I have successfully exerted my formidable mind control over the tall two-legged (aka Daddy). Employing the Jedi Mind Trick, I forced him to take me outside. I explored the deck, taking in the trees, the leaves, the branches sprawled around just for my pleasure. It was amazing. My control slipped at one point when I made a move to go under the deck, and was deterred. The force is strong in this one. So I had to be content to explore the deck and make it my own. At one point, the deceptively brain-challenged family dog came to inquire if there was anything I wanted him to do. My arched back and splayed tail told him no, and faced with such an intimidating display, he was so scared that he went over and vomited up some grass he had eaten. That'll teach him. I say he is deceptively brain-challenged, because he is the protector of my home. After scaring him with my obviously superior intimidation skills, he went to the driveway, went into a reclining position, and feigned the appearance of a lazy, sleeping dog. Wow. He is really smart. God help the poor unsuspecting visitor...

The deck has some wonderful toys, including some plants that I could play with, chew on, and otherwise destroy.

One thing in particular that I noticed, is that apparently one can use the restroom anywhere one wants to outside. The genius of a dog Tolkien left evidence everywhere. Maybe this is where Sandy the Cat Bear gets the idea that the house is one giant catbox.

Well, the exertion required to maintain mental control of Daddy has worn me out. He awoke from a stupor, and put me back in the house. Next time, I’m going for the fruit trees…

Lilo the Cat Adventurer

Dear Flatlanders,

First, I appreciate the need to escape to the mountains when you get the chance. If I lived in the flatlands, I'd be out of there whenever time allowed, too. I understand you wanting to take a trip through the San Lorenzo Valley, and hope that you stop into our small towns and help out the local economy. However, there are some things I'd like to point out...

When driving Highway 9, there are places called turnouts. This is where you move off the road and let others pass. Not only is it polite, it's often the law (California Drivers' Handbook). Now while I realize that the handbook says "five or more vehicles behind you", do it if there is one. As much as I and other mountain folk love to see the majestic redwoods and beautiful views of the valley and the bay, we'd like to enjoy it from home. It's not hard... really... I do it myself when someone is moving faster than me. You just put the blinker on when you see the turnout sign (that's the stem sticking out of your steering column on the left... your other left). You pull into the turnout lane, and slow down. We go buy you, and you pull safely back out onto the road. Have you noticed how when you are going down the road there are times when my big truck comes running up to you? That's because on your right there is a lane I'm praying you will move into. I'm going faster to make it easier for you to use the lane, and keeping you from slowing down more than you have to. I assure you the lane didn't get wider just because Cal Trans wanted you to feel you were on a luxuriously wide lane...

Next? We are not all hippies. Don't comment to us how quaint the mountain folk are. Probably 50% of us are highly educated, and just want some peace. You might be visiting, but this is our home. We'll make you a deal, don't comment on the Charles Manson look alike trying to hitch a ride, the people in the beautiful riverside park that have strange smelling rolled cigarettes, our unhurried gait as we walk down the sidewalk, or the friendly service you get at the local hardware store (alright, you can comment on that), and we won't say anything about seeing you on the side of the road buckled over or hanging out the window even though you "don't get car sick", but Highway 9 proved too much for you.

Ok. That's my rant from the stump for today. Remember, this is our home, not just a place for you to have an outing. Respect our lives and ways as you would like us to respect yours. Oh yeah, stop throwing your trash out of the car window. We don't want it either...

Sincerely, a resident of the San Lorenzo Valley

That last two days have been very busy at work, and only moderately productive. Fortunately, there is a Russian saying that I like very much: the morning is wiser than the evening. At least I think it's Russian. I got it out of a Russian fairy tale that I used to read a lot when I was little. Anyway, after the stress of work, I'm now sitting outside on my dilapidated deck with my coffee and my computer. There is fog in the valley, and the birds seem very happy to have a break from the rain. Alan the Rooster is voicing instructions for a new day, and reminding me that they need food and water. The majestic redwoods tower up towards the foggy sky, but blue is peeking out in places.

When friends and well-meaning others puzzle over my choice of living environment, I just smile and think of my mornings on the deck, or even late nights with a canopy of starts overhead. When I lived in town I thought the stars had been mysteriously removed from the heavens. Well, except the ones that moved all the time, which turned out to be airplanes. It's not that I like being so remote from people, I just like being surrounded by nature. It's great to have the deer walk up to the house. I even like the coyotes that venture by, and one time we had a bobcat in the trees. I could do without the wild boar, though. He made a mess of the hillside. He left when I dug a ditch in one of the yards for a water project. I don't think he could stand the competition...

