Journey After Retirement

See what you are missing

2009-10-23T12:14:00.000-07:00

We have traveled far and wide to see what we have sought, out our back window. Fall has just begun, yet Fall colors are coming to a close. The annual "turning of the leaves", a ritual to which we look forward in the Eastern time zone, began for us in Acadia National Park on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. There, there were some color changes and the smell of wet leaves. As we headed West, particularly western Maine and the eastern foothills of the White Mountains, the autumn leaves began their color show, initially high on the hill sides and slowly descending to the valley floors. After a night at Hastings campground in the White Mountain National Forest, we regained US Route 2, pulling Rudy along a very good, wide shouldered road.

In northern New Hampshire we jogged between scenic turnouts. Descended into riverside New England towns, past elite boarding schools, and signs to regional snow skiing areas, not yet open. The colors were distinct: reds were brilliantly red, as were the oranges and yellows. All this punctuated by the evergreen green. The trees still had carried their leaves, few on the ground. A full-color Fall.

On one particularly broad vista scenic turnout, we stopped behind a pick-up truck, back cover open, and artfully displayed, all manner of Vermont maple syrup. Jars of whipped syryp. Unique bottle shapes as well as an assortment of maple syrup candies. The man purchasing syrup ahead of us said that the women's prices were the best he had found. We believed him and bought our share, spredding the flat-land mid-Western wealth to the rural hill people of Vermont. We did our duty. By the time we had reached the home-base for Ben & Jerry Ice Cream, the colors were less intense. Past Montpelier, the capital with >8,000 people, continuing westward, up Lake Champlain and further up Upstate New York, really a muddy color, orangish reds and yellows, everything running together. Over the hump and then down along the southeasten shores of Lake Ontario. ("Is there an Off tario?")

We finished up our fall color tour in the western foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, Chagrin Falls Ohio. Some trees are just beginning to turn.

Looking out our back window, it was all here. You should see it for yourself.

Ahoy matie

2009-10-21T15:05:00.000-07:00

Our Mississippi Covington Inn B&B was a "towboat", a misnomer of course since these tugs push barges, not tow them. At night, when it is very quiet, the engine sounds of passing tugs are barely perceptable. The engines are buried below the water line, making a muffled, low pitched humming sound. Inspite of their great cargo, their square shape, a 6 or 8 barge ensemble barely makes a wake. No rockin' or rollin' for those tied to shore. The towboat at night is lighted fore and aft with its navigational lights displayed, and a solitary companionway light midships. Our towboat is permanently docked, with city water and sewer, great for showers and flushing toilets. The long dark vertical poles keep the boat in place as the Mississippi River water level rises and falls. The life ring is mostly for show as we are fast lashed to shore on its port side. On the starboard side of course, with the expanse of the River; a life ring may come in handy. Topsides is open, and, because of a raised teak deck, the railings are somewhat low, for the party crowd.

Opening the midship's companionway, through the swinging doors, deposits you into the main salon, nautical in authenticity. This is where breakfast is served at 8:30 AM. Our first meeting was at 7 AM at the Minneapolis Convention Center 20 minutes away. Needless to say, we missed breakfast. The fireplace is real only it is propane fueled; it takes the chill off the moisture ladened Fall evening. Cozy. We met our ordained minister hostess who marries couples officially on board; 36 so far. All the elements for a shipboard romance. We were the only ones on board so we had the pick of accomodations. The lower level, down a companionway, below deck and the water line, where engines once hummed, was not our first choice. On the salon level, just steps from this cozy environment was the 1st mates quarters, smallish, with a queen sized bed taking up most of the space. We passed.

The spiral staircase, not like that of "Tara" of Gone With The Wind fame, is a compact helical contraption, brass rails worn from frequent use, leading to the Master's suite and Pilot house. A jingling bell key fob hung from the door's lock. A quick turn ushered us in. Plenty of room, a fireplace, wooden blinds; with starboard and port egress narrow passageways, to the open party deck. A "Sleep Number" bed provided some brief entertainment. The "head" was small but sufficient as we have become accustomed to such facilities onboard "luxury liners" during our travels. Our seafaring quarters quite in keeping with our maritime theme. We had arrived in the middle of Middle America, as far West of the East Coast, and as far East of the West coast as we can be, again, we are aboard ship. Kathy, for all her protestations about seasickness at the slightest hint of boat motion, has booked us into another water adventure, and of course, it has paid off in a wonderful and memorable experience. Go Kathy!

Another day in the life of Ivan Ivanovich

2009-10-09T15:30:00.000-07:00

I drove from East Lansing sunshine into rain yesterday evening as I arrived at the cottage. Big Red managed to make a whopping 28 mpg as I slowed down going into towns traveling at 37 miles per hour, the transmission still in gear 5 and the engine using only 4 cylinders. Pretty amazing. I averaged 23.9 MPG for the entire trip. I'll bet Al Gore would be glad, NOT.

I unloaded Big Red of all the important stuff and started my brand spanking new Made in China 4800 watt electric heater to warm up the cottage, only to find that the emergency shut off switch was defective and kept shutting off the heater after 3 to 5 seconds of heat. Needless to say, I was lucky that the outside and inside temperatures were in the 49 F. range and not 39 F.

This morning I awakened to not see the crashing into the moon of an Aires booster and payload. I am told the crashing was a success. Time will tell.

The internet works well as I was able to do my Pulmonary Function Testing interpretations on line and on time: 300 miles away.

Jumping into Big Red during a particularly heavy downpour, I went to Miller Lake area and the Peninsula TimBr Mart Hardward where I had purchased the heater, and exchanged it, without proof of receipt, just my word. This one puts out 4800 watt of heat. The place is toasty warm now. However, the oil residue on the calrod heating coil sent out fumes and the smoke detector loudly anounced its displeasure.

I drove back from the hardware store in a pouring rain, wind from the North, again, only 2 of the three wind turbines working, just like this Spring and this Summer. Either the folks up here in the Northern Bruce Peninsula Municipality aren't using electricity, or, the resting wind turbine is still malfunctioning. To support the former hypothesis, there are no lights across the way even though this is the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday. I am the only one here on Little Pike Bay. I am doing my best to use all the electricity those turbines can generate. As the wind has die recently, I probably am using the electricity from Bruce Nuclear, a more consitent base of generation. To support the latter hypothesis, several times this last Spring and Summer there was a crane with its arm raised tinkering with the balky windmill. Wind turbine reliability is an issue it seems. If we hitch a ride on the "alternative energy" boat with its unproven and currently evolving (ie, over several decades) technology, we may find ourselves crashed up on the rocks, lights out and in the cold. Enough said.

An outing on a Tuesday night

2009-07-28T19:29:00.000-07:00

The municipality of the Northern Bruce Peninsula extends from Pike Bay to Tobermory. It has 3900 year around residents. Their ancestry is mostly Scottish. They work the fields, the forests, are shop keepers and wait persons at the local eatery. They band together around their faith, believing in the fundamental nature of all things of heaven and earth. They sing, grouped in unison to give concerts in small congregation churches up and down the Peninsula. The Spirit Singers are a 50 person group. The women are decked out in white blouses and a long Bruce Tartan scarf draped over their left shoulder while the men wear a Bruce Tartan vest. The Spirit Singers' director, accompanist, instrumentalist-music writer, as well as the Suzuki violinist are from one family; grandpa to 7 year old grandson.

We gathered, some 125 of us, in the Bethel Missionary Church which has been preaching the gospel for 105 years, recently in these new digs, but before, in a clapboard structure resurrected from a bygone era. The gray heads, the all-one-color-hair older people, plus a smattering of salt and pepper styles made up the majority of the crowd.

The song selections matched the environment: church music, Down East Nova Scotia sea and parting with loved ones music, medley of 1950's Broadway Musicals, and the most impressive piece to me, the choral rendition of two Elvis Presley's ballads. Fiddler On The Roof medley was opened by the 7 year old Suzuki violinist and closed with same. Several pieces were written for them, by them as they performed them. The choir sang with good diction and enthusiasm.

The middle set featured various soloists, instrumentalists, and the 7 year old "fiddler" doing early English tunes, some from Scotland, and some others straight out of Appalachia. His father had arranged the music for "Dueling Fiddles" which was a gas: father and son.

The last set was an extended Broadway Musical medley finishing with a "Restoration" piece written by the father of the fiddler.

The music was fun. What was interesting to me was the plaintive tunes from "Down East", Appalachia, mixed with Scottish Presbyterian church songs that contained some of the song phrases heard in Gospel music.

