February 19, 2005
I just read Lilo's post, and was shaking my head at the wisdom of the fourth point. My family has always had cats. The earliest I can remember is Samantha, when I was four. She was a black-and-white long hair, and perhaps that's why I have a fondness for that kind of cat (like Lilo). After moving into this house, I discovered a tendency in cats that I can't explain.
For reasons that I won't go in to here (let's just assume they are valid), we don't have a door on the master bathroom. If this is too much information, you better stop reading here... There have been three cats that have lived or live here since we've been here. They all seem inclined to take advantage of "the captive audience" of me on the toilet. When my last wife was still here, her cat Simba (Indian name: Climbed and scratched Expedition and was subsequently removed of claws) would corner me on the throne to tell me the stories of his life. Strangely, he would feel the need to get comfortable with this telling, and would try to nest in my ankle-located pants and underwear.
Well, Simba has moved to another house now and I'm left with Sandy and Lilo. Sandy (Indian name: Poops on floor and doesn't give a damn) saunters in and proceeds to rub against my legs and talk about her day as well. You have no idea how difficult a cat's life can be. She is a bit skittish, and leaves as soon as Lilo comes in to do the same. Lilo (Indian name: Rules the world and will kick your butt if you disagree), however is more bold on the story telling. If he thinks I'm not paying attention, he puts his front paws on my knees to make sure I'm focused on the important things (which does not include the business for which I'm on the porcelain throne).
I love all animals, and have had some very smart dogs. Dogs have some respect for people and accept that people have at least some intelligence. Cats, however, think we are stupid. That's why every morning they ball and wail until they get their breakfast. They figure we must have forgotten from five seconds ago when they asked for it. Being on the toilet just gives them an opportunity to corner us for conversations that we don't understand (ok, maybe they are smarter than us).
I swear that when Sandy and Lilo leave the bathroom after one of these episodes, they shake their heads in a way that indicates I must be an idiot...
Feral
For reasons that I won't go in to here (let's just assume they are valid), we don't have a door on the master bathroom. If this is too much information, you better stop reading here... There have been three cats that have lived or live here since we've been here. They all seem inclined to take advantage of "the captive audience" of me on the toilet. When my last wife was still here, her cat Simba (Indian name: Climbed and scratched Expedition and was subsequently removed of claws) would corner me on the throne to tell me the stories of his life. Strangely, he would feel the need to get comfortable with this telling, and would try to nest in my ankle-located pants and underwear.
Well, Simba has moved to another house now and I'm left with Sandy and Lilo. Sandy (Indian name: Poops on floor and doesn't give a damn) saunters in and proceeds to rub against my legs and talk about her day as well. You have no idea how difficult a cat's life can be. She is a bit skittish, and leaves as soon as Lilo comes in to do the same. Lilo (Indian name: Rules the world and will kick your butt if you disagree), however is more bold on the story telling. If he thinks I'm not paying attention, he puts his front paws on my knees to make sure I'm focused on the important things (which does not include the business for which I'm on the porcelain throne).
I love all animals, and have had some very smart dogs. Dogs have some respect for people and accept that people have at least some intelligence. Cats, however, think we are stupid. That's why every morning they ball and wail until they get their breakfast. They figure we must have forgotten from five seconds ago when they asked for it. Being on the toilet just gives them an opportunity to corner us for conversations that we don't understand (ok, maybe they are smarter than us).
I swear that when Sandy and Lilo leave the bathroom after one of these episodes, they shake their heads in a way that indicates I must be an idiot...
Feral
I have recently come to the conclusion that I am the Buddha reincarnated in cat form. The two-leggeds who subscribe to Buddhism believe that the Buddha is in us all, but for cats? It's just me. So, in an effort to reach all cats I'm channeling the following thoughts of wisdom...
The squeaky wheel may get the grease, but would good is that? The balling cat gets whatever it wants.
The world is big and beautiful, but when your feet get wet, go back inside.
Alarm clocks have snooze buttons, cats don't. Use it.
A captive audience is much more susceptible to listening to your desires and ultimately appeasing them. There is no audience more captive than the one that is on the toilet.
You can break, chase, destroy or deficate on anything as long as you can give a cute face, snuggle, and purr.
