We're back from vacation, and the trip itself had its highs and lows. Would it be too weird to say the highest high was a low?
I love Trail Ridge in RMNP. It's a mere 12,000+ feet up, with your reward being a lovely store with all sorts of clothes and souvenirs. That's in the unlikely case that you weren't already rewarded by spectacular views of valleys below, peaks above, fall aspen colors, and critters. Let's start at the lower elevations with male elk and mule deer, peacefully doing their thing alongside the road while waiting for the rut to start. Higher up is a variety of birds not found in either Minnesota or Arizona, at least as far as I have seen. Around 10,000 feet is a huge turn-out, generally overrun with tourists with cameras. Steve obligingly shot a family's picture with their own camera while a hungry spoiled chipmunk bit the mom who let her fingers rest on the rock ledge.
They said they liked the picture, though.
I decided that would be a lengthy stop. My lungs (yep, still there from last summer) needed a chance to adjust to the altitude, and there was a nice restroom facility there, as far as waterless accommodations go. This one was particularly interesting since the cold breeze comes straight up the mountain, into whatever openings it finds in the building, and out the seats you're sitting on.
Feeling able to breathe normally again, we proceeded up the trail. Steve kept telling me we didn't have to reach the very top, but I stubbornly persisted until the point where I started wondering if the next things I was going to see were black spots before my eyes. I turned around. Up on the tundra one can see traffic a long way away, handy when there are few "real" spots for turnarounds. As a consolation for missing the store, we hit the big tourist store right outside the Falls River entrance. Even better, they had shirts in our sizes, and I found one of the most beautiful mugs I've ever seen: a Stellers Jay on a snowy branch. It made the trip home nicely, thank you.
We spent most of the rest of our time in the area visiting Steve's relatives. Knowing political viewpoints tend to differ from ours, a whole lot of other topics were covered and great food was had.
Heading south from Pueblo the morning we left, over the prairie which covers much of the land before you hit more wooded terrain, we started noticing pronghorn antelope, one of my favorite western critters. Too bad we were on the freeway with no place to legally or safely stop for pictures, since many of the herds were close to the road. And herds they were. For a while they were less than a road mile apart, mostly a dozen or more in each herd. By the time we ran out of their habitat, they were done with their morning feed and were laying down, with one or two per herd standing guard. Steve insists we passed a thousand of them in that hour or so. I couldn't swear to that, though as driver I was too occupied to try to count. I'm very comfortable with claiming at least 500, however.
One more thing stood out on this otherwise familiar route. Coming across I-40, by the time we hit Winslow we can generally get a good view of the San Francisco Peaks. So far we had only noticed a band of smog or some kind of dirty air stretching as far across the horizon as we could see, south to north. No mountains. Jokingly we wondered if it was pollution blowing up from Phoenix. Our blue sky got browner as we drove, and the smell of wood smoke invaded the car. The longer it lasted the more varied our guesses as to its origin. Finally I asked Steve to check whether I-17 was even still open, or closed due to some fire which we, being away, hadn't heard about. Out here a detour could mean a hundred extra miles or more. It was open, but meanwhile we had driven almost to Walnut Canyon before we finally could see Flagstaff's mountains, even longer before a band of blue appeared on our horizon. The smoke lasted until we'd turned south and made it past Mund's Park.
Once home and online again, I tried to research the source of the fire. My sources were filled with fires from the last few years, no matter what words I searched under. The only thing that came even close to what we'd seen/smelled and where was a reference to a controlled burn to get rid of brush covering the ground. In burning off detritus, a "real" forest fire would be a much smaller thing, and the area has snowy owls to protect.
With the miles and miles of smoke and poor visibility, there seemed very little control about what we'd passed. But hey, all the news is Florence and flooding these days, so I wonder what it would take to mention if a fire had stayed under control, or maybe not so much.
ADDENDUM:
The local news finally reported a tragedy that may well be the cause of the fire. Nevermind that it took them several days after the fact to consider it news. Several days back, up in the Coconino Forest, a truck carrying 4 high school young men went off a 400 foot cliff while enjoying riding the trails. One has been identified, but the resulting wildfire has made it difficult to identify the others. Considering the extent of the smoke, I can understand the difficulty reaching the area and identifying the cause.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Monday, September 3, 2018
Keeping My Mouth Shut
I'm not known for this. But there have been a couple times recently when judgement overcame impulse.
The first was during a shopping trip to the local WalMart. The store was doing its periodic revamp, something that annoys the hell out of me. It's not just that everything's in a new place, making my chore take twice as long after years of shopping with painful feet, knees, or whatever. It's also that this is the time the store relishes in ceasing to stock a number of my favorite items. Forever. The combination tends to make me, yes me, somewhat bitchy.
You're shocked, I know.
This particular trip, I was hunting for supplies in the pharmacy area. I'm especially fussy about which exact products I use, and with most of them small items and harder to locate, I was not the happiest of campers. Add to that the need in virtually every aisle to dodge at least one store employee with a big rack of supplies, or at least wait for them to move, I was pretty ripe for trouble.
The store-wide PA system came on with somebody's complaint that there were no people (i.e., employees, I supposed, but not what the speaker said) in any of the aisles. Of course not. Pharmacy had three times the number of a full store's compliment of employees in it. I found the complaint ludicrous: whoever made it should be so lucky! But then my mind made a left turn, banishing my bad mood. What I wanted to yell out, but refrained from doing, was, "Hey, it's the rapture, guys, and you weren't chosen! Deal with it!"
The second time was just last night. It just needs a little background. I grew up knowing how to build a sustainable bonfire. There is A WAY to do it. You start with teeny stuff on the center bottom, them build up a teepee shape of progressively larger pieces of wood until you have the really big ones on top. If you must burn damp or green wood, don't add it until there's a rip snorting fire going over a good bed of coals, and even then, add burnables with it and leave gaps for air to circulate. If you've done it right, a single match should start it and it will keep going without the dangerous assistance of lighter fluid or anything else that arson investigators would call accelerants.
