The Book I Was Sure Would Never Sell

There were a lot of books which didn't leave during our book/garage sale. For the first couple days, I was extremely disappointed in how many people insisted they "didn't read". But after all, this is Arizona, with one of the worst school systems in the country. It's also a pretty right wing area, though retirees flood down here from all over, and not for the politics but for the senior community and the prices. I  do however get repeated comments about how "brave" I am to put several Democratic bumper stickers on my car. So I wasn't surprised when things like Doonsbury books were passed over. Still, I thought there might be one....

I did get requests for things we never had, like math textbooks. Other things we did have were quite popular, like bundles, by authors, of mystery and science fiction books. Those, when they went out, went by the bagfuls. One customer simply wanted to be happy, and wound up buying books of jokes, happy to walk out with a targeted bag after my pointing out what I knew was still there and where. She was only slightly impeded in hauling away her finds by having one arm determinedly snuggling an extremely soft, plush, large green stuffed dinosaur Rich had set out which she also purchased.

Tucked in discretely here and there were a textbook on human sexuality - which I refrained from pointing out to the very young man looking for textbooks - and several slim volumes on birth control including some aimed at teens, along with The Joy of Sex. I didn't have much hope for one other book selling. But here's how it happened.

Two women probably 15 years younger than I am, with no other customers around, picked up the textbook on sexuality. (Yes, I took that college course. The window in the door to the hall was always a bunch of faces fighting for viewing space. They knew what was taught.) The women were laughing over the thought of a mutual (friend?) being somebody they wished  would be the beneficiary of that book, if somebody could just sneak it into her living room and walk out with her not being the wiser. They didn't buy it however, even at its very low price, much as they thought of how much she truly needed it.

Sensing their mood, I pointed out a very subdued, though large, book in another box, mentioning how hilarious I'd found it. It was all old Japanese erotic art prints. Parts of what I found so funny was how obsessed the artists were with - ahem - size. Large sections were depictions of men so enormously endowed that they had helpers to support their "junk" while they moved. The more important and therefore larger the man, the more assistance needed. Or was it vice versa? Help might be in the form of a string of other men, or large wheelbarrows, or other things I've long forgotten. Other fantasies were depicted which, if carried out, would be impossible, or extremely painful should the merest tiny thing go wrong. Ladies in swings were a popular theme in those prints. A 12-foot arc needs a lot of precision!!

Yeah, I cringed too.

At any rate, one of the women picked up the book, they both looked through it briefly, and almost in unison said, "______ would love this book! She collects all things Japanese and Chinese!" I trust it's cozily ensconced in its new home, unless perhaps she lives far enough away it has to be mailed.

Do they still prohibit such things in the mail these days?

When Do We All Get Stupid(er)?

If you go back in time a ways, there were numbers given out about what percentages of our atmosphere were Nitrogen, Oxygen, Carbon Dioxide, Helium, Argon, etc. I seem to recall that O2 was around 20%. Notice that I'm not Googling it though that function is a few keystrokes away. It was just an easy, nice round number to remember. Nitrogen is the highest by far, but our lungs do a great  job of filtering it out when we breathe so we can take in O2. But you know all this, right? Maybe not the exact numbers, but the big picture. We take in O2, breathe out CO2, then plants take in CO2 and breathe out O2. It's one reason why we need them in order to survive. Food, shade, and shelter are others. They also contribute beauty, for a different kind of survival.

Other ways of measuring what is in our air become important in places like work environments where many chemicals become dangerous in certain concentrations. We get stuck in those locations for hours, repeated over days/weeks/years. OSHA will have lists of all kinds of chemicals and what is/isn't safe to breathe. Those numbers in the danger zones are in PPM, or parts per million, or when they're even more dangerous, PPB, parts per billion. You get the same measurements in the water we drink, where the tiniest amount of certain molecules can  do untold damage to us. If we're on municipal water systems, we get annual reports on how many PPM of arsenic or lead, for examples, are in what we drink, cook with, and bathe in. Read the next one before you toss it away.

For those who have been paying attention, CO2 and methane amounts in our atmosphere are beginning to cause problems. We're heating up. Ice is melting. Each new measurement is worse than the last. The whole process is accelerating, and numerous tipping points, the places where we can no longer stop it, have been reached. Since heat is energy, and the atmosphere is heating up, weather is getting more energy. Simple physics. Simple math. As little as five years ago we kept hearing "We can't blame X event on global warming, it's just an isolated weather event." But they keep getting worse, stronger and more frequent, and temperatures keep rising. And rising. And rise off the charts. It is global warming.

Now I did inquire of Professor Google about these next numbers. Where are carbon dioxide levels now, and where did they used to be? Back before the industrial age, before when we started pouring all that smoke into the air, filled with carbon from burning oil, gas, coal, wood, and whatever, CO2 levels were measured at around 280 PPM. We just passed 424 PPM.

Take that in for a minute. 

It's still climbing. We're not acting to stop it.

If we get too much CO2 in the air we breathe, things happen. We're not there yet, or not so we notice the changes, or even if we do we blame them on other things.  We get sluggish, tired, have persistent headaches. We become disoriented, paranoid, depressed. A whole lot of that translates to simply becoming more stupid. Nevermind your starting point, too much CO2 makes you more stupid than you were.

So the race is on. There are big problems to solve... if we can. We need our best and brightest working on them. Meanwhile CO2 is still increasing. Methane, which is even worse for the planet, is increasing even faster, after having been trapped beneath frozen layers of the planet for millennia. At what point do we all become too stupid to fix any of them?

Will we be too stupid by then to even notice?

What Day Is It?

 Retirement can do funny things to my time sense. Perhaps yours too. Ever since I was in kindergarten I've had a reason to know what day of the week it was, the date on the calendar, the season of the year. Even after retirement there was remembering which night a certain TV favorite show aired to help me keep oriented.

Things change. The last few years there have been my club obligations, knowing which days it was open, of those which were the days I was responsible to open the doors, when meetings or classes were. TV as a time setter tended to drop out because the DVR recorded shows, to watch whenever we felt like it. Then the writers' strike meant little new was there to watch anyway, and we branched out into networks which played multiple episodes of an old show together and it would take a while to get through them. Barring a doctor's appointment, or the 1st Wednesday Senior's Discount Day at the local grocery store each month, who cared when was when?

It has had jarring effects. I often find myself thinking it's a different season. Being without winters for many years helps, but I've always been  much better oriented until recently. 

Take elections. There is one upcoming in a few days. Just not right where we live. Phoenix has one, neighboring communities have some local ones. We don't. I noted to myself months ago I won't be voting in Arizona again. We'll be in Minnesota by then. (I'll have to figure out the logistics of moving and voting later: does AZ want us to officially say "Good-bye"? They automatically mail out ballots to us. It seems responsible to cancel.) Somehow, though, I'm disoriented each time I hear about the looming election because I am thinking it's about 6 months away. But this isn't spring. Where does that orientation come from?

