Smell

 Women smell better than men - but you already knew that.  They also have a better sense of smell than men.

So, what has the best sense of smell?  Did you guess dogs?  Wrong!  Would you believe elephants?  Yup.

Next up are black bears, who can smell food from a mile away (watch your picnic baskets).

Male silk-moths: they can smell a single female pheromone from miles away.  Horny little buggers!  Wouldn't you guys have liked to have that when you were young?

Then comes African giant pouched rats.

Finally, yes, a dog: The bloodhound.  Their sense of smell is 10,000 times more acute than humans.  Other dogs aren't far behind.

If I woke up one day and found my olfactory sense was 10K times more sensitive than the day prior, I'm quite sure I'd need to be placed in a rubber room.  Or, maybe I could just put corks in my nose and duct tape them in place.

Small Stuff

 Everyone's heard the expression 'don't sweat the small stuff'.  Probably said it yourself a few times.

As I 'mature', the amount of small stuff becomes increasingly larger in quantity.  Frequently, I'm saying things like 'who cares?' and 'so what'.

Trish, however, seems to be increasingly concerned about small stuff.  She is a self-expressed perfectionist.  Always has been, I guess.  I am not.  Never was.

I wonder: is it nature or nurture?  Growing up on a farm may have contributed to my non-perfectionist attitude.  Don't have the right part to fix it up like new?  We're wasting daylight!  Make it work any way you can!  Bailing wire, duct tape, jerryrig with whatever is available.  

This dichotomy inevitably leads to conflicts twixt Trish and I.

Another thought: are women, more than men, inherently more concerned about small stuff?  I'm guessing that may be the case.  

Sickoes

 Sickoes.  I can't stand 'em!  But lots of folks must like them.

I define sickoes as those who get a kick out of people doing nasty things to other people.  Torture, incest, rape, murder - and on and on.  What the hell is wrong with these people?

Watched an episode of Law and Order last night.  A guy repeatedly beat his wife and abused his young daughter; and his wife was okay with it!

What's the attraction to this type of book, TV, movie, video, whatever?  Is the 'Human Race' really that inhuman?  Or, is it a small minority?  If so, why is there so much of it?  

I don't know.  It disturbs me.  Deeply.

1950s TV Shows

 Remember when your dad brought home that first TV with a 13" screen in a console?  If you were lucky and had a rotor for the antenna, you could get 3 stations - on a good day.  For the younger crowd: the rotor turned the rooftop antenna so you could receive station signals from different directions.  Sometimes a vacuum tube would burn out, so you'd go to the store and replace it.

Westerns were the most plentiful type of series:

The Rifleman

Wagon Train

Bonanza

Have Gun, Will Travel

The Lone Ranger

Others, I liked:

Ozzie and Harriet

Sea Hunt

Sky King

Lassie

Dragnet

Victory at Sea

Wild Kingdom

There were many others but that's a long enough walk down memory lane.

Return Flights

 We just returned from the annual family reunion in MN, an event that's been held for over 30 years.  Trish and I fly to MSP from Spokane, and spend 3 nights in The Land of 10,000 Lakes.  Fly over Friday AM return Monday AM.  Today was no different.

That said, it could have (and should have) been quite different.  I made the flight reservations, usual flights, usual times.  Or so I thought.  We arrived in good time at the airport for the return flight, my son, Tod, driving.  Went through security and then to our gate, C1.  But: the sign at that gate said San Francisco.  Huh? 

Trish determined the gate had changed to C10.  So we hustled over there.  Yup, that gate said Spokane.  There was nobody there other an  airport employee.  We said that we were supposed to be on that flight, showed our boarding passes.  

Nope! OMG!  Our reservations were for a flight at 9 PM that day,12 hours later.

We threw ourselves on the mercy of the court, AKA, the guy at the gate.  They were ready to close the airplane, everybody already on board.  Turned out, there were 2 open seats in Comfort+, the section we'd paid for.  Pretty darned lucky.

Different story, bigger screw up.  It's 1983.  I'm returning to my job in Egypt after a 2-week break in the States, flying out of JFK airport to London.  Or so I thought.  I arrived at the airport and went to the display to see which gate I should get to.  My flight wasn't listed.  Went to the ticket counter and asked why.  She looked at my ticket and said, "That flight is leaving from LaGuardia, not JFK.  Crap!

I hustled out the door, grabbed the first taxi, hopped in.  I waved a $100 dollar bill in front of the driver and said, "Get me to LaGuardia as fast as possible!"  I made it in time.  Barely.  

