CHRISTMAS TIME'S A COMIN'

Christmas is only three days away now. I guess it’s time to start my annual shopping trek. Actually this year my wife, knowing the tendency I have to buy useful and practical gifts like wheelbarrows and vacuum cleaners, gave me a list. She told me to stick to the list or else. It kind of kills my youthful spontaneity but I’ll follow along. Better that than losing other privileges.

We had a big old snowstorm here in Delaware over the weekend. It was a major tragedy for the merchants and shoppers due to the high level of incompetence our government agencies have when it comes to planning for and executing snow removal. I heard on the radio this morning that the state budget allows for one eight inch snowfall per winter. This storm dumped as much as two feet in some areas. The smaller communities seem to follow a similar plan. Consequently the state and municipalities are three times over budget for the year. What a bunch of morons.

It wouldn’t be quite so bad if any of the plow drivers had ever learned how to use their equipment. I’m pretty sure that there are controls in the trucks that allow for raising and lowering the plow. Apparently the drivers are unaware of that feature because they can’t seem to get the plow down low enough or, when they come to an intersection, they can’t seem to raise it to avoid burying that intersection in a two foot high ridge of heavily packed snow. I’ve seen convoys of three plow trucks followed by a pick-up with flashing lights (that’s just in case drivers can’t see the flashing lights on the plow trucks) go down a single lane of a three lane highway and miss so much snow that the following pick-up truck got severely stuck. So they all stop to get that pick-up loose then they all seem to forget to lower their plows as they start up again. It’s as if the three stooges were doing all the plowing in this neck of the woods. Sad, sad, sad.

Sorry about that rant. I tend to think that our tax money would be better spent sending the entire population of the state on a two week trip to Disneyland when a storm is approaching. By the time we all got back the snow would be melted and no one would be angry, frustrated or dead. It would probably be cheaper as well.

As I said Christmas is almost here so I’d better turn on the old “good will to men” (and women). This year our youngest daughter will be going with her fiancé to visit some of his folks out in Chicago. This is the first year our little family won’t all be together. But we’ll have a second celebration when they come over on New Years weekend. Meanwhile my wife’s sister, her daughter and one of her great-grandkids will be with us on Christmas day. And of course our older daughter and her family will be here. So we’ll have an appropriate group to continue the tradition of loud and confusing events. As a matter of fact when my dear sister-in-law and my wife get together the decibel level in the neighborhood will jump by about sixty or seventy percent. But we’ll have fun and the kids will be wired enough to keep everything interesting. I personally plan on having a sufficient amount of adult beverage on hand to keep myself mellow.

So to all of you, family and friends, scattered across this country and even in some others, we wish you a Merry Christmas. Enjoy the celebrations however you make them. If you are religious then enjoy the pageantry and holiness that are so prevalent in your churches at this time of year. If you aren’t religious, then call someone who is and thank them for getting this whole thing started two thousand plus years ago. Maybe they weren’t there at the time but they’re helping to keep it all on track as much as they can. And while you all celebrate think about the importance of kindness and families and traditions. It’ll help to keep you on the right path as you move into the new year. And have a Happy New Year too.

And also have a fine day.

A North Country Christmas Party: Short fiction

When I arrived at the party and looked the house over I knew it was going to be the same old pretentious crowd from the University standing around, eating bad tasting gourmet food, drinking heavily and talking about mortgages and retirement plans. I was the guest of my friend the English Department chair, a guy who occasionally read and criticized my poetry. But the nature of the party changed in an instant when the door opened behind me and Alvin, Jacques and a lady entered the room. Alvin and Jacques are two woodsmen I had spent time with recently learning about small scale logging and bear hunting. I was wondering how they had managed to get an invitation to this party when the head of the University Forestry and Agriculture Department, Doctor Farquahr, waddled up to the new arrivals.

He greeted Alvin and Jacques in a rather formal way, thanking them for being there to represent the local independent logging community, as if there was such a thing. Alvin introduced the lady who was accompanying him as his wife Clarrissa. Alvin and Jacques had cleaned up pretty well for the occasion. Alvin, a tall and lean eighty year old man with a wild head of silvery hair, wore a new flannel shirt buttoned to the top, heavy wool trousers held up by red, white and blue striped suspenders and a shiny pair of work boots. Jacques is a little younger, shorter and rounder than Alvin. He too had on a new red and black flannel shirt buttoned up tight under his chin. But he was a bit more sartorially resplendent in a pair of heavily starched khakis and highly polished expensive looking loafers. On his head he wore a relatively clean flannel hat with ear flaps tied up on top, known locally as a toque and pronounced to rhyme with “duke”. Both men had their best false teeth in place.

Clarissa, Alvin’s fourth wife, is a fifty something blond lady of solid stature. She has steely blue eyes and a serious nature but is known in our little hamlet as a generous and caring soul who, on occasion, can have a very good time. She was wearing her finest holiday bright red sweat suit, emblazoned with a picture of Santa Claus and decorated with enough beads and sequins to make old Liberace blush. The last time I had seen her she was decked out in her firefighting gear hosing down a burning truckload of wood pulp and ordering around half a dozen of her mildly drunk young firemen. She’s been our volunteer fire chief for several years and runs the department with an iron fist. I was anxious to see how the crowd at this party would react to this politically conservative outspoken lady.

Doctor Farquahr was introducing his special guests around as if they were a trio of orangutans. Alvin and Clarissa were being polite and personable but I could see that Jacques wasn’t enjoying himself at all. It’s a good thing Jacques speaks out less than the hero of a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western or he would have been a little less pleasant to the fawning academics he was meeting. But finally the introductions were over and the three mountain folk were let loose to mingle, eat and drink. They drifted to the bar that was set up at the end of the large room that housed the indoor swimming pool. I was leaning on a fake palm tree near the bar when I heard Alvin ask for two double shots of Old Farmhand and a Genny Light. The young lady that was tending the bar told Alvin that she had never heard of Old Farmhand and, although she had heard of Genesee Light Beer they didn’t have that one either. Alvin told her that Old Farmhand was made about fifty miles south of the college at a small family distillery and brewery. But since the bartender didn’t seem all that interested in this point of local interest Alvin asked for two doubles of Wild Turkey and a bottle of the Saranac Lager that he spotted in the cooler. He handed Clarissa the beer and one of the glasses of whiskey to Jacques.

He and Jacques tossed back the whiskey and plunked their glasses down for a refill. The bartender started a little speech about drinking responsibly but Alvin cut her short saying that Clarissa was the designated driver and he knew all about DUI’s. She refilled the two glasses which both men drank down without pause. They plunked the glasses down again. The bartender was getting a little nervous about another refill so Clarissa stepped up and asked her to put some ice in the glasses, pour the refills and they wouldn’t bother her again for a little while. Alvin and Jacques weren’t too happy about having their whiskey diluted with melting ice but they knew they shouldn’t get Clarissa riled up so they went along with her plan.

I chatted with Alvin for a few minutes, inquiring as to the circumstance that brought him to this party. Alvin and Clarissa live about thirty miles away from the University town and Jacques lives next door to them. They don’t have much to do with the town unless they need to argue with tax appraisers or file lawsuits at the county court house. Once a month or so they might head up to do a little shopping but they are self sufficient folks who grow, fish or hunt most of their own food. Alvin said that the Forestry Department was doing research on the effects of small logging operations in the mountains. The researchers were hoping to prove that Alvin, Jacques and others like them were harming the ecology. So far the results were not so good for proving the theory. Alvin said that for every mature tree the loggers cut they plant anywhere from three to ten seedlings. He also said that all the small loggers were careful about erosion and working too closely to small streams and rivers. But the University guys still wanted to do some more studying so Farquahr was making nice and invited Alvin and Jacques to this shindig.

Jacques somehow indicated he was hungry. I never heard him say a word but Alvin and Clarissa both said that it was a fact and we all headed to the buffet tables set up in the dining room. Clarissa was looking around the house which had an open floor plan and the few rooms we were in must have totaled about three thousand square feet. I thought she would make a comment about this being too much for a person to clean but instead she said that the Feng Shui of the place was all wrong and that Farquahr and his wife would probably get divorced someday soon. I asked Clarissa where she learned about Feng Shui and she said that even though they lived in the hill country they did have books and satellite television.

As they looked over the wide array of gourmet offerings attractively displayed on the buffet tables it was clear that only Clarissa had a clue as to what most of the dishes were. She pointed out the little signs with the names of the dishes and translated for the two puzzled men. There were chutneys, baked brie with currants and walnuts, vegetable dips made from squash and mangos, several kinds of exotic olive spreads, caviar in black and red, funny little balls that appeared to be either meat or fish but smelled like fruit and some rolled up cheese things that smelled like sewer gas. Alvin said that Jacques wanted to know where the meat, potatoes, macaroni and cheese and green beans were. Clarissa said this wasn’t the fire hall or a St. Polycarp’s Church fundraiser so they’d better just shut up and try a couple of these dishes. She filled her tiny plate with a few of the tidbits she recognized from the cooking shows and found a place to sit down. The men joined her after exchanging many quizzical looks. When Mrs. Doctor Farquahr came over and asked if they had plenty to eat Clarissa was the only one who responded with “Yes, and it’s all so interesting.” Alvin just chewed slowly and thoughtfully and Jacques rolled his eyes.