At the end of the concert, people began filing out slowly, chatting with one another. Choir women's purses were still out on the chairs, and the white heads bobbed towards the vestibule, bulletin boards announcing various doings including "Deconstructing Darwin" on Thursday night at the Sauble Beach Fellowship Hall.

Outside and to the West, layers of pastel colors remain as the sun fell. Night time approaches, and, if it is a clear sky, then the early phases of the Perceid meteor shower may be seen. I will look for it.

Clinging to thoughts of summer

2009-07-25T13:58:00.000-07:00

Clinging to thoughts of summer, I sit inside, sliding-glass door half open; I see the lightning and hear the thunder while the rain pat pat pats the deck. It didn’t start out as an all day rain, but it ended up that way. I awakened at 5:02 AM. I didn’t want to be late to go fishing with Ian Davis on his boat. We were to meet at 7:15 AM so I knew I couldn’t sleep in as I usually do. But, I got back into bed and just lay there. I got up again at 5:58 AM, and went back to bed again, waiting for 6:15 AM. At 6:14 AM I got up for good, made coffee and got ready for my morning adventure. Bag packed with life preserver, raingear, hat, sunscreen and sunglasses I drove to Tyler’s dock. Ian was already motoring in Mare Nostrum. We hailed one another.

He was in a different boat than the one I remembered. This one, maybe 20 foot with an inboard engine. He has had it for 6 years he said; keeping it at the Lion’s Head Harbour because the water level on the Huron Lake side of the Bruce Peninsula has been so low he couldn’t get into his man made cove in front of his cottage.

As he came close to the dock, I handed him my bag and coffee cup and then I tumbled into the stern, there are no steps to transition from its high freeboard to the floor, let alone from the dock to the hull. Plop. I was in.

The day had been overcast, but inside Little Pike Bay there was little wave action. As we motored out past the South Point alongside the shoal, the wind struck us at the bow. The seas that had been building from yesterday were riding towards us, lots of whitecaps. In a boat that size, small weight variances have a big influence, impacting the center of gravity, and, in this case, how far astern the pivot point is. The boat looks a lot like a very short version of the 35 foot Cape Hatteras “Picnic Boat” made several generations ago with a high prow to take on the Atlantic Ocean when Island hopping. In this look alike but diminutive boat, the high prow and heavy inboard engine in the stern results in two nasty situations when the wind is strong off the quarter beam; the wind catches the forward portion of the boat and tries to drive you sideways and then around, forcing the boat to run before the seas; and two, with an already heavy stern, made worse when anybody goes into the stern, the bow rides high and does not cut through the waves. Predictably, the boat hobby-horses in seas. You are pounding and slapping the water constantly. Bang bang bang. “How are your teeth?” Ian asks me. “Still got your fillings?” He said he didn’t understand why the boat was pounding so, “it’s a deep V hull and shouldn’t do this.” I didn’t point out what was obvious to me as I hung onto two built-in handles, eschewing my coffee mug as his portable GPS went flying off of its built-in mount and onto the floor. To make progress in these conditions and this boat in particular, it had to have enough speed to overcome the force of the wind and waves, so out we went banging our way to open water.

After a couple of miles of staccato conversation, in between banging episodes, we slowed down and headed directly into the South by Southwest seas. “Head South” he said turning over the helm to me as he went aft to set out the lines and attach the downriggers so that we could troll for salmon close to the bottom, about 65 feet. He had cut the inboard engine and started the trolling outboard engine and left me facing 6 ½ foot waves at 1.5 miles per hour. The compass course was supposed to be 180 degrees. The outboard is offset on a port bracket and was underpowered to drive us into the wind and seas to maintain course. So, we were all over the map, East, West and at one point North. The bow would rise high and then slap onto the next wave, at times pitching the boat one way or the other. Water sprayed over and around us. Ian was making progress in getting the lines out and the downriggers down. The stern was not pitching as much as the bow and the helm where I was sitting. “One hand for the boat and one hand for yourself.” A sailor’s adage. So true. To increase speed, I gave more gas to the outboard, but no response. “There must be something wrong

with the cables” said Ian. So we started up the inboard engine again. The fishing line suddenly came off the starboard downrigger, but no run of the line to suggest a fish, just too much tension. Back to the stern Ian went, exaggerating the weight and pivot point issue again. He was being bounced around now. “I think these are all signs that we shouldn’t be fishing today.” And so he reeled in the lines, pulled up the downriggers, raised the outboard back onto its perch and we slowly headed back in; with the wind abaft, we were rock’n and rollin'. Our conversation was now steady and enjoyable.

Back at the dock, I clambered out and said my thank you's and good-byes, we will try to go fishing again some other day. It had started to drizzle, the beginning of our rainy day.

The promise of summer

2009-07-21T15:54:00.000-07:00

Rain is coming straight down. There is not a breath of breeze. It is so quiet that you can hear the drops upon the wooden deck. It was not so this morning. Quiet, clear skies, not a breath of breeze, and a mirror of a lake. No lapping of waves, just the rivulets emptying and then filling the front cove. A perfect day for a sail, eh? Well, as it turned out, there came a breeze from the Southwest bringing warm humid air that swung around to the North and began to build. It was time to launch the SunFish, and so I did. Tacking furiously out of Mare Nostrum I achieved the rumpled water of Little Pike Bay, heeling hard to Port and hiking out to Starboard we flew, tension on the mainsheet, entertaining just a hint of luff in the sail. Lots of pressure on the sheet, I remembered I should have taken my sailing gloves. And then, dark ominous clouds in the South. Pillars of rain shown light against the darkening background. I came about and headed in, although there was still gentle puffs of white clouds overhead, and a sun beating down upon my skin, burning my skin; but the clouds were coming, the rain was coming, thunder and lightening were coming. No time for another exhilarating run into deeper waters. Time to run in, wind ahead of rain, moor and wrap the sail tightly so that it would not flap in the storm. Back at home, safe and sound. The wind has gone, and, as I write, the lake is once again a mirror, not even ripples. Mini rivulets resume their ebb and flow in our front cove.

Bounty was launched yesterday. The barometric pressure was high, the seas calm and a run out into the open water was inviting. The lure to the water was mitigated by my deliberate planning of each step, engine position, spark plugs, new

tubing for the gas cans, petcock closed, and then she was launched. She ran like a top. I headed out, past the shoaling waters into the deep blues, the engine now purring, achieving a new state of perfection, almost a quietude. In coming back from a Purgatory Cove visit, I sped through the South shoal finding the deep slot of water on my way home.

The first picture is sunset, oil on water, the oranges and purples of evening. Silence. You can hear yourself think

Sunday at the Cottage

2009-06-28T07:27:00.000-07:00

The sky is crying, clouds' hands reach from horizon to horizon, the barometer has fallen. It is raining; the kind of rain farmers usually love, steady, and long lasting. I am not so sure about this rain though. After a long cold winter with lots and lots of snow, the fields were wet into June. Last week it rained 3 1/2 inches in one night. Fields and roads were flooded. the drainage ditches were full and fast flowing. After dinner with the Thuerigs last evening, traveling to Wiarton to pick up their daughter and friend from a rock concert at the airport, we saw brown field after brown field left after the water had receded, and other fields still with spots of water in them. We want the Great Lakes to fill up again, and I have been watching water levels in Lake Powell in Utah and Lake Lanier, the water reservoir for Atlanta Ga., they are also rising, dramatically. So what is good for fresh water restoration in many parts of the USA, does have its downside here at Little Pike Bay. The bush is wet, everything that is suppose to be green is deep green.

More tidbits from our trip

2009-06-04T13:54:00.000-07:00

We are in the olde person's garden a block from Justin's place. Sun, flowers and fragrance. Casual and smiling after a night's rest and a full breakfast, plus a brisk walk to Justin's. We are overjoyed to be here.

The kitchen in Justin's is modern and spacious. Enough outlets to run the usual appliances, cook the food and wash the dishes. Large refrigerator to pack all the food to be prepared. Unfortunately, neither Justin nor Sherry are much on cooking. Hmmm.

Andre is not quite Rubin's "Reclining Lady" but the living room is spacious, furniture a bit low to the floor for my taste, my needing to struggle to get out of the sofa and chairs, otherwise a young person's modern.

Although the curtains are closed and the skylight has movable cloth shutters, the room is light and airy, the night sky is visible, and the room feels expansive.

Next to the bedroom is partitioned the computer room and an outward looking window. These two rooms plus a large shower and bath make up the second floor. Plenty of room to roam around up here. Hardwood floors, no handrailings to get down the angled staircase though, slippers with traction a must for me.