You see, I'm not looking for happiness as such. I think happiness is temporary, just as I hope sadness is. But peace is a feeling that can stay with you constantly. It's very peaceful here. Also, not having lived in town much, I have trouble finding ways in suburbia to encourage creative use of Annie's innate curiousity. There are so many things to investigate...

Fortunately, her interests have changed since she was a baby. She used to crawl around on a blanket in the garden during planting season. The blanket was too boring, so she would crawl/roll to the edge and pick up the manure that hadn’t been completely tilled under. But, hey, it was still part of the adventure.

Well, I’m off to leave my peaceful surroundings to help my aunt and uncle move some furniture in Santa Cruz. But I can always come home afterwards…

Wise in the Morning

In my typical fashion, I have to start even before the beginning, just to include some other good stuff...

When I first married my first wife, we lived in a place we unaffectionately called "the Box". It was freezing in the winter, and scorching in the summer. One time while she was out of town, and I was ill, I'd had enough. I found an add for a rental on the Gasconade River. I went and talked to the landlord, and found it very inviting. When my wife returned from her trip, I showed her the S10 Blazer I wanted us to buy, and the house. She agreed with both immediately.

The area was gorgeous. Right outside our bedroom was the river, and we would spend weekend mornings drinking coffee and watching the wildlife. Our landlord had a small fiberglass Coleman boat with a 6 hp outboard. He said we could take it out so Flanders, Elizabeth and I set out one morning to make it to Boiling Spring, which we'd heard had some good fishing...

We pushed upstream with grand plans. We came to the first shoal, and while looking at the rushing water, we were making great headway. When we looked up at the bank, we were losing ground. We had to get out and drag the boat through the shoal. So, we weren't moving fast, but we were having fun. We say a flock of turkeys moving up the bluff that must have been 15 strong, followed by a tom turkey the likes of which you've only seen in the movies.

We kept going, and going, and going.... By 2:00 pm we were still not there, and dangerously low on beer. We pushed a bit further, and asked a passing boat how far we were. He said we were close, but he didn't know how slow our progress was going up stream. Finally we turned around. Never having achieved our goal.

Upon finally returning to the area outside the house. The motor his a stump and stalled. No problem. I'll just restart it. Unfortunately, there was a safety mechanism against inebriation. When I pulled the start cord, the motor dismounted from the boat and fell into the river. Fortunately, the pull start doubled as an engineering feature that Flanders calls "the engine retrieval cord", and we were able to get it mounted again, and make it to the house.

Soon after, a neighbor was selling a boat, and Flanders and I went in on it together. It was wonderful. That first time we tried to make it to Boiling Springs in the Coleman we spent six hours and didn't make it. The first time we took the 20 foot aluminum bass boat out with the 115 hp jet outboard, we made it to the Spring in 20 minutes. Yeah, well. We had fun the first attempt. Fortunately, there are many, many stories involving that boat. Best $5k I ever spent.

One day in late spring, Flanders and I set off up the river. He had come down from Columbia to do some serious drinking fishing. As we left, we heard a dog howling, but figured it was a neighbor's. After a great day on the water (who knows if we actually caught anything), we had drifted back down in front of the house. The dog was still whining and howling. While fishing a little, we determined that it was not coming from the side of the river the houses were on, but rather from the bluff.

This particular bluff was very old. It climbed about 400 feet above the water, but over the millennia (some geologists believe the Ozarks are some of the oldest mountains in North America), had crumbled in places to make it scalable. With the sounds of a hurt dog in our ears, we bent to the task of rescue. After a day on the river, our coordination skills were slightly impaired, though. The terrain wasn't much of a help. At one point Flanders pulled himself up by a tree that was... er... life challenged. It came out at the roots and he almost went down the bluff with it. Fortunately, a small tree presented itself for him to grab after a fall of only about ten feet. Note to self: don't use dead trees for leverage.

We continued following the sounds until... they stopped. We were close. By blind luck at this point, we came to an outcropping with a slight shelter under it. Under the rock, huddled and scared was a puppy. Someone had dumped him, and he had fallen a bit down the bluff, and was afraid to move further. We draped a jacket over him, and picked him up, wary of his response to us. He was very grateful. We slipped and slid down the hill with him, until we got to the boat. We docked, and went to the house with our new found friend. He was very happy, and was even accomodating when my comparatively mammoth of a dog decided to sniff his rear. Flanders took him home, and named him Cliffy, given the circumstances of his recovery. He couldn't keep him, but found him a great home. We can only hope that Cliffy is still living with people who care for him...
mountain climber... sort of...