Is it because everything else we're doing right now is geared towards heading north again, and that kind of planning usually happens spring of the year?  Fall should have fall leaf colors but that doesn't happen around Phoenix. I had lots of fall colors just before we headed south, and spring up north would have meant lots of bare branches and sporadic snow, also not happening. I should have had the cues. Trees which keep their leaves down here are doing so. Or at least the ones that survived the heat. Our next door neighbor lost a very tall saguaro over the summer, but that doesn't signal me at all as to season. Neither do the temperatures, though we're finally dropping into the upper 80s.  Ahhhhh.......

Heck, I haven't even stocked up on all the Halloween candy I usually stock up on this time of the year. It's not that we have any kids roaming this neighborhood of seniors,  in costumes ringing the bell and asking for the candy. It would have all been just for us, and only the varieties we ourselves like, not what's available and cheap because somebody else is going to eat it instead of us. (What? You don't shop for Halloween candy that way, even it it's just the leftovers you get to eat?) It's just a convenience to have smaller pieces instead of a large one, as if taking three out of the bowl at once didn't make up for that difference... each of the three times a day we did it.

Even on the micro scale I'm disoriented today. First, we had to get up and out early to pick up groceries before coming back to open up the book / garage sale for the day. So no usual weekday morning TV. Not only did I think it was Saturday repeatedly through the day, then have to check myself, but by 10:00 I was convinced it must be afternoon and continued to be surprised when the sale customers and Steve kept greeting each other with "Good Morning." I had even done some yard work cleanup while the sale was getting going. It must be later, right? I checked my phone. It must not be keeping contact with the towers that transmit time. I shut it off, restarted, and it was still 10:00. I even asked Steve if his was turned on and to verify the time. Ditto!

Even late in the afternoon, time to start bringing a few things in for the night and tuck others back out of the way of the car to come in the driveway, I was thinking more of end-of-the-sale tasks instead of evening ones. We still had too much stuff left!!!  Then I'd mentally kick myself again and remember we've been hoping for the Saturday crowd, people not retired who come into the area to scout the sales on their day off work. Hopefully, ones who read, and, in Arizona, are willing to admit it! Spending money is a bonus!

At least I won't have to worry about sleeping in and not opening the sale up on time in the morning. I'll be awake by 5 if not earlier. That internal clock for sleeping is pretty fubar as well.

Hmmm, no wonder geeezers tend to fall asleep in their chairs in the daytime. I used to find that funny, as if old folks were too feeble or something to stay awake more than a few hours. Granny snoozing in the rocker used to be a TV comic cliche'. I guess that idea still carries some weight. But shhhh, we don't have to tell anybody about that, now. 

Do we?

The Other Eye

That's right. I have two. Surprise!!!

One has been fixed, at least as far as replacing a cataract with a lens which turned that eye back into one which could see something besides black with brown for bright lights like, say, the sun. It's time to replace the lens in the other eye.

I knew it was coming. My eye surgeon, who sees me twice a year now, has been suggesting it for a few years. Since he did such a splendid job on the first one, and we're moving to where I'd need a new doctor, I decided to have the one I trust perform the second surgery. So, now is the time.

It's scheduled for Halloween. I've been telling people that means my costume this year is going to be a red-eyed monster. If they don't laugh, I don't care since I'm not going anywhere afterwards anyway. Except home of course. To sleep in my recliner because that's the only place I will sleep on my back, and I'm under orders not to sleep on my side for a few days after.

I've already had two pre-surgery appointments. Tomorrow is a third, but not with the eye doc this time. It's with the cardiologist. The eye doc insists I return them a clean bill of pre-surgical health for my pacemaker. I didn't even have one for the first procedure. My cardiology clinic won't just sign a paper. I have to show up in person, get an EKG, and they'll review my pacemaker record from over the summer, among other things to make sure the return to taking metoprolol is doing its job too, slowing down its familiar impulse to trot off lickety-split with A-fib. That returned, I got some meds, then got reassured that my heart will not slow down too much because the pacer will kick in if it tries. Steve's heart did so he wound up in the hospital with a pulse in the 20s. Thus I knew to ask. (He's fine now, BTW.)

It's also a chance to have a proper excuse to bill the insurance company. It's OK, they earn it. And I'll be back in their office again just a few days after the surgery for the regular run of tests, both for my pacemaker and my heart.

Meanwhile I've been having fun going around doing the left-eye, right-eye game again, seeing how the eyes are currently different. Previously, the fixed eye saw white as white while the original one saw white as yellowish. Blues tended more towards greenish in the "bad" eye. Something funny and new showed up while wearing those eclipse glasses and looking at the sun. It's a perfect circle, right? But as the eclipse proceeded, one of the top points of the waning crescent the moon left began to pull in to the center, making the sun misshapen. Yeah, OK, whatever, I could ask the eye doc next visit. The camera got it right. That's the important thing.

When that visit rolled around, I had  multiple opportunities to view perfect circles on numerous charts and posters on their walls. Not only was that top slant still there, but a bottom one joined it. Circles had become ovals, as if pushed inwards between 12:00 and 3:00,  and again between 9:00 and 6:00. They tilted. Only with the unimproved eye of course. (BTW for those of you who don't understand that description, you're showing your lack of age and understanding of a non-digital clock face. Better fix that because some day when you get old some doctor is going to check how mentally impaired old age has left you when you can't read the arrows inside a circle without the numbers on them and tell your Doc what time it is!)

Other left-right self eye tests later had the tilts showing up in rectangles, like picture frames. I asked the doc was it weird? Did other people who came in have the same thing? He avoided commenting on weird, but had a name for the phenomenon: astigmatism. So that's what it is! I've heard it much of my life but nobody ever could explain what it meant in how it messed with your vision. Now I know! Well, one way at least.

The new lens will fix that too, of course. But we have to be careful with just how they put it in. Since I remembered from the first time that one eye had pseudoexfoliation, I made sure the doc checked this one for it as well. Yep. It's there. I can't tell, of course, since it's pretty microscopic. This time I got more information on it as well.  What it means is that tiny cells are flaking off the inside of the front of the eye. They tend to float around, not a problem... until they land in the back of the eye in the tiny openings that allow fluids to pass out the back of the eye, usually a normal process. If those get blocked, pressure builds up, and glaucoma results, leading to blindness. 

(Gee, here I only thought I needed to worry about inheriting the macular degeneration my Dad had!)

