I almost forgot to tell you about the south trip of I-17. I have been so busy doing absolutely nada today! That happens to retirees, we often forget what day it is, what month. I can't tell you how much that sometimes frustrates me and other times makes my life so simple. I can always put off yardwork, or work at Debi's house. Those things will be there. But the couch might move if I am not on it... Hey! It's a job, some one has to protect the old homestead.
Anyway, Let's hypothetically talk about if I moved off the couch and went on a trip and took I-17 south, then I-10 east.
Once we get out of the spaghetti that is the highways around Phoenix (the US 60, I-10, 101, 202, I-17) and hit the cozy 4 lane towards Tucson, there are many sights to see depending on which you go. I-17 offers a quick trip as the speed limit is 75 (You can go 82 easily) but the back trip through Florence is more scenic.
The Florence trip has multiple prisons, the Tom Mix memorial, and a verisimilitude of flora and fauna. (And don't forget the antique shops.) I-17 gives you speed, plenty of stops and some historic landmarks. Picacho Peak is the highlight of the trip historically. Picacho Peak is the farthest west battle of the Civil War, and the marker is hidden just off the entry road to the state park. It was here that the Confederacy became complacent after a win over a Union scouting party and retreated to Tucson, only to find that there was a large contingent of Union soldiers close behind. The Union took control of the territory then.
Further down the road, on the south side of the road, you will see tails of airplanes rise out of the desert. This is not a mirage, but a storage area for airlines (particularly Northwest Airline) to store unneeded airliners. There are many different ones that are not used anymore. The airport there used to be a base for CIA operations in Southeast Asia, and is still used by the Arizona Air National Guard for training. Other countries send their helicopter pilots out there to train in the desert. This is nothing, though, when compared to Davis-Monthan Air Base in Tucson.
Davis Monthan is home to the group that trains pilots and mechanics and groundspeople for the Air Force. There are literally HUNDREDS of planes and helicopters of all types and sizes mothballed out there for practice; some will be taken apart and shredded and the recycled metal wil be used for other planes, etc. This is quite a sight to see, and if you go to the Pima Air and Space Museum, there are tours of the facility available.
Just west and south of Tucson towards Nogales on I-19 is the Titan Missile Museum. This Cold War Era Titan Missile base is the only one left in the US with an actual Titan Missile still in the silo. It is bone chilling to think that there were 18 of these in the Tucson area that could have been launched on a moment's notice. This attraction is a DON'T MISS. Everyone should see the base and hear the thrilling descriptions of the guides, some whom served in Titan silos.
"The Town To Tough To Die" is about a half hour to 45 minutes down I-10 from Tucson. Tombstone offers a look back into the faded era of cowboy towns and mining communities. It was here that Wyatt Earp and his brothers and Doc Holliday killed the Clanton gang at the OK Corral. Cowboys walk the streets and readily tell visitors the town's history, Big Nose Kate's Saloon is still in operation and serves some of the best sandwiches around. Visitors should not miss the shoot out. A final visit to Boot Hill Graveyard is a must. Just reading the old epitaphs is worth the visit. If you like ghosts, Tombstone has those too. The Birdcage Theatre is full of spooky feelings and changes in temperature as things have been left untouched for a century. There is also a night time tour where they turn out the lights and let you sit there in the dark. If you are lucky, you may feel a touch, or hear the eerie sounds of pleasure emanating from the basement in the rooms once used by prostitutes to please their johns.
On your way back to Tucson, you will be stopped by Border Patrol agents and asked if you are an American Citizens. A few may be asked to show a drivers license as proof, or the car may be searched.
After all, it is Arizona. Happy Travels!
Doughnut
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Don Goes to Congress (and Yarnell, and Rock Springs Cafe)
Before I can continue my travels south of the Valley, I do need to clear up some unfinished business with the sites north of it.
Yesterday (Sunday) Dorothy and I took the opportunity to travel north with some good friends, Rick and Pat Glenn. These two are world travelers, and in their jobs as consultants for a text book company, they get to see a great many out of the way places. Going to Yarnell and Congress was going to be good, because Pat likes to go antiquing, Rick likes to drive. For once, I was able to just sit back and enjoy the view.
Going up the 60 past Wickenberg is a great trip. Some advice, though, do not take the loop around Wickenberg, or you will miss a great little town that needs you to stop and look and get into the stores. The loop that the residents wanted so badly, has taken its toll on this small village, and there are many empty store fronts. The downtown area is somewhat historic, and good place to just relax and walk the streets.