Our mornings are generally rushed. Like everyone (I hope) we always seem to be about five minutes late. Well, I'm rushing... I go in to check on Annie's progress with getting dressed, and she has Lilo trapped in the corner, or is playing on her little piano, or is talking to her "kids" - stuffed animals. Well, we'd not be us if we didn't try to increase the difficulty level of getting ready in the morning. For the past week or two, we have a new ritual.

She gets up, makes her oatmeal, feeds the cats (and talks to the cats while she has their undivided attention), goes to the bathroom, and then sits down to eat. The Harley-Davidson blanket is draped over her chair to limit the contact with cold wood. Her special Annie blanket (made by my great-great-aunt) is over her legs, because... well, just because. Her first few bites usually inolve the ice we've added to expedite the cooling of the oatmeal. That's all the old routine, now we've added a step.

The school sent home some printouts of various words, numbers, and letters, which I cut out and put in a bag (that they supplied... Thank you!). I begin pulling out various cards and showing them to her. I'm amazed at how much her brain seems to work like mine. I've a visual learner, and I think she is, too. She takes one look of the cards, and then her eyes drift somewhere else while the brain takes the image and begins to decipher it. I always do the same thing. No one in college would ask to see my notes, because I never took any. So her mind focuses on deciphering the image, and the wheels begin to turn. She sounds out each letter. Sometimes her focus returns to me, "is that a silent 'e'?" "Yes." "What letter is it for?" "You tell me." "The 'i'". "Right, it has the long 'i' sound." Her focus drifts again, as she quietly sounds out the word. Her sounds get faster, and faster as she puts the pieces together. Then, her focus returns to me and she gets the smile of the conquering hero. She says the word, and we have a high five over it. Of course, the eating of the breakfast has slowed down, but it's worth it.

As her interest in learning and demonstrating what she's learned continues, she shows another trait of mine (God help her). My mind is typically multi-tasking at any given time. Annie is showing the same thing. We've also been working at reading numbers using the tens and hundreds digits. The best way we do this is to read signs as we go down the road. Now, it's become second nature. We'll be driving to school, and she will be telling me some story, and boom there it is. "... we were playing horses. I was the mommy horse - thirty five - and Colleen was the daughter horse." "What?" "The sign said 'thirty-five'."

I'm not completely sure I want her to turn out like me, but I like the way she thinks.
Glad she looks like her mother.

My boss reads my website. He commented on my lack of posts regarding work. So, here we go!

I have a great job. I truly, truly, love it (by the way this doesn't mean I don't want a raise, boss!). I was an intern at Sun back in 1996. I thought it went badly, but was offered a job when I returned to school, even though I had a year left to complete me degree. I've been here for over seven years, and have never worked anywhere else. Some might say that that doesn't give me a point of view for the way other companies work. I look at it positively that what I have is great. This company affords me the flexibility to work long hours or short hours, depending on the need, and I can take care of my little one.

The question is: what do I do? I assist in the design of computers. All computers emit radio waves, and I help make sure that our computers are bad radios. I've very proud of my work. First, I've helped design some amazing machines:

Second, I get to help educate and provide design guidelines for the next generation of products. Yes, I’m a geek, but dang that’s great.  Look, I help make the most amazing computers on earth. For a lot of cell phone providers, when you make a call, it’s on our machines. A lot of on-line business commerce? Our machines. Pardon my arrogance, but my brain works for these kinds of things. I’m good at it. I constantly want to learn new concepts, and create them.

Then again, I’d like a raise (hint, hint). 

Helping design the future.

I was very blessed as a graduate student. Not only was school/research great, but I had the greatest home. I owned (ok, the bank owned) a house on the Gasconade River. Hands down, the most beautiful river in the world. It was a wonderful living experience. I wish I'd done a post-doc just to stay there a little longer. It was supposed to be my retirement home, but hey, sometimes things don't go like you plan.

The river was great, though. I used to skip school to go fishing on our twenty-foot bass boat (sorry, Dr. Drewniak). Before my friend Flanders moved out of Missouri we would go fishing every single night.

We had a great time. Our boat could go through 2-3 inches of water with the jet assembly. It rocked. One time, while fishing in the middle of the day, the game warden pulled up to the boat. He looked warily at my 190 pound Great Dane, and asked if he could look in the live well. I was a catch-and-release person, so there was nothing in there. I don’t think he ever actually looked at the live well, because he kept staring at Soren.

