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 a lot to go with this, but I am tired. I spent the day working with the tractor trying to level out the area for the new chicken coop. It was awesome. I did a much better job than I had ever done with leveling.



On the left is the ledge from what I sculpted out of the hillside. It is about three feet tall, so yes, I moved a lot of freakin' dirt. It looks grey because it was late, and the flash makes it look that way. The soil is actually very dark... Anyway, we are very close. I'll probably expound about this tomorrow!



John Deere in person...

My only four-wheeled vehicle is pushing 100K miles. A month ago I took it in for the 95k service, and I told my service manager that I was concerned about the number of oil spots that I was seeing on my driveway. They could see the oil on the engine, and in fact had reported this practically every service that I had. Well, they didn't have time (nor did I) to dig into it during service, so I took it back when Annie was not here. They steam-cleaned the engine, and kept it for about four days. Unfortunately, they didn't drive it anywhere. So, they could never find the leak. I only paid $50 for that visit, but I was a bit steamed that I had to pay anything. I had even put a big sheet of cardboard under the truck to make sure it was really coming from the truck, and the cardboard ended up with big spots of oil on it.

To make matters worse, the truck has started to smell a lot. I can smell diesel when I start it... in the cab. So, this morning, I scheduled a maintenance, and dropped the truck off this morning. My service manager was busy, and after about ten minutes I was able to talk to him. He immediately told me that he could smell raw fuel, and we looked at the truck, and there was a spot of oil on the floor already. I assured him that I had not run the defroster or air-conditioner, so it had to be from the engine. He told me that was good, but I didn't feel quite the same way. Granted, I saw his point: it is blatantly obvious, so there is definitely something wrong, and they will fix it.

They took me to a car rental that was covered by my extended warranty, and the people were very nice. They were last time as well. This oil leak problem was handled once before, but I think it was a different problem. At any rate, last time I was put in a piece of crap, which required me to make an accordion out of my body so that I could fit in the seat. I expected the same. I saw this small PoS model sitting in the lot, and was sure that was what they were going to give me. As I walked out to the car with the rental agent, he suddenly crossed in front of me. Confused, I asked what they were giving me. He pointed to the F150 sitting next to the PoS. I was shocked. It is actually a nice truck. I stumbled getting out of it the first time because it is closer to the ground than I am used to, but it is not a crappy rental.

That said, I am always amazed at the insurance thing with rentals. I am fairly certain that my insurance does not cover rentals that are not required from insurance-covered demands. So, why does my warranty not cover that as well? I always decline, and then drive in fear that some dumb-ass is going to be texting while driving and run into me. Don't laugh. I see people driving and texting all the time. I saw it yesterday on a major freeway.

At any rate, I am quite pleased with this rental vehicle. It doesn't happen very often, and I wanted to say Yippee!

Happy, happy, joy, joy...

Interestingly, the word 'recess' in the title could accurately be taken in two different ways for this story. It could mean the far back reaches of my psyche. It could also mean the break from normal work or routine to do something generally considered fun. Of course, if it is the second definition the control function of my brain is a bit sadistic...

This popped into my brain this afternoon, and I could swear I wrote about it before. However, I could not find it when I searched the site. Since I am not opposed to repeating myself, here it goes...

I have written at times about my nightmares, which have thankfully been absent for a while, so I do not know why this rose to the surfaces of my psyche today. To preface the detailing of this recurring nightmare, I have to tell what really happened when I returned from Germany as a foreign exchange student. I had a brief meeting with the guidance counselor at my high school, who informed me that the second school in Germany that I attended had given them evidence of my time there, if not grades. She could work with that, but she needed something from the first school. I told her that there was no way that school was going to provide a single piece of corroborating evidence that I ever set foot in there. They hated me. The feeling was mutual. Up until that year, I had skipped school one year. By the way, I got caught, and was punished with detention... which I never finished.