A young fellow approached the trio as they were finishing up the buffet delicacies and engaged Alvin in a discussion about global warming and how small loggers were contributing to the problems. Clarissa looked alarmed and Jacques jaws were beginning to tighten drawing his lips into a deep and disturbed frown. Alvin told the young man, who had a pompous and irritating accent not unlike Al Gore’s, that he was unaware of any real research that would support that opinion. Alvin went on to tell the man, who turned out to be an associate professor of alternative energy studies, that both he, Jacques and many of the folks that lived down in the mountainous areas were greener than anyone in this crowd. Alvin was worked up now. He said that at his home he used solar, wind and water power and was in no way hooked up to any public utilities. Jacques was now standing close by with narrowed eyes and his hands were clenched into tight fists. Alvin went on, in ever an increasing volume that was drawing a lot of interest from the other guests, about how he and people like him respected Nature and did more to really preserve and defend it than any bunch of big bellied bureaucrats in all the universities and governments of the world. Clarissa was squirming now and doing all she could to steer her companions towards a graceful exit.

Since I knew there were a few animal activists in the crowd I casually asked Alvin how the deer season was going this year. He said he and Jacques had filled their freezers on their licenses and the tags of a couple other hunters from the city who didn’t even know how to butcher what they killed. That started a tirade about deer herd management and how those desk jockeys in Albany had no clue about the dangerous increase in game populations in the North Country. The animal folks were all ears and red faces now. But Clarissa had moved to the front door and Alvin and Jacques were following along. There was silence in the room as the university folks digested more than the gourmet snacks. Clarissa bade a friendly farewell to the Farquahrs and shoved the men out the door.

I was thinking about taking my leave as well when Doctor Farquahr came up to me and said “Well I never! Those people have no clue about the real problems of the world.” I said “Actually they do sir. They make a living in a beautiful but harsh area. They don’t depend on any government for assistance. When trouble arrives neighbors pull together and help each other. And they care for the land and the future of the forests more than all the researchers here at the college. So I’d say they have a clue.” And with that I excused myself and headed to my truck. I figured my three friends would be heading to the Riverside Tavern for a beer and I intended to join them.

Have a fine day.

BIRDWATCHING 102

At the risk of being a little repetitious I’m going to tell you all about another event sponsored by the Delaware Dunlins youth bird watching organization. I wrote about an event back in November which was excellent in every way. Today’s event exceeded that first one in several ways and was not so hot (literally) in one other. To get the bad part out of the way, it was wicked cold. Okay.

Today’s event was held at the Conowingo Dam in North Eastern Maryland on the Susquehanna River. Our guide was Derek Stoner who was ably assisted by several other adults. A large group of youngsters accompanied by parents and grandparents were in attendance and judging from the oohs and ahs I’d say everyone had a great time. Conowingo is THE place to view American Bald Eagles in the Eastern US. Today it was probably the best place in the world. We saw well over a hundred of the magnificent birds in all stages of their development except for babies. They flew, they perched and they fished. They lined up in the power station towers and on the rocks along the river. They swooped over our heads and sat in trees close by. It was a marvelous sight and the kids (including this sixty-two year old kid) were delighted.

But there was more. Great Blue Herons, thirty three of them, lined up along a rocky ridge. Vultures, including American Black Vultures, mingled with the eagles and the gulls. And there were several types of gulls represented including the large Black Backed variety. When the dam gates were raised and the river level went up by several feet the birds were all over the water in the hunt for the fish that came through. Nature provides shows for free that can’t be matched by any electronic medium. My grandson and his mother, who happens to be my daughter, shared some moments that far too many folks never experience. They will enjoy these memories and tell stories of these days long into the future.

Now let me repeat myself a little bit about Derek Stoner and his colleagues who are so involved in the youth birding activities. These folks care about Nature in ways that many so called ecological advocates can’t begin to emulate. Derek and his friends are hands on naturalists who seem to believe that the way to protect the environment in all its facets is to get out there and experience and learn about it. Then they introduce other people, young and old, to the joys that surround us in the Natural world. A person who has experienced a great day of observing how Nature works is much more likely to be an intelligent supporter of environmental causes. Today we saw one of the wonders of Nature next to one of the wonders created by people, a massive hydro-electric facility. There are ways to make it all work together. The kids out there on this cold afternoon learned more than they’re likely to learn in any classroom. And it’s because Derek and his associates don’t just care about Nature, they care about kids. And they care about the future that these kids represent.

So if you ever want to enjoy a really fine time in the outdoors, even if you don’t think you’d care to be a bird watcher, get hooked up with a group like the Delaware Dunlins. They’ll show you how exciting bird watching really is. You’ll meet some fascinating and very knowledgeable people of all ages. And you’ll share experiences that will live with you for the rest of your life.

And you’ll have a fine day.

FOLLOW-UP AND CHILL PILLS

A couple of weeks ago I told all of you, my faithful readers, about a medical procedure that I had involving the bottom end of my digestive tract. Yesterday I had my “results consultation” with my little Indian born doctor. There’s a character on the Simpsons that runs a convenience store. This doctor sounds just like that character only with a slightly higher pitched voice. He said “You had four polyps. Nothing to worry about. I cut them out. The biopsy was no problem. Except one maybe. But it grows quite slow. And, anyway, I cut it out.” His rather casual attitude towards growths in my colon did little to reassure me and I let him know that. He said “It is no problem. Three years, we look again. Meanwhile eat many vegetables. Bran, lots of bran. And you are entirely too fat. Lose weight. You are much too fat.” So I left his office vaguely reassured and slightly pissed off. I mean just because he’s a skinny little guy it doesn’t mean everyone else needs to conform to his body size. But I did stop and pick up a couple of different kinds of bran cereal. And some bran muffins. By the way isn’t polyp one of the silliest looking words in the language? How can something like that scare us so much?

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Coincidently it is also my Mom’s eighty-eighth birthday. So we have that extra blessing to be thankful for. On Friday, while all the hardcore shoppers are out hunting down bargains at the “Black Friday” sales, I’ll be driving up to our place in the North Country. I’ve already planned out my “avoid malls at any cost” driving route. It may take an extra hour or so but it’ll be worth it.

With the official start of the Holiday Season comes all the extra pressure of trying not to get totally angry at the whole retail establishment as it puts on its “full court press”. We’re cutting down on the expensive gift giving this year. I am on a fixed income now, you know. So we’ll be doing a lot of Martha Stewart-like crap, you know, baking cookies or bread and wrapping it up as cheap gifts. The shopping that needs to be done I’m going to try to do online. Fewer incompetent clerks will suffer my wrath and we’ll all have a nicer time. This reminds me of an incident at my drugstore yesterday.

I called in a couple of prescription refills and selected a time for pick-up from the phone menu which was far enough out that I expected no problems about it being ready. When we got to the pharmacy counter (my dear wife made the mistake of joining me on the outing) the clerk said that there would be a few minutes wait. I kindly asked her why that was the case. I had called the thing in ten hours earlier, followed all the directions and really thought it should be ready. She shrugged her shoulders and supplied a blank look as a reply. So we wandered around the store for ten minutes or so and then my name was called. The clerk then told me that one of my prescriptions was incomplete because they were out of stock. They had five pills and the rest would be available “maybe tomorrow, maybe Friday”. I told her that I was going on a trip very early Friday morning and could she be more specific. She couldn’t. She wasn’t offering any solution so I told her to cancel the prescription. The Rite-Aid down the street was giving a ten dollar voucher to anyone who transferred prescriptions to that establishment. Again, her reply was a shrug of the shoulders and a blank stare. I don’t really expect a lot from today’s crop of retail clerks. But a simple apology or some sort of attempt at a solution to a problem would be nice. At that time I happened to spot a guy counting pills into a bottle. I asked the young clerk if the fellow was in fact the pharmacist in charge and, finally, she was able to answer a question. She said “yes”. When I asked her if she could arrange for me to talk to him for a moment she looked like I was asking for an audience with the Pope. But she got his attention and he came over. Since I didn’t want to make a big scene I told the pharmacist, in a calm and low voice, that his pharmacy service pretty much sucked. I explained the problem and he quickly took steps to solve it. The only thing he failed to do was fire the incompetent dummy who works the counter. When I returned to the pharmacy this morning the pharmacist spotted me as I was heading towards the counter. He immediately ran over with my complete prescription, apologizing profusely for the previous evening’s situation. Once again I told him that the only problem with his service was the clerk that couldn’t seem to provide any. In the spirit of the season I told him that he should let the poor girl go, but since I had all the pills I needed until after New Year’s, he could wait until after Christmas. There was no sense ruining the holidays for her and her two kids. (I just made that last part up) So I thanked the pharmacist and wished him Happy Thanksgiving.

And I wish you all the same thing and a fine day too.

THANKSGIVING: The Prelude

First there is the Plan. And from the Plan comes the List. The man of the house sits down with the woman of the house and together she decides what the plan for the big holiday will be. “Perhaps some non-traditional dishes” he suggests, “like roast beef or lasagna.” Vetoed. “How about a nice blackberry pie for dessert?” “No way!” she says. “Well, something different in the way of an appetizer maybe?” he ventures. “Nothing adventurous” she replies. So the absolute traditions are upheld and the man of the house graciously defers to the keeper of the Thanksgiving Rituals.

Plans are also considered for the rest of the meals for the week taking into account who will be where and when. With the Plan in hand an inventory of the pantry, freezer and refrigerator is conducted. This leads to a massive cleaning out of products that have reached somewhat beyond their expiration dates. This year we found pecans that were bought for last Thanksgiving, old pickles, salad dressing that expired in 2007, a can of cranberry sauce of the same vintage and various unidentifiable leftovers in un-openable containers. An assessment of the spice shelf shows that at least half of the little bottles are empty. Those that aren’t empty are things that we’ve used once or not at all. So after this entire painstaking process we write the List. It’s pretty easy because now that we’ve cleared out the old stuff we realize we need everything. So we go down to the bank and get a small personal loan. Just kidding. We have a credit card.

