Hot Tub!

I never knew how much I would like having the option of soaking in a hot tub until Sue bought one several years ago.  The best times (to me anyway) were nights when it was really cold--cold enough to leave icy footprints on the frozen deck after getting out, and times I had morning coffee while the light of new day slowly spread across the sky. I've missed the hot tub option.

For a few months I've been scouring the ads--not in any particular hurry--looking for one that was that perfect mix of size, quality, proximity, and price. I believe I responded to four ads during that time, only to get that all to familiar reply back: "Sorry, it's sold." Well, I realized over time that I needed to stop being choosy with location. The odds of one being near home were slim.  Well, I finally got one, way the hell over in Aberdeen.

Even this time I was not first to reply to the ad. When I contacted the guy, I was 4th in line. That was Friday. He replied that he was going to be out of town Saturday, and would be back in town midday Sunday. Apparently, none of the others could make it over there until Monday or later. "If you can come Sunday afternoon or evening, I'll move you to the top of the list." Well, that got me moving into action. Normally, I would have been off work this weekend, but on Thursday I volunteered to work for a coworker on his weekend rotation so he could enjoy his little girl's birthday. That meant I had very little time for the usual logistics that go along with something like this.

I got on my email and chatted up my old friend Greg, asking him if it would fit it in one of his trailers. After multiple emails back and forth, it was determined that it could not, and we might be able to place the hot tub across the top of my truck bed if we did it right. Greg said he'd rustle up some boards and come by my place the next day when I got off work. So Saturday I get off work and drive home, and there he is with a custom-built rack system already done and installed in my truck! I couldn't believe it. 
All screwed and interconnected, it could not come out unless it was disassembled.  It was sweet!

When I got off work Sunday, we hopped in the truck and drove the hour and a half it took us to get to Aberdeen, arriving at our destination in the dark. Lucky for us the guy had assembled a team of friends (in varying stages of sobriety), so when we got there we had no trouble carrying it from the back of the house all the way out to the edge of the front yard.  There, we hoisted it over the short chain-link fence that separated the yard from the street and right onto truck which I had backed up to the fence. Greg screwed a few wood cleats alongside of it to restrain it from sliding, and we assembled a nice weave of tie-down straps across the top.

We stopped at a little eatery in Aberdeen and I treated us to a couple beers and a a good meal.
I know for a fact we got a few looks from people on the way home (there was waving out one car window), but it went well, and I got home just about at bedtime.

Here's a shot of what it looks like sitting in front of the house right now:

Now I just need to arrange enough help to get t down off the truck and around the side of the house to its new home.

I can't wait to put it into operation!

I Don't Write Any More!

What happened?

I still have fleeting moments of inspiration, and sudden bursts of creative thought, but not like I used to.  It actually worries me (of course, a lot of things worry me).  I mean, I have been writing stuff for years.  Why did it stop?

In an effort to figure out what caused this shift in my life, I've thought about it quite a bit from time to time.  I kept having these bouts of guilt--like I should be writing stuff down.  I should be documenting things, re-living things, thinking about things, experiencing things. I thought, "Now that I'm divorced and on my own, I should be writing twice as much.  After all, I don't have to find the time to squeeze in a little here and a little there when I have a chance." 

After thinking about it, I started to wonder, what if the reason I wrote so much before was because I felt the need to break out of my daily confines?  Maybe I was writing so much before because I liked the challenge of sneaking in a little writing here and a little there.  Maybe I was escaping.  Maybe now that there are no confines of any kind, no challenge of trying to find time to myself, maybe now my mind has gotten so relaxed that I no longer feel the need to put words down.

I don't quite buy it, but there might be something to that.

I have gone through a lot recently--that's a given.  I have weathered the emotional turmoil of divorce, the challenges of moving and setting up my home, realigning my finances, and all sorts of things that come with going solo again.  During all that, it's no wonder that there was little or no writing done.  I was either busy or drained--both physically and mentally--much of the time.  Now things have settled down, and instead of writing about things, I will put a movie in the DVD player and drift away into someone else's world.

