier to replace them and push the cost to the co-op members, which is my second feeling of guilt. I never intended for anyone to have to pay for that. Not my style.

Yes, I made some mistakes, and it certainly wasn't because my parents didn't teach me respect. I guess I pushed it further than I should have. I never would have sat on a car that was not my own. I am probably just digging a big hole here. I'd better stop...

I hope the dust doesn't come off his pants...

TEACH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Long time, no write. I've been busy establishing my new role in the house, having given up on ruling the world. As it turns out, I've found out in my elder years I get intense satisfaction just manipulating the two-leggeds that I allow to live with me.

For example, in the mornings one of the two-leggeds will start moving under the covers around five. They think I sleep in the bed to be 'close' to them. No chance. It's so that I can trigger off their movements. Sometimes the tall one will start moving around as early as two. I take that as the sign for me to begin the wake-up ritual. The wake-up ritual begins with me talking as I walk around the house. I talk about inane things because they can not understand me. Sometimes, I just walk around talking about how funny it is that they have to shovel my poop. Other times, I simply talk about the fact I think they stink. I mean, they only clean themselves once a day. They do not have my dedication to cleanliness.


I like it when I sense an early awakening. It gives me more time to try to get my morning canned food. Unfortunately, I have not managed to get them to feed me earlier than 7:15. That doesn't mean I will stop trying!

Of course, my dedication to cleaning means that I have to dispose of fur at times. The easiest way is to simply go to a major thoroughfare and cough up a hairball. It makes a clean removal given that the tall two-legged has to remove it and clean the carpet. On the other hand, that can have repercussions. So, I sometimes go lie on the tall two-leggeds clothes now that he has a nice closet. I can leave tufts of fur on his clothes. It is kind of nice. Don't get me wrong, I live hair all over the place. I take great pleasure from watching Daddy pick up fur, look at me with scorn, and put it in the trash can.

However, the ultimate pleasure comes from his new shower. He tried to shut the door on me, but he couldn't stand me sitting by the door and talking. 'I can see you through the glass. You're naked. You look funny.' After that, he let me in the bathroom. Now, I sit on the shower floor and watch him do his 'cleaning.' He turns his back on me. I think it is funny. I drink the water off the floor just to add the finishing 'ick' touch for him...

Yes, life is good. I can tick the tall two-legged off any time I want. I still need to find the key to ticking off the short two-legged. It will come...

Lilo the Cat Instigator

The wedding we attended was on Saturday, and Annie came home on Friday. I had already informed her that she was going to wear the skirt I bought her when I was in Taiwan, but we didn't have an appropriate top to go with it. So, as soon as she came home, we ran to K-Mart. I was not very willing to go to the mall and buy an expensive top given that she despises wearing skirts and dresses, and probably wouldn't wear the new top that often, if ever again. Our goal was to get a top, but I had another purchase planned that I thought she would like.

We made it to the almost-local K-Mart, and began our quest. No offense to Scotts Valley, or to K-Mart, but that particular store sucks. Ok, I guess that sounds offensive. Nevertheless, that's my judgment on that store. The Girls Section had absolutely nothing. Everything had prints of iCarly, or Hannah Montana or some such crud. Nothing dressy. We finally found some tops that would work on a clearance rack for women. I think it was the clearance rack for old ladies from some of the clothes on it. Nevertheless, after 25 minutes we settled on the black sweater that she has on in the picture from the last post.

She was dragging her feet because she is always tired when she returns from her mother's. Apparently, the transition is more stressful than I understand. I told her that I wanted to look at something else, and she started feeling out whether I might let her wear the sweater with black capris instead of the skirt. No, you are wearing that freakin' skirt. It is a cool skirt, and she always receives compliments when she wears it. She just doesn't like skirts. I might not be that fashionable, but when I set my mind to it, I choose well. When I was hoofin' the streets of Taipei, I had my mind set...

She was still looking a little disgruntled when we entered the sporting goods section of K-Mart. I could see it in her face. 'I want to go home.' 'I want to have pizza for dinner.' 'I don't want to be here any more.' I reached up and grabbed a volleyball off of the rack, and she froze. Her eyes were huge, and her face was overtaken by a huge smile. Suddenly, she had energy. I drove home with a happy girl.