With List in hand we now make our plan of attack for shopping. The man of the house puts on his jacket, grabs the car keys and says “let’s go to Rednor’s Market”. The woman of the house says “Hold your horses big boy we have to go through the ads and the coupons first. We’ll find the best deals and go first to Safeway then to Acme then to Super Fresh and then we’ll end up at Rednor’s.” As she gathers all the ads and the big envelope of coupons the man of the house grabs a beer and sits down in his chair. Two days later we’re ready to shop.

Shopping on any weekend is an arduous experience. Shopping on the weekend before Thanksgiving is insane. By the time we’re halfway through the produce section at Safeway I’ve been pushed away from the celery, whacked by a shopping cart near the mushrooms and been cursed at by a little old lady because I was taking too long with the turnips. (Also known as rutabagas) So I turn control of the shopping cart over to my dear wife and I head for the coffee shop near the exit to join the twenty or so other men who are no match for the frenzied horde of women running around the store. An hour or so later my wife makes it through the check-out and we head for the next stop.

The whole process is repeated at the Acme supermarket. After three cups of coffee I need to head home for a pit stop. So we go home and we unload our treasures, and I unload my bladder. By now I’m pleading to my wife to make the next store our last stop. She takes pity on me and we head to Rednor’s.

At Rednor’s the crowd is pretty well behaved. We start through the aisles and I notice that yams here are thirty cents a pound cheaper than where we bought them. I point this unadvertised special out to my wife. A little further on I notice that the green beans are a whopping fifty two cents a can cheaper than Acme which supposedly had the best deal. I point this additional unadvertised special out to my wife. About seven or eight aisles later I’ve pointed out savings that we could have had if we had shopped here in the first place. My wife asks me if I’d be so kind as to go out to the car and get that little bottle of aspirin she keeps in the glove compartment and also to buy a bottle of water. She tells me to take my time and she’ll just finish up the shopping herself. Being the cooperative guy that I am I agree and go do her bidding.

Not too much later she comes out of the store and I ask her if she wants one aspirin or two. She says that she doesn’t need any right now because as soon as she sent me away her headache disappeared. Imagine that. Our grocery shopping is complete and we head home. We finally get everything put away and my wife checked her list. Then I notice she had a fresh piece of paper and she was writing things down. I asked her what was up and she said that there were a few things that I had failed to tell her to put on the list. So she told me that on Monday I would have to go pick them up. I told her that it was no problem, Rednor’s seemed to have the best deals.

Now we have a few days to get things lined up and prepared for the holiday. We usually start doing some of the preparations on Wednesday so that we have time to take me to the emergency room for stitches on Thanksgiving Day. No sense leaving everything to the last minute.

I’ll let you know how it goes this year.

Have a fine day.

INVASION OF PRIVACY

It’s over one more time. You’d think that the inside of your digestive tract would be off limits to the prying eye of a video camera, but it isn’t. They knock you out with drugs and then stick a camera up your butt and push it way, way in there until it bumps into your small intestine. It may be a miracle of modern medicine but it feels like the ultimate invasion of privacy to me.

This is the third time I’ve had the lovely procedure and I must say that it has improved over the years. The first probing I got was done in a hospital, on a bed that moved like one of those weird exercise devices. with no anesthesia. That one involved some kind of balloon and some pumped air. I also got to watch the TV screen as things moved along.

The second procedure I went through was a little better. There was a general anesthesia and no video game to watch. The bad part about that one was the puking when I was coming out of the drug induced torpor. And the lethargy was so great that I slept for about twenty four hours after I got home. Today wasn’t so bad. There was no puking and I feel fairly wide awake, although I could probably stand a little nap.

Preparation for the ordeal has also improved. The first time the preparation involved some pills and a series of very unpleasant enemas. The second was a little better consisting of fewer pills and a decidedly nasty drink that almost made me sick. Yesterday it was a few little pills and some powder mixed in Gatorade. The Gatorade took on a slightly slimy consistency when mixed with the powder but it wasn’t impossible to get down. Although sixty four ounces of the stuff was a bit much and I don’t want to see Gatorade again anytime soon.

When I was in the waiting room before the procedure the TV was on CNN. The talking heads were thoroughly trashing the American health care system and blatantly promoting the crap that Obama and his minions are trying to foist upon the country. I thought that that was the height of irony. Here I was, a late middle aged retired guy on his wife’s moderately good insurance plan, waiting in a modern medical facility for a technologically advanced test that could lead to life saving treatment if it was necessary.

There were a few folks in the waiting room and being kind of an obnoxious jerk (my wife’s description) I took an informal poll. I asked each of the people there how they were paying for this procedure. Two elderly citizens said that Medicaid (or Medicare, I get them mixed up) was taking care of the bill. Two others said they had insurance through employers. And one middle aged lady said she was getting some other kind of assistance. I also asked them how long they had to wait to get an appointment. The general consensus was “not long enough”. According to the CNN “reporters” our country ranks somewhere below Saudi Arabia and Indonesia in overall health care. We have a shorter life expectancy, poorer infant mortality, greater risk of death in childbirth and on and on. The slanting of those facts and figures was so patently obvious that I started ranting at the screen. Unsubstantiated studies, small samples, relying on the statistics gathered by UN agencies all contributed to the so called news report. The pure disdain and vitriol that the reporters showed towards a couple of dissenting experts was embarrassing. If I happened to be an expert in anything I would never lend my expertise to programs emanating from CNN, MSNBC or any major networks.

Anyway, my little audience was saved from further harangues when I was called in for my procedure. I was instructed to partially disrobe, put on one of those dopy gowns and lie down. Then a very pleasant nurse hooked me up to some monitors and installed an IV which would be used for the anesthesia. A few minutes later my rolling bed was rolled into the “operating” room. A doctor, who was from in Sarajevo by the way, introduced himself as my knock out guy. He did a little questioning and a little exam. While I was waiting for the other Doctor I asked the anesthesiologist why he came to the USA to practice medicine. He just laughed. Then the actual butt doctor came in. He was born and raised in India. Then I was put to sleep.

Modern anesthesia is an amazing thing. We occasionally hear about things going wrong but it is truly a rare occurrence. Back in the days of ether a patient was as likely to die from the administration of the anesthesia as from the disease or medical problem being treated. A skilled doctor can use modern drugs to put a patient to sleep, or to numb a part of the body, and then bring them back again with little or no ill effect. Science Fiction has become applied science in many areas.

Well, I woke up about twenty minutes later. I was wheeled out into a recovery area and offered a Diet Coke. Within another twenty minutes my wife was driving me home. Hopefully this exploration and the biopsy of a few minor polyps won’t raise any issues of concern. But I’m thankful to be living in a country where these kinds of things are available. And in spite of the claims of those who say there are millions of folks who are “slipping through the cracks” of the system, or "walking around without insurance", I believe that a real honest appraisal would find those numbers are totally false or at least greatly exaggerated. And I invite those same critics, when they need a medical procedure, to head for some of the countries they look up to so much to see if they can be treated as well, or as fairly, as we are in our country.

Have a fine day.

BIRD WATCHING 101

Yesterday I had the pleasure of taking my oldest grandson on a little bird watching trip at one of the local National Wildlife Refuges. There is an organization of groups designed for youngsters who have an interest in nature in general and birds in particular. Delaware’s group is called Delaware Dunlins, which is sponsored by the Delmarva Ornithological Society, and they have several events a year that give the kids the opportunity to do bird watching with adult experts. Yesterday’s event was intended to focus on waterfowl, which it did, but it also allowed us to see many other birds.

In my experience bird watchers tend to be gentle, intelligent and highly considerate folks. They are dedicated to their interest and are extremely aware of the natural world. And they have a passion for sharing their interest with any kid that seems to display curiosity in birds and bird watching. This was all confirmed completely yesterday. The leaders of the little expedition were Derek Stoner, Bill Stewart, Dr. Barnhill, Judy and Kim. I’m sorry I didn’t get the last names of the two young ladies. There were about six or seven kids and an assortment of parents and grandparents. It was a beautiful day and thanks to the expert guidance of the leaders it was extremely successful. The kids were delighted, enthused and eager to learn. The adults were at least as delighted and caught the enthusiasm from the youngsters. And I know I learned a few things from my grandson who is becoming quite knowledgeable about birds.

We were able to identify fourteen different species of waterfowl. We also were treated to views of Bald Eagles, various Herons, Harrier Hawks, Red Tailed Hawks, a Red Shouldered Hawk, Killdeer, American Pipits and Horned Larks. At one point in the trip a Peregrine Falcon rose up from a marshy area and flew five circles directly over our heads at a relatively low altitude. That was quickly followed by a fly-by of a young Black Crowned Night Heron. The Dunlins group supplies viewing equipment if the young birders are in need so everyone gets a good look and a share of the real birding experience.

The Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge is a treasure for Delaware. It is a beautiful place of ponds, marshes and tidal creeks. Also on the lands are active farm fields. Observation towers dot the area and there are well marked easy trails to hike. The amount of wildlife is amazing and ever changing. Each season provides new experiences for bird watchers and those interested in other wildlife. We try to get there a few times each year. Delaware has another fine National Refuge in Sussex County, Prime Hook, which is also a valuable resource.

So if you have any interest in the natural world or bird watching check out the Delaware Dunlins or an ornithological group in your area. You and your youngsters will get some good fresh air, some excellent memories and a little of that thing that’s in all the child rearing books these days, quality time.

Have a fine day.

A NORTH COUNTRY TALE

A NORTH COUNTRY TALE November 3, 2009

We were up in the North Country last week and it was pretty nice as always. But one day was exceptional and will be the source of free beers in many a tavern for years to come. It may sound like a tall tale but since my reputation for truthful reporting is as solid as the New York Times and the Malone Evening Telegram then you will all know this is as close to the truth as I can get.

