Christmas shopping has changed. A lot.
Shopping for the holidays used to be different--and not really too many years ago, either. The experience itself used to be what you might call analog. I think we've forgotten how much different it really was then.
Before the arrival of the internet, the one best thing a person could do to enhance their shopping experience was to go down to their local 7-11 store and buy a newspaper. (The shopping ads for the day after Thanksgiving were bigger than the paper itself!) Sure, there were ads on the radio, and specials on the TV, but really--paper ads were the best. If the newspapers themselves weren't analog enough, they contained coupons that we actually had to clip and carry!
Walking through stores was 90% percent of the Christmas shopping experience back then. Even without any idea of what to shop for, we could almost always find something. Sometimes, like if I were stressed because I was running out of shopping days, a stop at a bar was required to aid in the gift-selection process. It allowed me to relax and let my "perfect present" guard down.
Not long ago, if you wanted to mail-order something you had to factor the calendar in. You had to send your order (with payment usually) at least two weeks before you wanted it to arrive. That's a week for your payment to get there, and a week for them to ship it to you, and that's not even including any holiday crunch delivery slowdowns. To really ensure what you ordered arrived in time you needed 3 weeks or better.
Has shopping gotten too easy? Yes.
Now all we need to do is decide what we want, check the internet to see who is willing to undercut the next guy's prices, and order it right on the spot. The payment is instant, and the shipping is not far behind. We have so many options now that we're really only limited by how much we're willing to shell out for shipping.
Shopping used to be a nightmare for me because I consider too many things. If there was any doubt about an item I was thinking about buying I would keep looking. I shopped like I was buying for myself, and that was always my downfall. No matter how much shopping I was doing, I was always struggling to find just the right item. I felt I was wasting so much time and accomplishing nothing. Had I been a person with the, "eh, it's good enough for him" mentality it never would have been an issue, but I'm not wired that way. I'm also not good with crowds. Especially parking lot crowds.
Now, it's no longer an issue--We can sit and shop from the comfort of our own home.
Thanks to the digital age and how easy it is to shop, we have a new set of problems. There are theft issues of course, like identity theft, and porch theft, but my biggest peeve of shopping in the digital age is the lack of individual privacy. It used to be that we only had to worry about someone seeing the box that arrived and knowing what was in it, but now it carries even further. Even browsing for products online is dangerous because there is every possibility of my search history becoming public knowledge to my wife and vice-versa. If you each shop on Amazon you have to make it a point to not look at email confirmations that show up and threaten to ruin your surprise.
In some ways I prefer the old way because everything was slower and more predictable. On the other hand, I love the short amount of time it takes to get products delivered to our door.
The ease of shopping also means I spend too much money. It's just too easy...
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
Friday, August 9, 2019
The Same Old...
It's frustrating how we change as we age. It's not the physical part that I'm talking about though. Everyone's bodies change as they age. I'm talking about upstairs. The brain cells that used to collaborate to help me appear intelligent no longer seem to give a shit about each other.
There was a period of time in my life when I really enjoyed writing. The words flowed easily, and thoughts came across quickly and effortlessly. I had a dry wit that would occasionally shine when I told a story. Those were apparently my blogging years. When I try to describe something now the words just don't behave. Even when I have all the information still fresh in my mind, but I can't seem to wrench it out without mucking it up somehow. Even now I'm struggling with what I'm trying to say. I guess it's fair to say my blog posts--however sporadic they may appear--have turned south on me. I used to like what I wrote but not any longer. I look at what I post a day or so later and shrug my shoulders, thinking, "Damn, that's not worth a shit. At least I got the point across. I think..."
Lately, it's more like I assemble a bunch of loose descriptions, sentences, and other portions of my tale that I want included--sort of like an outline. Then I will spend a bunch of time rearranging them to make some sort of cohesive-looking story out of them. What I end up with never seems to satisfy me, but I post it anyway. Sigh.
Am I just being too critical?
When I started thinking about this post I had several references to aging that I was going to mention. Do I remember all of them? No. I do remember thinking that perhaps I've gotten to that age I remember associating my grandpa with when I was younger. That age when he was perfectly happy to putter in his shop or watch western movies on TV. I don't know anything about current music or musicians, nor do I care to. I have a cell phone out of necessity--not because I like paying 600+ dollars for a fucking shrunken computer that fits in a pocket and just happens to make phone calls too. (Don't even get me started on that one.) I drive predictably and cautiously--something I didn't do all that often when I was younger. I go to bed almost the same time every night, whether I need to get up at a specific time the next morning or not. My eyes seem to fail at that time every evening. I don't spend time reading anything anymore. Even if I try, I find my mind wandering. I struggle even making it through a monthly Costco ad when it shows up in the mailbox. I dunno. I'm still holding onto many of my loves, but I find myself not really caring about them as passionately as I once did. I think nowadays I'm more interested in immediate sensory input than being on the move, but even that's failing me. Tastes and smells are still waning. I make slower, more deliberate moves every time I do things. My patience level has gotten worlds better, though. That's something.
My world is now much smaller than it once was. I used to love being "out there" and sharing stuff with the world. Now I love being home, and being with my wife and our two critters. If being old means being simple, that's okay by me.
I like things simple now.
There was a period of time in my life when I really enjoyed writing. The words flowed easily, and thoughts came across quickly and effortlessly. I had a dry wit that would occasionally shine when I told a story. Those were apparently my blogging years. When I try to describe something now the words just don't behave. Even when I have all the information still fresh in my mind, but I can't seem to wrench it out without mucking it up somehow. Even now I'm struggling with what I'm trying to say. I guess it's fair to say my blog posts--however sporadic they may appear--have turned south on me. I used to like what I wrote but not any longer. I look at what I post a day or so later and shrug my shoulders, thinking, "Damn, that's not worth a shit. At least I got the point across. I think..."
Lately, it's more like I assemble a bunch of loose descriptions, sentences, and other portions of my tale that I want included--sort of like an outline. Then I will spend a bunch of time rearranging them to make some sort of cohesive-looking story out of them. What I end up with never seems to satisfy me, but I post it anyway. Sigh.
Am I just being too critical?
When I started thinking about this post I had several references to aging that I was going to mention. Do I remember all of them? No. I do remember thinking that perhaps I've gotten to that age I remember associating my grandpa with when I was younger. That age when he was perfectly happy to putter in his shop or watch western movies on TV. I don't know anything about current music or musicians, nor do I care to. I have a cell phone out of necessity--not because I like paying 600+ dollars for a fucking shrunken computer that fits in a pocket and just happens to make phone calls too. (Don't even get me started on that one.) I drive predictably and cautiously--something I didn't do all that often when I was younger. I go to bed almost the same time every night, whether I need to get up at a specific time the next morning or not. My eyes seem to fail at that time every evening. I don't spend time reading anything anymore. Even if I try, I find my mind wandering. I struggle even making it through a monthly Costco ad when it shows up in the mailbox. I dunno. I'm still holding onto many of my loves, but I find myself not really caring about them as passionately as I once did. I think nowadays I'm more interested in immediate sensory input than being on the move, but even that's failing me. Tastes and smells are still waning. I make slower, more deliberate moves every time I do things. My patience level has gotten worlds better, though. That's something.
My world is now much smaller than it once was. I used to love being "out there" and sharing stuff with the world. Now I love being home, and being with my wife and our two critters. If being old means being simple, that's okay by me.
I like things simple now.
Monday, August 5, 2019
Visiting Lake Bronson Family Nudist Park
Since I last posted, I had a new set of Goodyears put on the motorhome, and as anyone with six wheels will tell you, that's not a cheap undertaking. I left the wheel covers off when the tires were replaced so I wouldn't have to deal with some inexperienced tire guy handing me an apology for garfing them up while trying to figure them out. When I brought it back home I gave it a complete bath and put the wheel covers back on. I ordered new heavy-duty Bilstein shocks to help smooth out the back and forth wandering. The rears came in before the fronts, and they were installed easily. The fronts came a few days later, and what a chore they were! The right side was a piece o' cake, but the driver's side... a little over 3 hours later I finally had it replaced. I think it took about 20 minutes for the other side. All that's left is a front end alignment and I'll feel good about driving it.
Also, during the downtime between shocks I did manage to get all the adhesive off the right side where the idiot that sold it to me had taped the giant 'For Sale' signs on with packing tape. The trouble is, now those areas are nice and shiny and clean. Now I need to give the whole thing a good polish job I guess.
Our Friday departure to Lake Bronson was destined to take place right in the thick of rush hour. I chose a relatively-relaxing route, but still ran into plenty of traffic--especially as we neared Highway 2 in Monroe, and again in Sultan. At least the motorhome was riding tons better than it did before.