Follow up: depending on the item broken, chased, destroyed, or deficated on, you may have to increase the quantiities of cuteness, snuggling, and purring to continue getting your way.
Beware of the two-legged children: prolonged exposure may rid you of use of your legs, as they believe you must be carried everywhere.... even to the catbox.
Bugs are great toys. You can chase them, play with them, and even eat them. Then you throw them up, and they look the same.
Cat boxes are a poor substitute for the outdoors. If you must use one, be sure to fling the occasional litter and fecal matter outside the box to keep the two-leggeds aware of who's boss.
Embrace your big cat essence. We were meant to be in trees and up high. Despite their attempts, the two leggeds can really not keep you off of tables, counters, sinks, windows... whatever...
Enjoy a friendship with dogs. A few smacks on the snout makes them your slave for life. This can be very handy when you want to know what good stuff is in the trash.
If you get fleas, resist the urge to scratch. This will keep you from the horrific experience of a bath.
There are two leggeds that are afflicted with a terrible, terrible disease. When in proximity to you they begin to itch and sneeze. Follow them around and feign an interest to be cuddled. It's a lot of fun.
This is my wisdom for now. Keep these points in mind, and you will have complete control over your two-legged pets. And remember, they aren't very smart, so be patient with them.
Lilo the Cat Buddha
This is my wisdom for now. Keep these points in mind, and you will have complete control over your two-legged pets. And remember, they aren't very smart, so be patient with them.
Lilo the 
Just a quick note: Annie has returned from the sleep over at Colleen's. I think it was a great success, but there is no place like home...
Glad to have her home.
Glad to have her home.
February 18, 2005
Today is a big day for us. Annie is going to her first sleep over with a non-family member. She is very excited. For the past week she has been ready to get up at 6:30 am, and the first think she says is "Four more days until I go to Colleen's", "Three more days until I go to Colleen's"... ok, you get the idea. This morning at the crack of dawn it was "how many minutes until I go to Colleen's?" Suddenly, a few hours has become an eternity. She has busied herself packing for now, and is currently concerned with the necessities: "Daddy, how many horses can I take?"
To prepare for this big event, we have had a couple of play dates. Annie went to Colleen's after daycare one Friday, and the following Monday there was no school. So, we invited Colleen to spend the day here. They were so good together that I was able to work, with breaks along the way to interact with them. I was so worried that after a few hours they would be at each other's throats, but they never had an argument. I couldn't believe it.
The day started out getting Colleen familar with our home. Annie showed her all the necessary places. "Here's are TV, here's where the cats eat, here's the bathroom, here's my playroom, here's my bedroom." The last two rooms are such a mess, I was afraid they might get lost in there and never return. "Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Winser - the girls went into the playroom and don't appear to have found their way back out. Probably got lost between the Barbie house and the 5,342 My Little Ponies. Maybe somewhere in the vicinity of the easle. An investigation is underway by CSI: Boulder Creek."
After settling in, thoughts of course turned to food. The girls went to the fruit garden and began pulling tangerines. They were kind enough to pick a bag for Colleen to take home, too. So, the first snack of the day was crackers... no, it really was tangerines. After a Blue's Clues it was time for me to get them doing something constructive. Annie got a window planter gizmo for Christmas designed so she could watch the plants grow. They decided to put it together. Being mountain girls, they enjoyed playing with the wet dirt that had to be made and put in the planter. They took turns stirring, putting the dirt in, and planting the seeds. If only adults could consistently be so cooperative... Left over seeds were planted in the vegetable garden with meticulous care.
After lunch, it was time to check on the chickens. They collected eggs with no casualties, and pet the chickens. The eggs were turned over to me so that they could go explore the barn. Unfortunately, they must have gone back into the coop when I wasn't looking. A week later I discovered that the gate was open, and the chickens had been having a blast scratching around the grass. Good thing the coyotes didn't find out. And yes, I am puzzled how I could be so oblivious to chickens running around for a week.
After the barn, my camera trigger finger ran out of steam, and I failed to capture the rest of the day. But, the day was full. They played dress up, rode bikes, played horses, read a few books, and finally I got them to settle at the table and do homework together. Colleen had finished hers, but was willing to do it again, so I made copies of Annie's. Colleen's mom and sisters arrived in the evening to two calm and dedicated five-year olds, busy with homework while classical music filled the air. She must have thought I drugged them.