Friends had a bonfire last night. It was a party and the fire was not just entertainment, it had the stated purpose of roasting marshmallows for s'mores. Here's how it went.
It had rained that morning. Nobody found time to clean out the 6 inches or so of wet ashes from the fire pit. The family had just moved into the house and had spent several busy weeks making it liveable. The kids started the fire while Daddy was still busy with other hosting duties. First they put in a stack of dry newspapers. You know, still stacked. Not crumpled, scattered, or anything else that would have let air in. At least they were dry. Other than a few discarded moving boxes, they were all that was dry.
As soon as a small flame was spotted, brush was piled on. This had been sitting outside for several days, being cut down as weeds after they showed the first signs of reacting to the weedkiller sprayed on them. Limp, yes. But still mostly green. Any parts that had dried to brown had happily soaked up the morning rain. Loaded on as they were in thick clumps, they did a great job of extinguishing whatever tiny flame had still been in existence.
Daddy now discovered he was needed. He shooed the kids back a bit, kept them from waving around any branches with flaming leaves, piled a few cardboard boxes on top of the stack, and squirted multiple doses of charcoal lighter on the boxes. For several seconds the flames reached nearly to the branches of the spruce tree overhanging the fire pit. Then, of course, the cardboard boxes had burned, so this had to be repeated several times. More brushy weeds were dumped on top of what now had a single tiny flame struggling to survive, followed by more fluid.
This would have provided just enough flames to burn a couple of marshmallows, but it was quickly discovered that the two cut roasting sticks had accidentally found their way into the fire, and more had to be cut. Of course, the source for these was more of the brushy weeds still dying from their dose of weed spray the week before.
Ultimately, each of the 4 boys achieved one s'more, with more help from lighter fluid providing just enough flame to light each marshmallow on fire to thoroughly char. The entire process killed a good hour. I kept my phone close in case 911 was needed, and other than contributing to the adult conversation as it ebbed and flowed, managed not to comment whatsoever on the progress of the bonfire.
I'm almost proud of myself. Not enough, however, to stop me from posting this.
The first was during a shopping trip to the local WalMart. The store was doing its periodic revamp, something that annoys the hell out of me. It's not just that everything's in a new place, making my chore take twice as long after years of shopping with painful feet, knees, or whatever. It's also that this is the time the store relishes in ceasing to stock a number of my favorite items. Forever. The combination tends to make me, yes me, somewhat bitchy.
You're shocked, I know.
This particular trip, I was hunting for supplies in the pharmacy area. I'm especially fussy about which exact products I use, and with most of them small items and harder to locate, I was not the happiest of campers. Add to that the need in virtually every aisle to dodge at least one store employee with a big rack of supplies, or at least wait for them to move, I was pretty ripe for trouble.
The store-wide PA system came on with somebody's complaint that there were no people (i.e., employees, I supposed, but not what the speaker said) in any of the aisles. Of course not. Pharmacy had three times the number of a full store's compliment of employees in it. I found the complaint ludicrous: whoever made it should be so lucky! But then my mind made a left turn, banishing my bad mood. What I wanted to yell out, but refrained from doing, was, "Hey, it's the rapture, guys, and you weren't chosen! Deal with it!"
The second time was just last night. It just needs a little background. I grew up knowing how to build a sustainable bonfire. There is A WAY to do it. You start with teeny stuff on the center bottom, them build up a teepee shape of progressively larger pieces of wood until you have the really big ones on top. If you must burn damp or green wood, don't add it until there's a rip snorting fire going over a good bed of coals, and even then, add burnables with it and leave gaps for air to circulate. If you've done it right, a single match should start it and it will keep going without the dangerous assistance of lighter fluid or anything else that arson investigators would call accelerants.
Friends had a bonfire last night. It was a party and the fire was not just entertainment, it had the stated purpose of roasting marshmallows for s'mores. Here's how it went.
It had rained that morning. Nobody found time to clean out the 6 inches or so of wet ashes from the fire pit. The family had just moved into the house and had spent several busy weeks making it liveable. The kids started the fire while Daddy was still busy with other hosting duties. First they put in a stack of dry newspapers. You know, still stacked. Not crumpled, scattered, or anything else that would have let air in. At least they were dry. Other than a few discarded moving boxes, they were all that was dry.
As soon as a small flame was spotted, brush was piled on. This had been sitting outside for several days, being cut down as weeds after they showed the first signs of reacting to the weedkiller sprayed on them. Limp, yes. But still mostly green. Any parts that had dried to brown had happily soaked up the morning rain. Loaded on as they were in thick clumps, they did a great job of extinguishing whatever tiny flame had still been in existence.
Daddy now discovered he was needed. He shooed the kids back a bit, kept them from waving around any branches with flaming leaves, piled a few cardboard boxes on top of the stack, and squirted multiple doses of charcoal lighter on the boxes. For several seconds the flames reached nearly to the branches of the spruce tree overhanging the fire pit. Then, of course, the cardboard boxes had burned, so this had to be repeated several times. More brushy weeds were dumped on top of what now had a single tiny flame struggling to survive, followed by more fluid.
This would have provided just enough flames to burn a couple of marshmallows, but it was quickly discovered that the two cut roasting sticks had accidentally found their way into the fire, and more had to be cut. Of course, the source for these was more of the brushy weeds still dying from their dose of weed spray the week before.
Ultimately, each of the 4 boys achieved one s'more, with more help from lighter fluid providing just enough flame to light each marshmallow on fire to thoroughly char. The entire process killed a good hour. I kept my phone close in case 911 was needed, and other than contributing to the adult conversation as it ebbed and flowed, managed not to comment whatsoever on the progress of the bonfire.