Then there were the times that I was going around a tight turn, and Soren would move. I can’t tell you how many times I thought I was going to bury the boat in a bank on a shoal.  Another great memory was when my friends Flanders and Chris were swimming next to the boat, and I was at the helm. I steered the boat through Boiling Spring and they practically walked on water to get out of the cold. Don’t mean to be a turkey, but man that was funny....

Maybe someday Annie and I will venture back there. That was two lives ago, but it was one of the greatest…

Happy that I had it for a while.

After the discussion about my great-great aunt in the previous post, I thought it was time to introduce Sandy. Sandy originally belonged to my great-great aunt. When she was a kitten, she was abused, and has been skittish ever since. Early on to Annie's (my great-great aunt) adoption of Sandy, Sandy hid under the bed, and wouldn't come out. Annie was contemplating taking her back to the vet, and I was visiting. I crawled under the bed and extracted a very unhappy cat. At that point, I would have taken her back, too. Fortunately, after extraction, Annie and Sandy came to an agreement. Years later, when Annie passed away, I said I would take Sandy.

Hours after Annie passed away, I was trying to coax Sandy out of the closet. My grandmother walked in, threw a towel over her and put her in the box for transport. After arriving at my house, she spent two weeks hissing at me. I wasn't sure if I could keep this up. Then, I went to Annie's memorial service. An elderly woman approached me, and said "I understand that you have taken Sandy. I'm so glad to hear that. When Annie adopted Sandy we told her that she was at an age that the cat would out live her. She said "My family will take care of my cat when I'm gone". " Geez. With that in my mind, I went back to making friends with Sandy. We have become fast friends. She has learned to become bold, but friendly. Here she is sitting next to Lilo - an amazing advancement for her.

She has become so brave. Annie can pet her without fear of being bit. She comes out when friends are around. In fact, a friend came to visit from far away, who is allergic to cats. He couldn’t resist. Sandy came up, and he had to pet her. He ultimately ended up with cat hair in a place that an allergic person doesn’t want cat hair. Sorry, dude.

On top of that: she won’t use the cat box. She uses the floor wherever it is convenient to relieve herself. Every time I find it, I think I’m going to have her put to sleep. But, damn her, every time I sit down, she’s on my lap purring like you wouldn’t believe. She’s the lovingest thing, and I can’t bring myself to end it.

Oh well, I can deal…

Loving the feline ways...

I can't bring myself to watch "reality TV". I think it is the furthest thing from reality. However, I have beliefs on why this exists. The general public wants to see that "ordinary" people can do something interesting. The participants want recognition. The participants don't generally get enough money to justify eating worms or whatever they have to do. It's about memory and recognition. It's not real. Most if not all of these people will be forgotten in moments. I don't think much of Andy Warhol, but he got something right. He said that in the future everyone would get fifteen minutes of fame. I originally thought he was talking about the media, and that we would get to a point where everyone got a chance for the spotlight. I was wrong. He was talking about the need and desire to be remembered that we all aspire to. We'd get our fifteen minutes of fame, because we would strive for it. The method is wrong, though (in my opinion - which, of course, like noses everyone has one, and you can generally only pick your own). We all want to be remembered. Without the opportunity to be remembered for something great, we'll take what we can get. As I told a friend recently, a parched person in the desert will try to squeeze water from a rock if that is the only thing available.

There is another way, though. Be a hero. Strive to be the best that you can be. Don't justify your bad actions, but do the thing that you know that you should do. A very good friend of mine and I recently had a conversation about acts of good will. He believes that all acts of true goodness fit the true definition of altruism. I respect his opinion, but disagree slightly. I think most people who do something good feel something inside that is a reward. I think that's good stuff, because both parties are rewarded. If good things only come from a complete sense of selflessness, than the number of good acts that people perform will be reduced if not iliminated. We might find ourselves in a state of not willing to do something good, because it doesn't fit the criteria for altruism.

So, I ask that everyone do at least one heroic thing each week. I feel that it's acceptible to feel good about it. Maybe that feeling will grow, and build into a general behavior of doing good things. A word of caution: accept the feeling of doing something good as the reward (if you need one), don't expect it to be returned. Karma doesn't always respond. However, if you continue to try to be a hero, you will be remembered. One of my many heroes is my great-great aunt. Her name was Laura Pearl Yocham. The family called her Annie. She was a teacher to the core. She was a magnificent woman and the matriarch of our family until she passed on. I and a very special family member were with her when she took her last breath. As hard as it was for us, I think she appreciated that we were there. She was 98 years old, as I recall. She was strong, dignified, and caring. She was the only extend family I had when my family moved to Missouri, and one of the reasons we moved there. When we bought our farm, she helped us, and I think bought our first two pigs. One of which, was named Minnie Pearl (my pig). Some of her students continued to write her even up to her death. She had that kind of impact on people. As a result , I have given her the greatest honor that I have in my power to give. My daughter's name is Ann Marie Pearl Hockanson, and the name she goes by is Annie. That and taking over care of her cat are the greatest things in my power to give to sustain the great memory of a wonderful woman, one of my heroes.