I had this blog started right after I moved.  Then one day I had this feeling I was under the microscope and everybody was watching me, and I took it down from public view.  I didn't delete the blog because I really liked the layout and colors, and thought maybe I'd use it in the future.  Well, I was just paranoid.  I just wanted to keep Sue from reading it, and that was a stupid reason.  The old, "cut off your nose to spite your face" saying about covers it.  Yesterday I decided to resurrect it and see if it prompts me to write again.  Just the fact that I jotted this down means the desire to write is still there--stewing beneath the surface and waiting to re-emerge as before.

And I don't care who reads it.

Dance of the Dive Bar

Every town probably has one.  The ubiquitous "dive bar" that is the destination for so many people--the proverbial dangling carrot that helps them through their day or week of drudgery in a dead-end job.  In the evenings they drift in--the lonely, the desperate, the people that can't stand to drink alone, or the just plain thirsty people that have no social expectations.

I was in the mood for a beer and a burger Friday night.  I decided I would stop in on a place I had wondered about since moving here.  I found that Dave's of Milton on a Friday evening is the kind of place where I am the best-dressed person in the entire establishment, and I don't dress very well.

It's a place where, unbelievably, Bud Light is the best choice on tap.  I opted, instead, for something called Irish Death.  I'd say the brewery nailed the name perfectly.  It looked Irish, but it tasted... well, not good.  I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was as if something they hadn't planned on spilled into it during the brewing process.

Although they had things other than burgers, the burger page was the part of the menu I was interested in.  While I hoped for something unique, it contained only the usual fare you find on every bar menu.  There is always one half-pounder, one chili burger, one sandwich bread patty melt of some kind, one regular cheeseburger, one burger with something BBQ on it, and one dip burger.  I'm sure I forgot something, but that pretty much covers it.  Same menu--different place.  In all fairness, the burger I ordered was good.

As I sat there at my little tall table in the bar area, I noted things that caught my eye:

• The walls of the dining room (it's a bar and a restaurant), once pea-green, but now leaning more toward brown.
• The brightly lit but silent dart machines that lined the wall at the far edge of the dark bar room, hoping someone will step up to play their beer change and wake them from their twinkling slumber.
• The black-painted ceiling, dotted with rectangles of scotch tape from decorations past.
• The fire extinguisher standing behind the bar, trying its best to fit in inconspicuously among the liquor bottles.

There is something about the people that drop into a bar on a regular basis.  Of course, there are exceptions, but for the sake of this blog post I'm going to put them into two categories: one for men, and one for women.  The men usually drop in on the way home from work.  They meet their bro's or workmates for camaraderie, and end up staying too long--getting into trouble for their driving or by their significant others when they finally arrive home late.

The women seem to be on the hunt.  They are the divorcees or the working single moms that managed to get away from their home life for an evening.  They do their best to stay attractive and desirable by sporting bottled hairstyles of their youth, which they have lovingly shaped and reassembled for their "night on the town".  They stroll in like alumni, at once saying hello to the other regulars and letting their eyes sweep the room--sizing up the crowd for newcomers.

Like the theme song from Cheers, a bar really is a place where they can go, where people will greet them by name.  It's a place where they can be comfortable, have a good time, and be treated well.

Nudestock!

It's been 6 years since I last attended, and not one of those 6 years went by without me being conscious of the fact that it was happening and I was missing it.  This past weekend I was again able to attend my favorite hedonistic event: Nudestock.  It was fantastic.

It was a solo adventure this year, as it has been all but one of my previous 3 visits.  I would have loved to have a friend with me this year but it was a bit too short of notice. I myself wasn't sure I was going until the weekend got a little closer and I could see the weather report. As it was the temperature of the day ended up being somewhere in the low 80's. Perfect.