It was a great day. To top it off I was still productive with work.
Maybe I could handle having two kids?
To prepare for this big event, we have had a couple of play dates. Annie went to Colleen's after daycare one Friday, and the following Monday there was no school. So, we invited Colleen to spend the day here. They were so good together that I was able to work, with breaks along the way to interact with them. I was so worried that after a few hours they would be at each other's throats, but they never had an argument. I couldn't believe it.
The day started out getting Colleen familar with our home. Annie showed her all the necessary places. "Here's are TV, here's where the cats eat, here's the bathroom, here's my playroom, here's my bedroom." The last two rooms are such a mess, I was afraid they might get lost in there and never return. "Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Winser - the girls went into the playroom and don't appear to have found their way back out. Probably got lost between the Barbie house and the 5,342 My Little Ponies. Maybe somewhere in the vicinity of the easle. An investigation is underway by CSI: Boulder Creek."
After settling in, thoughts of course turned to food. The girls went to the fruit garden and began pulling tangerines. They were kind enough to pick a bag for Colleen to take home, too. So, the first snack of the day was crackers... no, it really was tangerines. After a Blue's Clues it was time for me to get them doing something constructive. Annie got a window planter gizmo for Christmas designed so she could watch the plants grow. They decided to put it together. Being mountain girls, they enjoyed playing with the wet dirt that had to be made and put in the planter. They took turns stirring, putting the dirt in, and planting the seeds. If only adults could consistently be so cooperative... Left over seeds were planted in the vegetable garden with meticulous care.
After lunch, it was time to check on the chickens. They collected eggs with no casualties, and pet the chickens. The eggs were turned over to me so that they could go explore the barn. Unfortunately, they must have gone back into the coop when I wasn't looking. A week later I discovered that the gate was open, and the chickens had been having a blast scratching around the grass. Good thing the coyotes didn't find out. And yes, I am puzzled how I could be so oblivious to chickens running around for a week.
After the barn, my camera trigger finger ran out of steam, and I failed to capture the rest of the day. But, the day was full. They played dress up, rode bikes, played horses, read a few books, and finally I got them to settle at the table and do homework together. Colleen had finished hers, but was willing to do it again, so I made copies of Annie's. Colleen's mom and sisters arrived in the evening to two calm and dedicated five-year olds, busy with homework while classical music filled the air. She must have thought I drugged them.
It was a great day. To top it off I was still productive with work.
Maybe I could handle having two kids?
February 17, 2005
I decided to put this in a separate post rather than just respond to the comments. Believe it or not, this person is actually a good, good friend of mine. Unfortunately, she seems to have taken a nasty fall off her broom, and decided to take it out on me...
Up yours. I am an intelligent human being who has complete dedication for what I'm dealing with. I constantly re-evaluate myself on what I'm doing right or wrong. I know my wrongs, and don't want Annie to adopt them, but I'm eager for her to adopt the things that I do right. You know, like going to a friend's house and building a new porch roof while they are gone so it is there when they come back. Like teaching a friend's child to love the feeling of riding a horse with skill. How dare you comment on the truth of what they say about fathers. Fathers who are dedicated to their children should be a good thing. The general pop-culture doesn't want us to be; they'd rather complain about bad fathers, but don't want to accept dedicated fathers. I deal with this all the frickin' time. People who tell me that children are better off with their mothers. Remember that conversation? My daughter is the angel in my life. She is the reason for my existence.
Hmmm... Are we talking honesty here? You have lived fifty- years, with a small standard deviation and an upper specification limit of 50. Perhaps I wasn't clear in my post (the one you didn't accurately comment to.) I didn't force or coerce Annie to accept spiders or banana slugs. I simply showed her that I didn't have the same concerns that she had learned from popular opinion. When she disagrees with my belief, I accept that. I just don't want her to accept popular opinion without investigation. There is no "chinese water torcher" (or torture) going on. I express to Annie my thoughts, and tell her that she can make up her mind. I'm trying to teach her that the "norm" needs to be tested, and according to the things we've done, it's worked. I may not be the best parent, but I have my good points, and I accept what Annie believes, and just ask her to be sure.
