I have an opinion about what is being claimed to have happened. You have an opinion as well. What we don't have, and aren't being allowed to have unless something swiftly and radically changes, is evidence.
Yes, of course I'm talking about the Kavanaugh hearing and the charges of the women coming forward to accuse him of sexual improprieties from years ago. Even the term "sexual improprieties" is prejudicial. It's all just a prank, is how it comes across. Boys will be idiots. No real harm done. It's not like it's being investigated as rape, violence, drugging, repeat offenses. Maybe it was just a harmless lifting of a skirt in passing, eh? A leer and a crude comment? (Let's discuss how "harmless" those are another time.)
There are things that tilt our opinions one way or another. Politics seem to be the top one. Beyond that, the number of accusers tilt the scales for some of us, though even the 60 accusers of Bill Cosby still haven't convinced some that he did anything wrong. Maybe Kavanaugh didn't write "rape party" in his school calendar, so that means nothing ever happened, right, because, hey, wouldn't he have been honest in everything he wrote down?
Seriously, who really believes somebody would self-report the worst parts of their behavior in writing, and failure to do so is proof of anything other than a smidgin of self protection? Well, maybe except for those idiots who post pics of themselves throwing up in the party punch bowl and otherwise being completely stupid where the whole world including current or prospective employers can review them. They might believe it. Even once they sober up.
Then there are the lists of folks who "attest" to Kavanaugh's good character. He was never obnoxious to me. He never raped me, or spiked my drink. Therefore he never did and doesn't/didn't make a practice of doing so. Try that one on in court: "Your Honor, here's a list of 65 people I never robbed, so I'm innocent." Jeffery Dahmer didn't eat everybody he came across, right? The 9/11 bombers didn't destroy the whole country, did they? And all the neighbors scratch their heads and avow their local mass murderer was such a nice, polite, quiet person.
He says, she says. Whom do you believe? How about looking where the evidence leads? Oh wait, what evidence? Rather than follow the usual procedure in cases like these, bringing the FBI in to finish their background investigation in light of new information/allegations, and reporting back with their findings, something which typically takes a very few days and could be done by now, they've actually been forbidden to investigate and make a report.
Although I'm personally highly sceptical, I doubt their report would exonerate Kavanaugh. However, there is a slight chance it would. Absent such a report, should Kavanaugh be placed on the Supreme Court by Mitch McConnnel's runaway train, there would always be an asterisk next to his name. Any time he would be the 5th and deciding vote on any case before the court, that case would be suspect, that decision argued over. Unsettled law.
Is that what we want to do to our country?
Thursday, September 27, 2018
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Inconsiderate, Incompetent Buffoon
That's the nice way I'd put it. This time I'm not even speaking of Trump*. But it just goes to show there isn't just one of those in the government. This time, however, it's local.
Understand that I know to expect our property tax bill down here to have to be paid in October and March. So far the amount hasn't been a major problem, since I budget ahead for it. It's how they send it out that I find egregious. It arrived in the mail today. That's September 26th.
It's payable October 1st.
If you're calendar impaired, since the mail arrives late in the afternoon, that gives us four days in which to pay it. It would be five, but one of those is a Sunday. And just in case some homeowner hadn't planned ahead for the proper amount, since this is our first notice of the exact amount, you might also notice than not one of those four days is one where any kind of paycheck is expected. As retirees, we rely on the calendar of Social Security, which for neither of us falls within that deadline.
I called the state treasurer's office to offer a piece of my mind, having a few left to share. I was informed that the state guarantees that all property tax bills will be posted by the 26th. So some folks will have to wait a couple more days for the post office to deliver their bills, allowing them even a smaller window of reaction time. I should consider myself lucky?
I like to pay those important bills on time. These days, I like to pay all of them on time, and do my best to maintain a balance accordingly, as well as regularly check my finances online, going in both directions. Having the funds will not be an issue for me.
Not everybody is so fortunate as to be able to plan ahead enough to cope with a four day billing period. Granted, there is a small grace period before interest and penalties kick in, small enough it seems like a guaranteed moneymaker for the state. That's likely to fall even more unfairly on the less than wealthy.
Oh, the ongoing joys of having the Republicons run the government.
Inconsiderate.
Incompetent.
Buffoons, or worse.
Understand that I know to expect our property tax bill down here to have to be paid in October and March. So far the amount hasn't been a major problem, since I budget ahead for it. It's how they send it out that I find egregious. It arrived in the mail today. That's September 26th.