Again I was transported to the carefree, happy place I felt at home at as soon as I got out of my car and shed my clothing. I sat on my blanket and drank it all in: The band members and stagehands busied themselves with setting things up. Tables were being set up. More and more people were beginning to arrive.  People were already splashing in the pools, sitting in the hot tubs, and lounging in chairs and sprawled on blankets.  And look--a perfect jet contrail.  Any day with a contrail is a perfect weather day!

During the course of the day, several interesting things caught my eye and I noted them with amusement.  Things like:

• The guy strutting around with a ponytail and a receding hairline, looking like his hair was sliding off the back.

• The nice-looking naked lady with one metal leg and a huge smile on her face.

• The guy hiding behind the completely unruly hair and full beard, curled up strangely childlike on his pink towel, completely engrossed and staring at what was happening on his pink phone.  He was wearing nothing but pink socks, pink tennis shoes, and on his head a pink baseball cap with pink sunglasses perched on the brim.  He hardly ever looked up from his phone, and would occasionally just burst out with a short, high-pitched laugh.

• The white guy that was literally the color of a coffee bean.  He was dark.  The locals call him Hajji (which he apparently hates).  He seemed a little unsteady walking much of the day.  I guess he was enjoying life.

• Hats and footwear were the fashion statement.  Well, and the occasional sarong or wrap of some kind.  There were some unusual hats and shoes in attendance.  The naked guy with a top hat, lying next to an equally bare lass wearing a pirate hat.  I saw one guy wearing vintage red high-top sneakers.

• Then there was the nicely browned guy that was proudly sporting the white tan line of a skimpy female-looking thong he had obviously been wearing every day he was in the sun.  It was very distinct, so it was apparent that he was working it.

• The lonely bubble machine sitting all my itself, pumping out iridescent floating orbs all day long.

• A dark man (a different dark man--there were many) disappeared with a female friend toward the RV/camping area, and minutes later reappeared--painted shiny gold from his neck to the soles of his feet.  Quite striking in the bright August sun.

• The guy stepping out of the My Chef Lynn food truck wearing only a colorful apron.  A while later I saw another man coming out wearing nothing but a short black apron.  Aprons must be the uniform of the day at Nudestock when you work a food truck!  Well, except for Chef Lynn.  She had to maintain a professional appearance I'm sure.

• There is something about a boob escaping from a towel wrap I find intriguing--even though everyone around her was naked.  I couldn't ignore it when she came from the pool with one peeking over her loose towel wrap.

• The guy wandering past me... Stumbling a bit... With a big red heart painted on his forehead with what looked like lipstick.

• The large lady that spent the day sitting under a colorful sun shade... With minions spread out before her, looking every bit like royalty.

• There was one guy I would see wandering past me wearing everything but his pants.  He had a dark button-down shirt, and dressy casual shoes and dark socks.  It was a little odd.  Perhaps the reason he was always on the move was that he was trying to find his pants.

• At one point later in the day, three naked guys--all lying face down, sleeping, and oblivious to the world--caught my attention.  It was the manner in which they were all lying down exactly the same, facing the same, and perfectly in line.  Perhaps they were triplets.

Yes, it was a perfect day.  A day of hang gliders hovering and circling downward, of dragonflies darting around playing tag with each other.

There were people of all ages in attendance.  Some people had to be helped to their spot on the lawn because of ailing health, and others were bundles of energy.  Some approached the area with trepidation and still partly dressed, while others strolled in like they owned the world.  Some wore body jewelry in special places, but most did not.  I was surprised at how few tattoos I saw this year.  Perhaps the old hippie mantra, "body is a temple" is becoming more of the mindset of nudists?

There was the usual thing like body painting, and massage, and a few vendors with select items for sale.  One new thing I saw this year was the special souvenir photo you could have taken.  They had a wooden sign you could hold in front of you wherever you wanted and have your picture taken.  I forget what it said on the sign--something like, "I spent the day at Nudestock 2014!" or similar.

The pool that was the most perfect temperature you could imagine.  No cold water shock when you jumped in, and yet completely refreshing.  It was the most perfect of any previous time I had been there.  I partook of it's pleasures a few times throughout the day.  The slide got a lot of use too.