Perhaps she learned it from her father.
Trying to be a good father
Poor kid. I guess it’s true what they say about fathers. They always need to mold things into their image. Leave the girl alone. If stuffed animals make her happy at show and tell.... what’s to be disappointed about. Nothing disappoints a parent more than the fact that their kids were not created in their image in all ways.
Up yours. I am an intelligent human being who has complete dedication for what I'm dealing with. I constantly re-evaluate myself on what I'm doing right or wrong. I know my wrongs, and don't want Annie to adopt them, but I'm eager for her to adopt the things that I do right. You know, like going to a friend's house and building a new porch roof while they are gone so it is there when they come back. Like teaching a friend's child to love the feeling of riding a horse with skill. How dare you comment on the truth of what they say about fathers. Fathers who are dedicated to their children should be a good thing. The general pop-culture doesn't want us to be; they'd rather complain about bad fathers, but don't want to accept dedicated fathers. I deal with this all the frickin' time. People who tell me that children are better off with their mothers. Remember that conversation? My daughter is the angel in my life. She is the reason for my existence.
Regarding icky… based upon popular opinion??? Is it not possible for one to take popular opinion… and then the opinion according to David and make their own decision without being pummeled and pestered to conform to either one? You strike me as a bully. I have lived perfectly well for 40+ years chosing not to put spiders on my list of favorite things! And who are you to tell me otherwise. Parents can convince their offspring that all sorts of things are cool… like prejudice, intolerance etc… because of the powerful role they play in their lives. Enforcing ideas and behaviors by repetition… you will like this,... chinese water torcher by spide and slug until one ultimately conforms.
Hmmm... Are we talking honesty here? You have lived fifty- years, with a small standard deviation and an upper specification limit of 50. Perhaps I wasn't clear in my post (the one you didn't accurately comment to.) I didn't force or coerce Annie to accept spiders or banana slugs. I simply showed her that I didn't have the same concerns that she had learned from popular opinion. When she disagrees with my belief, I accept that. I just don't want her to accept popular opinion without investigation. There is no "chinese water torcher" (or torture) going on. I express to Annie my thoughts, and tell her that she can make up her mind. I'm trying to teach her that the "norm" needs to be tested, and according to the things we've done, it's worked. I may not be the best parent, but I have my good points, and I accept what Annie believes, and just ask her to be sure.
I am terrified of spiders. I have an electronic spider sucker. I cannot bear to even mash them with my shoe. I scream, get hysterical and carry on when one is in the house until it is flushed. Victoria the other day however, when there was a particularly large spider in an area where my spider sucker would prove to be ineffective… stepped up, said “for God sakes Mom, it’s just a spider!” Took a paper towel and plucked it off the wall while I screamed the whole time. My mother always said… “You carry on like that and you are going to teach her to be afraid of spiders.” Well I have and did, but to my credit did not say “you must be afraid of them” and walla! She is a product of making her own informed opinion. “Do I want to run around like and idiot when I see a spider like my Mom?” Victoria’s answer was obviously with no influence from me… a definitive ‘No!”. (I would prefer to have company in my panic) Viva free will, uninfluenced by the powerful. Course she is mean as a snake at times… hence snake trumps spider every time. I however am not afraid of anything reptilian or rodent like.
Perhaps she learned it from her father.
Trying to be a good father
February 16, 2005
Annie is on the phone right now with her friend Colleen. I really like Colleen. I think this might be the first friendship that Annie truly maintains for a long, long time.
I wish I could blog what they are talking about, but it is so inane, I just can't get it. You see, they are very excited about having a sleep over this Friday. They talk about the things they are going to do, but the changes in train-of-thought are more than I can do. I should tell you that I'm often reprimanded for changing the topic of conversation on a whim. They've got me beat. I've heard them go from the movies they will watch Friday night to the sounds their bodies make given certain disturbances.
Ooops. I just heard the phone hang up. Better check in...
Handling it... barely
I wish I could blog what they are talking about, but it is so inane, I just can't get it. You see, they are very excited about having a sleep over this Friday. They talk about the things they are going to do, but the changes in train-of-thought are more than I can do. I should tell you that I'm often reprimanded for changing the topic of conversation on a whim. They've got me beat. I've heard them go from the movies they will watch Friday night to the sounds their bodies make given certain disturbances.