I'm almost proud of myself. Not enough, however, to stop me from posting this.
Monday, August 27, 2018
Wrapping It Up: Vacation Retrospective
Things done, things undone. Positives and negatives. I'm still working on figuring out if this has been a plus or a minus, on the whole. There have been times I've thought both. Some of those were the same times.
Weather has been one of things beyond control... as always. Usually by early August this area has started drying up, mosquito populations are dropping, firewood is actually usable, and the sandbar at Steve's favorite boat launch on the St. Croix River has grown with dropping river levels to the point where Steve has plenty of room to set up a chair and his gear for fishing without a conflict with boaters for space.
One of those above has happened. Fortunately, it's been the fishing. Steve used a couple of other public access sites that have docks, but his intermittent bouts of dizziness leave him leery of sitting up on a narrow platform above the water when a fall is possible. Using the river site gives room for me to drop him off with all his gear, then either shop locally or sit in the car reading/napping until he calls me ready to head home.
We usually have several backyard bonfires during the summer, flames to enjoy along with our food, and that wonderful campfire smell without having to leave home. Brats and fixings, roasted ears of corn, s'mores or simple marshmallows for dessert to share with good company. We're still waiting for our first bonfire. The thunderstorms have actually been picking up, and with 2 weekends left for that bonfire, I'm pessimistic. Since I'm hoping to use the occasion to celebrate my 70th with a yardful of people, I've been trying to get the inside of the house into shape to hold everybody as the backup plan.
Please note that I've said "I". Not "we". Add two extra people to - shall we say a "casually" maintained house, with all having a tendency to do more cluttering than straightening, and you may understand why the prospect seems daunting. There have been many weeks where both the garbage and recycling bins, each 60+ gallons capacity, have been rolled curbside, not merely full but overflowing. I still see no progress.
If anybody sees Dobby the house elf, please send him this way. I've been feeling like a very incompetent version. While the knees are fine, strength and stamina are still dropping, the lungs are not keeping up, and a light depression has settled in. I'm told the latter is an expected side effect of the medication that is finally successful at keeping my blood pressure where it needs to be. I suspect the lungs are reacting to the excess mold from a very wet summer, although I wonder if the perpetual cough this summer shouldn't be a wet cough rather than a dry one if that were the entire case. I have managed to push ahead that pulmonologist appointment to just after we get back. I'd love to walk more than a block without puffing and panting. That's kind of another impediment to getting the house ready for company. I've given up on doing the basement stairs either for cleaning up or free laundry. Steve and I willingly pay the local laundromat.
One the plus side, I've decided to quit fighting the insomnia so hard, just catching up during the day instead. Either way, it's enough sleep that the A-fib hasn't popped up again. Driving home across two time zones will set my internal clock more where I want it anyway. Steve and I have managed to see everybody we've wanted to at least once this summer, though with family and friends spreading out that's getting to be more of a challenge. Steve has gotten to see grandchildren who've been unavailable for years, so that's been a real treat. We took Rich to see his granddaughter (that's weird: my kid's a grandpa!) who's also my great-granddaughter for a nice visit not long ago. All three of us were armed with cameras and caught bunches of still and videos, since the trip is a challenge. Of course, within two weeks her Mom posted Facebook video of the baby taking her first bunches of steps.
I packed three boxes of jewelry-making supplies to bring up here. Mostly they sit on the table. Just lately, however, I've gotten in three classes on how to do stuff up here that the club in AZ doesn't teach. Not only is it fun, helping abolish the depression for a bit, but I'm now laying in bed not sleeping while I plan on how to work on these new things back down there. In other words, another version of why I can't sleep when the head hits the pillow.
Topping it off, I've offered to teach the woman who's been giving me classes how to do her own chaining. We both benefit. Not only that, but I'll be using - for instructional purposes only - the 20 gauge wire jump rings I make when I first started out, before I decided they were too flimsy to do anything with. I couldn't bring myself to throw them out, and now they'll have a use. She knows she'll be making pattern samples only, and not to expect wearable jewelry at the end of the class. She, like I do, can stay awake nights imagining all kinds of ways to make adaptations. Different metals or colored wires, different size links, interrupted patterns with a bigger ring to connect them or hang things from like pendants or charms, mixing colors....
No, I'm not deliberately trying to give somebody else insomnia. I really like her. But it might be a side effect.
The annual Crex Meadows photography contest is being held later than usual this year. I have 3 photos entered, and just enough of a window to haul Steve up there before we leave so my pictures get at least two votes each for best in their category. Hey, it's not cheating! I'm sure some entrants come backed by large families of voters. There's no other way I can explain how one or two each year manage to win, especially when there are three nearly identical shots in some categories and how the heck to you choose except by reading the name of the entrant below each one?
While I was up there, I managed to wander familiar roads with my camera, shooting everything that was half-worth the effort. Which is exactly what they were: half-worth the effort. But I have a pair picked out to decide between for next year's contest. Or maybe the X-mas card.
On the still-to-do list: plan and do packing, schedule visits with Steve's Colorado family members, reserve motels. Plus that party, of course. Paul wanted me to go around the yard with him and mark how trees should be pruned, but that's not happened. At least the packing list is saved on the laptop so I can compare it with what was brought up.There will be lots of adjustments, of course. We brought stuff to leave here, and acquired stuff to take down.
All in all, we're both ready to head home. And maybe rethink the plan for next summer.
Weather has been one of things beyond control... as always. Usually by early August this area has started drying up, mosquito populations are dropping, firewood is actually usable, and the sandbar at Steve's favorite boat launch on the St. Croix River has grown with dropping river levels to the point where Steve has plenty of room to set up a chair and his gear for fishing without a conflict with boaters for space.