The night we arrived, we went out for "Chinese" and this is a typical restaurant, on the second floor in the old French concession, a lazy susan in the middle where plates are placed and then spun around to each place setting. There are communal chopsticks to place the food onto your plate, and then there are people willing to share everything.

Our arrival into Shanghai and first stop was the Radisson Hotel, a 5 star affair where the doorman remembered Justin from Justin's stays before finding a place of his own. We were teated to excellent service, a full buffet breakfast, night attendants at the door with greetings no matter what time of night or early morning we came back. A very comfortable experience, all arranged by Justin and Sherry. Andre and Sarah stayed at Justin's and lingered here long enough for Kathy and myself to get ourselves situated in our rooms and then down to walk to Justin's, taxi to restaurants and then back. All this the day we awoken in East lansing at 3:30 AM to catch the Michigan Flyer bus, to catch the plane in Detroit Metro, to catch the plane in Chicago to fly to Shanghai via the north pole, await our health clearance while still seated in Pudong International Airport, lumber through customs with our full compliment of luggage, cab it to the Radisson, etc etc etc. So began our two weeks in China and the Special Administration Region (can you believe it "SARS") Hong Kong, and back again.

Arrangements by Justin and Sherry were outstanding. Thank you so very much.

Thumbnail sketch of China and Hong Kong

2009-06-01T18:43:00.001-07:00

"Welcome to the People's Republic of China. We are from the Government and we are here to help you. Before exiting the airplane everyone will under go a health inspection." 6 decades ago, "showers anyone?"

Sarah found a really neat park a block away from Justin's place in the Olde French Concession of Shanghai. The place was full of apparatus and some people doing Tai Chi. Only later on did we find out that this was a place for "old people."

Shanghai has no functioning one way streets. Cross traffic can really be brutal.

Notice there is no sidewalk. Pedestrians co-mingle with traffic. See the pretty decorative traffic signal ignored by one and all? See Rich run. See Kathy run. We made it across the street. Life is really random isn't it?

Electrical connections are a personnel choice. One does not bother with meters and such. Just reach up, and voila, you are connected.

Let's see now; I do this on myself. This part goes over that part; no, that end goes over this end. See Andre, it is really simple to tie a half Windsor.

East meets West, at the Alter! A gathering of a few close friends.

The French built this hospital at the end of the

19th Century. Pretty isn't it? Behind is the hospital

for Communist Party members and others in good

standing with the Government.

The hospital where Sherry's Grandmother was admitted for a fractured femur, for ordinary citizens: a 6 bed room 4 X 5 meters, curtains separating beds, a common toilet, glass windows viewing from the hall, for women of course. The two bed rooms were for men. Room rates very reasonable, 40 Yuan (@ $5.50 US dollars) and for a single, 100 Yuan (@ $ 14.70 US dollars). Sherry's grandmother was responsible for 20% of the bill. I am sure Medicaid would love those rates, I am not so sure our Medicare and Medicaid patients would appreciate being in beds straight out of our Tuberculosis Sanitariums of the 1920's, and expertise to match the era. US doctors might like nurses back in their hats, starched white long dresses, and standing in deference when the doctor entered. Hmmm.

Notice line 8. This hospital is for Communist Party dignitaries and those in Party favor. Everything is available for those who know someone. There is yet another or third tier of medical care, for foreigners, they have suites. In yet another facility, on the grounds.

All of this inexpensive care is available of course because? costs are low. Just look at the the Staff Parking lot. No, I am not kidding. This is the price for China's Universal Health Care. The gentleman is ZiPing, Sherry's dad. His father at one time was a dignitary in the "Exclusive Medical Care" hospital while his mother is in the 6 bed regular full view Chinese people's unit.

The picture is taken from the window of the Magnetic Elevated Bullet Train of Shanghai's suburbs 30 miles out. We are traveling 430 KPH, about 265 mph.

This is Johnston Street in Hong Kong. Double decker tolleys and double decker buses. The streets are orderly, traffic flows according to the directions intended and signed, only they drive on the wrong side of the street. A legacy of the British, both the orderliness of the traffic flow but also of the side of the road traveled. No one is perfect.

A boutique shop in the Time's Square district and shopping center. Very high end (read no bargains) stores with prices to match.

Entrance to a Taoist Temple. Not surprising, no prohibitions on cigarette smoking. The coils inside the front door are incense, 30 day messages to one's ancestors. How about that, honoring your elders, never heard of such a thing.

Just plain home on the sea. Not the government issue, 100 stories high-rise clustered together like pencils in a cup holder, 600 sq feet, open, no partitions, toilet and shower reminiscent of the one in "Rudy", counter top stove, you provide your own refrigerator. 35% of Hong Kong people live like this. Of course, in honoring your elders, mom and dad live with you, all in bunk bed style; 5 to 6 persons to a suite. No clothes dryer, you hang you clothes out to dry in the 100% humidity. Everybody is doing it. No wonder some people choose to live on a junk.

Hong Kong has a night laser light show: 8:00 PM to 8:13 PM, 43 buildings. One goes to Kowloon, Mainland China to look at the island of Hong Kong lit up.

If you were wondering where people without cars, who rely on public transportation, and where refrigeration and storage are limited, shop for their food as there are no grocery stores or such around each cluster of pencil holder high-rises, there are local cluster day and night markets. People buy just enough groceries for each day/night. No refrigeration? No problem. You cook and eat what you got from the market that morning or night. Here hangs all sorts of choice cuts: liver, heart, pancreas, stomach, esophagus, testicles, ears, legs, hoofs, intestine, pork bellies, etc. Some pig or chicken or duck or goose heads, some brains, eyeballs, you name it, it's yours.

Definitely Organic. Just ask.

For freshness, just come to the jumping fish market, for live fish, shrimp, lobster, clams, oysters, shell fish etc all jumping on, and sometimes off the table, no worries, pick them off the ground and put them onto the table again. You want a dozen?

Do you know what kind of beans you want to buy? Nuts? Roasted whatever? Shopping is for the determined.

Now this is my kind of place. I can identify what smoked fowl I am getting, duck, goose, chicken, pigeon (large and small), and then there are some game birds, tiny ones whose whole roasted body fits on a swizzle stick: one bite and then pick your teeth with the stick's pointed end.

Flowers, orchids, and fragrant? up close? oh boy: The Kowloon New Territories flower market. You really can't smell the flower fragrance from a little bit away since there are competing odors of fish, fowl, and the butchered four legged meat markets just next door.

Further out in the New Territories, that portion of the Greater Hong Kong attached to the main land, hence, really The People's Republic of China, there is a secular holiday celebrating a poet who threw himself into the piranha fish infested waters in protest of corrupt government. Today, there are Dragon Boat races, all through the Special Administration Region of Hong Kong. This one in Tai Po, a 45 minute bus ride from Hong Kong Island. The once sleepy fishing village has given way to the industrial might of China. Alas, the waters are polluted and no more oysters or pearls can be found. The races go on though.

I am dipping my toe in the South China Sea off the island of Lamma, a trip recommended by Bec, and much appreciated. The island hosts coal fired power plants that supply all of Hong Kong's electrical power. 2 liters of beer in the noon day sun later, politics and government intrusion into one's life; ie, presumption of guilt instead of innocents, I could go on and on of course but won't since it does not seem to be as important as those issues seemed just a little while ago. The people are very nice. They are not angry with one another when they speak in an animated fashion, its just that Chinese language is a tonal language: Mandarin has 4 tones and Cantonese (Hong Kong and there is only a 10% overlap with Mandarin) has 6 tones. Mainland China is rapidly emerging from a 50 year civil war and 50 years of ruralification (backward looking) under Chairman Mao into the 21st Century; its just that the people have not come that far nor as rapidly and can be a bit rough around the edges. Its like in this country bringing an isolated Appalachian Mountain person into a big city and expecting etiquette and appreciation of fine Vietnamese French cuisine. Ain't going to happen over night. Hong Kong on the other hand, is a very crowded modern 21st Century city, energetic, and industrious. Fun to be in, for a while. Hectic to live there on a long term basis. Glad to be wandering home.

2009-05-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have followed Kathy and myself on our walks around Bear Lake, you may recognize that the lake, in Spring time is full and there is a hint of green color coming to the tips of shrubs, bushes, and trees. Leaves are budding and the spring flowering trees, bushes and shrubs are festooned with pastel and vivid colors. Puffs of clouds low upon the horizon and clouds high up in feathery array speak to the Spring showers that help nourish the earth. On our walks, we no longer prepare for a downpour as the rain has been gentle and soft, if not cold.

