Too Much Media, Too Many Stripes

(Yes, I’ll explain that weird subject line, OK?)

First, I just remembered what I forgot.  When I stepped outside last week, I saw two jet overhead and stopped in my tracks.  Two!  At the same time!  That hasn’t happened in the 2.5 years since we moved here.  It’s sad to think about what jazzes me up these days, huh?

Back to the present.  There I was, tooling by Costco after a long day at the office being a meeting host.  The weather was cool and getting foggy, so color me disappointed when the radio started wailing in pain.  Well, the young so-called singer caused me the pain, and in my case I envisioned hammering the stereo with a hatchet.  But I felt pity, worried about the pain she must have been in, though her manager is the one who should be wailing.

As I gassed up, I felt so grateful at $1.76 because I think it can’t last.  Too bad it’s wintertime and we can’t take advantage of it.  I then checked the headlights and realized they were filthy and gas station had no squeegees or water.  Road safety, what’s a guy to do?  I know, win the Spit Dispute; as in, why do guys spit and woman wince in disgust?  My testosterone meter pegged at 10, the headlights came clean — for the cause of safety — and I win the ‘dispute.’

Back onto the Interstate, up to the 65-mph speed limit and I Honda Odyessy’d smoothly past that advisory point to about 72.  Ahhh, we hummed along so nicely.  So, when I hit the outskirts of the last town before those 14 miles of deserted road before my exit, I was nicely prepared to get it up near the 80-mph flight path I’ve come to love.  See, my smooth driving habits are helping the environment!

Then I exit The Fog and change my habits, using the center stripe like the stripe along the runway.  The road, she is mine, all mine!  Especially because with the dense fog, I wouldn’t see any oncoming cars anyway.  Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit because I only do that when it’s clear outside!  Lastly, a stop sign?  Fine, I’ll take that also under advisement… I threw the dice and made it home.  Good thing I usually telework.

There I was, dreaming of The Southern Cross

I stepped outside, catching some chilled air as I checked on the chickens.  Frosty clear.  And it got me to thinking that I love our night skies.

Orion the Hunter graces our own sky, a hub around which to see those winter constellations when the low humidity lends a crispness to the slumbering world.  The thing that blows me away about Orion is the red giant star in its armpit, Betelguese (yep, pronounced beetle-juice) (seriously, like the movie).  It’s the largest thing in our night sky, size-wise and I just checked to find out its 430 light years away.  Now that’s a trip I’d like to take. 

Of course, the Horsehead Nebula is where in Orion’s direction I’d want to point my Zebulon-powered hyper-drive starship.  That place is fascinating because we all grew up seeing the fabulous hues of this stellar nursery.

Crux, the legendary Southern Cross in the deep southern skies, is where I’d want to point my sailboat.  You’ll never reach it but the journey toward Antarctica would be memorable, unless you fell off the edge of the world.  Crux is featured in modern folklore and music like CSN&Y.  Maybe one day Michele and I can head south, wake up with the sun and be at one with that sea.

Lastly, I just found this neat poem, check it out:

Of the Australian national flag, the Australian poet Banjo Paterson wrote in 1893:

The English flag may flutter and wave,

where the world wide oceans toss,

but the flag the Australian dies to save,

is the flag of the Southern Cross.

We got our Street Cred

So how do we get those street cred’s?  Well, you decide to not scrimp when it’s time to buy a fridge.  Our fridge was acting flaky again after last year’s repair, so we decided to replace it with something fun, knowing it’s a 10-year decision.  We succeeded, with a kinda fancy model from LG, a Hollywood fridge with LED lighting and fancy doors.  Toss into the truck’s bed a nice Rheem water heater with 12-year warranty, and it was a good day.