One of those above has happened. Fortunately, it's been the fishing. Steve used a couple of other public access sites that have docks, but his intermittent bouts of dizziness leave him leery of sitting up on a narrow platform above the water when a fall is possible. Using the river site gives room for me to drop him off with all his gear, then either shop locally or sit in the car reading/napping until he calls me ready to head home.
We usually have several backyard bonfires during the summer, flames to enjoy along with our food, and that wonderful campfire smell without having to leave home. Brats and fixings, roasted ears of corn, s'mores or simple marshmallows for dessert to share with good company. We're still waiting for our first bonfire. The thunderstorms have actually been picking up, and with 2 weekends left for that bonfire, I'm pessimistic. Since I'm hoping to use the occasion to celebrate my 70th with a yardful of people, I've been trying to get the inside of the house into shape to hold everybody as the backup plan.
Please note that I've said "I". Not "we". Add two extra people to - shall we say a "casually" maintained house, with all having a tendency to do more cluttering than straightening, and you may understand why the prospect seems daunting. There have been many weeks where both the garbage and recycling bins, each 60+ gallons capacity, have been rolled curbside, not merely full but overflowing. I still see no progress.
If anybody sees Dobby the house elf, please send him this way. I've been feeling like a very incompetent version. While the knees are fine, strength and stamina are still dropping, the lungs are not keeping up, and a light depression has settled in. I'm told the latter is an expected side effect of the medication that is finally successful at keeping my blood pressure where it needs to be. I suspect the lungs are reacting to the excess mold from a very wet summer, although I wonder if the perpetual cough this summer shouldn't be a wet cough rather than a dry one if that were the entire case. I have managed to push ahead that pulmonologist appointment to just after we get back. I'd love to walk more than a block without puffing and panting. That's kind of another impediment to getting the house ready for company. I've given up on doing the basement stairs either for cleaning up or free laundry. Steve and I willingly pay the local laundromat.
One the plus side, I've decided to quit fighting the insomnia so hard, just catching up during the day instead. Either way, it's enough sleep that the A-fib hasn't popped up again. Driving home across two time zones will set my internal clock more where I want it anyway. Steve and I have managed to see everybody we've wanted to at least once this summer, though with family and friends spreading out that's getting to be more of a challenge. Steve has gotten to see grandchildren who've been unavailable for years, so that's been a real treat. We took Rich to see his granddaughter (that's weird: my kid's a grandpa!) who's also my great-granddaughter for a nice visit not long ago. All three of us were armed with cameras and caught bunches of still and videos, since the trip is a challenge. Of course, within two weeks her Mom posted Facebook video of the baby taking her first bunches of steps.
I packed three boxes of jewelry-making supplies to bring up here. Mostly they sit on the table. Just lately, however, I've gotten in three classes on how to do stuff up here that the club in AZ doesn't teach. Not only is it fun, helping abolish the depression for a bit, but I'm now laying in bed not sleeping while I plan on how to work on these new things back down there. In other words, another version of why I can't sleep when the head hits the pillow.
Topping it off, I've offered to teach the woman who's been giving me classes how to do her own chaining. We both benefit. Not only that, but I'll be using - for instructional purposes only - the 20 gauge wire jump rings I make when I first started out, before I decided they were too flimsy to do anything with. I couldn't bring myself to throw them out, and now they'll have a use. She knows she'll be making pattern samples only, and not to expect wearable jewelry at the end of the class. She, like I do, can stay awake nights imagining all kinds of ways to make adaptations. Different metals or colored wires, different size links, interrupted patterns with a bigger ring to connect them or hang things from like pendants or charms, mixing colors....
No, I'm not deliberately trying to give somebody else insomnia. I really like her. But it might be a side effect.
The annual Crex Meadows photography contest is being held later than usual this year. I have 3 photos entered, and just enough of a window to haul Steve up there before we leave so my pictures get at least two votes each for best in their category. Hey, it's not cheating! I'm sure some entrants come backed by large families of voters. There's no other way I can explain how one or two each year manage to win, especially when there are three nearly identical shots in some categories and how the heck to you choose except by reading the name of the entrant below each one?
While I was up there, I managed to wander familiar roads with my camera, shooting everything that was half-worth the effort. Which is exactly what they were: half-worth the effort. But I have a pair picked out to decide between for next year's contest. Or maybe the X-mas card.
On the still-to-do list: plan and do packing, schedule visits with Steve's Colorado family members, reserve motels. Plus that party, of course. Paul wanted me to go around the yard with him and mark how trees should be pruned, but that's not happened. At least the packing list is saved on the laptop so I can compare it with what was brought up.There will be lots of adjustments, of course. We brought stuff to leave here, and acquired stuff to take down.
All in all, we're both ready to head home. And maybe rethink the plan for next summer.
Monday, August 6, 2018
What: Medicare Is Free?
The usual brainless talking heads are at it again, claiming Medicare is free. This of course is part of their argument for destroying it.
Hey, brainless ones: I've been paying for my Medicare my whole working life. Just like Social Security. So have you, presuming of course that you've been able to hold down a job at your level of stupid. Calling the programs "entitlements" like we're out there sitting around with our hands out waiting for freebies is completely missing the point. We ARE entitled to it. We've been paying for it for years.
Oh yeah, and we still are paying for it. Every month. For those uninformed among you, there is a monthly Medicare premium. It's just not the $800 per month or so it would have been the day before you aged into the program...because we've been paying in all those years while we were young and healthy enough to be out there working! We've been paying, we're still paying.
Just like every OTHER kind of insurance we get!
Get it? Medicare is an insurance program. Social Security is an insurance program. Homeowners and Renters are kinds of insurance insurance programs. Flood, Auto, Liability, FDIC, Life: all insurance programs. No pay, no benefits. Pay in, still maybe no benefits, depending on how life happens in your piece of the world. But we pay in so just in case, when life hits you hard, you're not destroyed financially. We pay in, so just in case our actions hit somebody else hard, they are not destroyed financially either. Nor are we for having been judged responsible.