There were naked singers and band members in all but one band.  There seems to always be at least one person in every band that strips it off before they start.  It's the nudist in us, clawing to get out, right?  When in Rome do as the Romans do.  During one trip I made to the restroom (who needs doors?) I walked around the back of the stage and there was the butt crack of a naked drummer sitting on the stool.  I found something about that visual very interesting and wishing I had a camera pass.  There were so many pictures I would have loved to have shot with my camera if I could have, and that was one of them. Naked dancers in front of the stage became more numerous as the afternoon wore on.  Either they felt better and more loose as the day wore on, or the music got better, but whatever the reason--by the last song of the last act there were a lot of people up there in front of the stage dancing their hearts out.

The smiling face of Chef Lynn that was painted on the side of her food truck stared unblinking over the masses all day long, inviting them all to drop by and eat.  The menu was varied, slightly upscale, and absolutely fantastic.  All at very reasonable prices too!  I did partake of a most excellent meatloaf slider and pork taco trio during the event.  Truly a delight to the palate!  I hope to see her there next year as well.

I spent quite a bit of time talking to a guy nearby that brought up an interesting point:  They should have a couple more events like Nudestock at various times during the summer.  It wouldn't have to be on the same scale as Nudestock--maybe only one band.  But to only get one of these amazing experiences per year is almost sad.  (Of course, if I were a member I could go up there every day if I chose to...)  I guess what they say is true:  Absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

I can hardly wait for next year!

Changes Beneath the Surface

A lifestyle change like divorce can trigger lots of other changes within their life as well. Sometimes it involves a different home to live in, but sometimes it's something much simpler than that. Little things like ordering a different kind of pizza, or a different way of doing a task or any number of differences.  Lots of times it's just anything different.

Different underwear? Why not?

I have worn briefs as my underwear of choice for my entire life. My dad wore them during my childhood, as did my brothers.  They've always been in my family.  Even our dog had a pair of tighties that he like to play tug-of-war with.  For 55+ years I have had my privates supported and cradled lovingly and snugly by my tighty-whities. I didn't have any reason to believe that my choice wasn't typical and normal. After all, most everyone in gym class wore them, so I was in the majority, right? During adolescence that was all I cared about: Being normal. Not being "different" was the perfect place to be.

I remember trying boxers out many years ago, but it didn't work out. Back then I was wearing Levi's as my brand of jeans, and Levi's have very little room in them as it is (which is probably why the ladies like them on men so much). I couldn't deal with them bunching up below the crotch, so I went back to tighty-whities.  It's like Larry David said in this video with Jerry Seinfeld.  (Sorry about the quality--I just wanted this little clip so I recorded it from my computer with the iPad.  You can watch the full video here.)

I grew to like the fact that with tighty-whities, things stayed where you put them. I got used to having something right there, proud and unmoving. I never had to worry about if anything was in the right place when I sat down.  I used to think it was an advantage for appearance reasons.  You know--masculine.  It occurred to me one time that all it told someone that might happen to be looking was that I was still wearing tighty-whities and probably still lived with my mother.

A week or so ago I thought I'd re-embrace the possibility of change.  I was shopping and bought a multi-pack of boxers.  I don't know much about such things, but these appear to be summer grade.  A little thin.  Maybe that's good?  Damned if I know.  I'm only 58 years old--what the hell do I know about boxer shorts?  Maybe I should have some flannel ones for winter?

So, I've been wearing them for a few days now.  My opinion?  Well, there is definitely an adjustment period.  Frankly, I'm not sure what the point is of wearing any underwear at all given the way these feel.  I guess that's a good thing though, right?  Everything feels nice and free of course.  I also don't look totally pathetic wearing only my underwear any more.

Let's see how things go for the next week or so...

A Friday Fourth

I'm not overly thrilled about having to go to work this morning.

First of all, I've never been a fan of working weekends for any reason, but especially when Friday night happens to be the 4th of July.  Basically, last light I attempted to sleep through the bombing of Pearl Harbor (less the planes of course).  I actually did a fairly decent job of it.  I know I woke a time or two, but overall not bad.  But I am tired.