Apparently lots of us have it, and not so many manage to have it cause glaucoma. That's the semi-reassuring news. It does mean, by replacing the second lens sooner rather than not, the surgery now should be more successful than postponing it years down the road, as then the results may mean the lens won't stay seated properly. The result is I need to follow through on getting annual exams with that nasty little puff on the eyeball while one is not supposed to blink (Yeah, right, try that!) to test eye pressure. So far, so good however. 

I'm also supposed to remind the doc the day of surgery that he needs to remember that I have, in his words, "eye dandruff"! 

Hey everybody, I've got eye dandruff!

But don't worry folks. Next time I'm leaning over a plate of food for you, maybe a bit tired and rubbing my eyes, nothing is going to fall into your food. It's not eye-lash dandruff. Any flakes just head back into the deep dark recesses of my eyeballs. So I'm not sharing. You'll just have to grow your own.

Walking In Dinosaur Tracks

We almost turned around and left the minute we got there.  Like many places, the entrance past the fence was protected by a cattle guard. Unlike most, the bars in the guard were other than at the level of the rest of the ground on either side. There were four huge bumps as I drove slowly over, one for each tire. Each bump made a sharp jerk of the car, not simply up/down, but sideways too or even diagonal, jarring Steve's back each time in the most painful way for him. Heading in, the untreated ground which passed for a road was in nearly as bad shape, prolonging the pain and aggravating it even more, this wheel, pause, that one, pause, two bumpbump... and so on. I tried to make it easier by making it slower. It didn't seem to help any. Or maybe it was just too late.

We were on our way home after the eclipse. Other than a food or pit stop, we all welcomed heading straight there. Well, after this, that is. I already wondered if we were actually going to see the dinosaur tracks the sign out at the highway advertised. I already knew Steve wasn't going to head out walking over the very bumpy ground, especially once parked when we saw how far people were spreading out. At least he could sit in the car in relative comfort, or what might possibly pass for it after that entrance. Like the dog, he'd be on the shady side of the car, windows down enough for air to pass. We'd arranged once stopped to put my SD card in his camera now that mine was fubar, take pictures, and swap back afterwards. Rich would be coming along with me, partly out of his own interest, partly to give any assist I might need over the bumpy ground ahead. He also turned out to be the one to head back to the car to replace the camera battery after its already long day. Steve's camera and mine use the exact same batteries, and I brought a surplus, Steve hadn't brought more than two and didn't recharge either the previous night.

There was a guide, named Alvin. I asked Rich to head over to his stand and ask what the fee was to take the tour. He returned to the car without an answer, but we started out to join the group which had already left. In other words, we were behind from the get-go. We found out later he acepted donations, and made one.

It helped that Alvin had a squirt bottle of water which he used to fill and darken small tracks, or outline very large ones. I caught enough to get an idea which were raptors of various sizes, which prey (including smaller raptors), and stopped behind everybody else to shoot the darkened rock once people had gone. Mostly, anyway. Occasionally I included a shadow of somebody's head, or an actual foot, just to give a sense of scale. When all is rock, there is no other way to judge.

The two sizes of tracks indicate a larger raptor chasing a smaller for a meal. The tiny wrinkles in the rock the tracks are on indicate it was covered with plants when they were made. Another location with what looked to my uneducated eyes to be very similar was evidence of lots of animals of different sorts running all in the same direction, all at the same time, to try to escape the heat and materials from a meteor strike. When? I knew of course about Meteor Crater well southeast of our location, way too small I thought to have created more than fairly local chaos. Was he talking about the big one in the Yucatan? Dinosaur extinction? I had caught the word "irridium". Was that why everything was intact in one layer, from foot prints, to plant fossils with their own footprints on them, to even some bones. It really is a disadvantage lagging behind the group and missing the dialogue.

This pudgy track is a very large one, the well-padded footprint of a T Rex. It too is running in the same direction as the others. I could have easily stood in it along with Rich, close enough to hold us both steady, that is. Before it was wetted down, some others had walked in it somewhat unawares. Or as I like to say, stupid and careless.

These tracks are fairly small, not as much as the first ones,  perhaps 10" long, but just about double the size of the larger chasing one. Thus far, three or four toes seemed to be typical patterns.

I had to ask a couple of people who were both standing on this track at the same time and still had a couple feet of distance between them if they would please step off of it so some of the rest of us could take pictures of it. They looked surprised as if they hadn't realized what they were climbing around on, then melted away to join the rest of the group. Note the foot of another visitor with his camera in the upper right corner, kept in the photo for scale. The outline is the track of gigantasaurous. It shows, judging on skeletons on display, the prominent heel bone which makes the hollow in the track closest to me. When Alvin heard my request for them to move off it, he came back over with his bottle and outlined the print for us. Again it's heading in the same direction as the rest.

Wouldn't it make a great design for a Halloween mask?

You might ask did any of them get away? At least one died on the spot, where incomplete bones remain on the ground. Alvin did a fun demonstration with rocks for us. Taking a small one, he struck a rock in the outer circle  of rocks which protects the remains from unwary tourists. (If you trip over it you've really got some problems.) The rock he struck had a sharp high rock-on-rock  sound. Then he struck the bones and got a  dull hollow sound. Some of us walked around with small rocks for a bit trying to locate any more bones which might have been overlooked... because the scientists who'd been going over the extensive site, and still were, surely must have missed one along the way. Ya think? Actually, they had because we found another hollow sounding one, very badly shaped but making the right noises.

In the top photo, the curvy one on the left is bone, the rounder one on the right is rock. The bottom photo shows the fossil of some kind of raptor, the misshapen remains of ribs trailing down to the left, the open jaw on the right. No visible teeth or sockets remained in the jaw so my conclusion is that the bones were exposed for a while before getting covered and becoming fossils. I estimate what is left is 7 or 8 feet long. The two black shadows at the far left are of people's heads. as they walk up closer.

You may note that all the rocks and sand come in only two colors, red of the desert sandstone, and whiter and hard. I did locate one bicolor piece of sparkly sandstone in the circle of rocks, but otherwise all is reddish or tan/grey.

Except for the coprolites. You know, dino poop.  Fossilized. They come in little rounded plops, as if the stool was somewhat loose when it dropped, or just fell from high enough in the really big fellows that it assumed that shape despite how hard it was when it hit, flat bottom, rounded ridged top. Not that I'm claiming to be a poop expert, of course.

This photo actually holds three of them.  Front to back, or bottom to top if you will, super large and cracked in half, medium large and ditto, and a reddish pile of lumpy stuff like a pile of sausages in a long casing, all in a single spot. That smaller dino must have had some peace in order to stop in one place long enough to let it pile up like that. The front one which looks the lightest in color actually shows deep blackish shading  under a thin light colored layer when you get up close. Don't worry though - the stink is long gone.