You have no problem, I'm sure, in calling your insurance agent for your owed financial payout after an auto accident, right? Or to get your house rebuilt after a fire or tornado, right? And you still pay in even if nothing ever destroys your home, your car, or nobody robs your bank account. It's built in to the structure. A large pool of paid members enables the insurance company to cover the load for the individuals who need it under the terms of their contract. That's. How. Insurance. Works.
So if you happen to die before you qualify for Social Security, you've still been paying in because you're part of the national pool and if you'd qualified by staying alive long enough you'd be getting your own benefits. Same with Medicare.
Let me ask you this, those of you who think it's a good idea to destroy what you like to call "entitlements". I bet you think of yourselves a good people, right? Most of you would refer to yourselves as good Christians, or Jews, Muslims, or whatever affiliation you have. But if you destroy Medicare and Social Security, do you want millions of elderly people to become homeless? Go hungry? Become and stay ill, suffering until they die? Really?
Or are you willing to bring Granny or Grandpa back into your own homes, feed, clothe and shelter them, pay for their medical needs out of your own pockets, drive them around wherever now that they can no longer afford keeping and running a vehicle? And don't forget loving them and nurturing them - because you're such good people - and never making them feel obligated to you for having to take over the family duties now that you've taken away their "entitlements"? You know, paying from your own pockets and out of your own time and energy for what you've been calling "free"?
Are you ready to do all that?
Really?
And you think somebody's going to do it for you when it's your time?
Hey, brainless ones: I've been paying for my Medicare my whole working life. Just like Social Security. So have you, presuming of course that you've been able to hold down a job at your level of stupid. Calling the programs "entitlements" like we're out there sitting around with our hands out waiting for freebies is completely missing the point. We ARE entitled to it. We've been paying for it for years.
Oh yeah, and we still are paying for it. Every month. For those uninformed among you, there is a monthly Medicare premium. It's just not the $800 per month or so it would have been the day before you aged into the program...because we've been paying in all those years while we were young and healthy enough to be out there working! We've been paying, we're still paying.
Just like every OTHER kind of insurance we get!
Get it? Medicare is an insurance program. Social Security is an insurance program. Homeowners and Renters are kinds of insurance insurance programs. Flood, Auto, Liability, FDIC, Life: all insurance programs. No pay, no benefits. Pay in, still maybe no benefits, depending on how life happens in your piece of the world. But we pay in so just in case, when life hits you hard, you're not destroyed financially. We pay in, so just in case our actions hit somebody else hard, they are not destroyed financially either. Nor are we for having been judged responsible.
You have no problem, I'm sure, in calling your insurance agent for your owed financial payout after an auto accident, right? Or to get your house rebuilt after a fire or tornado, right? And you still pay in even if nothing ever destroys your home, your car, or nobody robs your bank account. It's built in to the structure. A large pool of paid members enables the insurance company to cover the load for the individuals who need it under the terms of their contract. That's. How. Insurance. Works.
So if you happen to die before you qualify for Social Security, you've still been paying in because you're part of the national pool and if you'd qualified by staying alive long enough you'd be getting your own benefits. Same with Medicare.
Let me ask you this, those of you who think it's a good idea to destroy what you like to call "entitlements". I bet you think of yourselves a good people, right? Most of you would refer to yourselves as good Christians, or Jews, Muslims, or whatever affiliation you have. But if you destroy Medicare and Social Security, do you want millions of elderly people to become homeless? Go hungry? Become and stay ill, suffering until they die? Really?
Or are you willing to bring Granny or Grandpa back into your own homes, feed, clothe and shelter them, pay for their medical needs out of your own pockets, drive them around wherever now that they can no longer afford keeping and running a vehicle? And don't forget loving them and nurturing them - because you're such good people - and never making them feel obligated to you for having to take over the family duties now that you've taken away their "entitlements"? You know, paying from your own pockets and out of your own time and energy for what you've been calling "free"?
Are you ready to do all that?
Really?
And you think somebody's going to do it for you when it's your time?
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Meeting The Great-Grandbaby
I've waited 9 1/2 months for this, since she wasn't going to cooperate with our summer schedule to be born. Plus it's been a packed schedule since we arrived in Mosquito Central, with all the other friends, relatives, and activities to cram into the visit. Saturday we finally made it work.
Her name is Anna and she is adorable. Yes, I know, there'd be a major problem with my perceptions if I didn't think that, but she's adorable. Her mom has to keep an eagle eye on her every waking minute, since she crawls faster than I can walk, just shy of walking independently, and all the forbidden items in the house are the ones that most fascinate her. Fortunately, Mom is young, flexible, and up to the task. I, on the other hand, can barely remember how I managed to do the same with my own kids and took a minute or 18 to wonder how on earth I ever did it. Adding the extra 20-something more kids that came and went through the house during the 8 years when I was doing home family day care can really scramble these elderly brains when I try to review the organizational challenges.
So just one kid was a real treat. Especially this one. Her disposition is mainly sunny, even with allowances for being tired or hungry. She's capable of fishing puffed fruit bits out of a cup with a special lid that allows tiny hands in and keeps tinier food bits from escaping. Those hands are perfectly capable of shoveling said food bits into her mouth (neatly) and picking up and using a water cup also designed for contents distribution only when properly demanded. Leaving it upside down on the carpet is no problem. Bigger drinks still utilize a bottle, but soon she's off exploring again.
"Da-da-da-da-da-" and "ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma" are her favorite verbalizations, though a hand patted over her mouth bring out her delight in making silly noises just because she can. She's beginning to use baby signing, but a bit more coordination is needed there as well.