My German was extremely weak at first, and the teachers were rather intolerant of my poor German. Frankly, I do not blame them for that. I would have been as well. However, it wasn't improving any sitting in class all day with no tools to figure out what they were saying. After a few weeks, I found Olivier; the French foreign exchange student that spoke German fairly well (six years in school), but spoke very poor English. I learned German mostly from him. It was just a matter of taking the time to point to things, say the words, and we started figuring out how to communicate. At the same time, my host mother said she thought it was ridiculous for me to go to school every day. She encouraged me to skip school, walk around town, go into a cafe' with a newspaper, and figure things out on my own. I did. I didn't agree with my first host parents very often, but I think that worked. Getting back to topic, I was absent from school about once each week, but that didn't seem to be the school's biggest concern. They did not find me particularly involved in the classroom, and were disgusted that I never showed for P.E. This has always made me shake my head because I wasn't signed up for P.E. there. That was clear on the first day that I went to the school to sign up for classes. Nevertheless, the sum of all these difficulties resulted in them saying they felt like they had never had a foreign exchange student (I was supposedly their first). I suck... move on.

Back to the Guidance Counselor: at first she said she had to have something. I informed her that that was fine. I had already been accepted to Missouri's premier technology school, I had stellar ACT scores, tons of scholarships, and I was sure that I could ace the GED that day if necessary. Strangely, in the face of my obvious lack of concern, she said it wasn't really a problem. I had had sufficient credits to graduate by the end of my junior year, and she could write something regarding my residency in a school that would be acceptable. I went on to college. I excelled through my undergraduate degree, decided to keep going, and after nine and a half years finished a rather respectable academic career culminating in what I believe was a well-deserved bestowmant of a Ph.D. degree.

Unfortunately, deep in my brain, I must still harbor some concern that none of it mattered if my high school decides to cancel my diploma. It sounds ludicrous, but that is the only basis I can find for this recurring nightmare I have. It comes out once, sometimes twice a year, and seems to linger over a few nights. The dream is slightly different each time, but only in location and requirements, but they always have the same theme. I am back in high school (sometimes junior high). It is bad enough to have to relive that time of my life, but in these nightmares, I am my current age. Sometimes it will be near the end of the year, and I know I am supposed to have attended English or History, but I can not remember attending a single class or taking a single test. The worst ones are when I find myself in a math or science class, and lose my temper. I will (almost) politely inform the teacher that I have had more classes in this subject and know more than the instructor. I further point out that my time in that class is a waste of my time. Being so much older and towering over the other kids made it even more humiliating when I went to my locker between classes.

I wake from these dreams in a horrible sweat, frustrated, angry, and deeply concerned that my degrees have been discounted because of a single meeting back in 1988 that a contemporary decided was unacceptable. After a few moments of waking up, becoming aware of my surroundings, and accepting the absurdity of the situation, I usually chuckle to myself. There were times throughout my education where my self confidence in what I knew resulted in some of these situations actually happening. I always got math and science. I am sure that some people/instructors considered it arrogant, and they may have been right. I disagree. I knew what I knew, and I also knew when we were moving into something I didn't get, and I wanted to absorb it. It didn't take much, but if an instructor was incompetent or not informed enough, I was not afraid to push the boundaries, and at times told him/her that they were wrong. Good teachers (in my opinion that means someone that recognizes that different approaches to relaying information are necessary for different people, and that maybe the students are even more versed than they in some segments of the material) were very accepting, poor teachers would either cower or attempt to ridicule me in order to achieve dominance. Mr. Greer in fifth grade tried to humiliate me like that. I felt bad for about an hour, and then decided he was just an ass. I think I got my A in the class, but he had some comments about my behavior. That was fine. I forced a professor into a corner in college from my seat in the back of the class with my glare and the controlled timbre of my voice. Strangely, I don't think he ever hated me, he just didn't like me in his class. He practically admitted publicly that he didn't like me in his class.

Then there was the coach that was teaching science in junior high. He started talking in class about things that would be best classified as astrophysics. He made a couple of mistakes. I don't remember them both precisely, but I remember one was the classic description of other star/planetary systems as solar systems. I hate that. It is a pet peeve of mine. It happens all the time, and I suspect that it has practically become acceptable, but I refuse to accept it. There is only one Solar System: ours because our sun's name is Sol. The others are called stellar systems. I think the second one had something to do with incorrectly identifying the differences in galaxies and universes.

At any rate, I couldn't stand it. I raised my hand, he called on me, and I explained the whole order and nomenclature of the cosmos. He didn't get mad. He didn't ridicule me. In fact, I think he thanked me. He then went on to ask how I knew all of this. I told him the truth, and frankly did not realize at the time how relevant it was to my growth, development and future. I told him that I read it somewhere, and I just remembered it. He may not have known everything about his subject, but I to this day feel like he was a good instructor.