It's payable October 1st.
If you're calendar impaired, since the mail arrives late in the afternoon, that gives us four days in which to pay it. It would be five, but one of those is a Sunday. And just in case some homeowner hadn't planned ahead for the proper amount, since this is our first notice of the exact amount, you might also notice than not one of those four days is one where any kind of paycheck is expected. As retirees, we rely on the calendar of Social Security, which for neither of us falls within that deadline.
I called the state treasurer's office to offer a piece of my mind, having a few left to share. I was informed that the state guarantees that all property tax bills will be posted by the 26th. So some folks will have to wait a couple more days for the post office to deliver their bills, allowing them even a smaller window of reaction time. I should consider myself lucky?
I like to pay those important bills on time. These days, I like to pay all of them on time, and do my best to maintain a balance accordingly, as well as regularly check my finances online, going in both directions. Having the funds will not be an issue for me.
Not everybody is so fortunate as to be able to plan ahead enough to cope with a four day billing period. Granted, there is a small grace period before interest and penalties kick in, small enough it seems like a guaranteed moneymaker for the state. That's likely to fall even more unfairly on the less than wealthy.
Oh, the ongoing joys of having the Republicons run the government.
Inconsiderate.
Incompetent.
Buffoons, or worse.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Rocks In His Head!
At last, we have definitive proof. A Doctor even says so: Steve has rocks in his head!
As you will all recall, Steve has been trying to get his dizziness diagnosed and cured for close to a year now. Doctor after doctor has put their two cents - plus $30.00 co-pay - in, with no improvement. His ear infection was cured and massive amounts of ear wax removed. The Epley maneuver was performed. That was just the first doctor visit. This, that, and the other was investigated and/or performed. It wasn't a tumor. It wasn't Menhirs disease. It wasn't... well, the list grew.
Small consolation, as there was still no change. Appointments were set up with new doctors for after we returned from summer vacation and his insurance kicked in again, since it covers only emergencies during vacation traveling.
Meanwhile, the dizzy spells were relentless. He might go a few days without a major one, then have several in a row. His continuing experience with them allowed him to get better at dealing with them, or just letting him know that bed was the only answer. But whenever one struck even there, he was clinging on for dear life just to prevent falling out of a perfectly flat, still surface. Occasionally I was still needed to hold onto him and guide him down the hall. Due to their lack of any forewarning, driving was forbidden, of course. He got a pill so he wouldn't throw up when the world went crazy, but lack of driving was the worst part to him.
His relatives knew of somebody or another who had the same problem after a minor spinal injury. We could track the start of this problem to shortly after Steve's breaking his tailbone last fall. Since the folks "everybody knew" this had happened to had none of them recovered from their dizziness for the remainder of their lives, this was a bit of a worry. We resolved to add a spinal specialist to the list of possibilities, without much optimism.
Today was another one of those appointments, this time with an ENT specialist. He agreed with Steve's assessment that this might be related to the fall which broke Steve's tailbone. He had a slightly better explanation, however: rocks in his head! The fall had knocked them loose and they had never gone back where they belonged.
Sounded to me exactly like the explanation for vertigo, only my doc referred to mine as "floaters". OK, so vertigo on steroids, then. The good news was that he ran Steve through a series of moves which, as Steve described them, sounded like Epley's on steroids. When Steve finally sat up afterwards, no dizziness.
Best news of all: in two days, so long as he's careful in moving his head slowly and the dizziness doesn't come back, Steve can drive again!!!
And I get to tell him he has rocks in his head!
As you will all recall, Steve has been trying to get his dizziness diagnosed and cured for close to a year now. Doctor after doctor has put their two cents - plus $30.00 co-pay - in, with no improvement. His ear infection was cured and massive amounts of ear wax removed. The Epley maneuver was performed. That was just the first doctor visit. This, that, and the other was investigated and/or performed. It wasn't a tumor. It wasn't Menhirs disease. It wasn't... well, the list grew.
Small consolation, as there was still no change. Appointments were set up with new doctors for after we returned from summer vacation and his insurance kicked in again, since it covers only emergencies during vacation traveling.
Meanwhile, the dizzy spells were relentless. He might go a few days without a major one, then have several in a row. His continuing experience with them allowed him to get better at dealing with them, or just letting him know that bed was the only answer. But whenever one struck even there, he was clinging on for dear life just to prevent falling out of a perfectly flat, still surface. Occasionally I was still needed to hold onto him and guide him down the hall. Due to their lack of any forewarning, driving was forbidden, of course. He got a pill so he wouldn't throw up when the world went crazy, but lack of driving was the worst part to him.