Lake Bronson Family Nudist Park is super-easy to find. All you have to do is head East on Highway 2 and turn left at the 3rd traffic light in Sultan. A few miles down the road was the gate--a very nice gate too. Instead of a ring of multiple padlocks, it was an electronic gate with a numeric keypad. Unlike our previous visit to Kaniksu Ranch, we remembered to call ahead for the gate combination well before we got near our destination this time. Good thing too, as there was no cell signal when we got there, just like at Kaniksu. The RV lot was a flat, boring gravel parking lot with angled spaces separated by framed-in swatches of lawn at each space. While it wasn't much to look at, it afforded plenty of space for easy maneuvering--especially useful for folks with giant American land yachts. When we arrived it was fairly warm, so it was nice to strip down as we got ourselves set up and organized. There were at least half a dozen RV's there when we arrived, but a few of them appeared to be currently empty. We took a walk around the place right after setting up (with Ruby of course), then after dinner took a longer walk--doing the entire road loop around the inside of the park (about 2 miles). It was apparent that this was going to be a place where biting insects could easily prevail. Especially with all that exposed skin!
Saturday was gloomy. We awoke to light, drizzly rain and gray skies, thankful that we could still sit inside and be comfortably warm and dry. As the morning turned into afternoon, the clouds barely dissipated. There would be periods of brief warm sun, followed by clouds again obscuring it. The day never really got rolling. It was one of those days that make you stir crazy, leaving me yearning for bright sun to hang out in. Our next door neighbor in the RV lot was a super nice older fella that came with a small pop-up camper/trailer. He was apparently big on walking, and weather be damned--he made sure he always got his steps in. Our motorhome wasn't perfectly level this time. I dunno--maybe I was feeling lazy about setting it properly I guess. Apparently, the different leveling condition contributed to a different sort of water pooling on the roof during the light rain, because we found a new leak appearing above the bathroom. More work to do before winter! So, along with the occasional walk during the day, we spent Saturday alternating between being indoors, playing card games and such, and racing outdoors to the sun patches when they briefly appeared. The good thing about being in a nudist setting is, when you see a break in the clouds you can just dash outside and revel in the sunshine bathing your body. If it goes away or starts to rain, just run back inside. No clothing issues to get in the way. We planned on taking a hike on the trail leading to the local falls, but then I realized that I forgot to pack any hiking shoes. I forgot to pack any shoes really--all I had were my flip flops, and I wasn't about to go hiking in flip flops. Instead of hiking we took several leisurely walks around the area, such as the perimeter trail that circles the lake.
Sunday was a whole different day than Saturday was. It was nice and hot, with plenty of sun. There were lots of folks coming out of the woodwork on Sunday, eager to take part in the bright sun and cloudless sky. The lake was the star attraction Sunday, and before long there were lots of people hanging around the dock. Being a family nudist park is the best to me. The gleeful shrieks that the kids made as they played added an element of fun to the relaxing crowd of mostly gray-haired people. There were lots of watercraft people could grab & go with, from canoes and paddle boards, to paddleboats, inflatables and water noodles.
It was sad when we finally had to leave. It was, however, a very nice bonus to be able to dump our holding tanks before we exited the gate! Oh, one other note: Don't forget to stop being naked when you leave!
Also, during the downtime between shocks I did manage to get all the adhesive off the right side where the idiot that sold it to me had taped the giant 'For Sale' signs on with packing tape. The trouble is, now those areas are nice and shiny and clean. Now I need to give the whole thing a good polish job I guess.
Our Friday departure to Lake Bronson was destined to take place right in the thick of rush hour. I chose a relatively-relaxing route, but still ran into plenty of traffic--especially as we neared Highway 2 in Monroe, and again in Sultan. At least the motorhome was riding tons better than it did before.
Lake Bronson Family Nudist Park is super-easy to find. All you have to do is head East on Highway 2 and turn left at the 3rd traffic light in Sultan. A few miles down the road was the gate--a very nice gate too. Instead of a ring of multiple padlocks, it was an electronic gate with a numeric keypad. Unlike our previous visit to Kaniksu Ranch, we remembered to call ahead for the gate combination well before we got near our destination this time. Good thing too, as there was no cell signal when we got there, just like at Kaniksu. The RV lot was a flat, boring gravel parking lot with angled spaces separated by framed-in swatches of lawn at each space. While it wasn't much to look at, it afforded plenty of space for easy maneuvering--especially useful for folks with giant American land yachts. When we arrived it was fairly warm, so it was nice to strip down as we got ourselves set up and organized. There were at least half a dozen RV's there when we arrived, but a few of them appeared to be currently empty. We took a walk around the place right after setting up (with Ruby of course), then after dinner took a longer walk--doing the entire road loop around the inside of the park (about 2 miles). It was apparent that this was going to be a place where biting insects could easily prevail. Especially with all that exposed skin!
Saturday was gloomy. We awoke to light, drizzly rain and gray skies, thankful that we could still sit inside and be comfortably warm and dry. As the morning turned into afternoon, the clouds barely dissipated. There would be periods of brief warm sun, followed by clouds again obscuring it. The day never really got rolling. It was one of those days that make you stir crazy, leaving me yearning for bright sun to hang out in. Our next door neighbor in the RV lot was a super nice older fella that came with a small pop-up camper/trailer. He was apparently big on walking, and weather be damned--he made sure he always got his steps in. Our motorhome wasn't perfectly level this time. I dunno--maybe I was feeling lazy about setting it properly I guess. Apparently, the different leveling condition contributed to a different sort of water pooling on the roof during the light rain, because we found a new leak appearing above the bathroom. More work to do before winter! So, along with the occasional walk during the day, we spent Saturday alternating between being indoors, playing card games and such, and racing outdoors to the sun patches when they briefly appeared. The good thing about being in a nudist setting is, when you see a break in the clouds you can just dash outside and revel in the sunshine bathing your body. If it goes away or starts to rain, just run back inside. No clothing issues to get in the way. We planned on taking a hike on the trail leading to the local falls, but then I realized that I forgot to pack any hiking shoes. I forgot to pack any shoes really--all I had were my flip flops, and I wasn't about to go hiking in flip flops. Instead of hiking we took several leisurely walks around the area, such as the perimeter trail that circles the lake.
Sunday was a whole different day than Saturday was. It was nice and hot, with plenty of sun. There were lots of folks coming out of the woodwork on Sunday, eager to take part in the bright sun and cloudless sky. The lake was the star attraction Sunday, and before long there were lots of people hanging around the dock. Being a family nudist park is the best to me. The gleeful shrieks that the kids made as they played added an element of fun to the relaxing crowd of mostly gray-haired people. There were lots of watercraft people could grab & go with, from canoes and paddle boards, to paddleboats, inflatables and water noodles.
It was sad when we finally had to leave. It was, however, a very nice bonus to be able to dump our holding tanks before we exited the gate! Oh, one other note: Don't forget to stop being naked when you leave!
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
The First Outing
We had our first motorhome outing this past weekend. Where did we go? A nudist resort of course!
At first I was leaning toward driving us up near Sultan, to Lake Bronson. I was also considering Kaniksu Ranch, over by Chewelah, Washington. Weighing the 2-hour drive to Sultan for maybe 70° degrees tops, or a 6-hour drive for maybe 75° degrees? Well, the long drive to Kaniksu Ranch won. Temps are very important when it comes to enjoying a clothing-optional weekend!
The drive itself was, fortunately, uneventful as we drove to ourselves to Spokane, at which point we kicked the phone GPS into gear and let the Google maps robotic female tell us which way to go. The motorhome seemed fine, driving-wise, but it did tend to wander a bit if a gust of wind hit it. It also seemed to pick up a little "bumpiness" in it as we neared our destination, sorta like the wheels were a little out of balance. It was very nice to be able to have a fridge and bathroom while we were driving! When we got to the turnoff, we followed a road so small it was more like a continuous driveway that snaked along the shore. On the right was water, and on the left were all the homeowners' beach access stairways that snaked upward to their places. It was really slow going and curvy.
After leaving the lake and the shoreline homes behind us we eventually came to the gate. This was where we were supposed to call and get the combination. Guess what? No service! After playing with the phone for a while outside, I eventually got a couple bars of connectivity and called for the gate combo. About the time I got through on the phone a member couple came along and let us in without a fuss. It was funny--I was explaining the gate fiasco to the guy so he wouldn't think I was just somebody waiting for an opportunity to get inside their gate. He says, "You do realize this is nudist resort don't you?"
"Sure do, we've been driving all day to get here!"
The nice lady in the office gave us a great rate for our stay, and after another member gave us a tour by golf cart we selected our RV spot. They had several, most with water and electricity, and we chose a good one. Actually, they were all good ones--they just varied in size.
Saturday we headed out to do a little hiking. We were going to go easy, so we opted for a short trail that wasn't too far away. We followed that trail, taking other "side trips" when we saw something else that looked interesting. The weather was very good for hiking that day, so I just wore running shoes and socks. I carried my hoodie with me in case the trail got too shaded or cool, but I only ended up needed it for bug control as I waved it back and forth around me like a horse's tail. Brenda had to cover a bit more because of her sun allergy, so she had on a loose skirt and loose, long-sleeved blouse. Ruby enjoyed it too... so many smells!