• The Guy’s Angle:  You get that cred by slowly tooling your bright red pick-up truck through town so everyone can see your nice new purchases, with a couple extra purchases just 'cause so.  I think that’s like the John Wayne movie, The Quiet Man, where Maureen O’Hara becomes a kind of trophy wife at the end.  Picture John’s buggy full of her dowry as they tool toward the Irish cottage after he “won her” while fighting her brother for her honor.  Everyone cheers and says, “Wow, what a man, what a corker!”

OK, OK, I didn't do anything nearly as dashing or manly as that.  But I’ll admit it was a good feeling to take the country route home, 45 mph max, and watch the scenery while knowing we’ve replaced two of the five main home appliances.  Gotta love those extended warranties too.

• A Woman’s Angle (maybe):  My pot-bellied slacker of a deadbeat husband finally turned off his British Premier League Soccer (yes, “God Save the Queen and the Arsenal Gunners”) and stopped talking about the NFL playoffs enough to jump onto a once-a-year financing deal.  And here I thought his occasionally making the bed was good enough.  Yeah, I’ll humor him but, gosh, he sucks – the sheets cry.  Now, "Hah!"  My friends can come over and sigh as my fridge almost serves me breakfast in bed, it’s so awesome! 

Well readers, we have a blog post about appliances and showing off.  Woo-hoo, I opened an email for ... this?  Is this really what country life is about?  

I'll say this:   there's one work-from-home cowboy who says, “Oh, heck yeah!” 

A favorite Movie: My Side of the Mountain

Before I do a jaunt back into my youth’s first passion (living outdoors), first a serious thought.  Only 0.75% of our country’s population actually participated on-the-scene in the Iraq and Afghan debacles.  So how do we involve our voting populace, also too small a segment, in the conversation toward a stronger America?  We’ve spent a full generation’s blood and treasure on … what?  The Parisian terror, that’s now spread to rural eastern Belgium, brought this unsought concern to mind, along with the PBS News Hour.  I read mostly international news feeds, so tell me if you’d like to broaden your horizons.  Or I’ll just broadcast it for you the next time I get fired up.

Back to our show:

Last night I watched this movie that I’m just so sure was a flashback to my childhood, to the young He-Wolf Joser:  1969’s My Side of the Mountain.  100 minutes of action- and thought-driven time in a young teenage boy’s life.  He runs out of patience awaiting his parents’ promises of going out camping, so our intrepid Canadian youngster runs away from his Toronto home and buses it to the wilds near Knowlton, Quebec. I just know I saw it because I loved [hah, you thought I'd give you a spoiler.  Nope.] 

Don’t bother Google Map’ing that, since our Frenchophilic friends apparently renamed it, Lac-Brome, QC J0E.

No exaggeration or bragging – looking at the map, and having seen three ski runs in the background of his forest retreat, I know where on the nearby slopes it was filmed!  An awesome time though not everything was so happy and chipper.

Walk back in time, when you dreamt of taming wildlife for your own needs and foraging for all you needed.  When you didn’t need a house to survive, and what you knew in your head could easily be supplemented by a nearby library.  And a librarian in a small town who didn't ask a stray boy any tough questions.  And where stray bohemian folk singers can wander into the script and be characters of strength and redemption.

That’s my angle, live large on the land and from the land, just like young Sam.  Watch this movie, will ya?

I've seen all Good People

Interesting evening....

I was cleaning up our younger son's stuff from years ago - yeah, without his help.  Legos, photos, early generation Nintendos,  a message from a Holocaust survivor (from a school presentation), memories of times gone by, apparitions of a young man who will never be the WOW! that you envisioned.  Smiles, rueful thoughts, flares of regret.  Then the tears of disappointment, of never fulfilled potential, again hit me.  

Mental illness in a loved one sucks.  Damn, too bad I already graced Mr. Treadmill with 43 minutes of my best self.  Now have to deal with the moment, or again hide away.

I think the prog-rock group Yes captures tonight well:

      "Don't surround yourself with yourself

      Move on back two squares

      Send an instant comment to me

      Initial it with loving care."