His relatives knew of somebody or another who had the same problem after a minor spinal injury. We could track the start of this problem to shortly after Steve's breaking his tailbone last fall. Since the folks "everybody knew" this had happened to had none of them recovered from their dizziness for the remainder of their lives, this was a bit of a worry. We resolved to add a spinal specialist to the list of possibilities, without much optimism.
Today was another one of those appointments, this time with an ENT specialist. He agreed with Steve's assessment that this might be related to the fall which broke Steve's tailbone. He had a slightly better explanation, however: rocks in his head! The fall had knocked them loose and they had never gone back where they belonged.
Sounded to me exactly like the explanation for vertigo, only my doc referred to mine as "floaters". OK, so vertigo on steroids, then. The good news was that he ran Steve through a series of moves which, as Steve described them, sounded like Epley's on steroids. When Steve finally sat up afterwards, no dizziness.
Best news of all: in two days, so long as he's careful in moving his head slowly and the dizziness doesn't come back, Steve can drive again!!!
And I get to tell him he has rocks in his head!
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Ready To Scream!
Face it, relocating twice a year has its downs. (Sure, ups too or why bother?) With everything possible shut down in Arizona to save money on utility bills, there's a transition phase that is often a royal pain. Sometimes it's a smooth process but simply having to dig out all those numbers and making those contact calls just adds to the general hassle.
Easiest is turning the water back on. We literally rotate a valve a quarter turn. Of course, this is the one where we pay a minimum bill every month whether or not a single drop flows. The company still comes out to read the meter year around. For us, it's two seconds when we leave, then two seconds on arrival followed by turning on faucets and flushing toilets to remove air.
Next one we do for ourselves is the electricity. Nearly everything gets turned off. Midway through the first summer after solar was installed, we were informed, contrary to what I wrote down word for word with drawings during the install, that we couldn't just flip the main breaker. Each house breaker got turned off individually, leaving the main and solar breakers on. OK, no real biggie, and we gave the verbal OK for their employee to enter our back yard and set it right. The hardest part is the spring-loaded lever on the bottom of the cover. That spring seems to have grown stronger than our hands with each use. It's easy enough to use a tool to force it to the side, but however it's done, the technique also has to control it far enough out on its tip so that while it's moved the lid can also drop down. Both of us together manage on about the fifth try to accomplish both simultaneously. I could claim our language wilts the flora within a 20 foot radius, but secretly I bet that's the result of summer in the desert.
We might not fight so hard with it, tired as we are from our last day driving, but it's the only way to restart the AC for a house easily above 100 degrees.
The phone calls start either just before or on the way down. Gas should be the first, since we have to make an appointment for somebody to come out to the house, and the closer to the time the snowbirds return en masse, the more booked ahead they are. During this call we have to promise an adult will be on the premises during a 4-hour window while they do the job, so we need to allow for possible vehicle problems delaying us. In addition to turning on the gas, of course, they check out every item where it is used, making sure nothing leaks. We pay for that service, but it's cheaper than a monthly minimum while we're gone, as well as much safer than just leaving it on for months in an empty house.
The things which should be the simplest are always the most frustration: wi-fi and TV satellite service. A simple phone call and somebody switches them off at their office, usually at 12:01 AM the day we leave, leaving us no access to news or weather as we start off. But our costs drop to insignificant levels and the DVR doesn't fill up with an overwhelming load to sort through upon our return.
Ahhh, but if only it were that simple!
We started by checking the TV. There were things we wanted to set new timers for, a couple very time sensitive. Everything was supposed to be started up the day before our arrival. First phone call after determining that we had a glitch resulted in multiple trips between Steve's chair and the DVR control box, pushing buttons either on the remote or at the box. Second call, as well as third call, finally achieved getting the guide up and running... mostly. Let's take a minute to remind you how frustrating it can be when the person on the other end of the line has a nearly impenetrable accent and no understanding of American idioms. The guide finally started its setup, and Steve had instructions to give the system a couple hours to finish replacing all the "no information" entries with, well, information. That ended up requiring call #4, now requiring a full shutdown of the system for twenty minutes. At last it was fixed, and we were glad to have arrived early enough in the day to actually watch/record the desired evening programs. We also set to putting timers on shows which weren't on last year.