The residents were super nice, and occasionally one of them would stop by and we'd talk for a while. While we were in conversation with one of them, he pointed behind us. There was a woman driving her golf cart at a pretty good clip with her little black Dachshund on a leash in front of her, just running for all he was worth! They stopped by on their way back and we visited briefly. She also had the cutest little Dachshund puppy with her. That whole event was pretty hilarious, and had us wishing we could take pictures.
Golf carts were the standard in transportation there, and it appeared that almost all the residents had them. When we first arrived, we laughed (to ourselves) when the neighbor across the road left his trailer on his golf cart, wearing only a hoodie. As time went by, we found that to be the "norm" around there. It was very common to see people wearing only a robe or hoodie when their upper body needed a little warmth. People even dressed that way for the meals when they were served. It was a very laid-back atmosphere. Throughout the weekend we kept talking about how much we loved the place, wondering what it would be like to actually live there ourselves for half the year (it snows heavily there during winter!)
There were the usual nudist activities there, like volleyball, shuffleboard, bocce ball, hot tubbing, and a beautiful wood-heated pool that was so warm! We didn't partake in any of them though, as we were more interested in naked wandering on the hiking trails and logging roads. Those were things that we could do that Ruby could also take part in, because dogs weren't allowed in the areas that people congregate in, like buildings, pool, etc. Dogs are fine on roads, trails, and campsites, so she got to go with us walking and hiking, which she loved.
We planned on leaving by noon, but for whatever reason, Sunday are apparently fairly social there at Kaniksu Ranch. We had a great little breakfast, enjoying conversation with other folks that wandered in wearing their versions of coverings to keep the morning chill off. In addition to breakfast, we decided to stay for lunch as well. When they rang the mealtime triangle quite a few folks showed up. Choice of burgers, dogs, chips, and ice cream meant there was something for most. As we all sat around at picnic tables yakking and eating, the skies darkened. When the food was gone, we bid them all well and scurried over to the motorhome and started stowing everything for our departure. By the time I was just finishing up, the drizzle began to fall. We took one last drive around the grounds on our way out as the drizzle turned to light rain.
Opting for a little different change of scenery, I decided to go a different way to Interstate 90 in lieu of going back through Spokane. We took the meandering, beautiful drive through open fields on rural roads, going through on the way toward Ritzville. We reached I-90 fine, but weren't on the freeway long when a rhythmic thumping suddenly started. "What the hell is that?" I asked, as Brenda got up and started moving toward the back of the motorhome. Just then the sound doubled, and Brenda said, "We blew a tire." It could have been a much worse place to have it happen, as we were just about on top of the rest stop that's halfway between Ritzville and Moses Lake. A few phone calls brought a nice fellow that changed it for us and sent us on our way. Oddly enough (or maybe not), most of the vibration we started experiencing on the way over was gone. I guess that tire was on borrowed time, and if that one was, so were the rest.
When we approached the Vantage area near the Columbia River, the wind took over, apparently trying to blow us completely off the road. I was white-knuckling it just trying to keep it between the lines, holding our speed to 50mph or so. Whew. We got home pretty late that night, so another day off from work was in order.
What a great weekend!
At first I was leaning toward driving us up near Sultan, to Lake Bronson. I was also considering Kaniksu Ranch, over by Chewelah, Washington. Weighing the 2-hour drive to Sultan for maybe 70° degrees tops, or a 6-hour drive for maybe 75° degrees? Well, the long drive to Kaniksu Ranch won. Temps are very important when it comes to enjoying a clothing-optional weekend!
The drive itself was, fortunately, uneventful as we drove to ourselves to Spokane, at which point we kicked the phone GPS into gear and let the Google maps robotic female tell us which way to go. The motorhome seemed fine, driving-wise, but it did tend to wander a bit if a gust of wind hit it. It also seemed to pick up a little "bumpiness" in it as we neared our destination, sorta like the wheels were a little out of balance. It was very nice to be able to have a fridge and bathroom while we were driving! When we got to the turnoff, we followed a road so small it was more like a continuous driveway that snaked along the shore. On the right was water, and on the left were all the homeowners' beach access stairways that snaked upward to their places. It was really slow going and curvy.
After leaving the lake and the shoreline homes behind us we eventually came to the gate. This was where we were supposed to call and get the combination. Guess what? No service! After playing with the phone for a while outside, I eventually got a couple bars of connectivity and called for the gate combo. About the time I got through on the phone a member couple came along and let us in without a fuss. It was funny--I was explaining the gate fiasco to the guy so he wouldn't think I was just somebody waiting for an opportunity to get inside their gate. He says, "You do realize this is nudist resort don't you?"
"Sure do, we've been driving all day to get here!"
The nice lady in the office gave us a great rate for our stay, and after another member gave us a tour by golf cart we selected our RV spot. They had several, most with water and electricity, and we chose a good one. Actually, they were all good ones--they just varied in size.
Saturday we headed out to do a little hiking. We were going to go easy, so we opted for a short trail that wasn't too far away. We followed that trail, taking other "side trips" when we saw something else that looked interesting. The weather was very good for hiking that day, so I just wore running shoes and socks. I carried my hoodie with me in case the trail got too shaded or cool, but I only ended up needed it for bug control as I waved it back and forth around me like a horse's tail. Brenda had to cover a bit more because of her sun allergy, so she had on a loose skirt and loose, long-sleeved blouse. Ruby enjoyed it too... so many smells!
The residents were super nice, and occasionally one of them would stop by and we'd talk for a while. While we were in conversation with one of them, he pointed behind us. There was a woman driving her golf cart at a pretty good clip with her little black Dachshund on a leash in front of her, just running for all he was worth! They stopped by on their way back and we visited briefly. She also had the cutest little Dachshund puppy with her. That whole event was pretty hilarious, and had us wishing we could take pictures.
Golf carts were the standard in transportation there, and it appeared that almost all the residents had them. When we first arrived, we laughed (to ourselves) when the neighbor across the road left his trailer on his golf cart, wearing only a hoodie. As time went by, we found that to be the "norm" around there. It was very common to see people wearing only a robe or hoodie when their upper body needed a little warmth. People even dressed that way for the meals when they were served. It was a very laid-back atmosphere. Throughout the weekend we kept talking about how much we loved the place, wondering what it would be like to actually live there ourselves for half the year (it snows heavily there during winter!)
There were the usual nudist activities there, like volleyball, shuffleboard, bocce ball, hot tubbing, and a beautiful wood-heated pool that was so warm! We didn't partake in any of them though, as we were more interested in naked wandering on the hiking trails and logging roads. Those were things that we could do that Ruby could also take part in, because dogs weren't allowed in the areas that people congregate in, like buildings, pool, etc. Dogs are fine on roads, trails, and campsites, so she got to go with us walking and hiking, which she loved.
We planned on leaving by noon, but for whatever reason, Sunday are apparently fairly social there at Kaniksu Ranch. We had a great little breakfast, enjoying conversation with other folks that wandered in wearing their versions of coverings to keep the morning chill off. In addition to breakfast, we decided to stay for lunch as well. When they rang the mealtime triangle quite a few folks showed up. Choice of burgers, dogs, chips, and ice cream meant there was something for most. As we all sat around at picnic tables yakking and eating, the skies darkened. When the food was gone, we bid them all well and scurried over to the motorhome and started stowing everything for our departure. By the time I was just finishing up, the drizzle began to fall. We took one last drive around the grounds on our way out as the drizzle turned to light rain.
Opting for a little different change of scenery, I decided to go a different way to Interstate 90 in lieu of going back through Spokane. We took the meandering, beautiful drive through open fields on rural roads, going through on the way toward Ritzville. We reached I-90 fine, but weren't on the freeway long when a rhythmic thumping suddenly started. "What the hell is that?" I asked, as Brenda got up and started moving toward the back of the motorhome. Just then the sound doubled, and Brenda said, "We blew a tire." It could have been a much worse place to have it happen, as we were just about on top of the rest stop that's halfway between Ritzville and Moses Lake. A few phone calls brought a nice fellow that changed it for us and sent us on our way. Oddly enough (or maybe not), most of the vibration we started experiencing on the way over was gone. I guess that tire was on borrowed time, and if that one was, so were the rest.
When we approached the Vantage area near the Columbia River, the wind took over, apparently trying to blow us completely off the road. I was white-knuckling it just trying to keep it between the lines, holding our speed to 50mph or so. Whew. We got home pretty late that night, so another day off from work was in order.
What a great weekend!