In this picture, the pathway heads into the water and the raft and peddle boat in the distance have their bottoms wet as the rising water has not only crept over the path, but touched many things brought up for the winter and thought safe from harm. The other day, I found a canoe half filled with winter water that had eventually been floated from a distant shore and wind driven upon the lee shore. This sea tale foretold no hardships, as I emptied it, measure by measure, and then brought it high up and turned over. The next day, it was back in its proper yard, high up from the water's edge and turned over. The canoe thing was a reminder that we can not adequately judge the consequences of climate, we can only be prudent, observant, and respond to measured changes. Its too difficulty to predict the future, even over a winter's season.

2009-04-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

The wide open spaces appears to be the place to be what with the "Swine Flu" pandemic on WHO level 5 now. Imagine if you will, being isolated from people yet still connected to the rest of the world by telephone and internet. At least until the extent and nature of this respiratory health situation comes closer into focus, maybe the Canadian cottage would be a good place to ride out the storm.

Unfortunately, that will not be our case. Plans for the coming months have us working in clinics, either like Kathy reviewing charts for insurance companies or myself volunteering at a free clinic. We will be getting a snoot full of exposure, if you know what I mean. In addition, I just came back this weekend from the Michigan State Medical Society House of Delegates meeting in Grand Rapids, plenty of Docs there, attended this last monday and will again in two weeks attend the Meridian Township Planning Commission; I am scheduled for the Ingham County Medical Society Legislative meeting monday May 11th and MTPC meeting that night.

The major issue is the impending wedding of Justin and Sherry in Shanghai May 24th. Kathy and I are both hopeful that sufficient time will have elapsed so control and treatment strategies will be in place and we all can go about our business knowledgeable and adopting appropriate precautions. We leave Saturday May 16th on two different airplanes, one from Detroit Metro to Chicago and the 14+ hour one from Chicago to Shanghai. Vice President Bidden said that he recommended his family not ride public transportation or fly in airplanes although that stance is being modified as we speak because the airline industry already have their shorts in knots. Three feet is the magic number. Three feet between people, although I would sit next to Kathy just as a matter of principle. Who knows: cover your mouth with your forearm when you cough or sneeze; hand wash frequently, especially before touching your mouth, nose and eyes, and be sure to get plenty of sleep. Sleep and the immune health that sleep provides, will get us all through.

Oh by the way. The two pictures? One is from inside our cottage this early April. The second is from the Litomski's (now Devil's Glen formally just plain old Purgatory Harbour) front window. Notice the glass allowing all to see out to the beauty beyond the deck. We are doing something like this for our cottage. We got the idea right here.

Well my chickodees, I am about to boost my immune health for a while or until Kathy gets home from her work day.

The importance of not making headlines

2009-04-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of where I was going. The second picture is how I got there.

"Its only a false alarm, everything is fine."

My trip to the West Coast began early Tuesday morning with Kathy delivering me to Detroit Metro Airport in plenty of time. Our aircraft left the gate on time, but turned around on the tarmac as there was a "computer malfunction," something about the engine not working right or something like that. Anyways, we returned and heard: "everyone stay seated, everything is fine." Mechanics enter the cockpit, rebooted the engine module, and voila, we were back on our way, only an hour late which means of course I missed my connection in Denver to San Francisco. I guess I will not arrive at noon as planned. In Denver, I, and my "fellow travelers", a line taken from the McCarthy era Senate trials, are booked on a later flight to SFO, to arrive later, but still in time to have dinner with Nana and Rhythm and tuck them into bed.

Above the Rockies, at 38,000 feet, an alarm goes off. A very loud smoke alarm goes off, somewhere near/around the center toilet. Ah hah, someone must have been smoking in the bathroom. The flight attendant checked it out and she proclaimed on the overhead speaker: "it is only a false alarm, everything is fine." After several other flight attendants went in and out of the bathroom fiddling with something, overhead we hear the co-pilot say in a thick foreign accent, they were cutting the electrical power to the area, and sure enough, the smoke alarm, the loud smoke alarm went silent, reassuringly. Then pilot/co-pilot came and went, each in turn to inspect the problem area. They returned to their lair, and over the intercom "there had been a minor electrical incident, everything is fine." A few minutes later, it was announced, "we are still going to San Francisco, everything is fine." Shortly afterwards, "we checked with our main office and your safety is our most important concern, everything is fine." Another voice "The beverage service is suspended." Still later from the cockpit, "there are two main airports we can choose from, Salt Lake City and Las Vegas, everything is fine." Again from the flight deck, in a declarative tone, "We are going to McCaren Airport in Las Vegas, everything is fine." Later "we are descending into Las Vegas. There will be fire apparatus next to the aircraft as we land. This is only a precaution. Your safety is our first priority, everything is fine." Shortly after that announcement, a flight attendant came to our row of seats, I was in the emergency exit, aisle seat, over the starboard wing, he kneeled down and in a stage whisper queried, "do you know how to operate the emergency exit? don't open the emergency window exit until instructed by the cabin crew!" I reached and found the "emergency card" in the back seat pocket in front of me. I read the emergency card, twice more. Bump! we land, braking hard, I lurched against my seat belt. The aircraft stopped in the middle of the runway. Indeed, yellow fire apparatus closed upon our airplane, men in silver suits were out with their hoses, the fire truck rooftop turret nozzle was pointed at me. Minutes later, the fire apparatus and firemen backed off and we powered our way to the terminal jetway. "Everyone stay in their seats." Then the center passenger door opened and three silver suited firefighters entered and began poking around the bathroom. When the firemen were done, "you can leave your seats now, take all your belongings with you." This was to be my exit from this story, not really. I did win $35 at the slot machines in the airport which paid for my sandwich and one beer. The United Airlines ground person eventually worked through, over 4 hours, the 200+ people in line waiting to be rebooked onto what turned out to be a chartered aircraft from "Ted Airlines." And, after some more time, we boarded a modestly appointed aircraft, and winged our way to SFO. I took BART from the SFO Airport to the Downtown Berkeley station, took a cab to University Village and awakened RJ in his bed, kicked him out as I wouldn't be able to get up off the floor after a night's sleep, checked the kids, went to bed, and was awakened later in the early morning by Rhythm, "Grandpa? where is daddy?" "He's asleep on the floor in the living room." And so ended one adventure and began my West Coast sojourn. Everything was fine.

The coming of Spring; off again on again. March Madness

2009-03-30T14:10:00.000-07:00

It snowed last night covering the grass and roofs. There was ice in the pot-holes in the road in front of us. Otherwise, the roads and sidewalks were clear. And, although it is really blue-sky sunny outside, it is still cold. Out of direct sunlight, the snow stays as evidence by the picture shot out the side of the sun room.

Last night we stayed up for the celebration of MSU men's basketball team achieving the Final Four to be held in Detroit this year. Sparty beat the number one ranked team in the nation: the Louisville Cardinals in the MidWest regional final game held in Indianapolis IN over the weekend. Kathy and I have tickets to the NCAA Final Four tournament, the first game is Saturday, April 4 th between MSU and University of Connecticut. Game time 6:07 PM. Kathy had the foresight to enter the lottery to get tickets last year some time, and we got our Final Four Tickets in October. With MSU now in the Final Four, the place will be packed with 72,000. Our seats are in the nose-bleed sections so we will bring binoculars. We will be there in our green and white cheering for Sparty. General Motors, who have a suite, decided not to use the suite after the private jet travel bruhaha in front of Congress a couple of months ago. I wonder now if GM is planning on raising capital by selling the seats in the Suite, or now hosting a couple of Congress persons as a bribe for Rick Wagoner keeping his job. I guess, since MSU and Villanova busted Obama's NCAA Basketball bracket Final Four participants, the Administration will not look kindly on anymore hanky-panky as MSU might beat U Conn and V might beat U of North Carolina which would completely mess up bracketology.

Coach Tom Izzo, for MSU, has put this game in Detroit on the same level as TARP in resuscitating the Michigan economy. All positive vibes. Imagine if you will the pressure on these kids playing basketball, playing in front of their friends and family, Michigan's economy on the line, with every defensive stop, basket and free-throw made. Not too much to expect would you say?

Emerging from hibernation

2009-03-22T19:01:00.000-07:00

Winter has officially passed. Yesterday, at 7:44 AM, our sun crossed earth's equator, the vernal equinox, and so began our passage into more days of sun than darkness. Once the sun has reached its further Northern journey, the Tropic of Cancer, the Druids will dance in Stone Hedge and earth's longest Northern day will have arrived. It won't be until September 22nd that the sun will re-cross the equator, autumnal equinox, on its Southern trip. Pictured here is my Spring flower, Kathy, on her birthday March 20th, in Frankenmooth MI, in a garden, going from small shop to small shop, dabbling in items, purchasing some, as evening approaches.