No, I really don't expect 99% of folks reading this post to understand my feelings, my pain and true anger.  But I know you can understand disappointment, loving perseverance and never-ending hope.  

As Yes says, "... I'm on my way."  Toward patience, toward hope and - holy #$^! - maybe toward some kind of enlightenment.  Mental illness is devastating both to the person and their loved ones, but if you're in the fight you never drop your guard and you never give up.  Because you've then given up on yourself too.

Now smile.  Because we're talking about another day, an average day, and even being here to to think about its merits is a flippin' miracle straight from God.

Back to Yes, to affirmation, to just hanging in there:

      "And one peculiar point I see,

      As one of many ones of me.

      As truth is gathered, I rearrange,

      Inside out, outside in, inside out, outside in,

      Perpetual change."

(Sorry, non-Yes fans, this post is a bunch of hooey, huh?!)

We bring our own Truth to the Table

First, the tougher-to-find truth.  The other day, my fortune cookie said, “Attitude is more important than facts.”  Now isn’t that a heckuva affirmation, one which echoes my own mantra and reflects the odd facets of my own career.  I know I can be overwhelmed, mystified and sometimes electrified, but it’s all about the attitude, baby!  Before I get too wrapped up in my own mumbo jumbo, let’s throw a shout-out to bro Donald, the SnookMachine.  He’s all about attitude in sports, in self-challenges and in life.  So, maybe it’s about one’s attitude, one’s own Charge of the Light Brigade into the face of the unknown. That’s hard to find in the daily grind, but the cookie reminded me to keep on digging.

A simpler truth is one from my Marine friend who vouched for me with the investigator for my security clearance upgrade.  He said, “I’d go into combat with Jose.”  That’s a powerful reminder of a profoundly disturbing movie, We once were Soldiers.  My friend’s simple comment moved me beyond words.  Hmm, maybe this too is a ‘truth,' though a tougher one to live up to since it's so easy to be judgmental.

I woke up early today and haven’t a clue if my attitude meter will peg at 10, so I’ll just dive into work and keep it simple.  And I'll try not to be that commuter who's sure everyone else on the road is an idiot, because I'm the only one who knows what I'm doing!

Just 10 Minutes, OK?

Man, won't this Jose guy go away?!  Since several of you asked me to re-consider retiring this blog, I gave it some deep thought over my vacation.  I realized I miss the exercise of thinking about stuff - meaningful, funny (to me), or just off-the wall Forwards - that makes a blog worth reading.  Short is even better, so Jose now exits stage left...

Let's have today be a funny, featuring my favorite active strip, Pearls before Swine.  If you like the attached strip, check it out at:  http://www.gocomics.com/pearlsbeforeswine

What, 106 Days since last Post? Well, let me tell you about my Wildland Fire Assignment

Three weeks ago I completed the last step for my US Forest Service certification as a Wildland Firefighter.  Sounds heady, huh, but just realize I don't intend to digging line with the younger folks!  I did the full course of training so that I can be a Fire Information Officer with the same basic qualifications as those I represent.

Can you believe, three days after certification, I got called to a 'local' fire and was on-site for 13 of the maximum 14 allowable days?  I can't!  By the way, local is a 1.5-hour drive away, and that's remarkably good luck since some 'local' assignments in my 'local' national forest might be a five-hour drive because they involve dirt roads.

I hiked a grueling hour uphill to spend just 15 minutes taking these kind of photos on the fire line!

But it was worth it if I listened to the feedback from my coworkers and Joe Public.  I co-wrote some public releases, updated many bulletin boards, was on TV twice, took photographers right up to the fire line (nothing unsafe) and lots of other smaller adventures. Adventures like the 3-hour round-trip to a nearby fire, at which I got to play the sole fire information officer role.  I took lots of pictures (two were published in Boise's main newspaper) and even met with a county commissioner at her home.  