Yes, I am aware that my daughter is just like me in a lot of these characteristics, and I have already begun steeling myself for the parent-teacher conferences where it will come out. Give me your best shot...

Will sleep well, I am sure...

Annie and I got up on time this morning. We did our morning chores, got ready for the day, and went off to school. I walked her to class. We talked and goofed off until her friends started to arrive, and then I ventured back to the truck. I said good morning to the stunningly gorgeous mother who is always smiling, and unfortunately married. I stopped by the hardware store where I talked to a few people on my quest to buy some yellow-jacket traps. I went on home, and got out of the truck. As I was crossing the driveway, I discovered my fly had been open all morning...

Life is mercifully finite...

A long, long... long... long time ago, my father taught me that it was faster to just do a job by hand then it was to wander around looking for ways to make it easier (assuming the job could be done by hand). It took me a while to figure that out, and I still struggle with it. I enjoy thinking about ways to improve the efficiency or utility of a job. That is why I am an engineer, and I have even taught my dad a couple of things over the years.

This morning, though, I saw one of those strange things where people waste time because they really want to do something the easy way. After I dropped Annie off at school, I returned to the home office. The trip took slightly longer than it should, however. I got behind the garbage truck. The same garbage truck that does not actually go all the way down the road, which is why I have to haul my own garbage and recycling. Just for the humor factor, I would like to have followed him a little longer than I did. Our road is a fairly typical mountain road. The pavement might be in better shape than many, but it typically is only wide enough for one vehicle, and the once off the road the ground turns rough, and is far from flat.

The garbage truck pulled up to get the trash bin at a house that is located on a fairly steep part of the trek up the mountain. The bin was located on the side of the road, and looked like it might have been sitting on a decent sized rock. A pair of metal arms came out from the side of the truck, and tried to squeeze the bin so that it could be raised to its destination high above the truck. The bin impolitely twisted so the arms could not grab it. The arms came back in the truck, and then slowly came out again. I think the truck was trying to use the old joke of tapping someone on the opposite shoulder to see if they will look the wrong way. It worked. As the arms came out, the bin turned to the side, and the arms came together to attempt to grab the elusive trash bin. Again, no luck. The arms went back in the truck, and came out for another attempt. I was laughing my butt off. From the moment I saw the arms come out the first time, and I looked at the bin and the terrain on the side of the road, I thought it would have been a lot faster, if not easier, to just go out and set the bin in the arms, since it did not appear this truck was designed to allow for a manual dumping, which would have been the fastest solution. Fortunately, this third attempt resulted in the arms knocking the trash bin to the ground. A man jumped out of the passenger's side of the truck, grabbed the bin, stood it up on the road in front of the arms, jumped in the truck, and the arms hoisted the bin into position.

All this time, there was a guy sitting in the truck manipulating the controls. I figured it was a one-person operation. In that case, I might understand not really wanting to put the truck in park on this steep hill, checking the orientation of the wheels, setting the parking break, getting out and running around to the opposite side of the truck... No, this guy was in the passenger's side of the truck. He spent four times as long as necessary getting this stupid trash bin, and I be he does the same thing next week...

Trash-canned...

The human need for entertainment is genetic in my opinion. I believe that the whole reason that some cultures developed a spoken language was not for security, which would have been very basic, but rather for the need for entertainment; the need to convey the story of what happened in a way that others could understand and enjoy. That got turned in to written languages, and frankly is the only reason I pay for and write on this website.

I love books and movies, but people have the best stories. I guess that is because the stories are true. It is not about imagination (which is awesome), but the serendipitous things that happen in our lives. Today, I hoofed it down to the Mountain Store to meet the shuttle driver from the Ford dealership to take me to get my truck. It was not completely repaired, but I have to drive it for a while to make the problem happen again. That cost me $50. It could have been worse.

I hoofed it the three miles to the Mountain Store to meet the driver that was to take me to the dealership. Lila Bird and I are sitting on this chair and thinking about the whole experience. People are such a wealth of thought and information (Lila Bird disagrees). With sweat pouring off my brow, I made it to the Mountain Store about two minutes after he got there. I think I would have reached the store first if I would have gone through the trees, but I took the road. He was cool with it, though.

At any rate, we had about a 25 minute drive to go, and we talked. My father taught me well. I can talk to anybody at any time. He actually lived in Boulder Creek, and had for some thirty years. His story was beautiful in its serendipity, and I feel like I have to share it. I hope he will not be displeased.