The 4th of July activities in my neighborhood differed from other places I've lived.  I'm used to a certain amount of explosions of course--that's what we do.  We are Americans and we like to drink and blow shit up.  But it was different here.  Because it's a rural setting, I didn't expect a whole lot of localized fireworks activity.  I was wrong.  The whole evening was filled with "whump" BOOM sound of mortar activity.  Maybe mortars are just this year's "thing" or something.  Maybe every neighborhood was filled with airborne explosions yesterday.  I just know during most of the evening it was pretty intense.  I never saw much of anything, but I heard it.  At some points they were literally rapid-fire.

I was hoping for a hot day yesterday so I could lie out in the sun.  This has been a very turbulent summer so far, and even though it's been a very good one weather-wise, I've had so much going on I haven't been able to soak any of it up.  It's time the weather ramped up on my days off.

I took off at about 8am yesterday and went to Winco in Sumner to stock up on some food items.  I was pleasantly surprised about the distance and the ease of getting there from here.  Just down the hill toward Puyallup and right onto the freeway.  7.5 miles total from door to door.  It was a good time to be there because it was not busy at all.  I could tell it would be though, because when I left there cars were filling the parking lot.

To work I will go this morning.  It will be weird.  For one--the shop will be a skeleton crew I'm sure.  Not many people will come in to work.  The other weird thing is that I'm "on loan" to the group next door during this coming 3 months.  (I moved my workplace last Monday.)  Even though I'm going to be physically in the other office, I will still do my prearranged weekend overtime rotation working for my regular group.  It will be like delivering and filling Coke machines while wearing a Pepsi uniform.  Well okay--not quite like that.

Well, the rooster clock out back just crowed... time for breakfast.

Moving Out and Moving In

I woke up here in my new place for the first time last Sunday.  It was a little weird, but exciting at the same time.  A lot of work went into getting to that moment.  Let's back up a bit.

I don't mind saying:  When my divorce became imminent the worry set in.  Where would I live?  I had to start looking and had to start right away.  The more I looked the more I realized how lucky I had it at my previous rental before we were married.  It had the central location, wood stove, 1.5 baths, garage, and it was big--all for a good price.  I couldn't find anything like that anywhere this time.  I didn't want to live clear out in Bumfuck, Egypt so-to-speak.  I wanted to find somewhere that fit all those same sorts of requirements, and yet--kept me from commuting on highway 167.  Good luck.

I looked at some duds, believe me.

After the first place I looked at in rural Edgewood I started keeping an eye out for something in that area.  I loved the green pastures, the rolling hills, and the quiet.  There was lots of quiet.  Anyway, after more looking I found it, rented it, and moved into it.

It's nothing great.  As a matter-of-fact it's got a lot of things wrong with it.  It's also got a lot of things right with it.  On the outside:  A friendly wave from a neighbor across the street while I was moving, a "welcome to the neighborhood!" comment from his wife a few days later, a nice mailman, a nice neighbor lady on the other end of my unit (it's a duplex), semi-secluded front and back yard, storage building, and even the rural sounds of chickens from one yard away (just far enough away to not bother me).  It's very peaceful.

Inside?  Well, it's worn--I won't deny it.  It has the usual rental issues: the carpet is not very new-looking, the windows have crappy vinyl blinds, and the cabinetry is poorly-chosen and horrible-looking.  I don't like the little toilet it has either.  It reminds me of an RV toilet.  I will replace that on my dime as soon as I feel like it.  I like the fact that it has a garage door opener, but it seems to be a very, very old one and dying fast--likely needing replacement.  It has a fireplace in the living room, but it's a prefabricated one, and chances are it doesn't work well.  I will be trying it out before the weather gets cold and I really need it, just to learn if and how it works.  I love the shower/tub, and it has good water pressure.  I get to mow my own lawn, and I'm okay with that.  It makes me feel good to do it.  The back yards on our duplexes are separated by a nice fence so we have some privacy, and the patio outside my dining room has a gazebo the previous tenant put in.  It's worn but works.  The back yard has an overgrown rock garden, lots of shade and sunlight, and even a water feature in the corner.  I'll clean that out one of these days.  My cell phone signal is spotty at best, but it works.  I have a natural gas furnace and water heater, so winter may bring a little "sticker shock" when the bills come--mainly because of its biggest shortfall:  single-pane (gasp!) windows.