Once out of town, though, head to Congress on the north. There are some great vistas on the way, and the surrounding landscape is almost transformed from desert to plains via what appears to be a large rock garden. Boulders are stacked on boulders in precarious positions (One set has been painted to look like a toad.).
There is not much in Congress, but we stopped at an antique shop that had a great deal of what most people would call "junk." The store had some treasures in it, such as a 1891 over/under Derringer complete with a box of ammo and various pictures and items, which although having no value, were of interest. Outside next to the building was an assortment of items that were definitely turn of the 20th Century as well as some nice lawn ornaments.
Yarnell was a nice, little town, also. A bit bigger than Congress, it boasts a couple restaurants, a pizza place, an American Legion and a goodly number antique stores. The first one that caught our eye was a place that billed itself as having "New Dead Things." Here we stayed for quite a while as chatted up the shopkeeper about her life, Yarnell and her two dogs, Sparky and Troia. She had items that were priceless and was not even trying to sell them, she just wanted to have them, "...For people to touch and feel, so they could get a sense of history." These included ancient bones, pieces of tusks, and arrowheads. I was tempted to buy a Native American grinding stone which she said was hundreds of years old, but I figured I would not be grinding peote beans any time soon.
We made other stops in the town and found all the shopkeepers rather cordial. They were easy to approach, very knowledgeable about their wares and the area, and shared their love of the community and the life it afforded them easily. I could tell that they loved living in these small towns and that the unhurried lifestyle and tranquil surroundings were just what they wanted in life.
We continued our trip up Route 89, around the square in Prescott, and then back down I-17. As we were getting on the interstate, I happened to mention that I had never been to the world renowned Rock Springs Cafe. That became our next destination.
The Rock Springs Cafe is renowned for its pies. But I have to say that the folks there make a mean Mexican Pizza. I ordered that as an appetizer, but it turned out being my meal. This monster was a 14 inch pizza with all the toppings that go on a Mexican Pizza. I am a big pizza eater, but I could not finish this, and have room for a piece of pie, so I brought the final 2/3rds home with me.
Sundays at the Rock Springs is "cream pie day". Rick got his favorite, Banana Cream (he was forced to share with Pat); Dorothy relented and had Chocolate Cream; I went against the grain and had a Jack Daniels Pecan pie. I am not going to go into the amount of moaning that was coming from our table, but leave it said that these were probably the best pie these diners have had in a long time. Rock Springs Cafe....thanks for the sugar high! ( and the slight buzz)
I didn't get to south on I-17 today... so tomorrow there will be a special edition of The Doughnut Hole 503.
Keep your eye upon the doughnut.
Doughnut
Yesterday (Sunday) Dorothy and I took the opportunity to travel north with some good friends, Rick and Pat Glenn. These two are world travelers, and in their jobs as consultants for a text book company, they get to see a great many out of the way places. Going to Yarnell and Congress was going to be good, because Pat likes to go antiquing, Rick likes to drive. For once, I was able to just sit back and enjoy the view.
Going up the 60 past Wickenberg is a great trip. Some advice, though, do not take the loop around Wickenberg, or you will miss a great little town that needs you to stop and look and get into the stores. The loop that the residents wanted so badly, has taken its toll on this small village, and there are many empty store fronts. The downtown area is somewhat historic, and good place to just relax and walk the streets.
Once out of town, though, head to Congress on the north. There are some great vistas on the way, and the surrounding landscape is almost transformed from desert to plains via what appears to be a large rock garden. Boulders are stacked on boulders in precarious positions (One set has been painted to look like a toad.).
There is not much in Congress, but we stopped at an antique shop that had a great deal of what most people would call "junk." The store had some treasures in it, such as a 1891 over/under Derringer complete with a box of ammo and various pictures and items, which although having no value, were of interest. Outside next to the building was an assortment of items that were definitely turn of the 20th Century as well as some nice lawn ornaments.
Yarnell was a nice, little town, also. A bit bigger than Congress, it boasts a couple restaurants, a pizza place, an American Legion and a goodly number antique stores. The first one that caught our eye was a place that billed itself as having "New Dead Things." Here we stayed for quite a while as chatted up the shopkeeper about her life, Yarnell and her two dogs, Sparky and Troia. She had items that were priceless and was not even trying to sell them, she just wanted to have them, "...For people to touch and feel, so they could get a sense of history." These included ancient bones, pieces of tusks, and arrowheads. I was tempted to buy a Native American grinding stone which she said was hundreds of years old, but I figured I would not be grinding peote beans any time soon.