One sunny morning I got up really early and headed down to the nearby village to get a cup of coffee at the little store. My dear wife usually makes an excellent brew but I wanted to let her rest for a while since it was her vacation. I’m pretty much always on vacation so sleeping in is not such a luxury anymore. When I got to the store there were two old codgers standing around waiting for the girl at the deli counter to finish some sandwiches she was making for them. They were grizzled old guys, the kind that have made a hard living from that hard country. One of them was tall and wiry with a full beard and not many teeth. His friend was shorter and rounder but he still had an air of toughness along with a wicked long mustache. They were both dressed in heavy work clothes with the pants tucked inside old fashioned work boots that were laced up just below their knees. The tall one had on a Yankee ball cap and the other was wearing one of those dopy flannel hats with the ear flaps which were tied up on top of his head.

Since they were many years older than me I asked them what they were doing to pass the time on that day. Thinking they were both retired I figured they’d be doing some leisurely hunting, bird watching or other pleasant outdoor activity. But the tall guy, the one doing most of the talking, said that since the weather was still good they were going into the woods to cut a down a few trees. Then they were going to load the logs on their truck and drive them to the new Amish sawmill nearby. If they had time in the evening they were going to stop at a deer stand they had set up near the river and try to shoot a bear that was getting into the garbage at the cabins they lived in. He said that I was welcome to join them for the day. So I called my wife and told her my plans. She told me that if I came home with any injuries or in the back of a hearse she’d be very angry. I said that I could certainly take care of myself. Her reply was very positive. She said “Yeah right!”

The three of us went out to the big old flatbed truck, rigged up with some specialized logging equipment, and climbed up into the cab. The tall guy said that since we’d be together for the day that we should introduce ourselves. I told them my name and he said his name was Alvin and his friend was Jacques. I asked them how long they were retired and he said that they had never actually had jobs to retire from. They still worked when they needed money to buy supplies or when it was time to pay property taxes. We were soon barreling up a dirt road that wandered along the riverside gradually climbing up into a wilderness area. As we rode along the bumpy track I listened and learned as Alvin kept up a pretty constant monologue. I learned that Alvin was eighty three years old, had been married four times, had eleven children, made a trip to Hawaii a few years back, chewed tobacco, served with the Marines in Korea and never did care for raw fish. He didn’t tell me that he chewed tobacco. I discovered that little fact as he sprayed the inside of the windshield every time his toothless mouth said a word like ship or shoes or shiftless, or that four letter word he used as a punctuation mark in his narrative.

Alvin also told me that Jacques was seventy eight, had been married once for three weeks but his wife ran off with a traveling locksmith which caused a lifelong battle with depression, had once cut wood alongside Ronald Reagan and was a Methodist in spite of his French name. Jacques merely nodded in agreement.

Eventually we came to the wood lot that the men had been working for a couple of years. Alvin said that this lot, about a hundred acres, belonged to Jacques who had bought it back in 1965 from one of the Rockefellers. I asked which one of the Rockefellers and Alvin said it was the one that died in the saddle down in Albany. When I pressed him on that bit of information he refused to say more because he didn’t like to speak ill of the dead.

Jacques grabbed a huge chain saw from the tool box on the back of the truck and proceeded to get it started. Both he and Alvin eyed the trees carefully and finally agreed on a tall thin pine at the edge of the clearing. Alvin seemed to be more of a supervisor than a worker as he hollered directions to his partner. Within minutes that fifty foot pine tree was laying on the ground exactly where they predicted it would be. They went along like that for about an hour until there were six trees down. I had hoped to get involved as more than an observer but old Jacques seemed to have everything under control. After a brief break Alvin asked if I wanted to help trim the branches off the trees before they cut them into sections and loaded them on the truck. I said sure and he handed me a rusty old bow saw. He and Jacques grabbed two small chain saws and we all went to work trimming. I was feeling pretty good about my progress. I had used a bow saw many times in the past, usually when cutting down Christmas trees with about four inch diameter trunks. Cutting big branches from fifty or sixty foot trees is a different thing entirely. But I was moving right along when Alvin came up and said they were done with the other five trees and Jacques would finish up the one I had cut three branches from already. Ten minutes later the trimming was done.

Those two old men moved around the wood lot like little kids at play. They never tripped or stumbled even where the ground cover or trimmed branches easily tangled up my feet. When they cut the six trees into ten foot sections they moved like well oiled machines. My shoulder was already feeling the twinges from a half hour of using a little bow saw. To get the cut logs up on the flat bed truck Alvin directed Jacques to drag the cable from the winch device and wrap it and hook it around an appropriate spot. Then Alvin would turn on the winch and the log would be dragged up to the truck where, with a little muscular pushing and shoving, it would be loaded on the bed. By noon we were ready to head to the mill but first we got out our sandwiches for our nice picnic lunch.

I noticed that the two codgers had not bought any drinks at the store earlier so I was a little curious as to what they’d be washing down their foot long bologna subs with. My curiosity was soon satisfied when Alvin reached under the seat of the truck and pulled out a bottle filled with amber liquid labeled “Old Farmhand”. I didn’t think this was some new energy drink. The brand name was unfamiliar to me and I asked what kind of liquid refreshment they were enjoying. Alvin said it was a special blend found only in a few counties in that part of the state. He offered me a sip and I took it. As soon as I had finished coughing and choking I politely refused a second taste. There was no noticeable change in the speech, eye clarity or walking ability of either of my new friends after finishing their bottle and their sandwiches. There were several satisfied belches all around but I suspect that had little to do with the rot-gut whiskey.

It was with some hesitation that I got into the truck with Alvin and Jacques. They had consumed a bottle of whiskey and it was a long and winding road out of the mountains and down to the Amish mill. So I suggested that they let me drive. Alvin said sure. So I got behind the wheel. Now this was an old truck. It had a gear shift on the floor, three pedals, a steering wheel and not much else. I was looking around for the key so I could start up. Alvin noticed my confusion and said I needed to push the button all the way to the left of the dash. So I did and the truck rumbled to life. Alvin then proceeded to tell me that I should start out in second gear, double clutch to third while keeping the gas almost fully depressed, do the same thing into fourth except let the gas up a tad and then go into fifth for running on the paved road. He told me not to bother down-shifting because by the time I’d get through the procedure we’d be crashing into a tree or something. He told me to just use the brake and clutch, slow down to a near stop and shove the shifter into second and start over again. At that point I was ready to let Alvin take the wheel but I decided to give it a try. It only took about thirty miles and an hour of driving before I got the hang of it. By the time we were on the paved road Jacques gave me flicker of a smile and a nod. Alvin didn’t say anything because he was sleeping pretty soundly by then.

We got to the sawmill eventually. Alvin argued for about fifteen minutes with the mill owner about an agreeable price. When they finally made their deal a team of horses was brought up and the logs were dragged off the truck. The Amish guy laboriously counted out the cash into Alvin’s outstretched hand. Then we got back in the truck, with Alvin driving, and headed back into the woods. The nap Alvin took must have cleared whatever effect the whiskey caused because his driving and talking were as good ever.

Alvin talked about the history of the area, the unjust nature of hunting seasons, the negative effects of tourism on privacy, the nudist colony that had opened in 1976 and closed in 1978 due to cold weather, rain and mosquitoes. He talked about his most recent wife and her skills as a homemaker and volunteer firefighter. By the time we got to Jacques’ cabin I knew more about the people and places of northwest Franklin County than I ever thought possible. At the cabin, a modest but comfortable looking building, Jacques grabbed three rifles and a box of ammunition. I looked around outside his place and was surprised at the lack of derelict cars and old appliances that are a hallmark of landscaping in the area. We walked along a well beaten path, following the river for about a half mile, until we reached Alvin’s cabin. Alvin’s place was much more typical in the abundant use of old and rusty objects as lawn ornaments. There were washers, dryers, claw-foot bath tubs, toilets and large parts of a multitude of vehicles carefully placed around the grounds. Alvin proudly pointed out a few of the older pieces and tied them into his marital history.

From Alvin’s place we hiked again along a path that followed the river in an upstream direction. Everyone was quiet. The old guys were being quiet because that’s how they hike on a hunt. I was being quiet because I needed to conserve all the oxygen I could so that I could keep up with them and not fall over dead. Eventually we got to the deer stand. This structure was built high above the ground, attached in ingenious ways to four trees that formed an irregular rectangle. A wooden ladder served as a staircase and we clambered up to the platform about twenty feet in the air. The blind had three walls about waist high and some old plastic chairs scattered around. There was a camp stove and a lantern next to one wall. And in one corner there was an artistic display of about fifty empty “Old Farmhand” bottles.

I knew hunting season was open I but didn’t have a license. Alvin said that he still had a couple tags left on his, one for bear and one for deer. But he said that the ground they were on was legally a farm and they were entitled to shoot a nuisance animal without using up their tags. I wasn’t sure about the statutes he was citing but since he was much older and wiser in the ways of the woods I deferred to him. Besides I always wanted to see if I could kill a big game animal in a manly and woodsman-like way.

So we settled down to wait as the sun began its slow descent. Alvin and Jacques seemed to locate a full bottle of their favorite refreshment and politely offered to share but I respectfully declined. I wanted a clear head if I had an opportunity to shoot. We were very quiet. The woods were full of the soothing sounds of a late fall day. The river gurgled along about fifty yards in front of us. We watched.