Now the real fun began. We had wi-fi the first night. Not the next morning. This one is also Steve's purview, so he got to exercise his level of patience, somewhat better than mine under these circumstances. Since this again was where I heard one side of the conversation, my role was to write down codes as he repeated them back to me so we'd both have a record and could accurately set up our laptops. Other than the usual clarifications between b, p, d, t, and everything else that rhymed, that part was fairly simple. We managed to make it work.
It wasn't until the next day we found out our Kindles weren't connected. No explanation of how that could happen when they were perfectly connected last spring. Not only that, they recognized 9 wi-fi signals within receiving range, none of them ours. I tried setting my Kindle up, having kept the data. I kept getting an error message informing me I needed to be on wi-fi in order to complete the task of getting on wi-fi.
Huh?
Nothing worked, and with our old Kindles, any instructions we could find via laptop referred to a model called the Kindle White. Apparently it has buttons across the top. I promise you, ours don't.
Next phone call.... The "helper"on the other end of the line was incapable of listening to anything that varied from her script. Frequent comments gave instructions we had no idea how to follow, not having taken our classes in jargon for a while. When asked how to do whatever she had just told us to do, the instruction was simply repeated. "Go to ____" is meaningless when one has no idea how to get there, if we can even translate what is being talked about. She finally gave up and connected us to a video showing the process. Again, wrong kind of Kindle. Also, too fast, information missing, and completely useless.
I had already figured out how to go through settings to find out what was what in available wi-fi signals. I'd even found the place for adding a new one. I'd tried about 8 different versions of how it might be entered. Did the company name go with the number or not? If it did, what might be capitalized? Any spaces between company and account code? I'd tried every variation I could think of with no results, other than getting screen freeze, requiring complete shutdown and reboot, then finding my way back into the wi-fi settings page, via any of the three ways I'd located so far. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW HOW TO ENTER THE INFO!
Steve was also reaching the very end of his considerable patience. He heard two bizarre things. I mean beyond the usual crap I've already described. First, we somehow had two accounts with this company. No explanation. I'm also waiting to find out if they think we owe them on two bills. The second was that they only hooked up our laptops, and if we wanted to add our Kindles to the account it would cost us another $10/month! Each!
Bullshit!
We declined their generous offer, of course.
After hanging up and both of us calming down somewhat, we discussed the issue and decided to head to the local library. First, they were very hands-on helpful. Steve had used them last year to access library books. We figured after hooking up to their system, a weekly visit to upload our newest books and send read books to our archives, all for free, was the way to go. The person who helped Steve the most worked Fridays, so we'd wait till the end of the week. There was still unpacking, grocery shopping, and all that stuff to do in the meantime.
Next morning two things happened. Our Kindles were hooked up on wi-fi, no action needed on our part. An unrelated search through old archived email showed the account number (different) and password (same) for how it had been set up last year. Since whatever was done by whomever works for us, we've calmed back down for now. We're still waiting to see the upcoming bill.
The last bit of finalizing our return, the trip to the post office, was relatively effortless. Something had to be.
Easiest is turning the water back on. We literally rotate a valve a quarter turn. Of course, this is the one where we pay a minimum bill every month whether or not a single drop flows. The company still comes out to read the meter year around. For us, it's two seconds when we leave, then two seconds on arrival followed by turning on faucets and flushing toilets to remove air.
Next one we do for ourselves is the electricity. Nearly everything gets turned off. Midway through the first summer after solar was installed, we were informed, contrary to what I wrote down word for word with drawings during the install, that we couldn't just flip the main breaker. Each house breaker got turned off individually, leaving the main and solar breakers on. OK, no real biggie, and we gave the verbal OK for their employee to enter our back yard and set it right. The hardest part is the spring-loaded lever on the bottom of the cover. That spring seems to have grown stronger than our hands with each use. It's easy enough to use a tool to force it to the side, but however it's done, the technique also has to control it far enough out on its tip so that while it's moved the lid can also drop down. Both of us together manage on about the fifth try to accomplish both simultaneously. I could claim our language wilts the flora within a 20 foot radius, but secretly I bet that's the result of summer in the desert.
We might not fight so hard with it, tired as we are from our last day driving, but it's the only way to restart the AC for a house easily above 100 degrees.
The phone calls start either just before or on the way down. Gas should be the first, since we have to make an appointment for somebody to come out to the house, and the closer to the time the snowbirds return en masse, the more booked ahead they are. During this call we have to promise an adult will be on the premises during a 4-hour window while they do the job, so we need to allow for possible vehicle problems delaying us. In addition to turning on the gas, of course, they check out every item where it is used, making sure nothing leaks. We pay for that service, but it's cheaper than a monthly minimum while we're gone, as well as much safer than just leaving it on for months in an empty house.