Expelled!

 Yes, she was expelled.  Didn't play well with others.  In fact, didn't play with others at all.  Flat out, refused to have anything to do with others.  Except the staff.  Loved the staff.

Who is she?  Parker, one of our two therapy dogs.  Our other dog, Maisie, wasn't expelled, apparently played well with others.

Trish took both dogs to a high-end dog hotel.  The pups spent 4 hours there yesterday, to see if they could be accepted into the elite company - of dogs that did play well with others.  

If I ran the dog hotel, I would have said, "So what?  Who cares if she doesn't want to play with other dogs?  She likes to play with Maisie."

Trish figures it's Parker's training.  T trained her to stay away from other dogs because doing so, conflicted with the training and therapy dog work.  She took it in stride, though.  Trish, not Parker: got a large charge out of it - despite the 6 hours wasted in Spokane.  Not totally wasted, though: she's pleased that she got to shop for clothing she didn't really need (in my view, not her's).  In my view, there's no such thing as a woman with too many clothes.

In her defense, Trish donated a few pairs of pants recently, which only left about 150 pairs.

PJs

 Pajamas.  Mom bought them for my brother, Gerry, and I in our early teens.  First PJs ever for any male in our family.  

In winter it got near freezing at night in our upstairs bedroom, so I guess Mom thought they would help keep us warmer than sleeping in just briefs.  And they did - for one night.  Having slept in our briefs since forever, the PJs felt too restrictive.  So, one night was it.  For both of us.  Thanks, Mom, but they just don't work for us, feel like straitjackets.

I don't recall ever seeing guys in PJs except on TV.  The military sure didn't issue olive drab jammies.  Don't recall anyone in my college dorms wearing them either.

Women like them though.  Trish has a few pairs.

Doot Ta Do!

Empty cardboard cores of toilet paper, what do you call them?  In our family they were called Doot Ta Dos.  When we emptied a roll of TP, we'd hold the core to our mouth and yell Doot Ta Do (DTD!  Did one of my brilliant siblings start that great tradition or did it come from elsewhere?

The lower corner cabinet in our kitchen was a swivel-out flour bin.  It's usage ended when flour was marketed in more user-friendly packaging than 100-pound bags.  

Then it became a home for DTDs.  It was some do-good thing or a maybe-some-day craft project of my Mom's.  I don't recall what the mission was and, later on, I doubt Mom did either.  

It was plumb full of the things, 100s of 'em.  They became part of the huge bonfire that my oldest sister Mary and I had going before the farm was sold.

Trish inspired this little story: she held up and empty plastic bottle and said Doot Ta Do!

Do any readers know the origin of DTD?  If so, please share.

Mom

A salute to Mom on Mother's day.

She was 5' nothing tall, highly religious, piano and organ player, was the organist at the nearby church.  Her children made up the bulk of the choir.

She was a teacher: for the time (1920s) she was highly educated.  My Dad, on the other hand, had a 6th grade education.  I've often wondered how he managed to seduce Mom into marriage.   With most young men serving in WWI, it was slim pickings, I suppose.  Not that Dad was a dummy, far from it.

Mom was 100% German, Dad 100% Irish.  Interesting that they got together during the height of WW1, where there countries of origin were on opposite sides. 

She bore 8 children, plus 3 that didn't make it; 11 total.  I'm the youngest.

Being a farmer's wife was anything but easy.  No plumbing or electricity for the first 20 years or so.  Imagine cooking on wood stoves, heating water for baths in a collapsible tub, doing laundry by hand using a washboard, including dirty diapers from 8 kids.

Dad and kids would milk the cows by hand every morning at 5 AM - and again at 5 PM.  Mom always had a hot breakfast waiting for us when we returned - and more hot meals at lunch and dinner.

When I was in grade school, she'd sometimes walk the 1.5 miles to the school, sit and watch the teacher and classes, then walk back home.  I was always glad to see her there, did my best to make her proud.  

Influenced by the depression shortages, she couldn't bear to throw anything away.  Spare bedroom full of worn-out clothing, broken furniture, old mattresses and other junk.  Same with food.  Kitchen counter covered with leftover dribs and drabs, leaving about 10" of work space.  Fridge full of trimmed lard parcels, leftover veggies, you name it.

She'd take naps in the afternoons.  When I came home from college, I'd take advantage of that interlude and clean house.  I'd start a bonfire outside, burn everything combustible, wash empty containers, etc.  When Mom woke up the counter would be bare and the freezer mostly empty.  She was okay with that: although she couldn't throw stuff away, she was okay if somebody else did.