I'm still setting things up and will be for a while I'm sure.  Today I'm going to make a run to Winco and tank up on groceries.  My fridge has the definite bachelor look to it.  Beer, milk, and sandwich-fixins is all that it contains at this point.  Not much better in the freezer or canned goods department.  I did go to Costco and bought myself a nice set of hard-anodized pots & pans a few days ago.  I was also wandering in Fred Meyer that same day and bought a big set of glasses.  At half off of the last-marked clearance price they were only $7.50 for a 16-piece (8 each of two sizes) set!  I still need lots of little things that become apparent when I need them and have to make do.

The garage is a mess.  It's packed.  Now that the Harley is in there is kind of a "squeeze play" to walk through it.  All it really needs is to get some shelving up and get some stuff put away.

The move was done largely by myself.  All of the garage loads were loaded by me, and there is some pretty heavy stuff in there.  Bulky too.  Sue helped me unload two of my loads during times she had nothing to do and was bored.  By the time I finished all that stuff over a week's time I was sore and tired.  I worked my ass off.  The stuff that was mine from the house was moved by me and my friend Greg last weekend--when I officially moved out.  With our two trucks it only took us one trip with both trucks and a single truckload after that.  Two days later the final piece was moved:  the Harley.  There is still my guest bed there.  Sue is sleeping on it until she leaves for Kauai.  The first thing I did in the place was get my cable and wifi all hooked up.  I think I did that during my first carload of boxes.  That way I could still communicate when I was here, even if the cell signal was nil.  Besides, "home is where your wifi connects automatically" right?

I get mail here now, I get spam phone calls on my new land line, and my commute from work is very short (I don't even need to get on the freeway).  I'd say I'm home.  Also, I haven't slept this well in a long time.

And I wake to the sound of chickens in the distance.

The New Chapter

I thought about calling this chapter of my life the Epilogue, but it sounds so... I don't know--final.  While it seems fitting based on my age and so on, I didn't much like the sound of it.  I'm not creating this blog to be full of amazing, insightful, thoughtful writing.  I created it as more of a chronicle.  For some reason, I feel every time I make some sort of major change in my life I need a new blog.  Kind of an "in with the new, out with the old" kind of thing I guess.  It's a signal that it's underway.  As to why I feel the world needs to know--I guess it's just something I do.  It's kinda weird considering how much I hate to share on Facebook...

Most of us were raised to believe that everyone is destined to be paired off with a mate.  A mate for life.  It was all around us when we were growing up.  At least in my era it was.  I have been on my own more years than I have been married, and I have come to the realization that marriage is not for me.  I married two completely different women, for two completely different reasons, and at two completely different periods of my life.  In both instances the end result was the same: I ended up unhappy and wondering how I got there and if I could (or should) continue.  In both instances the common denominator (besides myself) was that we were both needy.  In both instances, we chose each other for what we thought was love, but it was not.  While there was certainly love and respect in both marriages, it was not the deep love that should have been there--a requirement for longevity.  In both of my marriages I have had tons of really great memories and experiences, and they both helped shaped me to be who I am.

I'm not an unhappy man, but I am apparently somewhat confused.  I guess I sometimes think everything we do or everyone we become should have a purpose, reason, or direction instead of floating aimlessly through life.  Then I think maybe my place in life is to do exactly that--float aimlessly.  Maybe my blogs, my stories, and my poems are my purpose--however insignificant they are.

The bottom line:  I'm again single and living on my own, and I guess I'm again writing about it.