She hams it up for the camera most of the time too. Just call her name and have the flash come on and there's a .75 second pose with a grin before she's on to the next thing. Unfortunately, my camera takes 1.8 seconds to decide what the subject is and where to focus, how to light it up properly, and finally take a picture, so she's gone on to that next thing before I've gotten my picture. That red-eye flash that's supposed to eliminate red eyes in photos doesn't work, not on anybody's camera, but that doesn't keep my camera from taking time trying to do it.
There have been lots of great pics and videos online from her parents. My favorites are a couple of videos. One, Daddy is taking the laser pointer and moving it around the carpet, keeping just ahead of Anna's ability to "catch" it. Think typical cat video, remove cat, insert baby. Another is a game of "I'm gonna get you!", where Mom and camera chase baby around the house, with baby stopping every 4 or 5 seconds to see if Mom's still chasing before scrambling away again.
I finally gave up on my bad still photos and went for the video app. I wanted my very own fun baby movies. Unfortunately, they take up way too much space on the SD card and my camera display is very good at letting me know how little time I have left. I only got 4 short videos, and at least one was more hope and optimism than worthwhile result. Well, unless you like a close-up of a diapered bottom heading away at top crawling speed. Not exactly my thing.
I did get one success. First, Mom took the batteries out of the TV remote so Anna would sit still long enough to thoroughly explore it, aka eat it. While that was occurring, Mom brought out a sitting teddy bear that wiggled, sang, and "danced" when you squeezed its paw. While the camera rolled, Anna repeatedly removed the remote from her mouth, waved her entire upper body along with the bear for a couple seconds without tipping over, then reinserted the remote so the process could start over. We got about 4 dances out of one paw squeeze. ( I still say the most talented part of that dance was her ability to avoid klunking herself in the head with the remote while wiggling to the music!)
I missed my chance at capturing a game of "Baby Sandwich." Anna was lying on the floor and Mom had a pillow she brought down and wiggled the baby with while repeating "Baby Sandwich". I think those were the biggest baby giggles of the day. Maybe (hint hint) she and Daddy can tape it and post it for us before it's no longer fun for Anna.
Living as far apart as we do from her, we gave her grandpa - my son - a lift down with us. He had the Saturday off. With Steve there to manage cameras for everybody, there are a selection of 4-generation pictures. There are the usual somebody-moved kind, somebody-made-a-face kind, Anna-faced-Mama-instead-of-the-camera kind. Somewhere in all those, however, I'm hoping there's a really good one. Otherwise we'll just have to go visit and do it again.
Wheeeeeeee! More hugs!
Her name is Anna and she is adorable. Yes, I know, there'd be a major problem with my perceptions if I didn't think that, but she's adorable. Her mom has to keep an eagle eye on her every waking minute, since she crawls faster than I can walk, just shy of walking independently, and all the forbidden items in the house are the ones that most fascinate her. Fortunately, Mom is young, flexible, and up to the task. I, on the other hand, can barely remember how I managed to do the same with my own kids and took a minute or 18 to wonder how on earth I ever did it. Adding the extra 20-something more kids that came and went through the house during the 8 years when I was doing home family day care can really scramble these elderly brains when I try to review the organizational challenges.
So just one kid was a real treat. Especially this one. Her disposition is mainly sunny, even with allowances for being tired or hungry. She's capable of fishing puffed fruit bits out of a cup with a special lid that allows tiny hands in and keeps tinier food bits from escaping. Those hands are perfectly capable of shoveling said food bits into her mouth (neatly) and picking up and using a water cup also designed for contents distribution only when properly demanded. Leaving it upside down on the carpet is no problem. Bigger drinks still utilize a bottle, but soon she's off exploring again.
"Da-da-da-da-da-" and "ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma" are her favorite verbalizations, though a hand patted over her mouth bring out her delight in making silly noises just because she can. She's beginning to use baby signing, but a bit more coordination is needed there as well.
She hams it up for the camera most of the time too. Just call her name and have the flash come on and there's a .75 second pose with a grin before she's on to the next thing. Unfortunately, my camera takes 1.8 seconds to decide what the subject is and where to focus, how to light it up properly, and finally take a picture, so she's gone on to that next thing before I've gotten my picture. That red-eye flash that's supposed to eliminate red eyes in photos doesn't work, not on anybody's camera, but that doesn't keep my camera from taking time trying to do it.
There have been lots of great pics and videos online from her parents. My favorites are a couple of videos. One, Daddy is taking the laser pointer and moving it around the carpet, keeping just ahead of Anna's ability to "catch" it. Think typical cat video, remove cat, insert baby. Another is a game of "I'm gonna get you!", where Mom and camera chase baby around the house, with baby stopping every 4 or 5 seconds to see if Mom's still chasing before scrambling away again.
I finally gave up on my bad still photos and went for the video app. I wanted my very own fun baby movies. Unfortunately, they take up way too much space on the SD card and my camera display is very good at letting me know how little time I have left. I only got 4 short videos, and at least one was more hope and optimism than worthwhile result. Well, unless you like a close-up of a diapered bottom heading away at top crawling speed. Not exactly my thing.
I did get one success. First, Mom took the batteries out of the TV remote so Anna would sit still long enough to thoroughly explore it, aka eat it. While that was occurring, Mom brought out a sitting teddy bear that wiggled, sang, and "danced" when you squeezed its paw. While the camera rolled, Anna repeatedly removed the remote from her mouth, waved her entire upper body along with the bear for a couple seconds without tipping over, then reinserted the remote so the process could start over. We got about 4 dances out of one paw squeeze. ( I still say the most talented part of that dance was her ability to avoid klunking herself in the head with the remote while wiggling to the music!)