Monday, June 24, 2019
Motorhome: After the Buy
Brenda and I got separated when I left Walter and his sales tactics, and when I got home she was already there. As I got turned around and started backing into the driveway alongside of the garage, I suddenly thought to check for roof clearance. Good thing, too--the cable providing TV and internet to our house was very low and vulnerable, and I would have ripped it off the house if I'd have gone another couple feet. Hell, I was just barely able to miss it even with her spotting me. (The next day I made an appointment with the cable company, and they sent a guy out to raise it up, fastening it to a new location higher on the house. I felt much better after that.) I spent the next few days going over things to figure out what did or didn't work. The task was complicated by the fact that I didn't even know how a lot of things worked in the first place. I don't mind saying, I got sidetracked a lot. I would start investigating something and would end up on something else all the time.
It's a 1999 Itasca Class C, 27 foot long, and it's on a Ford E-450 chassis, with V10 and 4-speed automatic. Not many amenities come with a bare cab/chassis before being turned into a motorhome, but this is one of the few I had seen that had electric windows and door locks. It also has cruise control and a factory AM-FM cassette (remember those?) stereo, that actually sounds pretty good. There are also connected speakers farther back so you can hear the music in the house area.
There was a time when it appeared that the law was going to require all RV's to have a rear back-up camera. A lot of people kind of did a panic/knee-jerk reaction and bought something just to be legal. This one was no exception. It was an old CRT unit that was literally hanging on the driver's console. The coax cable from it ran all the way to the back of the motorhome on the inside, held up with peel and stick hangers of various kinds. It was butt-ugly and had to go. It worked fine, but it was old, grainy B technology. I'll replace it with a nice wireless one eventually.
It has a factory-installed HWH electronic leveling system. The first time I used it (not knowing how to actually use it--I was just pushing buttons) it leveled the rig up pretty well. It sat in the driveway like that a few days while I was working on things, but after moving it one of the jacks didn't feel like extending. I still haven't looked into that yet, but I'm hoping it's minor--likely a dirty connection on one of the electrical plugs. I made up four multi-level wooden blocks I can use to drive it up onto also. Between those blocks and the installed leveling system I should be able to level it anywhere we go, even if it's soft asphalt or dirt.
Besides the tires, the dipshits that "detailed" the unit smeared Armor All all over everything they could. Kitchen floor, entrance step, floor mat--it was even on the pedals. Once that shit is applied almost nothing short of abrasion takes it off. For several days we endured squeaky shoes because of it. That shit should never have been invented.
Poking my head around inside of cabinets and compartments, I found that they all looked almost new inside. The original owners were good about keeping it nice. It has all the manuals and everything that it was sold with, and the internet provided me with service and maintenance information--even complete wiring diagrams. All systems are covered well now.
I tried all things propane-powered, and they all worked. The water heater, furnace, refrigerator--all work great. All the holding tanks look real good, and all plumbing associated with them look good too. The only thing is one of the "turd-cutter" valves has a broken T-handle on it. No biggie--it still pulls out fine. There is an electric step that automatically stows, and it works good, going in and out with the door operation.
I had a lot of trouble with the awning. I had zero idea even how to work it, so when it wouldn't come loose when I pulled on it, I had no idea what the problem was because I didn't know what it was supposed to do. After climbing up on a ladder I found that it was just sticking badly on one post. I pulled it out, still not knowing how to lock it in place or anything, but we eventually got it locked open. The awning was pretty dirty, so I cleaned and pressure-washed it. It didn't help much, being stained and worn from years of use, but it's still functional. I found one portion of it that was not assembly right (likely since day one installation), so I fixed that. It works a lot better know. It has a few tiny holes also, but it's still good enough for now. Might get a new one someday.
At one point, I was going around to all the storage doors on the outside of the unit and had one of
those, "hey, look what I found moments." There was an outdoor entertainment system installed behind one of them! Well, it's a piece of shit cheap car stereo, but it's "factory" and still kind of a cool idea. I'll likely replace it with a new, updated unit that will play Bluetooth from our phones and stuff. There is even a factory-original folding table that hangs on the outside of the entertainment system door like a drive-in diner tray (for folks that remember them), and looks like it was never used:
During the last couple of weeks I played with the generator off and on, tweaking this and checking that before finally extracting the carburetor and cleaning it out. I did it carefully enough that I didn't ruin any gaskets. It had some gunk in it, and after cleaning it well and blowing compressed air through everything I reassembled it and shoehorned it back in. Success! It ran pretty good, especially considering I used no new parts. At first I didn't have the electrical plug connected between the generator and the house wiring (like I said, I didn't know how anything worked!), but after getting that right I went inside and saw the microwave was on. Yay! I tried out the roof AC--it worked too! I was pretty pleased at that point. All systems functioning!
In some ways, the motorhome is almost stuck in time. It still has the CRT television and VCR installed in the factory cabinet on a track system. There is also a place for a TV in the bedroom, and that will likely go away also. Here are a few pics from right after we bought:
Still to address:
Tub/shower curtain track broken
No door keys to the cab--only ignition
Other minor things we repaired:
Curtain in the rear window was defective and was hanging askew
Bathroom vent handle broken
Broken seat back bracket from people climbing up on it
To make the motorhome truly ours, I ordered a new license plate frame:
Let's go camping!
It's a 1999 Itasca Class C, 27 foot long, and it's on a Ford E-450 chassis, with V10 and 4-speed automatic. Not many amenities come with a bare cab/chassis before being turned into a motorhome, but this is one of the few I had seen that had electric windows and door locks. It also has cruise control and a factory AM-FM cassette (remember those?) stereo, that actually sounds pretty good. There are also connected speakers farther back so you can hear the music in the house area.
It has a factory-installed HWH electronic leveling system. The first time I used it (not knowing how to actually use it--I was just pushing buttons) it leveled the rig up pretty well. It sat in the driveway like that a few days while I was working on things, but after moving it one of the jacks didn't feel like extending. I still haven't looked into that yet, but I'm hoping it's minor--likely a dirty connection on one of the electrical plugs. I made up four multi-level wooden blocks I can use to drive it up onto also. Between those blocks and the installed leveling system I should be able to level it anywhere we go, even if it's soft asphalt or dirt.
Besides the tires, the dipshits that "detailed" the unit smeared Armor All all over everything they could. Kitchen floor, entrance step, floor mat--it was even on the pedals. Once that shit is applied almost nothing short of abrasion takes it off. For several days we endured squeaky shoes because of it. That shit should never have been invented.
Poking my head around inside of cabinets and compartments, I found that they all looked almost new inside. The original owners were good about keeping it nice. It has all the manuals and everything that it was sold with, and the internet provided me with service and maintenance information--even complete wiring diagrams. All systems are covered well now.
I tried all things propane-powered, and they all worked. The water heater, furnace, refrigerator--all work great. All the holding tanks look real good, and all plumbing associated with them look good too. The only thing is one of the "turd-cutter" valves has a broken T-handle on it. No biggie--it still pulls out fine. There is an electric step that automatically stows, and it works good, going in and out with the door operation.
At one point, I was going around to all the storage doors on the outside of the unit and had one of
those, "hey, look what I found moments." There was an outdoor entertainment system installed behind one of them! Well, it's a piece of shit cheap car stereo, but it's "factory" and still kind of a cool idea. I'll likely replace it with a new, updated unit that will play Bluetooth from our phones and stuff. There is even a factory-original folding table that hangs on the outside of the entertainment system door like a drive-in diner tray (for folks that remember them), and looks like it was never used:
During the last couple of weeks I played with the generator off and on, tweaking this and checking that before finally extracting the carburetor and cleaning it out. I did it carefully enough that I didn't ruin any gaskets. It had some gunk in it, and after cleaning it well and blowing compressed air through everything I reassembled it and shoehorned it back in. Success! It ran pretty good, especially considering I used no new parts. At first I didn't have the electrical plug connected between the generator and the house wiring (like I said, I didn't know how anything worked!), but after getting that right I went inside and saw the microwave was on. Yay! I tried out the roof AC--it worked too! I was pretty pleased at that point. All systems functioning!
In some ways, the motorhome is almost stuck in time. It still has the CRT television and VCR installed in the factory cabinet on a track system. There is also a place for a TV in the bedroom, and that will likely go away also. Here are a few pics from right after we bought:
Still to address:
Tub/shower curtain track broken
No door keys to the cab--only ignition
Other minor things we repaired:
Curtain in the rear window was defective and was hanging askew
Bathroom vent handle broken
Broken seat back bracket from people climbing up on it
To make the motorhome truly ours, I ordered a new license plate frame:
Let's go camping!
Sunday, June 16, 2019
Hey, We Bought a Motorhome!
During the time Brenda and I have been together, the topic of camping has come up at various points in our many conversations, and she has let it be known that peeing or pooping in the woods was not something that was within her comfort zone. To me that sort of nixed any camping excursions in the foreseeable future. More recently, the notion of visiting nudist parks in locations farther away from home had become interesting to us, and the topic of overnight camping was rekindled. We decided that if we were to go out on any nudist camping or similar adventures we needed a trailer or motorhome. While a trailer would afford the luxury of being able to disconnect at our destination and still have local transportation, my truck was not a tow vehicle. Hell, it's barely adequate for going to get lumber at Home Depot. That meant a motorhome was a logical choice. A motorhome would enable us to move freely and also allow us to take Ruby with us.