Ooops. I just heard the phone hang up. Better check in...
Handling it... barely
I'm guessing all parents have traits they want to see develop in their kids... maybe even pass some on from the parent. I confess. I have been a little disappointed with Annie's choices for Show and Tell in the past. She would always want to show a stuffed animal, My Little Ponies, or one of her Breyers. You see, I was the Show and Tell Master, and want her to be one as well...
Among the top examples from my Show and Tell pursuits as a kid were: snapping turtle eggs, horse and cow bones (I was particularly fond of the skulls), and pig tails (after this one, my mom refused to empty my pockets when doing laundry). I was always looking for the unique and interesting, and got a not-so-secret joy from the look on the teacher's face when she couldn't help but let me go next. It was sort of the look you imagine a teacher has in the Little Johnny jokes. Not to mention that as a typical kid, I'd leave the items in my desk half the time. The stink would become overpowering, and the teachers were as afraid to look in my desk as my mom was to look in my pockets.
At any rate, I was fairly pleased when Annie decided to take Tolkien for Show and Tell. The weather has been uncooperative, but I couldn't stand her disappoinment when I told her "maybe next week"... again... So, Tolkien took a shower in the itty-bitty corner shower, and this morning rode with us to school (I need a horse trailer). Tolkien Salinger is an English Mastiff, weighing in at... oh, I guess about 170 pounds. He is very loving and docile, but I was a bit concerned, because Tolkien is... er.... shall we say intellectually challenged? He was very good, though.
We walked up the hill and proceeded to the classroom amidst the cacophony of an entire school of kids shouting "look at the size of that dog!" We approached the class room with our entourage of shy but curious kids who were probably hoping they would get to see Tolkien eat somebody. Once inside, Annie's teacher managed, with her usual inspiring skill, to get the excited kindergarteners to settle down on the Carpet. She told them all about Tolkien: his age, breed, what he's like, and that she loved him - with just a little help from Daddy ("Actually, Annie, he's four years old, not four months").
She then answered questions: where does he sleep (with you?!?! er... no)? Does he stay inside (when he doesn't stink)? And there were a lot of "questions" that went something like "I have a dog". Finally, everyone got in line to experience the pleasure of petting Tolkien in exchange for some drool, except for one boy who decided he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Ffffft - Tolkien? Dirty? Smelly? Ok, maybe... a little. It was a lot of fun, and Annie was very proud... as was I.
I brought our big dog home, and he promptly fell asleep on the deck. I hope this time Annie remembers the experience when I pick her up today...
Update: 4:30 pm - She didn't.
Showin' and Tellin' Writin'
Among the top examples from my Show and Tell pursuits as a kid were: snapping turtle eggs, horse and cow bones (I was particularly fond of the skulls), and pig tails (after this one, my mom refused to empty my pockets when doing laundry). I was always looking for the unique and interesting, and got a not-so-secret joy from the look on the teacher's face when she couldn't help but let me go next. It was sort of the look you imagine a teacher has in the Little Johnny jokes. Not to mention that as a typical kid, I'd leave the items in my desk half the time. The stink would become overpowering, and the teachers were as afraid to look in my desk as my mom was to look in my pockets.
At any rate, I was fairly pleased when Annie decided to take Tolkien for Show and Tell. The weather has been uncooperative, but I couldn't stand her disappoinment when I told her "maybe next week"... again... So, Tolkien took a shower in the itty-bitty corner shower, and this morning rode with us to school (I need a horse trailer). Tolkien Salinger is an English Mastiff, weighing in at... oh, I guess about 170 pounds. He is very loving and docile, but I was a bit concerned, because Tolkien is... er.... shall we say intellectually challenged? He was very good, though.
We walked up the hill and proceeded to the classroom amidst the cacophony of an entire school of kids shouting "look at the size of that dog!" We approached the class room with our entourage of shy but curious kids who were probably hoping they would get to see Tolkien eat somebody. Once inside, Annie's teacher managed, with her usual inspiring skill, to get the excited kindergarteners to settle down on the Carpet. She told them all about Tolkien: his age, breed, what he's like, and that she loved him - with just a little help from Daddy ("Actually, Annie, he's four years old, not four months").