Some thirty-three years ago, he was an avid golf player. He had a tournament at a little known golf club in a very small community: Boulder Creek. He and his wife got directions (bad directions) and finally made it to the golf course. They drove home that night. The next year, they stayed at a local(?) motel. The next year they did the same, and decided that this was crap. They apparently had developed an affinity for the area, and decided to buy a one-bedroom condo at the golf course. They could rent it out through the Golf Club when they didn't need it. They spent most of the weekends over the next year at the condo.

After the next year, he came home to a conversation with his wife: I am retiring. She suggested that he look into a transfer to Santa Cruz, and he did so. He got a transfer... it was to Salinas. Holy crap. They moved into the condo, and he drove an hour and a half each way for a while, before he got moved to a better location. The one-bedroom became too constrained, and they bought a two-bedroom condo. That was ok for a while, but one day she told him that she had seen a house that was being built, and they should look at it. They did. It was close to being in budget, and he talked to the contractor to suggest that if they were going to buy it, would he be willing to modify the last parts to be what they would want. He got the house for roughly $150K some twenty years ago. They have lived there ever since.

He is probably in his mid sixties, and drives a courtesy van to keep himself busy. He loves Boulder Creek, and would never have found himself here if it hadn't have been for that crazy golf tournament.

The housing situation I find hysterical, but his life with his wife is even more amazing.

Around 45 years ago, he had a modeling agency in the Bay Area. He and his partner hired an advertiser. He frankly found this woman rather uninteresting. In fact, I think she irritated him. Well, as fate would have it, all the players in that work area were invited to a trip to Vegas. He was sitting at some gambling table and happened to be right next to the drummer of the band that was playing. He leaned over to the person sitting next to him and said that he had to go somewhere else. I think it was her. He went over to a 21 table, which he now believes was her game of choice. The next think he knows, this woman is sitting next to him, and they strike up a conversation. I would love to hear her side of the story, but ultimately, 45 years from then, they are still together and he is happily driving a vehicle to pick up people and deliver people for vehicle work. His wife called him during the trip to tell him about a doctor's appointment she had. His references to her were the exact loving things that I would like to say and hear: sweetheart, honey, lovey... He then told me that it was his wife on the phone. My response? It had better have been.





People rock... Granted, I hate them... But I love the stories...

I am procrastinating, I know. I really do not feel like mixing up thin-set for the bathroom. I will most likely write and dink around on the computer, clean house, and mysteriously run out of time before I get to the bathroom. At least I finished the moving of the gangbox and the sink installation yesterday. I probably did something wrong, though, since I didn't damage myself and bleed on anything.

At any rate, Annie and I returned last Wednesday from a great trip back to Missouri to visit family and friends. I didn't see all my friends back there, and I hope they are not too ticked. How should I break up the trip description? Hmmm... I think I will make categories.

Fireworks
Alright. I admit it. We mostly traveled back to Missouri to visit family and friends. We chose the time of travel for one reason: fireworks. It took us six days to get the pyro-bug out of our system. The last night there, we did not set off any fireworks. Between my parents and us, we must have set off at least $300 worth of fireworks. We saved some for other holidays (God love Missouri). That does not count the fireworks that my buddy Eric and his son brought down. Let's just say that Disneyland has nothing on what we set off. We had a few fountains, but for the most part, California would have had a seizure over the kind of fireworks we set off. Probably 80% started off with a major boom before launching themselves into the air over 100 feet to explode in a spectacular array of lights and patterns. Annie became the queen of fireworks. We talked about running with the punk, and she got it immediately. She would light the firework of choice, turn and quickly, but carefully walk away before turning to witness what her lighting task had created. Come to think of it, there was one time when she was focused on orienting the firework and lost track of the punk, which unfortunately ran against her face. I didn't see it, and she made no comment. I saw it the next morning, and she told me what happened. No crying. No whining. Just, oops, and she dealt with it. We treated it, and it healed completely before we got home. She is now completely the Queen of Fireworks.

Beer Drinking
That really doesn't require an explanation, does it? Yes, that was a task that my father and I took on, and not Annie... Although, she had the occasional root beer.

Fishing
I didn't buy a license, so Annie engaged in the fishing exercise by herself. In fact, if she had hooked a muskie and been pulled in, she would have had to drop the pole for me to help her given Missouri's strict requirements. That may seem like a natural thing, but you didn't see Annie fall off a horse with the reins in her hand as the horse started to rear in fear. She never let go. At any rate, Annie caught four fish of which she is very proud. I thought it odd, though, that my daughter, who picks up banana slugs would not touch the fish. Perch rock, though.