The things which should be the simplest are always the most frustration: wi-fi and TV satellite service. A simple phone call and somebody switches them off at their office, usually at 12:01 AM the day we leave, leaving us no access to news or weather as we start off. But our costs drop to insignificant levels and the DVR doesn't fill up with an overwhelming load to sort through upon our return.
Ahhh, but if only it were that simple!
We started by checking the TV. There were things we wanted to set new timers for, a couple very time sensitive. Everything was supposed to be started up the day before our arrival. First phone call after determining that we had a glitch resulted in multiple trips between Steve's chair and the DVR control box, pushing buttons either on the remote or at the box. Second call, as well as third call, finally achieved getting the guide up and running... mostly. Let's take a minute to remind you how frustrating it can be when the person on the other end of the line has a nearly impenetrable accent and no understanding of American idioms. The guide finally started its setup, and Steve had instructions to give the system a couple hours to finish replacing all the "no information" entries with, well, information. That ended up requiring call #4, now requiring a full shutdown of the system for twenty minutes. At last it was fixed, and we were glad to have arrived early enough in the day to actually watch/record the desired evening programs. We also set to putting timers on shows which weren't on last year.
Now the real fun began. We had wi-fi the first night. Not the next morning. This one is also Steve's purview, so he got to exercise his level of patience, somewhat better than mine under these circumstances. Since this again was where I heard one side of the conversation, my role was to write down codes as he repeated them back to me so we'd both have a record and could accurately set up our laptops. Other than the usual clarifications between b, p, d, t, and everything else that rhymed, that part was fairly simple. We managed to make it work.
It wasn't until the next day we found out our Kindles weren't connected. No explanation of how that could happen when they were perfectly connected last spring. Not only that, they recognized 9 wi-fi signals within receiving range, none of them ours. I tried setting my Kindle up, having kept the data. I kept getting an error message informing me I needed to be on wi-fi in order to complete the task of getting on wi-fi.
Huh?
Nothing worked, and with our old Kindles, any instructions we could find via laptop referred to a model called the Kindle White. Apparently it has buttons across the top. I promise you, ours don't.
Next phone call.... The "helper"on the other end of the line was incapable of listening to anything that varied from her script. Frequent comments gave instructions we had no idea how to follow, not having taken our classes in jargon for a while. When asked how to do whatever she had just told us to do, the instruction was simply repeated. "Go to ____" is meaningless when one has no idea how to get there, if we can even translate what is being talked about. She finally gave up and connected us to a video showing the process. Again, wrong kind of Kindle. Also, too fast, information missing, and completely useless.
I had already figured out how to go through settings to find out what was what in available wi-fi signals. I'd even found the place for adding a new one. I'd tried about 8 different versions of how it might be entered. Did the company name go with the number or not? If it did, what might be capitalized? Any spaces between company and account code? I'd tried every variation I could think of with no results, other than getting screen freeze, requiring complete shutdown and reboot, then finding my way back into the wi-fi settings page, via any of the three ways I'd located so far. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW HOW TO ENTER THE INFO!
Steve was also reaching the very end of his considerable patience. He heard two bizarre things. I mean beyond the usual crap I've already described. First, we somehow had two accounts with this company. No explanation. I'm also waiting to find out if they think we owe them on two bills. The second was that they only hooked up our laptops, and if we wanted to add our Kindles to the account it would cost us another $10/month! Each!
Bullshit!
We declined their generous offer, of course.
After hanging up and both of us calming down somewhat, we discussed the issue and decided to head to the local library. First, they were very hands-on helpful. Steve had used them last year to access library books. We figured after hooking up to their system, a weekly visit to upload our newest books and send read books to our archives, all for free, was the way to go. The person who helped Steve the most worked Fridays, so we'd wait till the end of the week. There was still unpacking, grocery shopping, and all that stuff to do in the meantime.
Next morning two things happened. Our Kindles were hooked up on wi-fi, no action needed on our part. An unrelated search through old archived email showed the account number (different) and password (same) for how it had been set up last year. Since whatever was done by whomever works for us, we've calmed back down for now. We're still waiting to see the upcoming bill.
The last bit of finalizing our return, the trip to the post office, was relatively effortless. Something had to be.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
No Trail Ridge, But 500 Pronghorns & A Forest Fire
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.
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.
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.
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