In other good news, the way out of the site was much smoother than in, and Steve's back, which had started to recover a bit, wasn't jolted back to its worst again.

Road Trip With Eclipse, Part 3

I had every intention of waking at 5. That wasn't how it happened. Over an hour earlier the people upstairs woke me... by taking a shower... for over a half hour. Steve and I got the bed closest to the bathroom, because. That means the pipes run nearby as they drain, and when they do they are enough to wake me. Not the guys of course. (Is that fair?) The longer I listened, the more irritated I got. Wasting that much water? Here in Navajoland? What kind of jerks are they? 

Meanwhile I got up, walked the dog outside, fed her, and started my morning cleanup. One washcloth sufficed. Not bragging, but I was still irate about the upstairs neighbors. Since the guys were still sleeping and the alarms hadn't gone off, I cleaned out our room, folded my dirty clothes to go back in the single bag we brought in once the guys were out of it for their wardrobe for a chilly day, and sat for a couple. What next? OK, time to kill 5 minutes figuring out how to make coffee in the Keurig, after reading the labels on the cups and choosing my variety. Since we weren't taking the offer of free breakfast, I packed the other 5 cups to take home and donate to the club. It has one of those. Other people use it.

Then Steve woke, did his morning routine, and we sat talking quietly until it was time to wake Rich. Because of course we had to wake our night owl. Nevermind, he'd earned every minute he gave himself. He took 29 of the 30 minutes originally planned for all of us to get up and out. Good thing we started early. In his case his extra minutes involved loading up everything he was going to carry out so we could all together manage it in one trip. It was still dark, but as we neared the car, the guys discovered the dog's sweater on the ground next to it. Now she'd be warm while the car heated up, and while we were sitting outside trying to shoot the eclipse. Here I'd been thinking that while I remembered to pack the sweater, perhaps I'd simply remembered wanting to. Age, ya know.

We headed east on 160, also named Navajo Trail, to meet the sun rise. To meet it getting eclipsed too, of course. In about twenty miles we started to see the outlines of terrain. The sky was gaining color. Rich had fallen back asleep in the car while Steve and I chatted. We passed a sign for Cow Springs. If there was a town it was behind a rise. But we entertained ourselves imagining cows springing all over the landscape: bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, sproing! sproing! sproing! Such dainty things, cows.

This was another case of being flexible in our plans. The original one had us heading to Kayenta, where the turn-off to Monument Valley was, hitting the McDonald's for breakfast and nature calls, continuing east to Red Mesa for the eclipse, then further up the road to 4 Corners for some authentic fry bread. Instead, once we hit Kayenta, it got shortened. If we stayed in that area we'd only lose about 30 seconds of the totality of the eclipse, the Ring of Fire. We'd save gas, Steve's time bouncing in the car, and maybe still find some fry bread locally. Nobody would be unhappy to be home a few hours sooner, nor to save some money we would have had to spend for entry to 4 Corners. It's not a National Park so our passes don't work, just like in any state parks. (FYI there was no local fry bread. The helpful clerk at the gas station kept ticking the possibilities off on his fingers with, "Nope,  she's closed Saturdays.")

I'd been seeing the landmark out the window for miles as we approached Kayenta so immediately changed our plans to head north from town instead. No, not to Monument Valley, which judging by traffic would be crazy crowded like it made a difference where exactly you watched the sky from since it wouldn't be in the pictures, but instead just a few miles up the road, close to Mount Agathea. There are several places to pull over and park on wide flat shoulders, so we did. I of course took a picture of Agathea in the early light. 

 The eclipse hadn't started yet, but we needed the time to sun-proof our cameras. It was why we brought a bunch of extra eclipse glasses. The plan was to cut, fold, and tape pieces so the see-through part covered each camera lens. Steve and I have cameras which telescope to zoom. Let's just shorten this by saying the idea was sound, my execution of it wasn't, and Rich saved the day. Steve got set up in a folding camp chair with his camera on its tripod first.  

I was second, and while that was happening I started following the start of the eclipse by eye, properly protected of course. There was just a little divot in the top of the sun, barely an imperfection in the perfect circle. No photos were taken yet, of course. Not till a bigger chunk was taken out.

Severe cropping gave me photos which showed the sun as if it had been shot centered. Riighhht!

Some of the most focused slices of sun were  well off to one side and cropping couldn't fully correct. Any dots in the photo I do not attribute to sunspots but to spots of dust either on the lens or the protective film.

 Each trial, first mine, then Rich's, were improvements on the last, then taken back to the previous camera to implement. I had to absolutely put my foot down and insist he put on a set of the glasses and look at the progress of the eclipse of he would have completely missed most if not all of it. After Steve and I were set up, he had to work on his own tablet to try for a shot with that. I finally insisted he come out of the car where he'd been working by then, once the ring of fire started. We only had three minutes to see that.

Note that all the photos and our eyes agree: the moon started at the top, crossed mostly down but slightly towards seven o'clock, then passed on. Nothing at all like my expectations where the moon slides in and out from the sides.

 Once it started brightening up again, we gave up on shooting. We could fake it by turning photos like you do when you held the camera vertical and the picture file shows horizontal, then post them in reverse order. (We didn't bother.) We'd each had our problems with getting photos. Steve had the tripod but not my camera's ability to zoom as much so his shots at this point are still dots. With 16 megapixels, he can do some severe cropping like I later did to see what he really has.

When I was shooting, sans tripod, my camera a fullest zoom (30x) got a good size sun, but it bounced all over inside the view window. I'd get it perfectly lined up, made sure my hands could hold it there, but the tiny finger movement for the shutter bounced it somewhere else. I took lots of shots at each stage, perhaps 70 total over the eclipse. It wasn't just that however. My camera wasn't sure where/how to focus. In the process I watched fantastic blurs grow and shrink back to crescents. It couldn't decide on colors either. It varied between a white/yellow sun with a thin red rim, to all red. As the shutter clicked, it was always jumping to red by default. In editing later when I tried  to change that on the first shot, I got grey and blurrier than the original red. OK, red it is.

Where we set up there were sporadic plants like rooted tumbleweeds except green, spiny, and with tiny round purple blossoms at the nodes. If you walk into one it can snag your shoes and try to trip you while higher branch bits try to pierce your clothes. We avoided them as much as possible, but after the eclipse I wanted a picture in good light. The tape was removed along with the protective over-lens. All my camera showed was a white screen with a few dark streaks across it. I didn't bother shooting. In the process of taping the protection, then removing it to improve it, the tape had also pulled off the cap on the button on the top which tells the camera what mode to shoot in. Somehow we lost it. I didn't think anything had gotten bumped, though it was entirely possible. I'd gotten the eclipse shots, as you can see here, but I had no idea how to get the next whatever shot I wanted.