She then answered questions: where does he sleep (with you?!?! er... no)? Does he stay inside (when he doesn't stink)? And there were a lot of "questions" that went something like "I have a dog". Finally, everyone got in line to experience the pleasure of petting Tolkien in exchange for some drool, except for one boy who decided he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Ffffft - Tolkien? Dirty? Smelly? Ok, maybe... a little. It was a lot of fun, and Annie was very proud... as was I.
I brought our big dog home, and he promptly fell asleep on the deck. I hope this time Annie remembers the experience when I pick her up today...
Update: 4:30 pm - She didn't.
Showin' and February 15, 2005
I grew up on a farm. I experienced all sorts of things that are considered by general society to be "icky". Case in point: When I was about nine years old, my dad woke me up, because we had a sow in labor that was struggling. If we didn't do something soon, she would die. Unfortunately, I had the smallest hands/arms. You might realize by now what I needed to do. I didn't find anything, but after the "procedure", she was fine, and lived on to have more litters. It was one of the most important things I've ever done, in my humble opinion.
As a parent, I don't believe that kids should decide things are "icky" based on popular opinion. Annie and I have discussions on this far too regularly, but she always gets it. When we started working on remodeling the bathroom, she accompanied me under the house to cut some pipe. She was reluctant at first. She stayed close, keeping a wary eye on the cobwebs. We discussed the importance of spiders, and what they ate. We cut the necessary pipe, and moved out. On the way she decided spiders were cool. In fact, by the time we got back in the house she was clamoring for a pet spider. Fortunately, we have enough cobwebs (my poor housekeeping) she agreed that we would leave one and that would be our pet.
Another time, we discussed the "ickiness" of banana slugs. Banana slugs are fascinating. I believe I finally convinced Annie of this. She decided they were cool, and we regularly seek them out to see what they are doing, as you can see:
Bat Slumlord
As a parent, I don't believe that kids should decide things are "icky" based on popular opinion. Annie and I have discussions on this far too regularly, but she always gets it. When we started working on remodeling the bathroom, she accompanied me under the house to cut some pipe. She was reluctant at first. She stayed close, keeping a wary eye on the cobwebs. We discussed the importance of spiders, and what they ate. We cut the necessary pipe, and moved out. On the way she decided spiders were cool. In fact, by the time we got back in the house she was clamoring for a pet spider. Fortunately, we have enough cobwebs (my poor housekeeping) she agreed that we would leave one and that would be our pet.
Another time, we discussed the "ickiness" of banana slugs. Banana slugs are fascinating. I believe I finally convinced Annie of this. She decided they were cool, and we regularly seek them out to see what they are doing, as you can see:
Well, to continue this, Annie’s mother was always at odds with bats. I like bats. They are useful and interesting. So, Annie and I decided to build some bat houses. I bought some books and pamphlets, and worked out a design. As you will see from our Bat House Pictures, we did a great job (pat on both our backs). We had a blast, and learned a lot about bats in the process. Unfortunately, bats don’t always follow the intentions of humans. We have no bats in our bathouses. However, there is a break in one of my eaves where a creature, such as a bat, might find access to protection from the elements. Local bats have chosen this as a home as opposed to the condominiums that Annie and I have installed. Oh well, as long as they pay the rent....
Bat Slumlord
This morning the traffic report on the radio had no less than twelve accidents on the main highways/freeways around the South Bay Area. Highway 101 had four over a span of about 15 miles. For those of you unfamiliar with the Bay Area climate: in the winter? It rains. A lot. Where I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains we get over 30 inches of rain over winter and early spring.
For those folks who live in the Bay Area, and are reading this, the following can't possibly pertain to you, so you can just commiserate. When I first moved to the Bay Area I was very impressed with the general level of intelligence. It was inspiring. However, when the rain starts, something happens. In computer speak, I'd say that Bay Area folks flip a bit. Medically, I think they have a series of very small strokes that occur in the part of the brain responsible for driving. So, for the denizens of the area that are experiencing a localized stroke in the driveamus campus part of the brain, read carefully: Just like last winter, it is going to rain this winter. When it does, get the frick off the cell phone. Drive a little slower. Use the lever on the left side of your steering column - it's called a signal, look over your shoulder instead of just ripping into the next lane. Maybe, just maybe, drive a fraction slower. Look ahead, and stop looking at the coffee stain on your pants from the recent near accident you had for not following the preceding directions.