Swimming
We hadn't been to Missouri for about four years. The last time we were there, Annie swam excitedly in the lake until my nephew in a fit of 'oneriness swam up under her and scared the malarky out of her. It was in that one moment that she realized that the water was murky, she couldn't see very far into the lake, and there were fish in there. She has been unwilling to swim in the lake ever since. Well, my 'onery nephew did it again. Annie was standing on the side of the dock before I got there (lucky for my nephew), and he pushed her in. She reacted very well, and climbed back out without any significant response. She told me later that she almost cried, but made herself not. It took a couple of days, but eventually, she would come in if I was in. We just had to stay next to the ladder. By the time we left, she was jumping off the dock to catch balls that I would throw up for her, and swimming about twenty feet from the dock to grab on to me. She had a blast, and I think the next time she will be even braver... especially if I have my hand occupied with a fistful of my nephew's hair.

Sunburn
I paid attention to Annie, and not to me. I got it and she didn't. That's ok with me.

Visiting
We had a great time visiting with Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Debra, Cousins Laurel & Drew, neighbors (one set of which generously drove Annie and me to the airport on their way home last Wednesday), Great Grandma & Grandpa, long time friend Eric and his son... We stayed up late and got up (relatively) early to chat about everything we could think of. We would sit on the screened-in porch and watch the turkeys walk up from the lake to eat corn that had been set out for them... more variety of birds than I have in California. Annie got a kick out of all the various sizes, colors, and sounds.

Memory Lane
My sister and I took the kids out to the farm where I generally feel I grew up. I was there once before when I was about seventeen, and knew that it would be far different than it used to be. I do not think my sister was quite prepared for the changes. Some of them, even I was not ready for. Despite my tendency to describe experiences that look very personal, I am not yet ready to fully describe what we saw and how it contrasted so drastically with what we remembered. The kids were largely uninterested, although my nephew seemed to be soaking it in for the most part. Regardless, I think there are only two things that would make me go back: 1) Annie reaches an age where she genuinely wants to see and know, or 2) I have a significant other that wants to see and know. Should a significant other happen into my life, I could see that being a desire. Most of the cerebral connections that make me tick were learned and set during that time. Others have formed as a result of experiences that happened after we left the farm, but most of my basic behavioral patterns were set between the ages of six and thirteen. For now, I just have to quote Forrest Gump: that's all I have to say about that.

It was a great trip, and we hope to return in less than four years the next time!



Done procrastinating...

A couple of months ago, my upper back broke out in something akin to hives. It itches like crazy, and sometimes I wake up in the night from it. It really seems to be an allergic reaction, but I can not figure out to what I am allergic. So? I just deal with it. In times like that, I am disgusted with the fragility of the human body.

However, a couple of weeks ago I got into a fight with my table saw, and lost. Well, more accurately I lost the top of my left thumb. I fortunately missed the bone, but I was missing a lot of flesh. I have been amazed at how fast it is growing back. Right now, it looks a lot like the inside of a tree. I can see all these rings of regrown skin. Ok, it might sound a little icky, but I think it is fascinating. Initially, if I stretched my thumb, or bumped it on something, the nerves flared and I was in excruciating pain. Now, it is just little more than a scratch; a scratch with tree rings, but still a scratch.

It might be a weird coupling, but I have something else to share... I got a telescope last December from Sun as a gift for celebrating(?) my tenth year with the company. I have tried time and time again to align the spotter's scope to see the moon, and had been completely unsuccessful. Wednesday night was fairly warm, and the moon was approaching full, so I thought I'd try again. I told myself to be patient, and after about an hour, I got it! I let Annie stay up a little later as we spent over a half hour staring at and talking about the moon. It was incredible. The magnification is large enough that we can not see the whole moon in the eyepiece. Looking at the face of the moon was moderately interesting, but looking at the rim was spectacular. It was there that we could see all the detail left behind by eons of meteoric battering. If you have never had the chance, I highly recommend this view of the moon. It brings into stark reality the relevance of the moon in our own survival as a species.



Moonstruck...

My last name is spelled H-O-C-K-A-N-S-O-N. The gentleman on Page 7 of the following document could not possibly be me...

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