My camera broke! I was faced with the option of finding a repair shop or replacing it. Since there are several other quirks in this camera that I need to "shoot around" and make up for on the laptop by rebalancing the light exposure and specific cropping, I figured replacing as cheaply as possible might be the best option. EBay is my friend!

But meanwhile there were more pictures to shoot on the way home, IF we could find the spot again. We'd passed a sign pointing to dinosaur tracks, and made a mental note to give it a go on the way home, with all other obligations met. As for my camera, I had a plan. Steve wasn't interested in shooting them, particularly as it meant walking around in very irregular footing. I got permission to pop my SD card into his same-brand-different-style, camera to take them, then swap back afterwards. Look for an upcoming post on that.

There was one more mini adventure on the way home. Anyone who travels the 17 between Phoenix and Flagstaff regularly knows that any accident can mean the entire column of traffic in that direction can be stopped dead for hours, or however long it takes to clear the accident. It's why they are constructing extra bypass lanes between the original two sets. With all the mountains the 17 passes through along that route the first two sets are already at different heights anyway. There will be no traffic on the middle  set, reserved for emergencies, and connected where necessary to bypass dead-stopped traffic. It would have been handy when we drove home to have that finished.

The signs were posted way back from the mile marker we were told the accident was at, warning us of the need to pay attention, slow, and stop. The terrain allowed us to see from one high point to another one several miles ahead and catch the flashes of sun reflected of vehicle roofs and sides, whether moving or not. The apparent answer was a very close-packed column of "not".  We were close enough to Phoenix that it was getting hot in the car, since I turned the AC off whenever possible but especially climbing a mountain. The accident turned out to be two miles past the rest stop at Sunset Point, when we finally got close enough to find the correct mile marker. We'd crawled in packed traffic for well over ten miles at that point, some stop-and-go, some just creeping, cussing out the motorcycles whose drivers thought it was a good day to drive the center lane and get ahead of us all. One passed so close to my door it made me jump. I was positive I'd been too close to the other vehicle for anything but a rabbit  chased by a coyote to be stupid enough to try navigating. I had NOT seen it coming.

We speculated when we might have to come to a full stop and sit in the car, hoping we'd be lucky enough to have a cut wall of mountain on the side blocking our sun. No such luck. Then again we never really had to stop and sit. Slow we were but not sitting. Nearing the rest stop traffic began to accelerate, up to 5 or even 10 mph. then 12. 15. Back to 11. Up to 20, 25, 30 and steady. As we started down the mountain where the accident was supposed to have happened we saw no indication of where. No damaged guard rails, no metal scraps, no glass, no indication of injuries. The more interesting thing to me was how slowly traffic was continuing to pick up speed for the next several miles, all down. Maybe somebody had gotten a bit spooked? I mean, common sense with a lower speed around those curves was a bit much to have asked.

Road Trip With Eclipse: Part 2

If you follow this, you know I am perfectly capable of writing reviews here of perfectly terrible motels. When I find a great one, you'll read about it here too. We discovered a great place to stay on this trip: Navajoland in Tuba City, AZ.  In the same way everything went wrong with our stay at the Motel 6 in Albuquerque on Coors Road, everything went perfectly well with this stay. And better.

We'd had to be flexible on this trip. The original plan for Day one had been to include spending time in Wupatki at the Wupatki pueblo and visitor's center. But everybody was tired by then.  Steve's back had experienced enough hours in the car, and Rich still remembered a visit from years ago. Consensus was get to the motel and relax! Both had been patient enough for me to take the dozens of pictures of Wukoki that I needed. The last couple of trips here I hadn't been in shape to walk to the pueblo, much less climb the stairs and wander around the top once I made the hike there. Previous photos were fading, or just taken from a distance  and full of people, a nudge to memory rather than a real representation of it. I was proud of not just making the hike but conquering the stairs, particularly with no railings for all but the top steps. There was no safety fallback should I wobble. By the time I as ready to leave, nobody else was around, nobody watching from the car far away. It was slow, mildly terrifying when I let imagination run, but I made it, all on my own. This place still had a gift for me!

We all recognized this would be the last trip there. They'd been patient with my needs. It was time to go.

Good as the motel would turn out to the, the roads to it were as bad... for Steve. It was a perfect example of not caring to do a good job because... Indian country. I asked Steve whether I was being paranoid about thinking that, but he confirmed I was exactly on point. He'd lived there many years before, and his father worked for a road construction company in jobs that took the family all over most of the western US. Steve had heard the conversations and knew the politics behind what got done... and didn't. Particularly in Arizona. So we all welcomed pulling in to the motel to check in.

They were busy. I was lucky enough to walk into the office mere seconds ahead of a bus full of customers. Two people were checking everybody in, quickly and smoothly. They'd had my reservation on file, the details of our needs were perfect. I was handed three tickets for a free breakfast at the attached restaurant next door, which I had to turn down. We wouldn't be there that late. There was an eclipse to go see in the morning. When I explained that to the young woman checking me in, she asked why anybody would come all the way out there to see one. I took her seriously enough to take a minute to answer, including that I'd never seen one, this one was close enough to get to, and we all found this part of the country beautiful.

She was young, and I can see her point. When I was that age, something different from where I was had deep appeal. My "everyday" was old, boring enough to be chafing, and different was exotic, more so when I didn't really have other choices of where to be. Plus the beauty of this part of the country is a harsh beauty, water such a scarcity that life is threatened daily as a backdrop and must always be taken into consideration. We always travel with water in the car in Arizona, even around home, but especially way out here. 

But the line was long behind me, so we quickly finished the check-in process, drove to our closest door, and began to settle in. This is another time where Rich proved invaluable. I was tired, Steve in pain and needing nothing more than to lie down. So Rich hauled in what was needed, making multiple trips to and from the car, the ice machine, and the fenced doggie park with the dog. 

Yes, I said doggie park! It was filled with all sorts of equipment for a dog so trained to climb up, jump through, run around. It's the only one I've seen that isn't just a fence and bare ground. grass or no. It's also well respected enough that clean-up bags were provided, and a container was bolted down so it couldn't be tipped over by large pooch or person. Our dog keeps a pouch of rolled poo bags attached to her leash, so we're always prepared. We usually have to haul the knotted bag of goodies with us to a different location though.

This wasn't the only extra on this site. There is a small exercise building across from the front desk, a museum for Navajo culture and history on a different side, and a Trading Post with high quality goods inside, including Navajo rugs and weavings worth well over my budget. We were too tired to peruse them, but I recognized the Trading Post from a visit years ago when I was still actively collecting pueblo pottery.