I missed my chance at capturing a game of "Baby Sandwich." Anna was lying on the floor and Mom had a pillow she brought down and wiggled the baby with while repeating "Baby Sandwich". I think those were the biggest baby giggles of the day. Maybe (hint hint) she and Daddy can tape it and post it for us before it's no longer fun for Anna.
Living as far apart as we do from her, we gave her grandpa - my son - a lift down with us. He had the Saturday off. With Steve there to manage cameras for everybody, there are a selection of 4-generation pictures. There are the usual somebody-moved kind, somebody-made-a-face kind, Anna-faced-Mama-instead-of-the-camera kind. Somewhere in all those, however, I'm hoping there's a really good one. Otherwise we'll just have to go visit and do it again.
Wheeeeeeee! More hugs!
Saturday, July 21, 2018
Missing the Loons
No, this one is not a political rant. I mean, how can you miss something that just won't go away? But this time I'm talking literally.
Steve and I received an invitation to spend some time up in northern Minnesota at a cabin that friends of ours had just purchased over the winter. They had gone up a couple times this summer to work on putting things together, making it homey and comfortable, and we were the first to receive an invitation to come visit. We felt honored.
I won't say exactly where it is, but it's some distance north of Deer River. That name, alone, is an indelible memory from my childhood. I grew up not all that far away, as Minnesota goes. My father loved to pack us all in the car, when there was time, and just go driving around, finding new roads, seeing new sights. Some of it was just his urge to explore, and entertainment that wasn't horribly expensive back then. It had a practical side too, as my parents located potential spots for hunting, finding hazelnuts, picking wild fruits like chokecherries, raspberries, blueberries, bog cranberries, and even discovering eagle nests. I can't tell you where all these wonderful places were, since the where of it all was much less interesting to the child I was in the back seat than watching in horrible fascination as all the little spiders made their way to the top of the fruits in the buckets and started to climb out. I was phobic and positive they all were going to bite me - if not on this trip, then maybe the next one as they emerged from wherever they'd hidden in the car since the last trip.
With all that going on, you might find it odd that I'd remember what was then a nowhere place like Deer River. But that's exactly why I remember it. It consisted of three buildings along the road and one of those standard signs giving the name and population: two! Not only was this an unheard-of population for something calling itself a town, in my limited experience, but my brain puzzled for years over how two people could occupy three buildings!
Since this trip would take us through Deer River, I was curious how much it had changed. It now qualifies for something I recognize as a town, with a population over 900, and homes and commerce all over the place. I had to keep a sharp eye out for the road we were to turn on to for the next leg of our trip.
The cabin instantly felt like home. Nicer, even. Water on most of three sides, familiar trees and smaller plants, a dock cutting through both white and yellow water lilies, rushes, duckweed tangled in algae, and patches of wild rice jutting out from shore just a couple hundred feet away in either direction. This was the country I'd grown up in. Needless to say, the camera got a workout. Our hostess loves to sketch and paint, and would take her sketchbook and kayak out early in the mornings for solitude and "soulitude".
But oh, the loons! I have been lucky enough to hear them a handful of times since we moved away from northern Minnesota while I was still a teenager. Here, they called in the evenings, in the mornings, and occasionally during the day. By sound alone, I estimated three to four families in the neighborhood. If you know me, you have some idea how high praise it is for me to describe the concert as better than Beethoven!
Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't just the loons. The cabin was cozy, comfortable, and charming, the couple we stayed with are in the process of growing from good to great friends, the food was wonderful, the fresh air was a treat I hadn't realized I missed. If it wasn't fresh, it was filled with just the right amount of wood smoke from some hidden neighbor's fire to bring back all kinds of wonderful memories all by itself. Steve got to go fishing, exploring the local interconnected waterways, managing the hill and stairs between cabin and boat and proud of himself for doing so.
But oh, the loons!
Steve and I received an invitation to spend some time up in northern Minnesota at a cabin that friends of ours had just purchased over the winter. They had gone up a couple times this summer to work on putting things together, making it homey and comfortable, and we were the first to receive an invitation to come visit. We felt honored.
I won't say exactly where it is, but it's some distance north of Deer River. That name, alone, is an indelible memory from my childhood. I grew up not all that far away, as Minnesota goes. My father loved to pack us all in the car, when there was time, and just go driving around, finding new roads, seeing new sights. Some of it was just his urge to explore, and entertainment that wasn't horribly expensive back then. It had a practical side too, as my parents located potential spots for hunting, finding hazelnuts, picking wild fruits like chokecherries, raspberries, blueberries, bog cranberries, and even discovering eagle nests. I can't tell you where all these wonderful places were, since the where of it all was much less interesting to the child I was in the back seat than watching in horrible fascination as all the little spiders made their way to the top of the fruits in the buckets and started to climb out. I was phobic and positive they all were going to bite me - if not on this trip, then maybe the next one as they emerged from wherever they'd hidden in the car since the last trip.
With all that going on, you might find it odd that I'd remember what was then a nowhere place like Deer River. But that's exactly why I remember it. It consisted of three buildings along the road and one of those standard signs giving the name and population: two! Not only was this an unheard-of population for something calling itself a town, in my limited experience, but my brain puzzled for years over how two people could occupy three buildings!
Since this trip would take us through Deer River, I was curious how much it had changed. It now qualifies for something I recognize as a town, with a population over 900, and homes and commerce all over the place. I had to keep a sharp eye out for the road we were to turn on to for the next leg of our trip.
The cabin instantly felt like home. Nicer, even. Water on most of three sides, familiar trees and smaller plants, a dock cutting through both white and yellow water lilies, rushes, duckweed tangled in algae, and patches of wild rice jutting out from shore just a couple hundred feet away in either direction. This was the country I'd grown up in. Needless to say, the camera got a workout. Our hostess loves to sketch and paint, and would take her sketchbook and kayak out early in the mornings for solitude and "soulitude".