I'll be first to admit that I don't really know shit about motorhomes. That fact is underlined by the P.O.S that we bought when Teresa and I were married. What a huge money pit that ended up being. Still, I learned quite a bit (through the school of ignorance and repair) about the basics of a motorhome, and we had fun with it during the couple years that we owned it. That was a long time ago, and like I said--just the basics was all I learned because the "basics" was about all that motorhome had. You might even say that it put a slightly foul taste in my mouth with regard to motorhome ownership.That was a long time ago, though, and things are different now.
The search began.
After looking at a lot of Craigslist ads, and talking between us, we decided what kind of basic features we wanted to look for.
I found another, this time up in Everett. It was a low-miler, one-owner type rig, and he wanted 18k for it. We drove up there on a Saturday to meet the guy at the storage lot where he had it parked. I thought it was convenient that it was almost right across highway 99 from my bank, so if it met my expectations I could just go over and get cash. Because he lived a half hour away from where the motorhome was stored, we texted the guy (like he asked) when we were still quite a ways away, to which he responded. We got there before he did, so we parked along the street and sat in the car. And we sat. And we sat. It was a beautiful morning, and we saw a lot of activity going in and out of the gate (I guess storage renters had a gate remote), but never heard a peep from the guy after his "on my way" when we first texted that we had arrived. Imagine our surprise when, after waiting about an hour, got a text from him saying, "the motorhome has been sold. sorry." WTF? Apparently, he and his customer comprised a couple of the cars we saw enter the storage lot during our wait. I just told myself it was meant to be. Maybe right after we bought it the engine might have blown up or some such shit. Still, what an asswipe. It just goes to show you: Craigslist may be known for "deadbeat buyers" but it has deadbeat sellers too.
Then there is Walter, the guy we bought ours from. Complete with a pretty thick Boston accent, he was the consummate salesman. He declared that he was a private dealer right up front, so there was no pretending. We met him at a business park right off the freeway in Spanaway where he had it parked, but we weren't there very long. It just didn't "grab" me when I first saw it. It was raining lightly when we were there, and that didn't help either. I wasn't looking at everything that was "right" about it--I was picking it apart and counting up all the things wrong. At first Walter left us alone as we looked it over, playing the "good salesman" role. I kept looking and trying to justify the $13.9k he was asking for it. When I told him I didn't want it and was going to keep looking, that's when the "bad salesman" in him came alive. He started hounding, saying the same things over and over, "what don't you like about it?" and declaring what a great motorhome it was, and touting the "$400 detail job" he had done to it. He couldn't answer shit about it or its systems because it was never his vehicle to drive. He didn't know anything about how parts of it worked. I kept quiet as I looked it over, refusing to give him any ammo. I do remember telling him at one point that I thought he got ripped off on his 400-dollar detail job. I don't think he cared for that comment. (Maybe it was a relative.) When we left that day, we were running more from Walter than from the motorhome.
Discussion about the good and bad ensued as we talked over the points of the motorhome, outlining the good and bad. The more we talked, the more I realized I didn't know. I decided I needed another look. I contacted Walter again the next day, telling him we wanted to see the motorhome again and take it for a drive, and also asked him if he'd take 12.5k. He responded instantly, saying he'd go down $500 and give it to us for 13.4k. I frowned at the ridiculousness of the offer, but told him we'd come for another look.
The next morning we went to the bank and got the money, and we met him again that afternoon. He really ramped things up in the sales department this time, repeating his pitches and turning the screws a little tighter. I went through the motorhome again, this time with a lot more detail. I poked around underneath, inside, and tried everything I could. That's when I found the generator wouldn't start, and without the generator I couldn't test the microwave or the roof A/C unit. I also saw oil leakage under the generator. Again, I was turned off, this time by the unknowns. At one point I was checking out the leveling system control and wished I could see it demonstrated, but had no idea how it worked. When I mentioned it to Walter I was under the impression that he either didn't know it was installed, or had forgotten about it, because he got all excited because he found another sales point to dangle in front of me. Believe me, it was a lot harder to leave him this time, because he thought he had interested suckers. We did get away, and our drive home was all about our findings and feelings about the whole thing. Later on that afternoon I decided to go on the offensive. I called Walter (I hate calling!) and told him we were interested in the motorhome but have a new number in mind. I told him, pending the outcome of a short test drive, we would give him $11k for it--bottom line. It was tough, but I stuck to my guns and he relented.
We drove to meet him the next day, this time at someone's house. He had moved it, saying something about wanting to park it in a better place. Imagine my surprise when we arrived and saw he had plastered two big neon green signs on it with a new, higher price on it. To add to it, they were put on with package tape, which was half melted in the sun. (I still haven't gotten all the residue off yet.)
At this point I still hadn't driven it yet, but really didn't have any reason to doubt it would drive fine. After all, it only has 40k miles on it. Brenda stayed behind in the car with Ruby while Walter and I took it for a drive. Wouldn't you know it--that guy would not let up. The whole time we were driving around he kept chipping away at me, saying like, "Can't you give another $500? Can't you give me something more--another hundred? This is a great motorhome" yada, yada, yada. I finally silenced him when I told him I had 11 thou with me, and that was it.
The deal was made, and we headed home. Whew.
Next: After the Buy
I'll be first to admit that I don't really know shit about motorhomes. That fact is underlined by the P.O.S that we bought when Teresa and I were married. What a huge money pit that ended up being. Still, I learned quite a bit (through the school of ignorance and repair) about the basics of a motorhome, and we had fun with it during the couple years that we owned it. That was a long time ago, and like I said--just the basics was all I learned because the "basics" was about all that motorhome had. You might even say that it put a slightly foul taste in my mouth with regard to motorhome ownership.That was a long time ago, though, and things are different now.
The search began.
After looking at a lot of Craigslist ads, and talking between us, we decided what kind of basic features we wanted to look for.
- Class C, no more than 28 foot
- Mileage no more than 60-80 thousand
- Generator of course
- Bed you could leave made up and crawl right into
- high mileage, with nice cabins, but the vehicle portion tired from road miles
- low mileage units with lots of wear in the cabin areas from spending a lot of time stationary in RV parks
- worn out all the way around and ready to become no-income housing in downtown Seattle
I found another, this time up in Everett. It was a low-miler, one-owner type rig, and he wanted 18k for it. We drove up there on a Saturday to meet the guy at the storage lot where he had it parked. I thought it was convenient that it was almost right across highway 99 from my bank, so if it met my expectations I could just go over and get cash. Because he lived a half hour away from where the motorhome was stored, we texted the guy (like he asked) when we were still quite a ways away, to which he responded. We got there before he did, so we parked along the street and sat in the car. And we sat. And we sat. It was a beautiful morning, and we saw a lot of activity going in and out of the gate (I guess storage renters had a gate remote), but never heard a peep from the guy after his "on my way" when we first texted that we had arrived. Imagine our surprise when, after waiting about an hour, got a text from him saying, "the motorhome has been sold. sorry." WTF? Apparently, he and his customer comprised a couple of the cars we saw enter the storage lot during our wait. I just told myself it was meant to be. Maybe right after we bought it the engine might have blown up or some such shit. Still, what an asswipe. It just goes to show you: Craigslist may be known for "deadbeat buyers" but it has deadbeat sellers too.
Then there is Walter, the guy we bought ours from. Complete with a pretty thick Boston accent, he was the consummate salesman. He declared that he was a private dealer right up front, so there was no pretending. We met him at a business park right off the freeway in Spanaway where he had it parked, but we weren't there very long. It just didn't "grab" me when I first saw it. It was raining lightly when we were there, and that didn't help either. I wasn't looking at everything that was "right" about it--I was picking it apart and counting up all the things wrong. At first Walter left us alone as we looked it over, playing the "good salesman" role. I kept looking and trying to justify the $13.9k he was asking for it. When I told him I didn't want it and was going to keep looking, that's when the "bad salesman" in him came alive. He started hounding, saying the same things over and over, "what don't you like about it?" and declaring what a great motorhome it was, and touting the "$400 detail job" he had done to it. He couldn't answer shit about it or its systems because it was never his vehicle to drive. He didn't know anything about how parts of it worked. I kept quiet as I looked it over, refusing to give him any ammo. I do remember telling him at one point that I thought he got ripped off on his 400-dollar detail job. I don't think he cared for that comment. (Maybe it was a relative.) When we left that day, we were running more from Walter than from the motorhome.
Discussion about the good and bad ensued as we talked over the points of the motorhome, outlining the good and bad. The more we talked, the more I realized I didn't know. I decided I needed another look. I contacted Walter again the next day, telling him we wanted to see the motorhome again and take it for a drive, and also asked him if he'd take 12.5k. He responded instantly, saying he'd go down $500 and give it to us for 13.4k. I frowned at the ridiculousness of the offer, but told him we'd come for another look.