By this time Steve was too tired and in too much pain to do anything but stretch out on the bed. Wonder of wonders, it was comfortable! He could feel his back relaxing, pain subsiding, and in about an hour he was up in a chair - they had two! - interacting with Rich, and reading his Kindle. Only Rich had been hungry for supper as lunch was large and late. Snacks had been packed or bought on the way, granola bars packed. We were in for the night!

A large mini-fridge kept all our water bottles cold, and its freezer actually refroze the ones we used as packed ice to keep the other bottles cold. There was a dresser next to it the combination holding up a huge TV with large drawers which actually got use... for pillows.  Steve had reminded me (bless him!) that I complained about not having my own pillow for sleeping on while traveling, so this time I had it. Clean pillows sat in the dresser drawers, replaced on the bed by mine, while I luxuriated on a bed of perfect softness, perfect height  instead of "fashionably high" making it possible to just plot down gently without having to tr to crawl across the bed and shift positions  all night.

I'd set the wall mounted heater/AC for heat. It was going to be a cold night, especially for people like us still adjusted to highs hovering in the three digits. The machine responded instantly, kept us comfortable all night. The variety of things needing a recharge were plugged into the abundance of sockets, the dog was relaxed from having a companion in the back set with her who spent most of the trip petting her so went immediately to her good and water dishes when offered. No more wait-a-couple-days routine for her. 

By the time I heard her crunching kibble, I was in my PJs and in bed. We never bothered with the TV except as a place to leave the room key for when somebody had to head out. We needed to get sleep. Everybody's alarm was set for 5AM home time, or 6AM local time since the Reservation straddles 4 states and keeps daylight savings time changes with the other three states instead of never changing like the rest of AZ. They were a Nation and chose to act like it. I was tired enough I let the guys figure out the changes. I'd done it all at home before we left, knowing how far we had to go before when the eclipse started, including planning for heavy traffic and a stop for breakfast once we arrived where we planned to watch it from. Right them my brain refused to function on a mathematical "problem". The guy's phones had changed after cell tower contact. Mine hadn't. They could deal with it all. I was gone for the night.

Road Trip With Eclipse: Part 1

We packed a lot into two days! 

I'd planned this trip since late last spring, when I read an article in Astronomy Magazine pointing out this one was to be somewhere I could see  from. It wasn't my first try to see an eclipse, but what turned out to be my heart demanding attention chased us out of the area (Wyoming) a couple days ahead of the big event. I made a few phone calls for this one, decided it would be unlikely to find a room really close, and moved my search further out, finally landing a room. Two queen beds, dogs OK, so if it was just two of us, OK. Maybe one of the kids wanted to come. That turned out to be Richard, and he was the glue which held us together during it all.

Friday the 13th (hmmm, I hadn't thought of it quite that way) the car was packed and we were on the road early. Of course there was a small error in communication, as we'd had to go to the grocery store to pick up an order placed a couple days earlier. Luckily it was ready at 7AM, so it wasn't a big delay. This time our packing included folding chairs and a tripod for Steve's camera. (I couldn't find my own tripod.) Rich and Steve both had tablets to try to get photos on, Steve and I both had cameras. There was also a dozen pairs of eclipse glasses. Three were needed by us. The rest could be cut up and have the protective part taped over the lenses to protect them from the sun as well, meaning we needed scissors and tape.

The eclipse wasn't until Saturday, but it was early Saturday and we weren't that close. The plan was to get to our motel early in the evening, hit the hay and trust our alarms set for 5 AM would do the job of getting us up, packed, and there in time. This left plenty of time to kill Friday. So up 17 out of Phoenix, grab 40 for a quick jog to 89, better known as the route to the Grand Canyon. 

We weren't going there. Our goal was Sunset Crater and Wupatki National Monuments. Both Steve and I have the cards which let us into the National Park system for the rest of our lives for free. We bought them when we qualified as seniors, back while they still cost $10. BEST DEAL EVER! Sunset Crater came first. I stopped at the meadow which gave views of both the crater from the old volcano, distinguished by having a black base and orange top, and on the other end, the San Francisco Peaks.

 The beautiful clear day, once we'd finally cleared Verde Valley, made for great photo ops for all. High on the "real" mountain the aspens were a combination of yellow and orange. Sunset crater was becoming covered with small trees, different from the fairly bare slopes I recall from many years earlier. Rich walked the dog while we took some pictures, and we proceeded to the main parking area. He left to go hike one of the trails.

Along the way, one thing became increasingly apparent. The "didn't reach the volcano" forest fire from over a year ago had done a lot more damage then we had expected. Turned out there were two major fires sequentially through the area. Many of the shots I'd taken were full of huge black patches, and what appeared to be an untouched mountain from one side was devastated from the back. Each new turn showed more damage, and we had many opportunities to shoot individual trees - or what was left, mangled, blackened, broken, twisted.

The bottom photo above shows black lines running horizontally through the far slope. A long finger of fire tore through, leaving trees untouched on either side. As we continued to drive through the area, it became apparent that the fire also created opportunities for new  growth where before sunlight had been blocked by the tall dense Ponderosas.

By now it was lunchtime, which meant we headed into Flagstaff to pick up some sandwiches before heading back to the adjoining monument, Wupatki. For me, that means Wukoki, a pueblo ruins I first encountered a few decades ago. I try to return as often as possible, though what make the it so special the first time, the total silence, especially no other human around, has never been duplicated. It perches high on a rocky outcrop, now with steps providing the way up and down, including some railings.

It's not just the silence that keeps drawing me to the place, or should I say the hope of silence? It's the pallett of desert colors. First you have the desert sandstone, rust red  in every direction. On clear days add in the extra-blue sky. Top it off with all the shades of greens and blues in the plants, stretching endlessly in every direction until to the northeast you have the Painted Desert demanding your attention, while southwest the San Francisco Peaks still claim precedence over the landscape.

 

Note that the middle shot is from the top of the rock pedestal the pueblo was built on. The smoothed out path zig zags  away to the top left of the show where the parking lot hides behind rocks and bushes. For a few seconds here and there you can pretend you are alone.

By the time I was done taking my last pictures of the place, Rich and Steve decided they wanted to go straight to our motel in Tuba City. there is much to recommend the place, but tops on my list is the comfortable beds. I haven't slept so well in ages. Speaking of which.....

From A Newspaper Long Ago

We're busy clearing stuff out of the house, separating the complete junk out from the garage-saleables from what we'll need to move north. Steve was poring over old newspaper clippings in a stack and handed me a clipping to read. It actually took me a little while to figure out why. It's from The Hinckley News, though no title was attached to the small piece, where Steve wrote a weekly column back when he lived in the area. He'd already been getting paid to write movie reviews, positive or negative, about what was showing at the local theater, getting free access to see the movies as well. In addition, he also ran a nostalgic column about different parts of his life, such as one might find in his blog, or these days on Facebook. This one was called "Memories and More". That's not quite the title of this clipping, but you'll see why.