But oh, the loons! I have been lucky enough to hear them a handful of times since we moved away from northern Minnesota while I was still a teenager. Here, they called in the evenings, in the mornings, and occasionally during the day. By sound alone, I estimated three to four families in the neighborhood. If you know me, you have some idea how high praise it is for me to describe the concert as better than Beethoven!
Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't just the loons. The cabin was cozy, comfortable, and charming, the couple we stayed with are in the process of growing from good to great friends, the food was wonderful, the fresh air was a treat I hadn't realized I missed. If it wasn't fresh, it was filled with just the right amount of wood smoke from some hidden neighbor's fire to bring back all kinds of wonderful memories all by itself. Steve got to go fishing, exploring the local interconnected waterways, managing the hill and stairs between cabin and boat and proud of himself for doing so.
But oh, the loons!
Friday, July 20, 2018
Time To Apologize To Germans
I'm part of the first wave of baby boomers. As such, I was raised on a heavy dose of information on how WWII started and continued, how the horrible German people cooperated with Hitler to support everything from invasions to the Holocaust. As we were the winning side of that war, and proud of it, underlying all this was the message that all that was then, not now, and it was the horrible Germans, not anybody else. Somehow those people were less human than all the rest of us.
Particularly US. We, Americans, would never ever fall for the lies, participate in the horrors, attack and try to eliminate any race, any other religion, do any of those awful deeds. By some miracle, we were holier than thou, innately better humans than those terrible Germans. Perhaps it was genetics, though that wasn't a common term back then. Perhaps it was our invincible constitution. Somehow God favored us above all others. We were assured of our own moral superiority even as we were taught how economics, power, fear, and state-encouraged hate had brought the whole disaster about. But still....
Black and white. Them, not us. Never us. The lesson had been learned and everything was forever OK.
A familiar pattern has been resurfacing. There is a "them" we are taught to fear and hate. More than one, actually. Pretty much everybody who's not really white. One might even say Aryan. Folks who arrive any time after the rest of us got here, threatening to take away "our" jobs. Folks who worship the "wrong way". Economics are skewing away from the ordinary people and towards the few, the powerful. One could call it fascism. Those on the bottom end on the economic spectrum are also on the neglected end of the educational spectrum, less encouraged to look for real answers, more easily led. Can't pull yourselves up by your bootstraps when you've never had boots. That rising tide only lifts the boats without holes in their hulls. But if you weren't born with all the right benefits, it's your own moral failing. Bad information is being pounded into our heads, state-sponsored media is taking over one side of a story, their side.
Remember that old term called the "big lie"? It's being used but not named, and this time aided by the technological advantages of the internet, and the increasingly mindless offerings of movies and TV, the endless repetition of the term "fake news" to discredit any real disquiet. Bad as things are getting, we are refusing to believe the real causes and are increasingly diverted by - here's another real oldie - bread and circuses. And we are still being fed assurances of our moral superiority among a ceaseless pounding of patriotism, along with asserting we follow only the right kind of religion.
I think it's time to acknowledge that good and evil are shadings of human. Nobody holds a monopoly. Nobody is immune. The "them" of former decades and centuries are all too easily slipping into the "us" of now. If we stay lazy and comfortable, take the power we still have at the ballot box so much for granted that we don't bother to even show up, we're going to head down the same path. We can't claim the Germans are so much more terrible than we are: just earlier. It can happen here because it's already starting.
We just have to decide whether we're going to sit back on our asses and let it.
Oh yeah, and acknowledge that the Germans at the moment are way more progressive and humane than we are.
Particularly US. We, Americans, would never ever fall for the lies, participate in the horrors, attack and try to eliminate any race, any other religion, do any of those awful deeds. By some miracle, we were holier than thou, innately better humans than those terrible Germans. Perhaps it was genetics, though that wasn't a common term back then. Perhaps it was our invincible constitution. Somehow God favored us above all others. We were assured of our own moral superiority even as we were taught how economics, power, fear, and state-encouraged hate had brought the whole disaster about. But still....
Black and white. Them, not us. Never us. The lesson had been learned and everything was forever OK.
A familiar pattern has been resurfacing. There is a "them" we are taught to fear and hate. More than one, actually. Pretty much everybody who's not really white. One might even say Aryan. Folks who arrive any time after the rest of us got here, threatening to take away "our" jobs. Folks who worship the "wrong way". Economics are skewing away from the ordinary people and towards the few, the powerful. One could call it fascism. Those on the bottom end on the economic spectrum are also on the neglected end of the educational spectrum, less encouraged to look for real answers, more easily led. Can't pull yourselves up by your bootstraps when you've never had boots. That rising tide only lifts the boats without holes in their hulls. But if you weren't born with all the right benefits, it's your own moral failing. Bad information is being pounded into our heads, state-sponsored media is taking over one side of a story, their side.
Remember that old term called the "big lie"? It's being used but not named, and this time aided by the technological advantages of the internet, and the increasingly mindless offerings of movies and TV, the endless repetition of the term "fake news" to discredit any real disquiet. Bad as things are getting, we are refusing to believe the real causes and are increasingly diverted by - here's another real oldie - bread and circuses. And we are still being fed assurances of our moral superiority among a ceaseless pounding of patriotism, along with asserting we follow only the right kind of religion.
I think it's time to acknowledge that good and evil are shadings of human. Nobody holds a monopoly. Nobody is immune. The "them" of former decades and centuries are all too easily slipping into the "us" of now. If we stay lazy and comfortable, take the power we still have at the ballot box so much for granted that we don't bother to even show up, we're going to head down the same path. We can't claim the Germans are so much more terrible than we are: just earlier. It can happen here because it's already starting.
We just have to decide whether we're going to sit back on our asses and let it.
Oh yeah, and acknowledge that the Germans at the moment are way more progressive and humane than we are.
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