The next morning we went to the bank and got the money, and we met him again that afternoon. He really ramped things up in the sales department this time, repeating his pitches and turning the screws a little tighter. I went through the motorhome again, this time with a lot more detail. I poked around underneath, inside, and tried everything I could. That's when I found the generator wouldn't start, and without the generator I couldn't test the microwave or the roof A/C unit. I also saw oil leakage under the generator. Again, I was turned off, this time by the unknowns. At one point I was checking out the leveling system control and wished I could see it demonstrated, but had no idea how it worked. When I mentioned it to Walter I was under the impression that he either didn't know it was installed, or had forgotten about it, because he got all excited because he found another sales point to dangle in front of me. Believe me, it was a lot harder to leave him this time, because he thought he had interested suckers. We did get away, and our drive home was all about our findings and feelings about the whole thing. Later on that afternoon I decided to go on the offensive. I called Walter (I hate calling!) and told him we were interested in the motorhome but have a new number in mind. I told him, pending the outcome of a short test drive, we would give him $11k for it--bottom line. It was tough, but I stuck to my guns and he relented.
We drove to meet him the next day, this time at someone's house. He had moved it, saying something about wanting to park it in a better place. Imagine my surprise when we arrived and saw he had plastered two big neon green signs on it with a new, higher price on it. To add to it, they were put on with package tape, which was half melted in the sun. (I still haven't gotten all the residue off yet.)
At this point I still hadn't driven it yet, but really didn't have any reason to doubt it would drive fine. After all, it only has 40k miles on it. Brenda stayed behind in the car with Ruby while Walter and I took it for a drive. Wouldn't you know it--that guy would not let up. The whole time we were driving around he kept chipping away at me, saying like, "Can't you give another $500? Can't you give me something more--another hundred? This is a great motorhome" yada, yada, yada. I finally silenced him when I told him I had 11 thou with me, and that was it.
The deal was made, and we headed home. Whew.
Next: After the Buy
Friday, April 26, 2019
My Time With Ello
A few years ago I was a member of the Ello community. You might say I was there in its infancy because when I joined it was by invite-only. I was a member there for a year or so before finally deciding that it was not for me. I don't mean I didn't like it--I did--but it eventually found its identity and evolved into a showcase for artistic people and their creativity. As time went by I felt more and more like I didn't fit in. I eventually pulled the plug and bailed out, but not before saving a few of the posts I had made. This is one of them. The topic that day was about posting a selfie from youthful happy times or something like that. I must have been having a pretty depressing day when I wrote it or something, because it's kind of a downer. Here's the post:
"I don't mind saying, this selfie Monday didn't work out so well for me. I found myself full of melancholy. The more pictures I looked through the more tears welled up in my eyes. I cried out of frustration for so many reasons. So many of the pictures reminded me of how poor we were when I was young, even though we didn't know it at the time. There were two adults and 5 children, all coexisting in a one-bedroom house. Many of the old pictures were taken after I was fitted with nerd glasses, and if that weren't enough, my new permanent front teeth came in none too gracefully. While my childhood was pretty good, I couldn't come up with any pictures that contained any "defining moments" of my childhood. Sure I was always (well, usually) smiling in them, but having a camera pointed at somebody tends to trigger that automatically. As the first-born I had more pictures taken during my childhood than any of my brothers and sisters did, and yet I still didn't see any that reminded me of anything good. Anyway, I chose this glib picture. In this shot I had just chosen some random shit to pose with because the family camera came out."
I'm a cute kid in this picture and I do like it. It's simple, has good color, and I love the way I'm dressed--dirty clothes and all. It's also shows how much I enjoyed being outside and doing boy things.
Below is another post I made when I was a member of Ello. I believe it was in the cold months of winter after the holiday season had passed.
"I feel I need to add more of Ello's many creative geniuses to my follow list just so I can get more meat on my plate when I open Ello several times each day. I know, I know--I'm as guilty as anyone. I haven't posted shit myself. Truth is, I have very little to offer the Ello community. I'm not artistic, I'm not creative, I'm not a visionary, I'm not wise, I'm not poetic, and I'm not many of the things that others on Ello are. I'll tell you what I am though: I'm a sponge. I'm a blank tape. I'm a child in a toy shop. I'm a watcher. I'm a lover. I'm a romantic. I'm enchanted by visuals, by movies, by art, by music. Many times they bring tears to my eyes. The things that people on Ello have posted have had that effect on me many times over. I wish I had more than mediocre photography to offer the community because it pays me forward with more than you can possibly imagine. I live alone, and have a very solitary type of mentality. I'm a thinker, and the people of the Ello community give me a lot to think about.
I love Ello. Thank you. Thank you all."
I still find myself checking out Ello, but there is no longer anything personal in it. The initial "Facebook feel" is no longer there, and it's now mainly like a giant artist portfolio. While their site now has more a commercial direction, it's still an amazing showcase of talent to peruse with your morning coffee.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Who Am I?
This was written a few years back, when I was living alone in my rented duplex. While most of the following is true, I'm now married, so things are very different than they were when I wrote the following:
Why? Why would anyone want to read about my life? Why would anyone want to know what makes me tick? I know more about my life than anyone else in the world does, so if anyone should write about me, it should be me.
I don't know what my earliest recollections of my childhood really are. Like most people I think I remember things from my childhood, but do I really? Do I really remember any of the stuff I think I do, or am I just repeating stories that have been told since I was tiny? When you look at the same pictures over and over for decades, and associate stories that were told repeatedly, they become the story. They become the memory.
There are many things that have shaped my life. Many experiences have shaped me into who I am today. I'm not saying I'm anything noteworthy--certainly I am not. If anything in our past--I mean anything no matter how insignificant--were to have not happened or happened differently, we would probably not be here today. We may be somewhere near, but not here. The Butterfly Effect is almost staggering with its implications. Anyone would agree that had certain traumatic or important things from their past not happened or happened differently that things would be different. The slightest little thing is all it takes. When you add the passage of time into the equation, those seemingly insignificant events are multiplied, sometimes exponentially. One teeny little thing back then could mean a huge, huge ripple in today's world. That makes me wonder about things I did when I was little. The things I did, the things I saw, the experiences that shaped me. What would my life be today if any one of those things were changed somehow? It's mind-boggling.
Sometimes I think back on things I've done, and they seem surreal. I can't place myself in the scenario now that I'm reviewing the experience later in life. I remember bits of it, but that's about all. A good example? How about inner tubing down the Euphrates River in Turkey? How many people have done that? I think, "Did I even do that? Why the fuck can't I remember anything about it? Was I stoned? Drunk? Both?" The fact is I did do it. I remember just enough to know that it really happened. I don't remember any of the logistics of it. I don't remember who went or how many of us, how we got there, where we stopped or started or anything like that. It's obvious that I was not in on the planning part of the deal or I would remember more details. But I did it, and so did my roommate, John Turcotte. I have a couple of pictures somewhere to prove it.
I sit at a computer at work all day long, staring at multiple monitors and juggling minute details of aerospace fabrication. I saw this question posed on the Internet: when you go home at the end of the day and turn off your work life what do you picture? That made me think a little bit. I treasure quiet and solitude more than I ever have. When I was looking for a house, one of the things I wanted was a good view of a sunrise or sunset. I'm not picky in that regard--either one will do. By "view" I mean I can see a fair amount of sky uninterrupted. I don't want to have to climb a tree or go to the end of the road or whatever, I want to just be able to look out the window or sit on the deck or porch and be mesmerized by the colors of Mother Nature. I think that's what I'd like when I finish my work life.
Why am I such a worry wart? Did my dad cause it? Is it a direct result of his temper? Did his beatings or his hollering and belittling make me this way? Probably yes. No, I'm sure of it. He never gave out praise--only criticism. He always had to maintain a position of superiority. God forbid you should challenge a fact in something he just shared. I think my constant ducking under the wire and fearing his wrath instilled me with a definite lack of balls. I can't ever "man up" when I want to. It has also seriously affected my social skills. I'm constantly worrying and fretting about cause and effect. I find myself not wanting to start something because my mind screams, "but what if...?" I hate that about me. I sit and take the easy way out, the coward’s way out. I avoid things "just in case" I may have some sort of crisis or conflict I have to resolve. I'm a lousy communicator. Horrible.