I have other heroes, too. I've never been one to have great interest in sports or media folks. My heroes are like a couple I know that while in their mid 20's gave up all they knew. The man, a police officer, found that what he dealt with day-to-day was the sign of a degrading society that he didn't want to subject his children to. They had a daughter, who was born blind in one eye. The doctors told them that they shouldn't expect much from her. She would most likely be "slow". They refused to believe it. They encouraged and pushed her to be the best that she could be. She is currently one of the most brilliant people I know (another one of my heroes).

At any rate, this couple, faced with a future in an area that they didn't believe in, left. They left their known family and friends, in the face of scorn from people who said things like "I hope you know what you're doing". Yeah, that's supportive. They picked up and moved two-thousand miles away. No job. No understanding of what lay ahead, except that it must be better. They bought a farm with a house that the real-estate agent said the best thing they could do was light a match. They didn't do it. Their kids lived in a camper, and they set up a bed in one of the rooms, and set to work rebuilding the home. They did it. They made it work out of sheer determination. They worked as a family to build something out of nothing. The father and mother took jobs where they could and eventually found something permanent. Their kids grew up in an environment of work, trust, and dedication. They had experiences that few others could understand.

That was my mom and dad. My heroes. They don't have bachelor's degrees. They don't have high paying jobs, but they always told my sister and me that we would do something great. There was no question. My sister and I are both highly educated and successful. Granted, she's a liberal (just kidding, sis, I love you), but we have things to be proud of. The catalyst for our lives, in my opinion, began with that hard decision of our parents to move to some obscure place in Southwest Missouri. Be assured, this story will be passed down through my Annie, and her kids, and hopefully beyond.

So, the reason for this post? Go be a hero. If you have kids, it's actually a simple thing. Be there. Be at school. Be outside with them. Show them something wonderful that they don't know about. Go beyond this, too. Make someone at work feel good about themselves. If you go to to a restaurant, acknowledge the work of someone. If you are on the street, talk to someone that you wouldn't normally talk to. If you are driving down the road, let someone in that has made an error in judgement, and is now worried that they'll miss their exit. When you see someone on the road, wave (ok, if you live in a metropolitan area, restrict that to your neighborhood so you don't look like a freak). Be the hero. Include it in everything you do. Be proud of it. Make a difference.
Wanting to be a hero.

I've introduced a new category for our animals and their impact...

It wouldn't be right if I didn't start with Soren. He was an amazing dog.

In his early years, I discoverd that he had a lot of energy. He also had a lot of affection. One day I went into the shower, and left the door open. Shortly after, I turned around to find this little Dane puppy in the shower. He patiently waited for me to finish. I never gave him cause to dislike the tub. As he grew, he had a bath every week. He learned a number of words like "turn around", "wait", etc. He was great at taking a bath. I would ask him if he was ready to take a bath, and he would simply walk in and get in the tub. He never complained or whined.

I have so many stories about Soren, they can't possibly be told in one post. So, I'll keep it to a story-by-story basis.

Soren's best friend was a black Lab named Duke. They spent a lot of time together. We met Duke's pets owners when Soren was in obedience class. They were behind him during a walk where Soren decided to take a dump. Per the class rules, I tried to clean it up. They gave me one piece of paper towel. He's a Dane. It takes a roll. Duke looked at him like "what am I supposed to do? He has spoiled the whole trail!" It was a terrible experience, but it preceeded meeting some of the best friends I have: the Hushaws.

After making friends with the Hushaws, Soren spent more and more time with them. When I went to school, I would drop him off in Duke's kennel, and they would play all day long. Soren decided their home was an extension to his own home (another story).

One time before Christmas, we invited Duke to spend the weekend with us. The Hushaws thought it was wierd, but then, we were a little wierd, so what the heck. We dressed the dogs up in all sorts of stuff, and took pictures. Ultimately, we found the best picture was just them being friends.

I took this picture and had it blown up. Matted it and built a frame for it. We gave it to the Hushaws for Christmas. Hands down, this is the most significant gift I’ve ever given. Both dogs have now passed away. They are still missed, and thought of fondly. It’s a travesty that dogs don’t live as long as we do. Sometimes you make a friend that you just want to live forever.

Dog's best friend