She was one tough, hard working lady.  RIP, Mom.

Blame the Pagans

 Easter traditions, how did they get started?   

I never saw an obvious connection between eggs, rabbits and the (alleged) Resurrection.  I say alleged because I'm not a Christian - or any other religion.

There is no 100% certifiable reason but the popular belief is that it dates back thousands of years to the pagans.  Pagans supposedly associated eggs and rabbits with fertility and spring.

Okay.  So, what's a pagan?  It is: a person who is not religious or whose religion is not Judaism, Islam, or especially Christianity.

Which is pretty much the same as heathen. 

Both terms, pagan and heathen, are rarely used these days.  Atheist is used instead. 

That said, my ex, Patty, marketed small signs to place by entry doors that read: Cheap, apolitical pagans live here.  We don't want to buy it, contribute to it or hear about it.

Somebody (loved it or offended by it?) ripped it off our front entry in our last home in Oregon.

Train - And Cars and Planes

Trish planned a train trip on the California Zephyr, from Emeryville, CA to Denver, and back  We wanted my sister-in-law, Linda, and her guy to join us.  She did.  He didn't.  So, she invited her daughter, Trista, instead.

Linda flew in from MN, Trista from FL,  Trish and I drove from Lake Havasu City.  We met up at the Hyatt House, a nice hotel, right across from the train station.  

Trains are inherently tight on space.   Two people plus their luggage plus their beds in a space that's 3' wide, 7' long and 7' high is cozy indeed.  But it all worked and the food was good.  We spent 1.5 days on the train.

The plan was to spend 2 days in Denver, do a tour of the city, head home on the train AM of the 3rd day.   But - the best laid plans of mice and men.....  Our return train got stalled by a snow storm somewhere between Chicago and Denver.  That gave us 2 choices:

     1. spend an extra day in Denver and take the train back to Emeryville, lose our Emeryville hotel reservation $, get home a day late, pay doggy day care more $. 

    2. Linda and Trista fly home from Denver; Trish and I fly to San Francisco, to get the car and use the hotel reservation.

The 2nd choice won.  

The lobby of The Crawford Hotel.

The down side is we much enjoyed visiting with Linda and Trista, and wish we'd had a couple more days for that.  And the 'luxury' hotel, The Crawford, in Denver.  Apparently, luxury means pretty.  With no microwave and a pissant coffee-maker that was worthless, jazz music all day in the lobby.  I think the only thing worse than jazz is opera.  Yes, I have pedestrian tastes in music.

The upside was our last night in Emeryville, on the 9th floor of the hotel, with a great view.

This was my 2nd (and last) overnight on a train.  The first was when I entered the army, in 1966.  The airlines were on strike so I took the train from Fargo to New Jersey. 

160 MPH?

 Maserati, Lamborghini, Corvette - and Ford Edge ST?

Never having owned an expensive sports car, I'm wondering how high their speedometers go.  

Why?  Because my new Ford Edge ST speedometer goes up to 160 MPH.  The highest speed limit I've seen in the USA is 80 MPH.  So, where do I go to see if it'll really do 160?  

There are 6 automotive proving grounds in AZ, one of which is in Yucca, about 30 miles away from LHC.  These places are huge, have large race tracks, very high tech, designed to test vehicles in every way imaginable.  But, I doubt those facilities are open to the public.     

I'll be going to the Phoenix area in a couple weeks.  Might push the speed limit a bit, but not up to 160.

Cave Upgrade!

 Several posts back, I displayed the Mini Man Cave at our summer digs, 18" x 36".

This year, I got upgraded to a 10' x 12', insulated MAN CAVE!

And, I'm loving it!

The Boys in the Boat

 We watched the movie last night.  Excellent!

The coach was tough but fair, and his career was on the line, would likely have been fired if his team lost in the US.  I was reminded of my HS phy ed coach, who for whatever reason, didn't like me.

Wrestling was my only sport in HS, taught by a different coach.  Frankly, I was terrible.  I made the team but didn't win much.  I was a beanpole, 4" taller than most in my weight  class, and not heavily muscled.

I did well in phy ed, though.  Definitely well above average in everything: rope climbing, dodgeball, etc.  But one day the coach embarrassed me in front of the class.  We were doing forward flips with the help of a small ramp, coach standing beside the ramp.  When my turn came, coach stopped me and held me at the top of the ramp, and said to the rest of the class, "Here's an example of a person that isn't trying." 

His comment was unjustified and I was pissed!