I've noticed that I have developed a sort of shell, a shell that you can't see, but nevertheless is there. I guess you could just call it a safety buffer. It isolates (or at least attempts to) me from things that make me uncomfortable. I can't stop looking over the news every day, but I seldom read it. Scanning would be more accurate. I read the bullet points in the form of the headlines, but I hardly ever click into a story to actually read it. If I do I try to maximize the selections that the Internet presents to me as much as I can so I can preview the story and choose the least-obtrusive and least-slanted source. When I am looking deeper into a story like that I've noticed that I get that weird feeling of dread when I have a realization that there is going to be something uncomfortable in the story. When that happens I stop reading it instantly. For some reason lately, it makes me wince when a story describes someone's suffering or outlines the things that led up to their demise. I want to put my hands up and close my eyes. I want to fly back to a moment in time before that feeling washed over me. I want to wish it away. When they say, “What has been seen cannot be un-seen” I know what they’re talking about. If I’m exposed to something uncomfortable like that it will eat away at me. I don't know why this feeling has started happening to me.
I feel a certain tendency toward hermit life that may or may not be related to it. I feel just almost as unsure and confused about my direction in life now as I probably ever did at any point. I feel sometimes like I should start seeing a shrink. Will I ever though? Probably not. I'm so wishy-washy and indecisive.
This is a tough time of year for me. When daylight savings time ends and it gets dark earlier each day… it just exacerbates how I’m already feeling because of the cold temperatures and short amount of daylight hours. It’s no wonder that there are so many people with depression issues this time of year. Take what’s already going on in your head and add a Christmas season to it. Can you cope? I have trouble sometimes. It’s no wonder it was so hard on me when I was married to Sue. Her being a Jehovah’s Witness meant there were no lights, candles, or music in the house that represented the upbeat nature of Christmas season. There was a definite void during that time. I remember the very last Christmas season we were married, she was in Kauai with her daughter and I was left more or less to myself (her son, Keith, was there of course because he lived there, but seldom showed his face). I had a sort of reawakening during that time. I experienced Christmas on more of a personal level for the first time in five years. I didn’t really care that it was missing so much during the first couple of years we were married, but I think I slowly began to notice that it was missing from my life, and maybe even a resentful of it. I needed it but didn’t know I needed it. Everyone else was experiencing it but me. Anyway, during that Christmas I took walks around the neighborhood, admiring and taking pictures of people’s light displays, feeling the crisp temperature and feeling a little more in touch with things. I was able to play Christmas music at home as I sat at my computer for the first time since before we were married. I was able to come and go on a whim, visiting other people and meeting friends at restaurants. It was a good time. I think that I need to get into things a little bit more this year to combat the feeling of depression. It feels heavy this year--much more so than last year. Last year I was still reveling in the newness of being divorced--being free to do as I chose to do. This year there is more of a feeling of solitude. Though self-imposed for the most part, it still gives me a feeling of melancholy.
Why is dating so hard for me? Why am I afraid of commitment? It occurred to me that we treat being with a woman like having a job. Think about it: people all the time are in jobs they don't like. They are constantly saying shit like, "God, I can't wait to retire" or "If only I'd win the lotto..." People will do almost anything to put up with their job because they hate looking for a new job so much. We've all done it--knocking on doors, talking to people we don't know, filling out applications with mostly accurate information, handing them a resume that makes us look like the best possible person they could ever hire. That's exactly what we do when we date. Exactly. Then all goes well and we might think, "She's not so bad... She has a lot of really great qualities" and decide to stick with her permanently. Time goes by, then you start to tire of the crap you have to put up with. You don't really see the positives any more, but the negatives just eat at you. You wish you could retire or hit the lotto. Instead, you sigh and plod onward with resignation.
I've often wondered what my favorite color is. Everybody has a favorite color. Why don't I? It's not rocket science to have a color you treasure over others, a color that you favor well enough that you would let it influence choices you might make in your life. Not me. I can't choose a favorite color. I know what my least favorite color is though: green. I hate things that are green. Plant life is excluded though--I love green living things. I just hate anything painted or colored Kelly green. I like light greens or earth tone greens that some people paint their houses, but I don't like green cars, green clothes, or pretty much anything else green. I could say I love blue, but in reality it's the sky--I love the blue of the sky. I could say yellow, but I don't think that's it either. I love yellow flowers, yellow houses (most anyway), and although I find yellow very cheerful and upbeat it's far from a favorite color. Purples? Nope, though I do love lavender flowers. Red? Huh uh. Sometimes I think my favorite color is white of all things. The color white is so perfect in its simplicity. I have always loved the sight of a lady in a white petticoat dress. While I love the look of snow, there is seldom “just” white in any given snow scene. Even when there is nothing else visible in a snow scene, snow has shadows, and snow shadows are blue. It’s different than just plain white. Even clouds--they have always got some degree of gray that is there defining them somehow. So, what is my favorite color? All of the above.
In my home everything whispers. When I want it to be, my house is completely quiet. Sometimes I want to turn up the quiet and make time stand still forever, but of course it passes. I love to shuffle around naked, feeling the various rugs between my toes as I step onto them from the bare floor. I walk carefully--almost reverently--as if I'm afraid to make a sound that might disturb the empty silence. Though I often have music playing, there are many days I don't feel like it. During those times I will just sit and listen to the sounds the refrigerator makes, lost in my own thoughts. I just feel like sitting alone. The silence during those times--sometimes deafening in its emptiness--is only broken up by the occasional sound of a rooster out back or a car driving by out front. I feel relaxed. In the early hours of a still morning I will find myself placing an item on the counter or in the sink so carefully and silently lest it break the silence with a rattle or clink. The dark hours of a sleepy morning are a slow transition into my day, and I choose to ease into it with silence.
There are many times people might ask me something like, "Who's your favorite actor or actress?" I can never remember names at the drop of a hat or when I'm under the gun, but I do have a few that pop into my head from time to time. When I choose an actress it's usually because of sex appeal, but one exception is Angelica Huston. There is something about her that captures my interest. She has a self-assurance about her that seems so genuine. Someone else I love is Charlize Theron. Besides being beautiful, I think she's a very good actress. Cate Blanchett--I love her. Another actress that has me lusting after her for some reason is Mary Steenburgen. I can’t explain it really. She’s not a particularly good actress. I think it’s her voice--it’s a voice I imagine speaking softly, privately, into my ear. Speaking of voices, I love the breaking voice of Blythe Danner.
I wish I could live life without always having to justify something. I have this splinter in my mind that is always asking, “How can you justify owning this? Are you really getting enough use out of it?” I’m constantly plagued with this kind of mental activity. No, I don’t want to justify ownership of something, I want it to be completely frivolous and impulsive! I have to keep telling myself, “No, I don’t use it very often, but when I do, it’s great to have!” My hot tub is a good example of this. A lot of people think hot tubs are a chore to maintain. They are not. They are very easy to maintain. I don’t use mine nearly often enough to “justify” ownership of it. I’m not a playboy, a thrower of parties, or any sort of socialite. Nor am I attached to anyone else that I might regularly share it with. I cannot justify owning it, but I want to own it. I tell myself that owning it is a luxury and a treat. Those times when I do use it make up for all those times I’m ignoring it and letting it sit forlornly in the back yard. No matter what I own or think of owning, that same thing echoes over and over, “How often will I use it? Can I really justify buying it?” I just wish I could adjust my mental default settings. I want to turn off notifications for justifying my choices in life. I want to be impulsive and I can’t!
Why? Why would anyone want to read about my life? Why would anyone want to know what makes me tick? I know more about my life than anyone else in the world does, so if anyone should write about me, it should be me.
I don't know what my earliest recollections of my childhood really are. Like most people I think I remember things from my childhood, but do I really? Do I really remember any of the stuff I think I do, or am I just repeating stories that have been told since I was tiny? When you look at the same pictures over and over for decades, and associate stories that were told repeatedly, they become the story. They become the memory.
There are many things that have shaped my life. Many experiences have shaped me into who I am today. I'm not saying I'm anything noteworthy--certainly I am not. If anything in our past--I mean anything no matter how insignificant--were to have not happened or happened differently, we would probably not be here today. We may be somewhere near, but not here. The Butterfly Effect is almost staggering with its implications. Anyone would agree that had certain traumatic or important things from their past not happened or happened differently that things would be different. The slightest little thing is all it takes. When you add the passage of time into the equation, those seemingly insignificant events are multiplied, sometimes exponentially. One teeny little thing back then could mean a huge, huge ripple in today's world. That makes me wonder about things I did when I was little. The things I did, the things I saw, the experiences that shaped me. What would my life be today if any one of those things were changed somehow? It's mind-boggling.
Sometimes I think back on things I've done, and they seem surreal. I can't place myself in the scenario now that I'm reviewing the experience later in life. I remember bits of it, but that's about all. A good example? How about inner tubing down the Euphrates River in Turkey? How many people have done that? I think, "Did I even do that? Why the fuck can't I remember anything about it? Was I stoned? Drunk? Both?" The fact is I did do it. I remember just enough to know that it really happened. I don't remember any of the logistics of it. I don't remember who went or how many of us, how we got there, where we stopped or started or anything like that. It's obvious that I was not in on the planning part of the deal or I would remember more details. But I did it, and so did my roommate, John Turcotte. I have a couple of pictures somewhere to prove it.