Rich emerges from his winter slumber, grizzled, but willing to greet friends and be cordial to new acquaintances. Our day trip will be dwarfed by our impending schedule for April, May and June. It is amazing, looking at our calendar, where we are all planning on traveling. But first some Final Four ticket at Ford Field in Detroit, purchased in hopes that our Spartans will be amongst the participants.

Since last I wrote, Michigan State Beat U S C this evening, now they are in the Sweet Sixteen; they will play Kansas on Friday in Indianapolis. MSU must win two games in Indianapolis before traveling to Detroit and the Final Four. It is not so much do "we "believe, rather, do the players "believe." I think they do. Go Spartans.

The Ides of March

2009-03-15T12:54:00.000-07:00

"Et tu Brute'? " Julius Caesar was warned and yet he came to give his "politically incorrect" speech at the Forum. And yes, his friend Brutus was amongst the conspirators. I am reminded of this affair, certainly on this date, as I read about many issues currently in the public forum, from the "bailout" of various economic institutions, to plans to change the very complexion of health care here in the USA. What troubles me most however, since I know so little about economics or national health care delivery, is the cavalier use of what is labeled "scientific evidence" to justify a particular strategy. Associations found between various events are being equated to causality; ie, cause and effect. "The reason why the government should......" Causality is invoked to pronounce prescriptions or remedies. So it was recently announced that after 10 years of project "Sure Start" in the UK, a comprehensive all age effort to effect the rising incidence of Obesity in one health district including several towns, after millions of Pounds Sterling spent, no impact. The National Health Service Director said the study was undertaken only after obtaining "scientific evidence" that the programs used were effective. Then why didn't the programs yield the outcome promised? Because, the "scientific evidence" was a product of a "consensus conference", a group think. Selection of the participants of the group predetermines the "consensus." The nominating committee is the real power behind the throne, behind the economic direction, behind the selection of the "science" used to justify a particular idea or event. So who is selecting the "science" to justify a Cap and Trade CO2 policy being advocated by our government? I think it is important to know since there will be far reaching ramifications and unforeseen costs. What is the "science" that is being put forward as justification for such a policy? Does it matter that the measured global temperatures were rising before the industrial revolution? Does it matter that CO2 rise, man made or otherwise followed the rise in measured global temperatures? Does it matter that as atmospheric CO2 continues to rise, that the last decade's global temperatures have actually declined? The hypothesis does not explain the historical measurements. Time for a new, improved hypothesis. I suggest, my family, that you Google " global temperature CO2" and choose the 2008 article "The Environmental Impact of Increasing Atmospheric CO2" by Robinson Robinson & Soon, from the Oregon Institute of Science and Medicine, and read the article in its entirety. Certainly these authors were not invited to the table to discuss Anthropogenic Global Warming, or a Carbon Cap & Trade policy. There are many scientists who say the "science" is just not there to say what is being said publicly, stridently. They are not "deniers," they are skeptics; fair enough. By their comments, I don't think any of the authors I have read had voted for George Bush.

Besides Global Warming, there are many other instances where public policy is being shaped by media invoking "scientific evidence." Recently there was a report that after a 2 year comprehensive interventional effort to assess weight loss programs, high fat high meat, low fat, high carbohydrate, Mediterranean, South Beach diets, after 2 years, guess what? the only important factor leading to weight loss was decreased calories. All diets decreased weight and blood cholesterols during the dieting process, but after two years, the average weight kept off, was 4 pounds. Think of all the billions and billions of dollars spent on weight loss products, gyms, gurus, etc. and for a few million, the answer is: "eat less" if you want to loose weight. Eat less McDonalds, eat less vegetarian, eat less pasta and sauce. The media, "Supersize" and a host of other guilt "exposes" are just entertainment, otherwise, of no value. According to a recent survey, of the Top 10 most nutritious chain restaurants in the World, McDonalds comes in # 8. Who'd a thunk it? You can look up the survey and see who the raters were; surprising. Within hours of bariatric surgery for obesity, obese patients no long have Type II diabetes. Startling? You bet. Unexpected? Unexplained? Yes. So the next time you hear about obesity and the rising specter of a nation of diabetics, watch out. Observational studies do not give causality results. There is more to this issue than "fat people get diabetes."

There are other popular topics that have politically correct solutions: HIV&AIDS, home foreclosures, the education of inner city children, etc. etc. etc. "We can't just sit around and wait for the answer, we have to do something!" I don't mind trying something, intervening, make some sort of effort. If that is what one is doing, say so. We are trying this or that and we will assess the outcome in so many days, weeks, months, years. Just don't say there is "scientific evidence" behind what we are doing when all it is is a "consensus" of presumably knowledgeable people, hand picked for their particular viewpoint.

Too many times, what is "politically correct" has taken on a life of its own, and become the dogma, a religion with its own zealots. And we all know, from our Bill of Rights, our government shouldn't be messin' around with religion.

Friday the 13th

2009-03-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

Last night, before going to bed, I turned the heat down, with the lights off, and awakened this morning to indoor temperature of 55 F. The over-night outside temperature was in the low teens. Ice that had all but melted, 6 to 8 inches of it from the previous 3 months, reformed on our Emerald Lake this morning, not half-a-foot of it, just a thin sheet covering the entire lake, a thicker slice close by in the shallower end. My eye was drawn to the new ice by a pair of Mallard ducks, trying to forge their way through the ice, breaking a path of open water.

Lake ice news peppers our print and electronic media. There is piece on the Michigan side of Lake Huron, where ice cubes, about one foot square, were driven through the East facing picture window of a lake front home. Mounds of similar sized cubes were piled in the home's yard; like an ice cube dispenser had dumped these blocks out of a bucket.

Nothing as dramatic for us. I am just noting how reluctantly Winter is in giving up its seasonal place to Spring.

2009-03-07T09:56:00.000-08:00

I can hear the rain beating upon the skylights above me. It is early March, the snow has melted, all except the residual ice mounds left by the driveway snowplow, but the ice on the lake remains. We have had two snow melts in the past 2 months, mid-January and last weekend with a half-a-foot of snow in between melts. Our Emerald Lake is about as high as it gets and the other flood plain lakes in our wetland area are still at flood stage. After the last thaw, although the days were sunny and at times above freezing, the nights were in the single digits, night after night after night. The flood waters froze in place, so these great ice sheaths have frozen to the very edges of the shores. I presume our rain today will further melt the lake ice, although going from 6 to 8 inches thick to 2 inches still leaves a cover of ice, delaying the onset of spring, heralded as it is by geese coming to nest and breed. This morning I awakened to the honking of a pair of geese, walking the yard where a neighbor lady feeds the wildlife. The area has long ago been picked over, the deer it seems, no longer coming. So the geese, in their quest to obtain the choice nesting spot, have arrived but find no food, and most important to their safety and survival, no open water. They are gone now, they will have to wait for another time to return.

Kathy and I went on our 2 mile walk today, sheltered by our raincoats, one red the other orange, colorful, on a cloudy rainy day.

To put this all in perspective, I have been thinking of the cottage, Lake Huron water levels, and I am pleased to inform you, all who hopefully will be coming to the Cottage's 50th Anniversary, that with all the snow, the bitterly cold winter causing ice covering major portions of the Great Lakes, reducing evaporation which accounts for 95% of Great Lakes water loss, the Army Corps of Engineers predicts Lake Huron's August water levels to be 5 to 12 inches above last years, levels. Hopefully, the foot above last year is the real number; the island will be an island again, which it hasn't been for quite a while now. Grandkids can play in the in between shallows, still with their life jackets on, nevertheless, the water will be warmer, the bottom siltier and hence dig-able and they can get really dirty. Take them to the end of the island, dunk them in, and voila, clean again, ready for another round.

So, a dreary day with a bright forecast.

Where electricity does not exist

2009-02-13T12:42:00.000-08:00

When we had arrived back home from Wisconsin after a 10 day sojourn to dog sit, we had the same bitterly cold weather, subzero temperatures as we had left in Madison. Subsequently we had a gradual warm spell with temperatures eventually reaching 60 degrees. The snow melted but the lake ice did not as it was more than 1/2 foot thick here on our pond. Then, February returned with upper teen nights and lower 30's days. As the date on the photo to the right shows, summer at the cottage is warm and pastoral. Lazy thoughts of a comfortable earlier time.