When I was 45 I attended the HS class reunion, the one and only reunion I attended.  Sure enough, the phy ed coach was there.  I gave him a dirty look when I first noticed him. ignored him other than that.

Yesterday and Today

 Yesterday, I towed the RV to a consignment shop.  Today, the truck was traded in for a new Ford Edge ST.  Awesome that they went away on consecutive days.

The Edge is a medium sized SUV with all the bells and whistles.  It has darned few knob-type controls, most things done by touching the HUGE flat screen in the mid front dashboard.  I never did learn all the electronic gizmos in the truck, doubt I will in the Edge either.  And, get this: the gear shift is not on the floor nor on the steering wheel shaft.  Nope, it's 2" dial on the center console!

I've owned pickups for 50 years, was planning to buy a new 1/4 ton this time.  Trish asked me why I wanted a truck, and what I would haul with it.  I thought about it for a few minutes, finally said, "Guess I don't really need a truck."

Consumers Reports has been my big-ticket-purchase-bible forever, and they gave the Edge high marks.

With high temps in the 90s, I hope I can figure out how to turn on the A/C tomorrow.

 

Drivers Test(s)

 Virtually every 16-year old looks forward to being able to drive.

The driving tests were given in Detroit Lakes, MN, which was 30 miles from our home.  Farm home.  Farm kids learned how to drive tractors early on, at about age 13.  So, I had 3 years of 'driving experience' but darned little time driving on roads or in towns, before taking the drivers test.  No stop signs.  No traffic lights.  No parallel parking.  I may have driven the pickup the 7 miles to town a couple times, but that was it.

I wasn't stressed when my Dad and I went to take the drivers test.  Nope, not a bit stressed: fell asleep at the wheel.  Was headed for the ditch when my Dad yelled, "What are you doing!"  In my defense, I had been up since 5 AM, milking cows (by hand), slopping the hogs, etc.  And, it was nice and warm in the truck.

I had the written part of test down pat, had studied the learning manual at length.  The driving part was another matter.  Flunked it.  Ambled slowly through an intersection with a stop light that was yellow when I started but red when I was halfway through.

Flunked my second attempt, too, some weeks later.  Don't recall what I messed up that time.  Finally passed it on the 3rd try.  Alleluia!  

Alamo Lake

 We first visited Alamo Lake 13 years ago.  I was there again about 6 years back, hanging out with old college friends.  It's off the communication grid: no cell phone signal and no WIFI.

The earthen dam that forms the lake on the Bill Williams River.  Having visited Grand Coulee Dam, Hoover Dam, and several others, this one isn't a bit impressive. 

This overlook is near the dam.  Trish is reading the sign, part of which is shown below.  The name Bill Williams intrigues me: why his parents gave him the same first and last name is beyond me.  I have to wonder: was his middle name Bill also?

We returned from Alamo Lake yesterday.  As noted in my prior post, it was our last RV trip.

We're Done RVing

 We just returned from our last RV outing.  The RV and the truck that towed it will soon be on the auction block.

We loved every bit of our 15 years of RVing.  But: the short trips around AZ and northern Mexico aren't much fun without friends.  There were 5 RV couples at first.  In the last few years that dwindled down to 2: Terry and Lisa., and us.  T & L joined us on our recent trip to Alamo Lake State Park, and told us it was their last.  We quickly decided it was our last, also.

The loss of RV friends isn't the only reason, of course.  Trish and I are getting up there in age, becoming more forgetful (forgot to pack the ketchup), and towing a big rig has become more tiring and stressful.

What's next?  A smaller, more economical pickup.  And, a place for guests to stay; a much larger challenge.

Baa!

 My latest addition to the menagerie

We had a herd of about 200 sheep on the MN farm where I grew up.

Lambing season was in the spring, and there would always be 2-3 lambs that their mother couldn't nurse.  So we took them to the house and bottle fed them until they were big enough to wean.  I remember one in particular, we called Cuddles.

Shearing was also in the spring, when a couple of professionals would come and shear for a couple days.  My brothers and I wrestled the sheep to the shearer, then gathered up the wool and tied it into bales.  At the end of the day, we'd be awash in lanolin - and a few sheep ticks to boot.

Poodle

 I didn't really plan to paint a bunch of critters.  That said, I just painted the fourth one, a poodle.

So, what the hell, seems I'm on a roll: gonna do a few more critters, at least the rest of those we had on the MN farm where I grew up.  They won't be realistic.  If you prefer reality, you could take a photo of the real thing.