I sit at a computer at work all day long, staring at multiple monitors and juggling minute details of aerospace fabrication. I saw this question posed on the Internet: when you go home at the end of the day and turn off your work life what do you picture? That made me think a little bit. I treasure quiet and solitude more than I ever have. When I was looking for a house, one of the things I wanted was a good view of a sunrise or sunset. I'm not picky in that regard--either one will do. By "view" I mean I can see a fair amount of sky uninterrupted. I don't want to have to climb a tree or go to the end of the road or whatever, I want to just be able to look out the window or sit on the deck or porch and be mesmerized by the colors of Mother Nature. I think that's what I'd like when I finish my work life.
Why am I such a worry wart? Did my dad cause it? Is it a direct result of his temper? Did his beatings or his hollering and belittling make me this way? Probably yes. No, I'm sure of it. He never gave out praise--only criticism. He always had to maintain a position of superiority. God forbid you should challenge a fact in something he just shared. I think my constant ducking under the wire and fearing his wrath instilled me with a definite lack of balls. I can't ever "man up" when I want to. It has also seriously affected my social skills. I'm constantly worrying and fretting about cause and effect. I find myself not wanting to start something because my mind screams, "but what if...?" I hate that about me. I sit and take the easy way out, the coward’s way out. I avoid things "just in case" I may have some sort of crisis or conflict I have to resolve. I'm a lousy communicator. Horrible.
I've noticed that I have developed a sort of shell, a shell that you can't see, but nevertheless is there. I guess you could just call it a safety buffer. It isolates (or at least attempts to) me from things that make me uncomfortable. I can't stop looking over the news every day, but I seldom read it. Scanning would be more accurate. I read the bullet points in the form of the headlines, but I hardly ever click into a story to actually read it. If I do I try to maximize the selections that the Internet presents to me as much as I can so I can preview the story and choose the least-obtrusive and least-slanted source. When I am looking deeper into a story like that I've noticed that I get that weird feeling of dread when I have a realization that there is going to be something uncomfortable in the story. When that happens I stop reading it instantly. For some reason lately, it makes me wince when a story describes someone's suffering or outlines the things that led up to their demise. I want to put my hands up and close my eyes. I want to fly back to a moment in time before that feeling washed over me. I want to wish it away. When they say, “What has been seen cannot be un-seen” I know what they’re talking about. If I’m exposed to something uncomfortable like that it will eat away at me. I don't know why this feeling has started happening to me.
I feel a certain tendency toward hermit life that may or may not be related to it. I feel just almost as unsure and confused about my direction in life now as I probably ever did at any point. I feel sometimes like I should start seeing a shrink. Will I ever though? Probably not. I'm so wishy-washy and indecisive.
This is a tough time of year for me. When daylight savings time ends and it gets dark earlier each day… it just exacerbates how I’m already feeling because of the cold temperatures and short amount of daylight hours. It’s no wonder that there are so many people with depression issues this time of year. Take what’s already going on in your head and add a Christmas season to it. Can you cope? I have trouble sometimes. It’s no wonder it was so hard on me when I was married to Sue. Her being a Jehovah’s Witness meant there were no lights, candles, or music in the house that represented the upbeat nature of Christmas season. There was a definite void during that time. I remember the very last Christmas season we were married, she was in Kauai with her daughter and I was left more or less to myself (her son, Keith, was there of course because he lived there, but seldom showed his face). I had a sort of reawakening during that time. I experienced Christmas on more of a personal level for the first time in five years. I didn’t really care that it was missing so much during the first couple of years we were married, but I think I slowly began to notice that it was missing from my life, and maybe even a resentful of it. I needed it but didn’t know I needed it. Everyone else was experiencing it but me. Anyway, during that Christmas I took walks around the neighborhood, admiring and taking pictures of people’s light displays, feeling the crisp temperature and feeling a little more in touch with things. I was able to play Christmas music at home as I sat at my computer for the first time since before we were married. I was able to come and go on a whim, visiting other people and meeting friends at restaurants. It was a good time. I think that I need to get into things a little bit more this year to combat the feeling of depression. It feels heavy this year--much more so than last year. Last year I was still reveling in the newness of being divorced--being free to do as I chose to do. This year there is more of a feeling of solitude. Though self-imposed for the most part, it still gives me a feeling of melancholy.
Why is dating so hard for me? Why am I afraid of commitment? It occurred to me that we treat being with a woman like having a job. Think about it: people all the time are in jobs they don't like. They are constantly saying shit like, "God, I can't wait to retire" or "If only I'd win the lotto..." People will do almost anything to put up with their job because they hate looking for a new job so much. We've all done it--knocking on doors, talking to people we don't know, filling out applications with mostly accurate information, handing them a resume that makes us look like the best possible person they could ever hire. That's exactly what we do when we date. Exactly. Then all goes well and we might think, "She's not so bad... She has a lot of really great qualities" and decide to stick with her permanently. Time goes by, then you start to tire of the crap you have to put up with. You don't really see the positives any more, but the negatives just eat at you. You wish you could retire or hit the lotto. Instead, you sigh and plod onward with resignation.
I've often wondered what my favorite color is. Everybody has a favorite color. Why don't I? It's not rocket science to have a color you treasure over others, a color that you favor well enough that you would let it influence choices you might make in your life. Not me. I can't choose a favorite color. I know what my least favorite color is though: green. I hate things that are green. Plant life is excluded though--I love green living things. I just hate anything painted or colored Kelly green. I like light greens or earth tone greens that some people paint their houses, but I don't like green cars, green clothes, or pretty much anything else green. I could say I love blue, but in reality it's the sky--I love the blue of the sky. I could say yellow, but I don't think that's it either. I love yellow flowers, yellow houses (most anyway), and although I find yellow very cheerful and upbeat it's far from a favorite color. Purples? Nope, though I do love lavender flowers. Red? Huh uh. Sometimes I think my favorite color is white of all things. The color white is so perfect in its simplicity. I have always loved the sight of a lady in a white petticoat dress. While I love the look of snow, there is seldom “just” white in any given snow scene. Even when there is nothing else visible in a snow scene, snow has shadows, and snow shadows are blue. It’s different than just plain white. Even clouds--they have always got some degree of gray that is there defining them somehow. So, what is my favorite color? All of the above.
In my home everything whispers. When I want it to be, my house is completely quiet. Sometimes I want to turn up the quiet and make time stand still forever, but of course it passes. I love to shuffle around naked, feeling the various rugs between my toes as I step onto them from the bare floor. I walk carefully--almost reverently--as if I'm afraid to make a sound that might disturb the empty silence. Though I often have music playing, there are many days I don't feel like it. During those times I will just sit and listen to the sounds the refrigerator makes, lost in my own thoughts. I just feel like sitting alone. The silence during those times--sometimes deafening in its emptiness--is only broken up by the occasional sound of a rooster out back or a car driving by out front. I feel relaxed. In the early hours of a still morning I will find myself placing an item on the counter or in the sink so carefully and silently lest it break the silence with a rattle or clink. The dark hours of a sleepy morning are a slow transition into my day, and I choose to ease into it with silence.
There are many times people might ask me something like, "Who's your favorite actor or actress?" I can never remember names at the drop of a hat or when I'm under the gun, but I do have a few that pop into my head from time to time. When I choose an actress it's usually because of sex appeal, but one exception is Angelica Huston. There is something about her that captures my interest. She has a self-assurance about her that seems so genuine. Someone else I love is Charlize Theron. Besides being beautiful, I think she's a very good actress. Cate Blanchett--I love her. Another actress that has me lusting after her for some reason is Mary Steenburgen. I can’t explain it really. She’s not a particularly good actress. I think it’s her voice--it’s a voice I imagine speaking softly, privately, into my ear. Speaking of voices, I love the breaking voice of Blythe Danner.
I wish I could live life without always having to justify something. I have this splinter in my mind that is always asking, “How can you justify owning this? Are you really getting enough use out of it?” I’m constantly plagued with this kind of mental activity. No, I don’t want to justify ownership of something, I want it to be completely frivolous and impulsive! I have to keep telling myself, “No, I don’t use it very often, but when I do, it’s great to have!” My hot tub is a good example of this. A lot of people think hot tubs are a chore to maintain. They are not. They are very easy to maintain. I don’t use mine nearly often enough to “justify” ownership of it. I’m not a playboy, a thrower of parties, or any sort of socialite. Nor am I attached to anyone else that I might regularly share it with. I cannot justify owning it, but I want to own it. I tell myself that owning it is a luxury and a treat. Those times when I do use it make up for all those times I’m ignoring it and letting it sit forlornly in the back yard. No matter what I own or think of owning, that same thing echoes over and over, “How often will I use it? Can I really justify buying it?” I just wish I could adjust my mental default settings. I want to turn off notifications for justifying my choices in life. I want to be impulsive and I can’t!
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