As summer passes to Fall then to Winter, so too did our weather here in East Lansing change and with it, a bit of reminder of why we cling so tightly to electricity. Around 10:30 Wednesday night, in the middle of the North Carolina vs Duke basketball game, kaboom, and all was dark; dark within and dark outside. No street lights, no neighbor house lights, just plain dark. As it was near time for bed, we found our handy-dandy just-in-time flashlights and proceeded to make sure electrical appliances vulnerable to a power surge were turned off and we went to bed. No electrical power meant, no furnace and no furnace in the winter means that the inside temperature begins a slow but steady descent, more in an ascentotic slope towards the upper 50's; not bad for sleeping with a down comforter. Abruptly, at 6 AM the alarm horn: smoke, fire, intruders began to blast. It is still dark. I grabbed my flashlight, put on my terry cloth robe, slippers and headed first to the site of the horn, no shut off switch, then began investigating all rooms, garage, then proceeded to the basement. No dangerous sights or smells in the furnace room, bed room, bath, then into the circuit breaker storage room and alarm system hub. Up and then down again the stairs as I needed a screw driver to unlock the unit, and disconnect the battery (dated December 1993). The battery, no longer a spring chicken, could not hold its charge for long and was warning us of its impending failure. Electricity off and battery run down.

After the rude awakening, I crawled into bed, lying there and listened to our grandfather clock (mechanical) strike the quarter hours until time to get up at 7:30 AM to prepare to go to Care Free Clinic for my Thursday's volunteer Asthma Clinic. Shaving in cold water, no coffee, keeping the refrigerator closed to prevent spoilage of its contents, I dressed in the dark, with a mishmash of colors and styles, rousted Kathy out of bed for her own preparations for her volunteer Therapeutic Riding Program at the Beekman Center. Disconnecting the garage door from the electric garage door opening system, I backed out both cars, shut the garage door again and locked the interior kitchen door.

Throughout all this time, Kathy had called Consumer's Power and she was given times when the electricity would be restored. 7:06 AM Thursday came and went. Upon return from our volunteer endeavors in the mid and late afternoon, another phone call to CP and 7:08 PM was the time. We took our daily walk to see how the replacement of the electrical fire burnt telephone pole on Burcham was proceeding and talked to some CP employees who said at 6 PM that within the hour, power would be restored. We walked home and our indoor temperature was in the upper 50's still. We started the fireplace, lit candles and paraffin lamps, put 6 batteries into the portable boombox, ate a store bought dinner and listened to NPR. 8:30 PM another phone call to CP: now, "indeterminate time". The electricity and heat came on around 9:30 PM.

So, 23 plus hours of no electricity, we survived and made due. The picture of the winter scene is that looking out on the cottage island deck across the bay. Frozen water.

Good that we have heat again; started the full dishwasher before heading down to the TV, in time to see the ending of CSI.

Tonight we head to Munn Ice Arena to watch MSU against OSU hockey. Its nice that electricity helps keep ice in predictable desirable locations.

Travel tales for those who wonder

2009-01-09T15:08:00.000-08:00

The family all together, ever so briefly, was well worth the 6444 mile drive. Others, like Leah who flew in from Sydney AU and Justin and Sherry who flew in from Shanghai and then onto Goshen IN traveled further. Kathy and my West Coast sojourn took a month, pulling "Rudy" behind "Big Red", using the Southern route, remnants of Route 66, and then the Middle America route Interstate 70 for the trip back.

Leah was last seen by us when we went to Australia February 2008. Now she came back to the States to share the joy of Christmas and the warmth of family ties. I told her I missed her and I had a tear in my eye as she walked through the doors of San Francisco Airport to catch her flight back to the land of Oz.

Grandma Kathy was engaged with all of the Grandchildren, they clinging and loving her as she is immediately recognized by these children as the loving and inclusive person she is. We have many photos of Kathy and the Grandchildren, individually and collectively. Location is immaterial, they are connected. Each grandchild tried to monopolize Grandma Kathy's time and attention, keeping mental accounting of her time with the others and protesting when one child received more time than another. It seemed to me that each child drank a sustenance from her interaction with them as an individual. I hope they thrive upon the rememberance.

Events were a part of Christmas past, present and future. Justin and Sherry took Kathy and myself along with her parents to Carmel-by-the-sea Mission for a Chanticlear concert: Chanticlear is a 12 men's choir out of the Bay area who presented material ranging from the 4th Century to the present, ending in "Ave Maria". The setting in a stone mission church had perfect acoustics, no echo, and the group's extraordinary articulation and vocal note movement moved me to tears for its beauty and effect. Other activities included a whole family dinner cooked by Kathy and hosted by Bec, trips to the SF Zoo, site of tiger rage a year ago, park visits, beach walks, Oakland Observatory, as well as simple down time with everyone, sit down breakfast, lunch, and dinners. Interactions and time after kids went to bed was limited as the fatigue factor engulfed us all. Parents and Grandparents worked hard to maximize our presence whether at RJ's or Bec's. And, after two weeks on the West Coast, Kathy and I charged up Rudy's battery, hooked it up to Big Red, and headed for the Southern Route again, only this time, heading North East from Bakersfield CA to Las Vegas.

Surprising to me was the time it took to go from Las Vegas to the beginning of I-70. We climbed from @ 3,000 to 8,000 feet in altitude. We endured a drop in temperature from 57 degrees in Las Vegas to minus 10 degrees at Salina Utah where we camped for the night. We were buffeted by 30 mph head winds as we went North on I-15. We stopped at Zion National Park, we were not charged a park entrance fee since the park road was open only for 2 1/2 miles, areas of which were ice covered. Our miles per gallon plummeted from 15 mpg to 11 mpg. What was extraordinary, was the performance of Big Red. Every aspect of the complex engineering of our Jeep Commander was utilized. From clawing and hauling its way out of a canyon over a hairpin turn 1000 foot rise snow covered road, to fine adjustments in long sweeping hill climbs and descents in the high desserts of New Mexico, Arizona, California, Utah, Colorado and beyond. Our Jeep performed flawlessly on our 500+ mile weather window of opportunity from Salina Utah to Denver Colorado, from the Western to the Eastern Rockie Moutains, crossing the 10,662 foot Vail pass. We saw one other camper on this entire section, another single axle, but smaller trailer. Once we reached Denver, we continued to Limon CO so that our trek to Heather's in Kansas City KS would be less than 600 miles. Heather, Peter and clan put the weary travelers up for the night, entertaining us with Weii games after dinner and before bedtime. In the morning we said our "goodbyes" as the Murphy household inhaled breakfast, packed lunches and were off to work and school.

Our 750+ mile trip from Kansas to East Lansing MI was through light snow until Indianapolis IN then steady road covering snow accumulations, until the Michigan border, 88 miles to go, more and more trucks pulled into Rest Stops, eventually, a single track of more-or-less pavement to Lansing. Reduced speed for the past 4 hours, dwindling traffic until deserted roads, Big Red carried us home; no slips, no slides. Mounds of snow, ice underneath, every aspect of this piece of "Detroit Iron" worked beyond expectations. The lady next door, with a Toyota Camry, was stuck in her driveway three times so far this winter because of snow. I told her to call me if she needed her car to be pulled out so that she to go to her job. Is there hope for the Big Three Auto companies? I don't know. I do know, that their "macho" vehicles do work as advertised. We of course could have taken an airplane, whose carbon footprint would have been the same as our entire drive trip, only, not as much fun or informative. Big Red needs a bath now, will a wash push the carbon footprint calculation over to the use of an airplane? Hint: for Kathy and myself to fly from Detroit to SFO and back has the same carbon footprint as driving Big Red for a year!

Heading West and dragging our Michigan weather with us

2008-12-18T21:04:00.000-08:00

Many of the roads at higher elevations were sanded. The morning of our departure from the California Eastern high dessert it snowed; large flakes coming down wet, sticking on every tree tip and shrub. A joyous winter wonder land. Also covered in this wet snow were the highways. "Its supposed to be like this all day" we were told just as we were leaving our campground. And so it was. The high dessert was covered with so many inches of snow that the undercarriage of small, fuel efficient cars was scraping the center ridges between the two tire tracts. Yet people persisted in trying to get through, loosing control as the front end of their car was litterly lifted off the ground and the back wheels and car momentum spin the car in 360 degree donuts. Drivers terrorized by their recent loss of control would stop in the middle of the tire tracts creating road hazards and making plowing roads impossible. As Rudy, Big Red Kathy and I headed West, the Sheriff were closing one road after another behind us. When we reached Victorville, we were told highway 14 was closed going South, still open headed North towards Bakersfield CA. North we went to lower elevations and more sleet than accumulating snow. Turning West again, through active oil fields and valley orchards and cotton fields eventually we were climbing again.