For: "Memories and More" Column

Steve recently showed me his file of column clippings, and admitted he'd been having what he called a "dry spell", not writing for a while. I asked him if I could write one for him, sharing with you some of his memories from a different perspective. If you are reading this, it means both he and his editor agreed. I hope you will soon hear from him again too. He's not nearly out of things to say.

I first met Steve about 19 years ago. It was in a church basement, waiting for the start of a meeting of singles and soon-to-be-singles dealing with divorce and separation issues. Steve walked in, came directly over to me, put his arms around me in dancing style, and started dancing me around the room. It was unforgettable.

We soon became friends, and have been best friends ever since. Some of the issues Steve was dealing with he's been courageous enough to share in his column. I brought my share of issues to the group too, and in many ways we healed and "grew up" together. That group was probably the single strongest positive in both our lives.

Later in the evenings the group would socialize together. Some of us needed to take baby steps in a safe environment to start forgiving and reconnecting with the opposite gender again. This would usually occur in a nearby bar with a band offering a mix of fast and slow dancing. It didn't matter if we were there solo or as part of a dating couple within the group, but whenever the band stopped playing, it was time for "our" dance." We two had the whole floor to ourselves, and used it, usually laughing and flirting outrageously, enjoying every minute with the clear understanding of where the boundaries of our friendship were. Our dates understood. Or else. Other relationships came and went, but we always knew we could call the other and share our happiness, our frustrations, and even our 3AM tears. When our kids got in trouble, or there was a health issue, or something on the job, the other would always listen. And understand.

A few years ago I planned a camping trip in the Rockies. My youngest son could spare the two weeks to come along. So could Steve. Having grown up there, he promised to show us some special places, like the Medicine Wheel and the Grays River in Wyoming.

Not long before this, he had sold me my first "real" camera, a Pentax K-1000. Even better, he took me out shooting until (technophobe that I am) I could use it with confidence. A new passion was born, and the trip was a great excuse to indulge in shutterbugging. I filled two albums from that trip.

In Montrose, Colorado, Steve had me drive around town until he could find a place to buy a single red rose, and then he had me drive to the cemetery so he could place it on his mother's grave. A few days later there was a stop in Denver. It turned out to be the last time Steve saw his father. Blessedly, his father's mind was coherent enough that afternoon for them both to enjoy the visit.

I moved away first, not really that far out of the metro, but just enough for a long distance call. Then Steve moved, and farther still. We might not talk to each other for months at a time.

The only time we saw each other the last couple years was for fishing. Steve clued me in where we could rent a large pontoon for some crappie fishing, and my whole family could join in. The pontoon part was important for two reasons. First, it gave my very active granddaughter a way not to have to try to sit still for a couple hours. Steve was the one who showed her how to catch the minnows in the bucket to bring to us to re-bait our hooks. Second, it made it possible for my handicapped father to get out on a lake for fishing a few more times. Until then, he had resigned himself to never being able to go fishing again. For a man who had once run a resort, that was a great loss.

A couple months ago, Steve reconnected again. We started having frequent conversations. Steve had an agenda. I recently informed him that I had no  interest in being his "next love". However, I had every intention of becoming his last love.

I expect Steve and I will go on making memories. Some of them I'll even let him share here!

Heather

Back In The Saddle

Now to shoe the horse!

Coming back south it felt like six months away. It truly was only three on the calendar. The rest was emotional, since so much happened over the summer . We decided to move back north this next spring, spent time mourning the losses from leaving Sun City, had much more time with family than previous years since more family had returned to the area. Then there was fishing.

Oh Hallelujah! was there fishing! I never dropped a line in the water over the summer. Out of state licenses are too expensive. But Steve did. And he needed assistance. At 80 his body is showing his age. Last year there was a fall alongside the river and he needed assistance getting up, so there is great reluctance in going fishing alone. Part of the fall was that his chair tilted into the mud along the shore, so an equipment improvement was in order, in the form of a sheet of plywood with a rim around it (provided by Paul's expert carpentry skills) which was the exact size to hold his chair in place. It turned out, coupled with the chair legs, it was also perfect to hook his rod/reel combo behind while he did anything else. The river he mostly fished as is a state boundary so two poles are legal, but you put one down to bait another at the risk of having one of the large fish taking your rig away, never to be found again.

Well, except for that once a long ago time, but I'll let Steve tell that story.

The upshot of course is that I spent several days hauling Steve and stuff to and from the river, sticking around with my camera to take advantage of the show. There are previous posts here with pictures, no need to retell those stories, just to mention their effect on my seeming to have been gone for twice as long as we actually were. Other events helped as well, culminating with the birth of our latest great grandson.

Arriving down here, I was simply worn out. Traveling is starting to get to me more than anticipated. Upsetting my internal clock doesn't help and it wasn't where it needed to be since we left to head north in the summer. One might think the two balanced out, two hours lost, two hours gained, but the sleeping patterns in between were totally fubar. The bed in Minnesota is high and hard, the way Steve likes and bought it. The increasing arthritis in my shoulders means that I, as a side sleeper, can't get a full night's comfortable, uninterrupted sleep. Nearly every night I'd wind up in the living room in a recliner, taking the pressure off my shoulders. I suspect Paul was beginning to wonder if Steve and I were fighting or something.

We weren't. We did however have discussions about mattresses in our new location when we moved up north to stay. We had planned not to move my bed, but rather leave it here to fit the built-in storage wall surrounding it. Instead, it's definitely getting packed and coming along. It's the perfect height, perfect softness, and I can spend a full night in it. It just needs a headboard. On the other hand, Steve doesn't like his bed down here very much, so it'll be on the garage sale list, and he'll be shopping for a replacement for the new place. Still a storage bed like both are now, but something better, whatever he decides that is.

All of this is to explain why, when I walked into the club, it felt both familiar but not home any longer. It was my job to open the first morning, and I whipped through those duties, waiting for somebody to show up. It was the first week of winter hours, meaning 5 days instead of 3, and 6 hours instead of 4. Nobody showed up for over an hour. The summer members weren't used to the schedule and the snowbirds are slow in arriving, unwinding, and turning their attention to the club. So many more hours to use it before it gets crowded and you have to wait your turn for some of the equipment, what's not to love now?