15-hour days but packed with a variety of activities and chow hall meals.  Even got to shower every 2-3 days.  Sleeping in a tent is so much more fun when you don't have to get up at 0530, but no complaints.  I came home Sunday night and am still feeling tired because my regular job has been brutally busy, but at least today I got back in the groove by doing yard work in 89-degrees of happiness.

A helicopter filling a 100-gallon bucket of water (aka "a pumpkin")

A firefighter from the Sho-Pai Hotshots (native Americans and awesome firefighters)

I'm soon on stand-by for nationwide assignment, and that will be a new type of adventure since it may include putting two weeks of gear onto the flight with me.  Talk about sensible yet full packing!  That will be my life through September, outside of that week-long volunteer adventure in southern Montana (on Continental Divide Trail) and a biz trip to Missoula, Montana -- looking forward to visiting with son Chris, who's a junior at Univ. of Montana!

I don't want to bore you with details, so email or call me if you'd like to know more.

Cheers ~ Jose

The Privilege of Eating

That sounds crazy.  But I again hear tonight on PBS Newshour that 1/7^th of our population, of the Vaunted and Exceptional US of A, is enrolled in SNAP (aka, the newest comfortable pseudonym for Food Stamps).

For just a moment, I’ll rail … One-seventh of our fellow Americans are hungry?! And one-fourth of senior citizens eligible for food stamps (aka, the real term vs. the charade of the innocuous “SNAP”) do not even apply due to the social stigma and person shame of having to rely on government to feed them after a lifetime’s work?

[sigh]

My hot dogs are all-beef and the buns often not the bottom-dollar pasty stuff.  And I have a choice of yummy condiments, stuff that soured in my belly when I thought of seniors eating cat food.  And folks eating only what's dirt-cheap or on sale.  Yeah, not polite, tasty conversation but c’mon, it does happen way too often.

Liberal or Conservative, your flag doesn't matter when it comes to hunger.  Unempowered children, the elderly who have done a lifetime of honest work, and the mentally ill who never will get a fair shake:  these are the folks we need to think of when the Boy Scouts arrive at the front door and when our churches and food banks implore us to donate.  I’m shamed tonight to think it’s hard for me to remember that monthly United Methodist clarion call to bring in food donations ~ where’s my brain, my compassion, my ethical fortitude?

[sigh]

Enough railing.  I hope my spontaneous frustration-with-self translates to even one of you dropping off a bag of goodies this next week.  Make it Real Food, my friends, not swill you’d never eat yourself.  Me, I case out the local Albertson’s clearance carts because they only carry decent food and the prices are at most 50% of regular retail.  And one $10 bag of donations might make someone happy for a whole day.  Now let’s see if outraged Jose can remember more than once a month.  “Et tu, Brute?”

P.S.  I mean it.  Tell me if you dropped off some food for someone else, not out of guilt but just because YOU felt it important to be a Good Mensch.  

Pitch Perfect

Well, I should say, “pitch fork perfect!”  A couple Sundays ago that was my impression of country life.  Driving around the corner, I see our nearby friends out with propane burner burning some weeds.  Just down the road, here comes an elderly guy in elderly overalls, with his pitch fork in one hand, cane in the other!  Moving slowly uphill but looking pretty happy about it. 

Not that I always need inspiration, but that vision played in my head the next twenty minutes on way to church.  To go sit with quite a few similar gentlemen in the pews, albeit none of us quite as wizened as that man.  Shows you what a simple life and simple pleasures can do for the soul.

As for country, I’m getting too much of it on my now-four day/week work schedule. Working with Michele to put up several hundred feet of wooden rail fence, temp mesh fencing and way too much mowing of weeds..  Toss in some trenching and irrigation work, and you’ll see why having acreage is a mixed blessing one ought to carefully consider long before buying one’s dream property.  20+ mph sustained winds the last few days mean 1+ tired Jose.  But no regrets since maybe this is a good exercise program too!