When we arrived home, she went in to try on the outfit. She gave her approval for the overall look, and then changed clothes, again. It was time for volleyball. We started practicing serving and hitting to each other. Now, I certainly do not claim to be an expert at volleyball, but I had a feeling that she had misinterpreted what she had learned at school. I tried to get her to hit it the way I thought was appropriate, and she argued that the P.E. teacher had said she was supposed to do it 'that way.' Ok. I thought maybe she would notice that when I did it 'my way,' the ball always went where I wanted it. She marveled at that, but was unwilling to change. Finally, the pain of hitting her forearms won out, and she tried 'my way.' She started getting great hits and serves. I reminded her that I don't know how one is supposed to hit the ball, but I understand physics, and this just made more sense. She interrupted to exclaim, 'I know, I know... Everything you are saying is right. That's what she she was trying to tell us.'

Oh my God. I finally won one. We played volleyball pretty much every waking moment we were home. It was great.



Spike!

Whatever difficulties I seem to have with 'relationships,' one relationship exists that I have so far not messed up: the father-daughter relationship. We had been invited to a wedding yesterday, and Annie really didn't want to go. I toyed with letting her go to a friend's house, but ultimately (and selfishly) decided she should come with me. I was glad to have her there. It was a very long day, and she was on very good behavior. This morning she woke to greet me with two Fathers' Day presents.

The first was a t-shirt that she had decorated. It says things like 'Happy Father's Day,' 'I love you,' and 'you are the world's greatest dad.' I love it and will be sportin' it today with pride.

The second was a poem that she wrote in school that made my eyes water.

My Dad, by Annie Hockanson

My dad's eyes are as blue as the ocean sparkle.

My dad's face is like a cloud of smiles.

My dad's heart is like white fire.

My dad's hands are as tough as old boots.

My dad's mind is like a wise owl.

My dad's voice is like trees dancing.

I love my Daddy!

In particular, I am fond of the part about the trees dancing. That won't mean anything to anyone else but us. I have written about it on here before, but I'll explain it again because I repeat myself a lot. Yes, I am aware of it.

When Annie was tiny, I tried to find various ways to calm her when she was upset. I had a number of tricks, but there was one that was the most powerful, although it was only available on windy days. I would take her out on the deck, hold her tight and start swaying back and forth in what has become known as 'the Daddy Dance.' As the wind came through the valley, the redwoods would sway back and forth. The tall trees have long been taught by evolution that they can bend quite far and be able to eventually stand tall and straight again. The tops of the trees would sway thirty feet in one direction, and then swing back in the other direction as a gust subsided. I would tell Annie that the trees were dancing for her, and she would get quiet and watch them. It had a strange calming affect on her. I did this even when she was technically too young for her eyes to focus that far, but maybe the changing blurry images still got to her. I'd like to think from her poem that she equates the calming strength, stability, flexibility, and grace of the dancing trees with my voice.

Maybe she doesn't but I'll go to my grave thinking it, now.

I hope she will always feel she can turn to me for emotional support and understanding, and that I am able to provide it.

One relationship going right out of so many gone wrong isn't the worst thing...

We just returned from the 4th Grade performance of 'Gold Dust or Bust' at school. Annie did great, and really seemed to be into it. I think she might finally be overcoming her stage fright. Lord knows she did not get that from me!

The poetry her class wrote recently showed up in the monthly school newsletter, and I wanted to share Annie's short poem. It really struck a chord with me...

Fog by Annie Hockanson

Fog looks like mist floating in the air, like a lot
Of snowflakes broken into a million pieces
Got all over me, I could feel it touching my skin.
It felt like cold water in a frozen lake.

Better than the Fall Pig, don't you think, mom?


Hoping for an artistic side to my daughter...

Tonight was Open House at Annie's school. I normally really enjoy it, but I have been emotionally stretched pretty thin lately. At any rate, I received a couple of calls from Annie's mom telling me that she was worried that she was not going to make it in time to get something to eat, and she was hungry. She had a long drive after work, and I understood. So, when the food line was getting close to shutting down, I got in line. She arrived with her baby in her arms right after I picked up her hamburger. I continued collecting her food, and made her burger as she wanted. I helped her get settled on the grass to eat her dinner and went to tell Annie, who was playing with friends, that her mother was there. I didn't mind doing it, but in retrospect, I think I went above and beyond the ex-husband requirements.