As evidence of the medical condition that afflicts some Bay Area folks regarding driving, I give you the following: While driving in to work one morning, I pull into the exit lane. The traffic on the road I want is fairly dense, so I have to come to complete stop. I'm completely off the freeway by at least twenty yards. I look in the review mirror and see a car barreling toward me. In hopes that I will create a psychic link to the driver, I begin shouting "STOP! STOP! SLOW DOWN!" Unfortunately, my psychic powers failed me, and the car hits me from behind after too late trying to stop.
I exit the vehicle, and look at the crunch in the bumper. The other driver gets out, and I brace myself for the expected transfer of blame, even though I was at a stop with traffic stopped in front of me. Surprisingly, she got out and apologized. She gave me her insurance information, and never asked for mine, saying her insurance would take care of it. I was speechless and dazed when she said "This happens to me all the time."
Ok, I'm climbing down from my stump, and hoping Karma doesn't put me in the ditch today.
Experienced in Driving in Ice - Rain is not a Problem
For those folks who live in the Bay Area, and are reading this, the following can't possibly pertain to you, so you can just commiserate. When I first moved to the Bay Area I was very impressed with the general level of intelligence. It was inspiring. However, when the rain starts, something happens. In computer speak, I'd say that Bay Area folks flip a bit. Medically, I think they have a series of very small strokes that occur in the part of the brain responsible for driving. So, for the denizens of the area that are experiencing a localized stroke in the driveamus campus part of the brain, read carefully: Just like last winter, it is going to rain this winter. When it does, get the frick off the cell phone. Drive a little slower. Use the lever on the left side of your steering column - it's called a signal, look over your shoulder instead of just ripping into the next lane. Maybe, just maybe, drive a fraction slower. Look ahead, and stop looking at the coffee stain on your pants from the recent near accident you had for not following the preceding directions.
As evidence of the medical condition that afflicts some Bay Area folks regarding driving, I give you the following: While driving in to work one morning, I pull into the exit lane. The traffic on the road I want is fairly dense, so I have to come to complete stop. I'm completely off the freeway by at least twenty yards. I look in the review mirror and see a car barreling toward me. In hopes that I will create a psychic link to the driver, I begin shouting "STOP! STOP! SLOW DOWN!" Unfortunately, my psychic powers failed me, and the car hits me from behind after too late trying to stop.
I exit the vehicle, and look at the crunch in the bumper. The other driver gets out, and I brace myself for the expected transfer of blame, even though I was at a stop with traffic stopped in front of me. Surprisingly, she got out and apologized. She gave me her insurance information, and never asked for mine, saying her insurance would take care of it. I was speechless and dazed when she said "This happens to me all the time."
Ok, I'm climbing down from my stump, and hoping Karma doesn't put me in the ditch today.
Experienced in Driving in Ice - Rain is not a Problem
February 14, 2005
Yes, in times of happiness I sometimes recall the mantra of Stimpy from Ren and Stimpy. A couple of hours ago, the Fed Ex lady returned to me my notebook computer after its trip to the computer doctor for a new keyboard. The clouds broke open and a sunray from God followed her as she walked in slow motion across the deck. The angels sang.
I had become so accustomed to the mobility the notebook provided that I really missed it. Once again I am free, free I say, to work just about wherever I happen to be. I can punch away at the coffee shop overlooking the San Lorenzo River, the cafeteria at Sun, the dentist/orthodontist office (where I discovered an wireless access port), on the deck with my view of the valley, even the bathroom. Ok, too much information...
Mobile Again
I had become so accustomed to the mobility the notebook provided that I really missed it. Once again I am free, free I say, to work just about wherever I happen to be. I can punch away at the coffee shop overlooking the San Lorenzo River, the cafeteria at Sun, the dentist/orthodontist office (where I discovered an wireless access port), on the deck with my view of the valley, even the bathroom. Ok, too much information...
Mobile Again