When I first spotted the bear my jaw dropped with amazement. It was much bigger than I had imagined. Jacques made a gesture, grabbing his crotch, to indicate that the bear was a male. Then he pointed to me and mimed shooting to indicate that I should take the first shot. As I peered over the wall and pushed the safety release I realized that I had never fired this rifle before. Years ago I had done some competition shooting and was familiar with firearms but I knew that a cold shot with a borrowed weapon was pretty likely to be bad. But that bear was a big target and my pride was as aroused as my blood lust. I remembered all the things that I had been trained to do all those years ago; three deep cleansing breaths, sight in on both the front and rear sights, relax, exhale and squeeze the trigger slowly and firmly. The rifle shot blasted the stillness. The bear turned and looked up our way. I was jacking another shell into the chamber and looking to see what the other guys were doing. What I saw was two guys just smiling at me and pointing at me to shoot again. So I turned my attention to the bear that had decided to investigate the source of the noise and was now slowly lumbering our way. I readied myself for the next shot knowing I couldn’t possibly miss again, especially at the now much closer range. The rifle rang out again as I carefully pulled the trigger. The bear stopped. He then rose up on his hind legs and looked right at the stand. He must have weighed eight hundred pounds and was standing about seven feet tall. I looked over and noticed that both of the old codgers were laughing, Alvin loudly and Jacques quietly. Jacques held up the box of ammunition and pointed to the label that clearly, in large letters, said “BLANKS”.

I said something. It wasn’t nice and I won’t be repeating it here. I looked down to see the bear just below the tree stand looking up expectantly. We were about to be attacked and I was trying to decide which one of the old men I would push down for the bear to eat first. Then I saw Jacques reaching into his voluminous pockets and pulling out candy bars which he started unwrapping. He tossed a couple of them down to the bear who seemed to be in on the joke. Jacques handed Alvin and me several of the bars each. They seemed to be mostly Bit-O-Honey and Clark bars. We all tossed them down. The bear ate them methodically. Then Alvin said “That’s it George!” And the huge black bear headed off into the woods.

As dark worked its way into the woods we hiked back to the cabins. Alvin told me how he and Jacques had rescued a bear cub about twelve years ago. He told me that although they had released the cub into the wild it had never strayed far from the cabins. It may have been enticed to stay by the regular feeding that the old men had been doing all these years. But they had played their little “let’s shoot the bear” joke on many unsuspecting idiots over the years. Alvin didn’t say I was an idiot. In fact he said I was a pretty good sport and would be welcome to help them with logging or bear feeding at any time.

Alvin and Jacques gave me a ride back to the little store where I had left my car. I bought them dinner; foot long bologna sub sandwiches. They supplied their own beverage. When I got home my wife carefully checked me for injuries and ticks. I didn’t tell her about the bear hunt. She doesn’t think people should kill animals. Or feed them candy.

Have a fine day.

A POLITICAL STATE OF MIND

Yesterday I was in the local library and I decided to catch up on my political awareness. I admit I had stopped paying attention for a time, only listening to snippets of talk radio as I drove around on my various missions. So at the library I grabbed the latest Newsweek, Time, The New York Times, National Review, Weekly Standard, Washington Times and Popular Mechanics. My intention was to do a non-biased review of political issues and also to learn about the cool new prototype muscle cars powered by helium.

It would seem that the big issues of the day are health care reform (still), a new and improved stimulus package, the war in Afghanistan, global warming, President Obama’s Nobel Prize, swine flu and problems in the Middle East. Excluding Popular Mechanics the reporting on the issues was slanted pretty much in a predictable way. The big newspapers did some fairly objective stories. Unfortunately those stories had nothing to do with the issues I listed. The two supposedly objective news magazines were slanted decidedly in favor of the current administration’s positions. The two magazines that admit to being purveyors of conservative commentary actually seemed to have better fact checking and objective presentation of the issues than either the news magazines or newspapers. So studying articles on both sides of the political spectrum concerning all those big issues I’ve come to some conclusions.

My first conclusion is that the amount of hot air being generated in Washington, DC and other political enclaves is at a higher level than ever before. I’ve also concluded that news reporters are as conceited, opinionated and wrong as most of the politicians they support. Also, the war on terror and the war in Afghanistan have turned into political messes that bodes no good for the people fighting those wars or for the welfare of our country. When politicians look at a real and dangerous situation and start talking out of both sides of their mouths then we know the situation is only going to get worse. There is no commitment on the part of the politicians in power to win these wars. So we might as well bring the troops home and let the chips fall where they may.

Health care “reform” as envisioned by the current administration is going to happen and at a cost that will certainly hurt the country in the long run. Another huge bureaucracy will be created which will issue all kinds of edicts and fiats that will cost billions of dollars more than have already been forecast and which will get involved more and more in the personal decision making process of individual citizens. As a friend of mine from the mountains says, “It’ll be a stone ground mess.”

The “Swine Flu” panic of 2009 is in full swing. The government ordered the production and distribution of the vaccine which seems to have been somewhat delayed. Maybe the pharmaceutical companies making the stuff are worried about slow payment for their output. They do have the slow paying example of the “cash for clunkers” program as a model of government expertise. But the media drives the panic on. Some of my relatives have been hit by the bug. They’re all coming along okay. It wasn’t a nice experience for them but they treated it properly and overcame both the illness and the government driven anxiety. I’m sure it isn’t an intentionally induced panic. It’s just an issue that politicians can make a lot of noise about, furiously enact laws that make no sense whatsoever, get plenty of time in front of the cameras and then take credit for whipping the pandemic by their heroic actions. It’s a huge crock of b.s.

Global warming is a constant presence in the press. No matter how many legitimate scientists question the data being used to support the supposition that global warming is the biggest problem facing humanity the juggernaut keeps moving along. The arrogance of the people pushing the issue is huge. The amount of money involved is even bigger than that arrogance. From a common sense perspective it would seem that if there is such a problem then it would be best to allow legitimate market forces to devise solutions. When confronted with a big problem, and when left alone, markets have a way of creating ways of addressing problems so that there is an economic advantage to the problem solvers. So if the government identifies a problem with air pollution or green house gases as a possible cause of possible climate change (And government might have a legitimate role in identifying those kinds of things) then research and development will begin to find ways to get rid of those gases or pollutants because there will be an economic advantage to the entrepreneurs that come up with solutions. But the current method of addressing these still unproven problems is to turn to the politicians. They make a great deal of noise, create study panels and commissions, make foolish laws that will spend billions of dollars on more giant bureaucracies and, in the end, accomplish nothing that makes sense.

The Middle East problems are things that won’t go away no matter how many Nobel Prize winners get involved. I’m just a private citizen with no knowledge of the intricacies of diplomacy or international relations. What I can glean from several different news sources, the internet and readings from history is that these problems are cultural, long standing and compounded by the proliferation of atomic and other modern weapons. The factions are almost tribal in nature and fanatically religious in their backgrounds. The US needs some resources that the area possesses, since we refuse to utilize our own resources, so we are involved in the area. Of course a simple and logical solution would be for us to support the acquisition of resources in our own hemisphere, develop other types of resources and get the hell out of the Middle East. But that isn’t going to happen. So the other solution would be to really exercise our power, disarm or destroy the enemies we have in the region and set up proper controls for a peaceful government. But that isn’t going to happen either. We will just continue to have problems in the Middle East. Politicians will continue to talk, pose for the cameras, decry the ongoing violence and head to Oslo every once in a while to pick up a big check and a medal. Or it may all one day blow up when one of those dictators over there starts throwing atomic weapons around and the whole region collapses into a pile of radioactive dust.

One other issue that the big newspapers and newsmagazines seem to treat very lightly, if at all, is the proliferation of appointees to the current administration who are given great latitude in the exercise of executive power. These officials are not governed by the checks and balances of any congressional review or oversight, not that congress would be skilful in rooting out any bad people or incompetents. But a number of these “czars” have been found to be somewhat questionable in their backgrounds and their loyalty to the Constitution and our form of government. The only part of the media that seems to be going after these miscreants with any dedication is Fox News and the folks in talk radio. In fact the administration has been so irritated by the efforts to expose the corruption in its ranks that it has taken up a policy of attacking and trying to discredit the critics. Even some of the most left-leaning media outlets have mentioned the little spat, usually taking the side of the administration. But others have chided the administration on its attacks on the principles of the First Amendment. That might be a sign of hope but I doubt it.

Well I’m all caught up now on the political scene. Nothing much has changed in the weeks of my absence; same old problems, same old lack of solutions. So I’m going to leave the monkeys in Washington to their own devices for another week or two. I’ll still send the weekly emails to our guys in the Senate and House along with one to the Vice President and the leaders of both chambers. They’ve gotten pretty general lately. Mostly I just tell them “Don’t do any damn thing because it will cost us too much money!” I rarely get any reply. In fact I don’t even get form letters any more. But at election time they’ll all be hearing from me again when I try to help vote them out of office.

Have a fine day.

MID-NIGHT RAMBLINGS

The blurry red numbers on the alarm clock just silently announced that it is 3:12 AM on this Wednesday morning. Since I haven’t put my glasses on I need to squint mightily to bring the numbers into focus. I can’t sleep. My dear wife breathes the breath of quiet and righteous dreams here beside me. The road noise on the nearby highway is surprisingly loud and active for this usually peaceful hour.

When I can’t sleep I get up and head out to the living room, stopping for a brief visit to the bathroom. A quick scan of the street through the front windows reveals that all is quiet, as it should be. Then I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol. I wander around the dark house for a while waiting for the Tylenol to ease the usual aches and pains.

Then I decide that it would be a good idea to go into the family room and sit down at the computer. Flipping on the light I log on and check the email. Nothing is there so I check in at Facebook. Not surprisingly nothing is happening on the site. Normal folks are sleeping. So I log off the internet and bring up the word processing program. I stare at the white screen for a while. Then I look at a couple of the things that I’m working on that are on hold for various reasons. No new ideas to move these pieces along come to mind so I go back to a blank screen.