At any rate, I went over to the tennis courts where Annie and a bunch of her friends were playing games. As I approached the tennis courts, I noticed something. At this point, I need to digress. I have hung out with the kids of Annie's classes on field trips, school activities, and whatever over a hundred times. There have been multiple... many multiple times where I have found my patience stretched and have used my 'daddy voice' to help a student re-think his or her decisions on what is appropriate behavior. Sometimes the student's parent was present. I always felt bad when that was the case. I apologized to a couple of parents, and the response was always, 'don't apologize. I appreciate him/her hearing it from someone else. Then they don't think it is just mom or dad!' The kids always respond very positively. That is, they seem apologetic, and immediately start behaving better. I always figure it is because they realize someone cares, and I have never met anyone in any of Annie's classes that did not like and respect me. I love these kids. I had one mother ask me if she could borrow my 'daddy voice' because she saw the response.

Ok, so you see where this is going. I take our school very seriously, personally, and compassionately. Returning to our time-line, as I approached the tennis courts, I saw this kid taking small chunks of his hot dog, and throwing them on the ground. At first, I thought he found a bad place in the bun, and was just inappropriately discarding it. But as I continued walking, I saw his face. He was simply wanting to drop crap on the ground. His face had this expression that was disturbing. It was the same expression of psychosis that you see in every movie with a psychopath. You know which one I mean? Not the glee of happiness or joy, but one of sick satisfaction for doing something that one knows they shouldn't do, but are doing. It is more akin to anger than anything else.

Well, after I watched him drop five or six pieces, I stopped and said, "excuse me, please stop doing that." That was all. The kid looked at me with this defiant angry look that I am really unaccustomed to, but he did stop. I walked on. Have I mentioned that this kid could not have been more than seven? We are not talking about a rebellious teenager here. I informed Annie that her mother was there, and she sprinted past me to go see her. I turned and started walking back, wondering how I was going to pass the time until we could go to Annie's classroom. As I approached the location of the 'encounter,' I saw the boy standing next to a woman, and they were both glaring at me with that same stare. I just got of what it reminded me! Children of the Corn! That just came to me...

I was absorbed in thought enough that I almost just walked on, which is what I should have done. They continued glaring for a while, and then turned around. It struck me then that the young angelic boy might have accidentally told someone what I said and twisted it a bit... on accident, of course. I thought to myself that if Annie had behaved like that, I'd want to know. It sounds trivial, but I often believe the devil is in the details. One small bad behavior grows into something bigger. So, I turned around and walked over to the woman. I say 'woman' because calling her a troll would be an insult... to trolls, of course. She glowered at me as I stated as kindly as possible, 'yes, I am the one who saw him dropping stuff on the ground, and asked him to stop.' I actually repeated word for word what I had said to the kid. She snarled and told me that she was sitting there the whole time. My mind was taken aback. Ok, you witnessed it, and didn't care. She snarled again, and told me it was none of my business anyway. As I mentioned earlier, I am a little emotionally frayed. I summoned all of my self-control and kept myself from unleashing a torrent of verbal criticism on her. I would not have cursed, but I definitely would have been heard beyond a small distance around me. Instead, I steadily replied, "this is my school, too, and therefore it IS DEFINITELY my business." She growled back that she was his mother, and she could take care of it. I looked back over my shoulder (wondering if I was going to turn back to her having transformed into a hideous beast coming at me all teeth and claws) to see bits of hotdog strewn all over the ground along a ten foot length of walkway. I turned back and said, "understood, then I leave it to you to make sure this gets cleaned up," and walked away. It never did, of course.

Literally one minute later, I was sitting with Annie and her friends. One of them was eating something and dropped something on the ground. I pointed to it, and she dutifully picked it up and put it in the trash. I was baffled. There are two men who are responsible for the custodial duties for Annie's school. I have known one of them since Kindergarten. I can't imagine the despair these guys see when they look at the school after one of these shin-digs.

As we walked down to see Annie's classroom, I saw the... er... woman again. She was sitting by the big redwood, and had her cellphone out. The way she was handling it looked strange. I asked Annie's mom if it looked like she was trying to take a picture of me. Annie's mom didn't think so, but it sure looked awkward. Another friend said that maybe she will take it to the principal, who will recognize me and say, "I know who that is. What did your son do?"

It seems weird that this would have bothered me at all. It really wasn't the dropping of the food. I have asked many, many kids to pick up their garbage after lunch on field trips. They have all done it without a negative response. Sometimes they take it on with gusto and clean up other kids' areas as well. It was that look. That look that made me realize that if I knew that kid's name, or his mother's, I will see it in the paper sometime. It will in all probability not be for winning the Nobel Prize in Physics...

Judgmental, controlling ass... I know. I am working on it...