No services for 79 miles read the sign as we were in the wide open spaces, rising higher and higher into the snow covered mountains. Occasional ranch houses could be seen miles away. Cattle walked narrow paths imbedded in the mountain sides; dark figures against the contrasting snow. Upward we traveled, the roads narrower, and more twisting and turning; hairpin turns were the usual, not the exception. Upward we climbed, solitary, twinkles of lights from the ranch houses. Big Red was now in its glory, shifting gears up and down to meet the road challenges, calibrating its horsepower and gear ratio to meet our assent, only to call upon all its engineering for a controlled descent. Eventually we made it over the multiple high passes and down the other side of the mountain range. The upper elevations of the highway had been sanded; the packed snow had traction. We spent the night at a "rustic" KOA campground, in reality, a lower tier trailer park. Where do people go who have lost their homes? Some at least park their trailers in a campground and pay a monthly fee. What has happened to all the campgrounds dependent on RV traffic? They have taken in weekly and monthly transients, at a discount; and so was our KOA "rustic" campground, amongst the hills and trees, rutted roads, toilets and showers in need of "maintanence", and old cars parked facing the camper, not capable of pulling the Recreational Vehicle, even this older and smaller version of the RV.

Route 66 at age 66

2008-12-16T18:43:00.000-08:00

Route 66 no longer exists except in the hearts and minds of aficionados of a bygone era of television and movie adventure shows. Route 66 started out in the 1920's as a federal effort to connect existing state roads into a motor pathway from Chicago to Los Angeles. These pathways were the first "interstate" for its time and resulted in many twists and turns through now defunct state highways as evidenced by our finding signs for "Historic Route 66" in Santa Fe NW as well as into Southern California desserts and mountains. The route Toby DeWoody and I traveled in 1962, and that pictured in song and story, we took, returning from the Seattle World's Fair via the Pacific Coastal Highway, Pacific Palisades CA, across the Mojav Dessert to Flagstaff AZ and onto Winslow AZ and the Bar T Bar Ranch. The 1950's version of Route 66 was a clearly delineated highway by then. The picture represents a remnant of "66" near Winslow AZ. Our present Interstate system was the vision of President Dwight Eisenhower who as General Eisenhower admired the pre WWII German Autobaun. In answer to a question by David Grim, the bridge you queried is within 100 feet of Interstate 40, a steel bridge similar to one might see of the 1930's era, and a copy of which I had with my Lionel Train set.

The Bar T Bar Ranch is also a bit of historic and contemporary "Americana". The Ranch began in the 1930's as a partnership of Cleveland Ohio business people I believe as a tax shelter. The original ranch was joined with several surrounding others until -T- was/is the second largest cattle ranch in Arizona. The lead person forming this ranch was Burton Tremaine whom I believe had a nick name "Sky," was a descendent of "Johnny Tremaine" of American Revolutin fame. Sky Tremaine was the Cleveland Ohio business person whom I had met in his waning years in Pacific Palisades CA before Toby and I headed for the Ranch. Toby's mother, Nancy, was a Tremaine who married Charles DeWoody a Cleveland attorney. Toby is a nick name for Charles Tremaine DeWoody. At the Ranch I met Earnest Chilson the ranch manager of many decades. I say this as I met and rode horses with Earnest Chilson along with the DeWoody Family. I learned about the remaking of the ecology of mesa cattle ranching. Large D-9 Caterpillar tractors would travel in pairs, linked with a one inch diameter cable and traveling over the mesa they would clear the shrubs that soaked up the precious water and nutrients of the soil. While out riding, I watched as the ranch hands lit the brush piles with flares producing a bonfire and a pungent odor. After the brush was cleared and burned, the rocky soil was seeded with a genetically modified grass, producing three stalks instead of one. More feed grass means more cattle. Prior to modification of the mesa, the 300,000 acre ranch could support 3,000 head of cattle, now, 15,000 head. There are 5 ranch hands (cowboys) for the ranch. At dawn, I met them at the bunkhouse, the cook made a breakfast of steak, eggs, flapjacks and black chickaree coffee. After breakfast, the ranch hand would walk into the open pasture towards his horse, feedbag in hand, slip the feedbag over the horse's head, lay on the saddle, cinch it up, when the horse was finished feeding, the feedbag was slipped off and the bridle slipped on, cowboy would climb aboard and ride to the day's work. The horse could have bolt and run free, but didn't, there was a partnership of shared expectations.

I re-encountered a disturbing piece of historic and current Americana beginning around Joplin Missouri and carrying into Southern California. The old Route 66 and current Interstate 44 and 40 traverses large Native American Reservations. For over a 1000 miles there were abandoned dwellings, subsistence living isolated houses, trash, junk scattered around, chain link fences around many, dilapidated siding, roofing, doors and windows, all reminding me of what I had seen some 47 years ago. New for me, was seen at exits , a combination casino, gas station, convenience and souvenir store. In the gift shops were painting of Plains Indians, all portrayed on horseback. There did not appear to be signs of Native Americans activities prior to the arrival of the Spanish at the beginning of the 16th Century. The Spanish brought horses from Europe. There were no horses in North America prior to the Spanish. Horses were few and far between for the Spanish, and horses that had escaped from the Spanish were the ones available to the Indigenous People. Since mares may have 3 to 4 folds in her lifetime, I imagine that horses were not plentiful to the Plains Indians until the late 18th & early 19th Century. By the middle of the 19th Century many of the Plains Indians were already on reservations.

The paintings available in the gift shops, reportedly painted by authentic Native Americans, unlike those at the Painted Dessert Lodge painted in the 1930's, show a limited spectrum of time and indigenous people activities. While in Sante Fe NM and the first mission church in what would become North America, the founders of the church came to the area with their Native American servants, numbering in the hundreds for the 92 Spanish individuals who made the first claims to the territory.
While in a restaurant restroom, I heard a man retching and vomiting in the stall next to me. I inquired if he were "all right?" He said. yes he was "... just a little hangover." I met him outside the stalls and saw a bloodshot eyed Native American young man. I wondered to myself if a hunting and gathering society had the cultural pre-requisites to survive now that the plains were fenced, the buffalo gone, and the rocky soil and available water can support few people, like the numbers that inhabited pre-Columbian tribes, 15 to 25 individuals. If one believes the Center for Disease Control and Prevention statistics that more than 50% of Southwestern Native Americans are obese, 25% of these have Diabetes Mellitus; the complications of alcoholism is the number one killer of young Native American men, it occurred to me that a new paradigm is needed other than the current one which portrays a post-Columbian time, truncated to a 25 or so year period, of a mounted hunting and gathering society. Believe me, I do not have "the" answer. What I do know, is that what I saw as a young man in my travels in 1961, persists into the 2008. This realization casts a pall for me and perpetuates a continuing mind's eye dialogue with myself as Kathy and I continue on our travels.

Another piece of Americana, the murals in the now museum of a former lodge overlooking the Painted Dessert National Monument were painted by an Indigenous American artist during the Great Depression. Also in the lodge is a glass ceiling whose panels were painted by two Pennsylvanian artists, members of the Civilian Conservations Corps (CCC), 1937 to 1941, a Depression era "make work" program which included artists and artisans. Kathy identified the glass ceiling paintings as those of "Pennsylvania Dutch" designs. Who would have thunk it, way out here in Arizona.

Travels with Charlie or whomever

2008-12-14T19:43:00.000-08:00

Big Red and Rudy are more than a match for John Steinbeck's camper on a pick-up truck bed "Rosenante," although the literary punch is not. Kathy and I set out to find the bits and pieces of Historic Route 66 that have survived being paved over by Interstate 55, Chicago to St. Louis; Interstate 44, St. Louis to Oklahoma City; Interstate 40, Oklahoma City to Los Angelos. More than a year ago, we did I-55, following the Lincoln Trail, Chicago to Springfield Ill. This time we headed straight to Indianapolis to pick up I-70 for St. Louis. The first leg was to be our longest as I wanted to be West of St. Louis by our first night, and so we were. More than 600 miles. I had planned on stopping at the M something State Park our first night, but Kathy did not want to get off the road in the middle of the night to search for a campground that may not even be open. So, our first night, Wednesday night, we spent in Missouri at the Doolittle Rest Stop (you all remember the Doolittle Raid over Tokyo at the beginning of WW II memorialized by the book "30 Seconds over Tokyo", separated somewhat from the dozens and dozens of 18 wheeler rigs, we on the unpaved part of the auto area. The only real hic-up was the need for me to change propane tanks for our furnace that kept us toasty warm.