These are the hours of the night when thoughts can easily stray to the big questions of life. What does it all mean? How much time do I have left? Is God listening? Why should he? I’m probably boring Him with this kind of crap. So tonight I’m resisting the deep and dark, moody and angst filled pondering. But when I try to think of some amusing little story to tell I come up blank. My poetic muse is equally silent. This sucks. Some nights I can knock out a story or a couple of pieces of poetry and in the process get tired enough to go back to bed and sleep for a couple more hours.

So I grab one of he books I’m reading this week. I need something interesting enough to keep my mind focused but dull enough to tire me out fairly quickly. “A Brief History of Canada” is my choice. I’m at the part where the English have taken over the Canadian colonies from France and the French folks are really pissed and scared at the same time. Nothing much has changed up there in two hundred and fifty years or so. About the time the English have backed off on trying to make all those Frenchies into tea drinking, umbrella carrying replicas of the folks back in London, I realize that my ancestors, who came ashore with Samuel Champlain and stayed on, were probably veterans of the wars between the French and English. Fancy that. Those old time Boureys, LaDukes, Messiers and Dumases might have been involved in the stuff being described in this history book. I checked the index to see if any of the names are in there but they aren’t. Of course this is a “Brief History” so a lot more pages would be required to handle the exploits of my forefathers and foremothers. And it was only fifty or so years after that time that the ancestors headed down into the USA. Also knowing my various genetic inheritances I can assume that those people were probably more of the foot soldiers, farmers and woodsmen types than the officers and aristocrats of the era, which is not a bad thing but no riches devolved from that lineage.

Well the eyelids are getting heavy again and I think I can head back to the bed. As long as my dear wife hasn’t slid into a deep and sonorous snoring mode I should be able to sleep for a while. If that’s happened I might as well start frying up the bacon and eggs.

One more stop in the bathroom (older guys are very conscious of this necessity) and back to the sack. It’s 4:03 AM. I drift off into dreamless darkness hoping that you all…

Have a fine day.

FINAL ARRANGEMENTS

Certain sad and inevitable events are happening in our family as I write this. My brother-in-law, my wife’s sister’s husband, is now under Hospice care at their home in Mississippi. As we get older, and as our older relatives get closer to that final stretch of the journey, we start thinking about our own demise. Most folks don’t sit around constantly entertaining morbid thoughts about their final day. And I don’t either. But occasionally those things cross my mind and today happened to be one of those days.

What I was thinking was that it might be time to jot down what I’d like in the way of a send off from this world. All the finest funeral directors tell you that it’s best to make those arrangements ahead of time. They don’t want you to be a last minute shopper. The lawyers all want a person to be prepared legally so that the surviving vultures, I mean relatives, don’t need to have a big ugly fight over your pile of wealth. I don’t have much to worry about in that area. And doctors want you to have that living will thing so that the kids can pull the plug when the government health care system doesn’t pay for your ventilating machine any more. Even the pastors and priests like to see a nice list of “things to do” for the requiem services. So I’m going to provide some preferences for my own final arrangements right now.

First of all, since I intend to live a good long time and cling like hell to that last thread of life, I’ll probably be under Hospice care for a considerable length of time. I’d like to have a pool set up by a caring family member so someone can win a prize by picking the day, hour and minute of my departure. Chances could go for ten bucks or so and if it’s handled right a considerable amount of money could be raised from all the friends and relatives that I have. So let’s say fifty folks get in the pool. The winner will get half and the other half will go to pay for the booze and food for my going away party. Knowing my relatives though, we probably need to sell a lot more than fifty chances to cover that booze bill.

I haven’t decided yet if I want a church funeral or just a non-denominational memorial thing. If I were to croak tomorrow I’d want the latter. Who knows what the next few years will bring religiously speaking. All I do know is that jokes must be told no matter what kind of service happens. The jokes can’t be the mildly amusing anecdotes about events in my life. No, they must be really funny jokes about two priests and a rabbi, an Irish guy a Polish guy and an Arab or a couple of nuns and a hooker. Fart jokes are okay too. If enough money gets raised in the TOD pool then a comedian could be hired to handle the jokes. The service should also have music. Bluegrass music would be the best choice, preferably the Gibson Brothers. If they could be convinced to play live (they’ll probably still be around by then) that would be good. But CD’s are okay. I just don’t want any damn karaoke machine being used.

Food choices are not important to me. I won’t be eating. But in memory of my simple tastes good Buffalo wings, Glazier Michigan hot dogs and Yeungling beer will be fine selections. Don’t serve any vegetables with dip or quiche. The wine doesn’t need to be high priced. My wife prefers red or white in quantity so a big jug or box is okay.

Now the only thing left to specify about funereal preferences, other than the method of my disposal, are the eulogies. Once again I don’t want any sad crap or boo-hoo inspiring reminiscing. Someone should read the weather report for the day, maybe the stock exchange report if it’s not too depressing and maybe a review of the good news items in the paper. Then one or two family members or friends can read one of the funnier compositions from my files. I’ll be writing more as the years pass by, but if things change quickly for the worst there’s a poem about a tattooed woman or the ever popular squirrel story that can be used.

So there you have my wishes for my final arrangements. If I’ve left anything out feel free to be creative. Just make sure every idea is light hearted and fun. We should die as we have lived and I’d like a happy send off. As for the disposal arrangements I think cremation followed by ash dispersal in an appropriate river valley would be just fine. You probably can guess the river.

Have a fine day.

MEN VS WOMEN: A Rebuttal

Recently a renowned philosopher wrote an article with several declarations regarding the superiority of women and, of course, conversely, the inferiority of the male of the human species. Most of his allegations were based on research conducted within his own home so they are to be considered suspect. With such a narrow statistical sampling, which he projects willy-nilly on the whole of male humanity, there are bound to be some errors in his conclusions.

This esteemed scholar, who shall remain nameless in the interests of protecting him from the wrath of his fellows, claims that “men are pigs”, “men are incapable of multi tasking”, “men are morons”, “men can not open a can of soup without the help of women” and again “men are pigs”. He also implies that a centuries old fact, men are better drivers, is a delusion. This formerly great thinker treads on dangerous ground.

In the interests of good science I conducted a highly complex investigation using large data sampling techniques to test my colleague’s hypotheses. Using these sophisticated surveying techniques I came to strikingly different conclusions, grounded in real research and not sullied by personal prejudice. So there.

First we’ll look at the issue of multi-tasking. In my surveys I found that 87% of the male respondents (some women responded because the men in their houses were busy watching football but I won’t report their comments) could do many tasks at one time. Some reported the ability to send text messages to their fantasy football friends while watching real football. Some reported that they could watch TV, eat dinner and think about the best way to fix the garage door all at the same time. Some said that they could listen to their wife’s description of new curtains, think about sex and drink a beer with out the least bit of difficulty. An amazing 98% of men reported that they could read and attend to certain bodily functions at the same time. Therefore, research shows that men multi-task on an almost daily basis.

Now we’ll tackle the claim that men are morons. This is much harder to dispute based on even the most scientific surveys. Some men are morons. Some women are morons. Pretty much all teenagers are morons. To test the hypothesis I asked respondents to name ten morons. Then I looked at the number of men on the respective lists as compared to the number of women. The mean average was four male morons, four female morons and two teenage morons. Not surprisingly several public figures were listed on all surveys. Politicians were cited, both male and female, most often. Certain sports figures, Michael Vick and Brett Favre being the most common, were also mentioned. Every single respondent listed Hillary Clinton and Regis Philbin. So the scientific evidence would seem to support the fact that both men and women are morons.

Next the question of soup can opening must be addressed. This research involved only three simple questions: “Can you open a can of soup?”, “How do you open a can of soup?” and finally “Have you ever, since reaching adulthood, needed a woman to help open a can of soup?” The results of the survey showed that 93.76% of the male respondents say they can open a can of soup. Only 2% ever need the help of a woman in opening a can of soup. And the descriptions of how a can of soup is opened were representative of several variations. Just over 60% said they used a can opener, 29% said they pulled the little tab thingy and lifted off the lid, 9% responded “other”, 1% said they used a Bowie knife and 1% said they used their teeth. Of the 6.24% who said they couldn’t open a can of soup 5% were handicapped in some way. Therefore the evidence is conclusive. Men can open soup cans.

Finally we must look at the claim that “men are pigs”. Now piggishness is a relative notion. Where some people might see a little dust and an out of place newspaper as an indication of slovenly living another group might think that three days worth of dirty dishes, an overflowing laundry basket and a little soap scum in the shower is not really that big a deal. My colleague cites the example of office desks as one proof of pig like behavior. My personal work space is only mildly cluttered now but when I was a store manager there was a great deal of disarray in my office. But I knew where every document and note was in that pile of confusion. So to test the hypothesis presented by the article in question I submitted four photographs for the respondents review. Each photo showed the same room in various states of cleanliness. The first photo, which is of the living room in my house after a whole day of entertaining my grandsons, represents the messiest situation. The other three photos were taken in the days following as we assaulted the levels of debris and disarray gradually returning the room to pristine condition. Each respondent was asked to label one of the photos as an example of extreme piggishness. Then I compared those results to the same survey done of an equal number of women. The results were surprising though not totally unexpected. Over 60% of both men and women selected the photograph of the room that had been cleaned up to a level of fifty percent clean as bieng piggish. Nearly 5% of the women thought piggishness was represented in the totally cleaned room. And nearly 5% of the men thought the totally messed up room was clean. So once again we find that men and women are just about the same. Piggish behavior is not the sole purview of either sex. Science has spoken.