I pretty much just sat and waited to figure out just what I wanted to do with that time. I knew what I needed to do. The fall festival - my last one! - is coming up and I need to make more jewelry to sell there. It's big money-making time! Of course everything at home is chaos, and the things I had set my mind on making required special wire and beads and findings - gotta make the GOOD stuff here - were nowhere to be found in all the places I searched for them. I admit it was a hurried search, and scattered as I am right now, I could well have looked right past some of them. For an example of how scattered, while in the club, working on second choice projects, I set a small bag of very specific pieces down and two minutes later absolutely could not find it again! Still haven't, though I have not done a pull-everything-out-of-the-box-one-at-a-time proper search. Nor have I done a better search in the library/hobby room, since sorting the library for the few MUST KEEP books we won't be selling has taken up spare time and energy. There are three walls of built in shelves there!  Rich is a great help but still.... He can only guess what's still deemed important, and while he can reach top shelves, I am the one doing the packing. So far we're nearly out of boxes already. Then there's bundling the rest, mostly by authors as we stick with ones whose work we like.

Anyway, nothing really got done while waiting in the club for somebody to show up. When somebody did, I was finally free to head into the back office to check out a summer's worth of emails, and send out a couple of my own to the whole club, including the reminder we were now on expanded days/hours.

Nothing has gotten made yet (by me) for the Festival, since other board duties were on the calendar. First Friday is the Board meeting. I needed to pull my brain back together to write out and send out the agenda. That first meant finding the template on my laptop, then locating the last month's minutes, meaning April's. I happen to have those stored, knowing ahead that I'd have to start seeing where we were then, figure what's been done or not, and basically figure out what the questions were before hunting for the answers. I was "lucky" in that last April our club secretary had a family emergency so I had to take minutes as well as run the meeting. I can do that. Just for the Board, however, not the full Membership meetings, where much of my duties switch to gatekeeper, keeping discussions on topic and coming from one mouth at a time. That I can't manage while trying to write it all down.

I mention this because our secretary just resigned, both from her office and the club itself. It happens, especially among retirees with illnesses or spouses with illnesses. So I get half of her duties, and our treasurer has volunteered to take on her other half, the big busy meetings, at least for this month. That means tomorrow.

I get to write the agenda for that too, meaning this afternoon. Again, luck hit. The previous secretary sent the last spring Membership Meeting minutes to me via email and - oh, foresight is wonderful! -I kept them in my email. Not so lucky is having to reformat them. Sure, they came in pdf format. But her computer's version of pdf isn't the same as mine, so they transfer to my software looking like somebody's software has been on a six-month bender. Margins are jagged, every line ends in an exclamation point, paragraph spacing is absent. Some of the corrections are impossible to do without a major workaround. I've done that before, but so long ago that it's like a whole new problem. But that part's done, and I can take the new pdf format to my older laptop which can still read that, and send it to my old printer so it comes out where others can read it. 

Damn well better hope the club printer/copier is working tomorrow though!!!

So this afternoon, I get to read those in detail, work what needs it into the agenda, add items from Friday's Board meeting in as well, and print that out for copying tomorrow too. I already know I missed one important proposal from members for putting on the Board agenda Friday. And we have to beg members to volunteer to serve as officer for the next year, maybe fill in as secretary a couple month this year too, since there are now two official openings. We need to elect a new president too.

Nobody thinks they want that job! We've had a couple who burned out, particularly when one had to hang on through covid years and had few others to designate smaller jobs to. I knew that going in and made sure certain (computer, mostly) tasks got shared out. Others complain that EVERYBODY comes to them with all their questions, expecting a president to know everything. I instead learned who did have the answers and directed members to those people, able to get my own projects done that way. It also has the advantage of getting more members acquainted with other members. Hopefully more friendships get made that way too. Now I just have to pass those skills on, or at least inform reluctant members that it's possible to learn them, so we get volunteers. As a bonus for being an officer, I'm relieved of other duties in the club for the year, although I step in as monitor occasionally, and teach skills in workshops too. I had a lot of fun designing the new club sign/tablecloth, using photos I took of various stones, which (photos, not stones) got cut into letter shapes in the final result.

 FYI, left to right, those are rubies in zoisite, lapis lazuli, agate, malachite, gold tiger eye, and two more agates.

Elections are held at the November Membership Meeting. Most years the best we can get in October is a committee of arm twisters. The December one is mainly a pot luck holiday party,  with festivities interrupted briefly for installation of next year's officers. There's little time to deal with this vacancy especially. (I did check with the rest of the board and they are all willing to continue, so just two vacancies.) I sent an email to them all in the summer once our decision to move was made. Nobody responded. After another month I sent it again, with a question of whether they'd gotten the earlier one. A couple of them answered that they hoped that not acknowledging it meant that they could persuade me to change my mind! Yes, I have thoroughly enjoyed the role for two years, and secretary for several years before that. I will deeply miss the club. But I can't do it from 1800 miles away.

Honest!

So Are We Zombies Yet?

The crazy is strong out there. Yesterday there was a 5G network test. Cell phones sent signals like you hear with an Amber Alert. Getting one (or three in my case) meant that your device was properly connected to the new network.

However...

There is always somebody spewing idiocy over the "airwaves" these days. Most of us have been lucky enough to have missed most of it. We don't listen to the sources that spew that crap. We might hear about it from other sources which ridicule - or bemoan - what's nutty out there but taken as gospel by the ignorant and vulnerable. (I'm being as kind as possible here.) Leading up to yesterday's test, word was going around that use of the new network to send the test signal would have the effect of turning all who received it into zombies. Perhaps I am missing a few details, but check off my ignorance to indifference.

No, I'm not shitting you. The rumor was really out there - about as far out there as you can get - and somewhat widespread. I admit I hold absolutely no belief in the factual nature of it causing zombification. I don't believe in zombies. I think TV shows and movies about zombies attacking the living and eating their brains are a total waste of electrons, eyeballs,  and brainwaves.

In addition, the rumor about yesterday's test was totally illogical with respect to the zombie lore. One definite part of how one becomes a zombie is that one has to die first, that being a zombie means you have a second so-called existence afterwards that is physical, on this planet, and concentrates on eating brains. It apparently lasts as long as a zombie can continue to move while their body is in the process of decomposing and falling apart. Just like vampire lore, death is a prerequisite. 

Now I don't know about you, but I'm really sure about me, that I haven't died yet, and even if only for that reason I didn't turn into a zombie yesterday when that signal made my cell phone beep. I was sitting next to Steve when his phone beeped with that signal reaching it as well, and he didn't turn into a zombie either. Plus, I can assure you that despite a recent ER visit, he hasn't died either. Cracked a rib, sure, but still breathing, speaking, watching his favorite TV shows, and even has started pool walking at the rec center. Even if you don't take my word for it I can assure you they would definitely have prevented any zombies, or merely dead people, from entering the pool. You can even ask the several people he chatted with while there.

So think of this as a kind of a wellness check: has anybody out there turned into a zombie as a result of the 5G network test? Inquiring minds want to know.