Our next leg of our trip was 60 miles West of Oklahoma City in Hinton OK, population 1600, with its one blinking red both ways light, where you park in the middle of the street, and the streets are all paved because of the tax revenue from the 2200 inmate correctional facility just down the road. We camped at the Red Rock Canyon State Park along with two other campers. The Red Rock Canyon served the indigenous tribes as a winter shelter from the blowing prairie winds. The sun was just beginning to shine upon the West wall as we arose, shower and shaved, unplugging the electricity and heading for breakfast snack and coffee. I of course had used the microwave to warm up left over pizza from our forage from the night before. We left Hinton, surviving on the prairie while neighboring towns, wither, their unpaved roads a legacy of when the horse and cattle were king, a now bygone era.

As we traveled West, the time zones changed, but still sunset was at 5 PM and we were searching for campsites in the dark of night. At Red Rock Canyon we campers were three in number, the next night, Villanueva State Park in New Mexico, we campers were 2. North off I-40 into the mountains, elevations of 6000 to 7000 feet, and then plunging down a winding, hair-pin turns narrow road into a valley where a Spanish community had an early success but lost 1800 people when a priest had a vision and lead most of the valley inhabitants South to Mexico leaving behind a remnant subsistence group; first electricity 1949, first community water well, 1952. Littering the valley floor are discarded cars and trucks, broken windshields, hoods up, door open, all with weeds growing around and through the various orifices. The other campers were a group of Spanish speaker men with several small boys, intent upon trout fishing in the Pecos River having intended to go elk hunting this weekend with the two small boys but failing to obtain the necessary licenses through somebody's error, or so we are told. Nevertheless, Kathy and I hiked the valley ridge along the river as our morning excursion. Later on we left for Santa Fe, an artsy community, populated by people who left something behind to get a fresh start in life as we learned at Harry's Roadhouse Cafe. As a winter storm was coming with 5 to 8 inches of snow for the area, by 3 PM we headed South towards Albuquerque and then Westward. The afternoon sun set upon the ribbon of highway as we made our way to Prewitt. We turned South towards the Bluewater State Park. And now we were one, as in one and only in the Park. The wind had been buffeting us all day, 30 mph steady and gusting to 45 mph. As we drove the seven miles to the campground, we took the wind broadside. We had climbed to over 7000 feet elevation in our journey from Albuquerque and again plunged more than a 1000 feet down a narrow winding road to a valley with raging winds and flying dust. In the darkness of night we found a site close to the heated toilets and showers. We also found that we were the only ones there. All night the wind howled, rattling whatever was loose on our camper, rocking us in multiple gusts of wind. We had electricity, propane for our furnace, down coverings for our bed and so we slept, fitfully. In the middle of the night, a pickup truck headlight's danced on our Cabin A and then moved off into the night. Later on, we heard sounds of rain or snow against our metal shelter. It was snow, 8 inches of it, heaped up and swept into drifts. After morning luke warm showers, we unplugged the electricity, fired up Big Red and blazed a trail where the road likely was. Out of the campground and onto the narrow roads, bisecting more evidence of subsistence living with cars scattered about yards in various states of disrepair, we confronted the snow covered narrow steep winding road that we had to climb to get out of this valley and back to I-40. It was this trek up the mountain side that Big Red earned its keep; all 4 wheels churning, clawing upward, pulling Rudy behind. There was a little bit of slippage as we slowed our momentum and turned a particularly sharp curve, but we straightened out soon and regained our course. At the top we were now headed downward and gaining speed. I downshifted and used the engine as a brake and we descended in a more controlled fashion. Our entrance to I-40 was closed and we headed to Historic Route 66 to the next town 25 miles away and another opportunity to get back on the Interstate. I-40 was plowed, although only the right travel lane had pavement showing, the left travel lane was mostly snow packed. Kathy suggested breakfast in Gallup NM another 40 miles hence to let the snowplows and sand trucks finish their work. And so we did.

The roads become progressively clearer as we headed West. We arrived at the Painted Dessert and Petrified Forest National Parks for an afternoon cruise through "Badlands", beautifully colored petrified trees from tropical forest 225 million years ago, when there was but one land mass, and this part of Arizona was near the equator. The petroglyphs you see to the right represent indigenous people from 1250 to 1380 AD who inhabited these enchanted but parchment dry lands eventually, these people blended into the Hopi and Zuni peoples who lived to the North and South of this area. I wonder if a spiritual leader had initially led a group from the Hopis or Zunis sometime in the 13th century much like the priest had led a group from the Villanueva valley to Mexico in the 18th century. The stories in the rocks do not tell of the demise of the community, only the tales of when it prospered. Tonight we stay adjacent to Meteor Crater National Historic monument, clear skies and a full moon. The furnace purrs away.

Election Day

2008-11-04T08:50:00.000-08:00

Here we are waiting in line at an Obama rally on MSU campus. We waited in line to vote today as well. A blow-up of this photograph shows the line to get into the rally extended to the Administration Building, we standing across from Beaumont Tower. The line at the voting place was @ 15 people. In the rally line, we struck up a conversation with kids from Sexton High School, only one was 18 years of age. In the voting line, we talked with our neighbors, all were somewhat above the voting, as well as drinking age. In fact, there were people 81 years of age (reverse of figures) and above.

Kathy and I walked to the voting polls, the sky was cloudless, the temperature in the mid-70's. After voting, we spoke with more neighbors, all offering us a ride home, we preferred to walk. Upon opening our front door, the temperature was appreciably colder than outside. Fortuitously, my laziness in removing screens from windows and doors has now paid off again. The whole place is wide open, and we are loving it.

We have done our part in the Eastern time zone, please everyone do their part in their time zone: go Vote!

2008-10-28T11:51:00.000-07:00

The weather is cold and blustery here in East Lansing Michigan. Dark clouds overhead rolling in from the Northwest remind us that winter is just around the corner. Kathy and I are articulating plans to go "South" in early December for a Route 66 tour as we head to Northern California's Pacific Coast. However, I just received the New Mexico Tourist Information 2008 Vacation Guide plus the not requested but included "Slopes!" 2008-2009 Winter Adventure Guide. Beginning my reading, I now realize that much of what I had planned upon seeing in New Mexico is at significant elevation 9,000 to 12,000 feet, the bottom of the Rocky Mountains. Which means of course, there will be perfect conditions for dry powder snow skiing (300 inches a year) and COLD. The good news is that there are 310 days of sunshine and the roads will generally be clear and dry. Ahhh, not quite what I believe Kathy had in mind when she said "... this time I would like to go South and warmer weather..." Therefore, the picture of Leah and myself, Down Under at the Whitsundays, in our winter time, Australia's summer, our cold and their warmth.

Rapidly coming up is Halloween and what better way to represent that time than a picture of Humpty Dumpty at the Hunter Valley Gardens, also in Australia's New South Wales. Again, everything in order, neat and tidy. Friday night, I am not sure what we will be doing, maybe going some place as we are, and scaring a few college students.

Included in this blog, at no additional cost, is a picture taken by Justin at the Iowa Lake house and July family retreat of Kathy and her sister Virginia. The weather was hot and humid and we were glad there was air conditioning.

2008-10-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

Today was a significant milestone in the changing landscape of American Politics. Of course I am not referring to the fact that Colin Powell endorsed Barack Obama. Rather, that Ms. Kathy, that's right, my wife, your mother, step mother to Leah, RJ and Bec, grandmother to Ellen, Rhythm, Marcus, and Nana, has for the first time in her life, sent a donation to a political candidate and did it over the Internet! Our household has been energized by this election season like at no other time in our history.

While standing in line Friday night, waiting for the doors to the Breslin Center to open at 9:30 PM for the MSU Women's and Men's start to the 2008-2009 Varsity Basketball season: Midnight Madness, we talked with the couple ahead of us in line about Barack Obama, the campaign, debates, Sarah Palin. The young man was born and raised in Michigan and moved to Tampa Florida to complete his Bachelor's degree (USF) and he brought his New York girlfriend to see the MSU OSU football game on Saturday. They came to Midnight Madness as an entertainment bonus. He spoke of his Michigan relatives and their evolving views of Obama; the college campus enthusiasm for Obama, and the need to press on, don't take anything for granted, and the need to get out the vote, especially young people who have registered to vote.

Kathy is talking about driving people to the polls who need a ride, she just doesn't know where to sign up. I hope she gets a chance to pick and choose whom to pick up, there are KooKs out there as we have all heard and seen.