My colleague states in his final paragraph that women could rule the planet but that the reverse would be catastrophic. He states that without women men would simply not exist. Well, duh? How scientific is that? Everyone, even narrow minded science guys like me, know that it takes both a man and a woman to create a new person. And as for ruling the world that’s probably handled better as a joint effort as well. Any time throughout history where either sex has been dominant the job gets kind of botched up. So maybe if a balance could be struck things would run a little better. But that’s not science, just common sense. My colleague’s article can be read at www.pboureysthoughts.blogspot.com Even though it reinforces stereotypes that we men should be fighting against it’s funny, in an unscientific way, and probably pretty close to the truth at his house.

Have a fine day.

SPORTS: A Rumination

Sports are not a major obsession for me. Some of my friends and family are avid fans but I have avoided that particular virus. Cheering wildly for a group of millionaire athletes who have no particular loyalty to the city they represent, other than the inflated paycheck they get seems a little silly. I’d rather cheer for the owners. At least they have an investment in the enterprise.

There was a time when I followed a baseball or hockey team to some degree. But now my interest is usually only sustained during the final round of playoffs. And I never developed any interest in basketball. Football is pretty much an excuse to drink beer and eat wings, and that also only occurs during the playoffs. Of course not having regular access to TV limits my involvement in the sporting world. That seems to be how people get hooked into fanaticism. I’m old enough to remember when baseball games were on TV on weekends only, as were most sports programs. Boxing did show up on Friday nights sometimes. Weekday ball games were something I tuned in the transistor radio for with the little earplug thing stuck in my head. Nowadays if you’ve got premium cable or satellite you can watch sports all day every day. Professional, college and amateur sports are always available.

Baseball, basketball, football, soccer, tennis, golf, car racing, bowling and hockey are regular fixtures on the tube. In addition you can find track and field, lumberjack competitions, beach volleyball, inside volleyball, table tennis, boxing, wrestling, fighting where guys try to maim each other and darts. I know I’ve missed something. Oh yeah, horse racing, skiing, rodeo and dog sled racing show up every now and then. Of course the Olympics, summer and winter, come along every few years. That’s a lot of sports going out over the airwaves. A serious fan needs to devote a great deal of time to the pursuit of his pleasure. It can involve complex scheduling and lots of highly complicated recording technology. Sleep deprivation ensues. Marriages are broken. It’s not easy for the true fan to get through his days and nights.

Attending professional sporting events is a high dollar proposition. My fixed income won’t allow for the purchase of tickets. I see folks who drop a couple hundred bucks on an afternoon at an Eagles game in Philadelphia. That money would only cover tickets for two and parking a mile from the stadium. Baseball isn’t quite as high but it isn’t cheap. And the NBA tickets are a joke. So although attendance is usually pretty strong in most markets the TV is the cheapest way to watch the pros. I have a cousin who likes his hometown hockey team so much that he got a job as a security guy at the arena. Either he really likes the team or he’s just too cheap to part with his cash. Or both.

When I look at the social networking internet sites I notice quite a bit of friendly banter about various sports teams and events. Some people are avid Yankee or Red Sox fans. Others favor the Dodgers or more obscure teams like the Nationals or the pitiful Orioles. But loyalty knows no bounds. A team can be solidly entrenched in the cellar, forty games out of the running and loyal fans will still be following their team. Of course the $40.00 tickets won’t be selling so hot towards the end of the season, unless the Yankees come to town for a game.

I always thought that enthusiasm for sports was a particularly American personality quirk. But when I went to England a few years back I learned otherwise. The British are just as whacked as we are. They follow football (soccer over here), rugby, golf, tennis and cricket. Some Brits even follow American football and baseball. Then when I met a young man from Ghana I found out that sports are a major deal in his country. Soccer is the big obsession but they also pay attention to boxing and several American sports. Then a Canadian guy told me that sports were huge up there in the great white north. They even follow a really weird ice game called Curling. As far as I can tell it involves sliding heavy rocks down the ice while other guys sweep with brooms in a vigorous manner ahead of the rocks. It’s strange I know but it is Canada.

So I guess my absence from the world of fandom and my minor objections to the costs, both financial and spiritual, aren’t going to diminish the importance of sport in the country. My only hope is that folks pay as much attention to what happens in politics as they do to the Little League World Series. Then we’d have the best of both worlds; an electorate that knows the stats of the president, senators and congressmen and an entertained bunch of fans.

Have a fine day.

GARNETS AND GRIT

Last Saturday my wife and I, as part of our fortieth anniversary gift, got to visit the Barton Garnet Mines in North River, NY. We did not come away materially richer but we did learn a few things and we had a good time.

To get to this rather unusual tourist attraction you make a turn off RT 28 between North River and North Creek. If that’s not specific enough then I have to apologize for the lack of well know landmarks. It is somewhere near the headwaters of the Hudson River tucked behind Gore Mountain and its attendant ski area. So you make this turn off 28 and start driving uphill. You drive uphill a lot. There are even little signs; “Keep on Going”, “You’re getting there”, “Only 1 ½ miles to go” and “You’re almost there”. Finally you reach a rather ramshackle building with a small parking lot. The building houses a store and some museum artifacts about the mines. It is also the place to pay for your ticket and start the tour.

A young lady soon announced that the next tour was leaving and everyone piled into their cars and followed the tour guide in her jeep down to the mine. After a short ride down hill we entered a huge pit cut into the mountain. The cars all park in the center of this pit and everyone gets out and gawks. Sheer rock cliffs surrounded us on three sides. The cliffs are several hundred feet high. Down in the bottom of the pit are two large ponds with a spit of rocky ground between them. The tour guide gathered her little flock near a huge highly polished slab of garnet impregnated rock and delivered her little lecture. She told of the accidental discovery of the vein of garnet about 150 years ago. She talked about the geology of the site. She talked about the history of the mine and how it progressed from a pick and shovel operation to one involving explosives and mechanical processes. Then she invited everyone to grab a little pail, shovel and strainer, or a five gallon bucket and do a little mining for the precious stones. I noticed that some folks had skipped the lecture and proceeded right on to the digging and sifting. The guide explained that people come back again and again to try to find the larger gem quality rocks.

So my wife and I went out along the edge of one of the ponds and scratched around in the dirt. Finding garnets is easy. There are millions of “bb” size pieces lying everywhere. There are also large boulders with chunks of the crystals embedded within. But getting the right rocks to produce a ring or necklace is another story indeed. People were gamely trying all around us. Some used small strainers that they filled with soil and rock, and then shook them in the water displacing the muddy bad stuff leaving the more likely good stones behind. Other folks took five gallon buckets, filled them with water and then poured them out, eroding away a sloping piece of ground. We tried both ways but obviously didn’t have the patience to keep at the job. We found a few small pieces and saved them. But when we went to have them weighed to pay the dollar a pound fee for hauling stuff out, the girl looked down and said that fractions weren’t her strong point and told us to just take our treasure for free.

Mostly I was interested in the way the mountain had been cut into. The power that people can harness to, literally, move a mountain is amazing. What is more amazing is that the first fifty or sixty feet of the pit were taken by hand tools alone. This is hard, ancient rock that was moved by picks and shovel. I have a hard time moving a few pieces of sod around the yard and can’t imagine the effort that the miners had to expend in lopping off that mountain top.

Garnet is not a particularly valuable gem as these things are measured. But it is useful, primarily as an abrasive. Tiny pieces of garnet are embedded into grinding wheels and sandpaper which can be used to smooth and finely polish just about any other material. It’s hard stuff. Since I wasn’t willing to load up a bucket of the stuff and make sandpaper for myself I left a little shorthanded. And since there weren’t any good quality jewelry type stones laying on the surface of the ground I lost out in that area as well. But I learned something, breathed some good mountain air and met some interesting people.
So I guess you could say I had a fine day.

And I hope you have one too.

DILLON HILL B&B: A Review

I don’t like bed and breakfast places. That’s a pretty foolish thing to say because I’ve had only good experiences when we’ve used them. But there’s something about the idea of inviting myself in to a complete stranger’s home that bothers me. It’s okay with relatives but not with strangers. That being said this past weekend may have completely cured me of my little phobia. We stayed in the Dillon Inn Cabins and Bed and Breakfast in Wevertown, NY and couldn’t have had a better time.

For our fortieth anniversary our daughters gave us a gift that was a little different. Not everyone gets a tour of a mine followed by a night in a farm house as a gift. Leave it to our kids to come up with that. The best part is we really enjoy that kind of idea. I’ll write about the mine tomorrow. Today let me tell you all about the farm house.

The Dillon Inn is located on a dirt road on the edge of the hamlet of Wevertown, NY in the Adirondack Mountains. Close by is Gore Mountain, a major ski area, and the headwaters of the Hudson River. The driveway to the Inn is cut out of a hillside and lined on one side with an impressive wall made of local boulders. A large white farm house surrounded by beautiful lawns and gardens comes in to view at the top of the hill. Along the edges of the clearing are two cabins, also white, and also attractive. The overall impression of the building and grounds is one of beauty, order and comfort. A welcoming committee of three rather happy Bassett Hounds came bounding up to show us the way in.

A bed and breakfast is only as welcoming and as friendly as the hosts. The accommodations could be as luxurious as a five star hotel but if the owners in residence are cold and imperious then pleasant memories will not be made. At the Dillon Inn the owners, Mike and Nina Dougherty, are friendly, kind and genuine folks who welcome their guests warmly and sincerely. They will provide as much privacy as a guest wants or some interesting and enjoyable conversation. Always accommodating and never intrusive is the balance that they achieve in an effortless way. Mike was more than happy to share the history of the home and the work they have accomplished to make it the showplace it is today. Nina talked about the gardens that embellish the grounds and about the everyday operation of the Inn.

The living room with a beautiful stone fireplace was comfortable and inviting. The entertainment center was well equipped with TV and a substantial library. A screened in porch provided a bug free outdoor sitting space. The dining room is a gorgeous and warm space with windows overlooking the back yard. Each guest room is unique in decoration, all tastefully done and comfortably furnished. We stayed in the Sawmill Room which is paneled in natural woods and accented with wood furnishings surrounding a lovely four poster queen size bed. The rooms all have plenty of natural light plus lamps and recessed ceiling lighting that allow the guests to set whatever level of light they like. All the rooms are quiet and well insulated. Every room has a private bath equipped with an excellent modern shower. Linens and accessories are of the finest quality. Mike and Nina have made an old farm house into a really fine place to spend a night or a week.

The breakfast prepared by Nina was superb. On the morning of our stay she served a perfectly cooked frittata with broccoli, mushrooms and cheese. This was accompanied by bacon, home fries and an excellent whole grain toast. Coffee, which each guest can make to his or her liking, and juice, rounded out the menu. In the evening a fresh and delicious home made apple tart was set out for snacking. Mike and Nina also had several recommendations for other meals at local restaurants. We went with their suggestion of the Black Mountain Lodge and were completely satisfied.

If you’re a skier the Dillon Inn has packages available featuring the great facilities of Gore Mountain. If you’re a “leaf peeper” the Inn is situated in a beautiful area for your particular interest. Whitewater rafting is a very short ride away from the Inn and hiking trails are just a few steps from the front door. Many other attractions are nearby including the mine tour.

So if you need a little quiet time or if you want to give a sure to be appreciated special gift contact the Dillon Hill folks. Their website is www.dillonhill.com and it has photos and lots of other information. The photos, as beautiful as they are, don’t really do the place justice. Take it from a guy who didn’t really care for bed and breakfast places, this is an ideal place to stay. If you like reasonably priced comfortable, quiet, luxurious and hospitable accommodations then you can’t go wrong here.

Have a fine day.

GRANDFATHER TALES

This past weekend I was talking with some of my cousins and we were remembering some of the good times we had with our grandfather, my mother’s dad. He was a good man and a memorable character who died a long time ago at a ripe old age. He enjoyed doing things with his grandchildren and more than once led them into situations that could have been perilous. But we survived and had a good time doing it.

Sometimes Grandpa would take a bunch of us on little excursions to pick berries as they came into season. He was a berry picking machine. We’d pile into his car, which he drove with wild abandon totally ignoring all the laws and other drivers. He was prone to sudden starts and stops and was one of the main reasons that seat belts are worn in the US today. He would drive way out in the wilds of the Northern Adirondacks to his secret berry picking places and we’d get to work. If you’ve ever picked wild blackberries, blueberries or raspberries then you know the discomfort associated with the task. The bushes will scratch exposed skin and create a torrent of flowing blood. The blood attracts flies and mosquitoes large enough to carry off a small kid. Even in the far reaches of the Adirondacks temperatures can rise from mild to extremely hot in a matter of minutes. Or they can drop thirty degrees and be accompanied by freezing rain just as quickly. Grandpa ignored all those natural wonders and couldn’t understand why we were such whiny little sissies. He would urge us on as he filled pail after pail with nature’s bounty. Some of us would slip away to a nearby stream or pine forest to escape the incessant toil. When we would get back to the berry bushes they’d be picked over by Grandpa and the older kids. Back at the car he’d look at our meager few ounces of berries and shake his head as he lit a cigarette. But he didn’t make too big a deal about our poor performance.


One time when some of us were teenagers Grandpa decided to take four or five of the boys to visit my paternal Grandparents who lived in a little mining town down in the mountains. All those grandparents were on good terms, though somewhat formal in their conversations. It was Mr. and Mrs. Bourey and Mr. Messier. First names were not used. So four teenage boys were loaded into the car and we were on our way. Somehow, along the way, one of my cousins talked Grandpa into letting him drive. My cousin had his permit and he convinced the old fellow that he really needed the practice. This cousin was considered responsible although those of us who were close in age knew better. So Grandpa pulled over and my cousin took off. The weather wasn’t bad but there had been a light rain and the road wasn’t dry yet. My cousin’s experience on wet mountain roads was non-existent. But he wanted to show his skills to us and he was hitting the gas pedal pretty heavily. Grandpa was hollering away trying to get my cousin to slow down. As the car went over a ridge and down into a very steep curve it began to hydro-plane. The road had just enough water on it to provide a nice slick surface. My cousin tapped the brakes. Nothing happened. We were through the curve but the momentum of the back end of the car caused it to start fishtailing. The fishtail turned into a spin. We were spinning, fairly slowly, down the center of the road as the mountain gave way to a flatter area. Fortunately no cars were headed towards us and no cars were behind. We didn’t catch the edge of the road which could have flipped us over or tossed us off the mountain. Grandpa was murmuring prayers we had never heard before. As the car settled to a stop facing up hill, the way we had just come from, my cousin very calmly did a nice three point turn and headed on to the village which was just ahead. Grandpa gave up on his hollering and his praying and we went on to have a nice visit with the other old folks. There was never another word spoken about the incident, except among us teenage boys who thought it was one of the coolest things that happened that summer.

Grandpa had been a widower for a long time when he got himself a lady friend. Some of the relatives weren’t too happy with that turn of events, thinking that he was too old and it was not too dignified a thing for senior citizens to be dating. (Although they didn’t call it dating. It was “keeping company”.) But the teenage kids in the family didn’t disapprove. In fact we would cover for him when he would sneak out to play cards with his girlfriend. We would say that he was taking us to a movie at the drive-in or to a ball game up at the other side of town. For our complicity we would get rides, cigarettes and the occasional small loan. Although when it came to the smokes we gave Grandpa more than he got from us. He was always supposed to be quitting smoking but he couldn’t seem to give it up completely. Those were the days before the government pronouncements of the health risks of smoking. For a time Grandpa even rolled his own on a little machine he bought. We thought that was very cool because we could sneakily make up a bunch of cigarettes and he wouldn’t even notice that the level of tobacco in his can had gone down.

Playing cards was a big part of Grandpa’s recreational regimen. He was always trying to get a few kids to join him in a game of Canasta or Five Hundred. The problem with those games was that he hated losing. If he started to fall behind in the score he would try and distract us so that we would make a bad move. Sometimes I think he might have even cheated a little. But it was a big kick for us to hear him start his inventive version of cussing when he was losing. He could say a lot of words that came close to the real curse words without actually committing the “sin”. We all laughed at him but it was affectionate and loving laughter. And I think he did a little performing just for our sakes.

Those are a few memories of Grandpa M, some of the best stored up in the old brain. Some days they help me to get perspective on life. I hope they help you…

Have a fine day.

COUSINS

This past weekend I spent some time with some of my cousins. I have a lot of cousins; first, second and third, once removed, twice removed and on and on. There are also spouses of cousins (I call them cousin-in-laws) who are integral parts of the family. On my paternal side of the family I have seventeen first cousins still with us and on the maternal side there are twenty-three. So, if my math is correct, that’s forty living first cousins. Another three have passed on to the big family reunion in the sky.

I like my cousins. They don’t all fit into easily categorized groups. Some people might say we have the good, the bad and the ugly. But I wouldn’t say that. Some of them I haven’t seen for years. But I know that when I do see them we’ll pick up on the latest news in a matter of minutes and continue conversations that were started long ago. This past weekend I saw a cousin that I hadn’t seen in thirty years or so. I’ve followed his progress through other relatives so I knew a little about his life and travels. But it was great seeing him and sorting out the details, separating the facts from the rumors. As a family, we have a way of exaggerating or embellishing personal accounts of absent relatives. Some might say we all like a good story, especially a story that has a punch line and some kind of insult tucked inside. We tend to laugh a great deal.

My paternal side cousins, with a few notable exceptions, are quieter and more serious than my maternal side. The paternal cousins enjoy more one on one conversation tempered with a certain reserve. Their humor is understated and occasionally sarcastic. They’re a lot of fun to be with but they’re a much more reserved group than the maternal crowd. The cousins on my Mom’s side are a boisterous bunch. Mealtime conversation will go in many, many directions at the same time with frequent interruptions, jokes and (usually) friendly arguments. And there is a little bit of loudness involved. But all of my cousins are good folks. They’re more than just a bunch of relatives that I “need” to be nice to. Every one of them I consider to be a friend as well as a relative.

In an effort to tell a little bit about one of my cousins I’m probably going to embarrass her. I’m not even going to mention her name but family members will know who I’m talking about. She is on the maternal side of the family, which is appropriate because she’s a maternal kind of lady. If there is one cousin I can think of who embodies the spirit of a strong and happy family it is this super person. Along with her husband, a fine fellow and excellent bread maker, she has set the standard of hospitality and kindness that all of us strive to achieve. She is optimistic, uncannily cheerful, always helpful and generous and extremely good looking. Her house is always as open as her heart. And her heart is always, always open. Does she have a slight temper? Well, maybe. But even on the rare occasions when a little outburst shows up she will be quick to try and mend the situation and forgive and forget. If I don’t stop here other family members will swear I’m making this stuff up just to get on her good side. But I’m always on her good side. So those of you who know who I’m talking about, give her a pat on the back once in a while. She deserves more than that but she’ll never look for it.

Other cousins from both sides of my family also stand out in my mind. Some I think of as mentors. Some I think of as confidantes. And others I can call on when I need a good laugh. There might even be one or two who would lend me a power tool. With so many excellent people in one large family I judge myself to be a very fortunate guy.

Usually I have a point for these little articles. Today my point is less obvious. Not everyone has a huge family with a high degree of harmony. Some folks have small clans that are contentious and unable to get along. Harmony doesn’t happen by accident. It requires someone to take the lead and set an example. Then it takes a few more family members to follow that lead. It all grows from there. Our family has been fortunate to have quite a few good leaders, one of whom I mentioned earlier. And I’ve always been happy to follow a good leader.

So have a fine day.