We made other stops in the town and found all the shopkeepers rather cordial. They were easy to approach, very knowledgeable about their wares and the area, and shared their love of the community and the life it afforded them easily. I could tell that they loved living in these small towns and that the unhurried lifestyle and tranquil surroundings were just what they wanted in life.
We continued our trip up Route 89, around the square in Prescott, and then back down I-17. As we were getting on the interstate, I happened to mention that I had never been to the world renowned Rock Springs Cafe. That became our next destination.
The Rock Springs Cafe is renowned for its pies. But I have to say that the folks there make a mean Mexican Pizza. I ordered that as an appetizer, but it turned out being my meal. This monster was a 14 inch pizza with all the toppings that go on a Mexican Pizza. I am a big pizza eater, but I could not finish this, and have room for a piece of pie, so I brought the final 2/3rds home with me.
Sundays at the Rock Springs is "cream pie day". Rick got his favorite, Banana Cream (he was forced to share with Pat); Dorothy relented and had Chocolate Cream; I went against the grain and had a Jack Daniels Pecan pie. I am not going to go into the amount of moaning that was coming from our table, but leave it said that these were probably the best pie these diners have had in a long time. Rock Springs Cafe....thanks for the sugar high! ( and the slight buzz)
I didn't get to south on I-17 today... so tomorrow there will be a special edition of The Doughnut Hole 503.
Keep your eye upon the doughnut.
Doughnut
Saturday, August 14, 2010
The Grand Canyon State Travels
We have had a number of visitors this summer. I like visitors because I get to share the beauty of this great state with them. I have travelled the length of Interstate 10 from Flaggstaff to Tombstone and down south on I-19 towards Nogales. I have found in my travels that one thing constantly changes, and that is the landscape. The people don't, but every twist and turn in the highway on a given day brings new sights.
Let' start in the northern part of the state. The greatest of Arizona's attractions, The Grand Canyon. I have been to the GC twice this summer, and it never ceases to amaze me. It is a "big hole in the ground" but it is a gorgeous big hole. The striations of the rock and the changing colors and contours leaves no doubt of some event or guiding hand in the painting of its grandeur.
As we return to Flaggstaff, the San Francisco Mountains rise up and grace our view. Early June still finds snow on the caps, while later in the summer, we can see "the purple mountains majesty." Although the area to the east and north of Flagg has been devastated by fire this spring, the mountains are still a wondrous sight. And the absence of heat makes the crossroads of Arizona a great escape. Add in the Phoenix Cardinals Training Camp during August, and it becomes the even more appealing.
Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon area are outstanding for sights and mysteries. Sedona is sometimes called "The Harmonic Center of the Universe" so it is filled with little shops that sell New Age items. It also has what are called Vortices in and around Sedona which supposedly help visitors feel peace and tranquility (read lots of hippies and wannabes here). It also has an area outside to the west that is a haven for UFO watchers and has an Area 51 flavor to it as it is protected by government and fenced in.
Past Cottonwood on AZ 89A is Jerome, a mystical place in its own right. This hamlet, built upon the side of a mountain, was once a mining town, but is now filled with shops, taverns and eating places. Jerome is renowned for it ghosts, and a trip to Haunted Hamburger and other places may get you tapped on the shoulder by a ghostly countenance. The drive back down from Jerome to Prescott is filled with switchbacks and hairpin turns which challenge driving skills and your inner ear as vertigo sometimes takes over. The 30 mile trip often takes about an hour, but the time goes unnoticed, as you seemingly fly down the mountain and end up on the plains just outside Prescott, the one time Capital of Arizona.
Prescott is a bustling hamlet that has unique courthouse walk. The walk has a timeline of history carved into it, and visitors can walk the trail of time and get an idea of the history behind the community which wanted so badly to be the leader of state. A stroll down Whiskey Row and a visit to bars along it entertains visitors with spirits of the liquid kind and stories of spirits of ethereal kind. Prescott Rodeo Days offers a look back to "the thrilling days of yesteryear." (Although you won't see the Lone Ranger anywhere.)
From Prescott, travelers can choose to go back to I-17 and visit Campe Verde one of the first outposts of the US Army, or go to Montezuma's Castle, a city built around 1100AD and abandoned in 1400AD by the Sinagua Indians. (Montezuma was never there). For more thrills of Ghost towns, a quick trip south on AZ 60 and stops in Congress and Yarnell can bring more spirits and stories. Wickenburg is the largest town this way, and it is trying to stay true to its Western Heritage while embracing vineyards and wineries. This way takes you in the "back door" to the valley and you find yourself on Grand Avenue on the west side of town.
All along the way there are many shops, restaurants in which to stop. In all of them you will find people who are proud of their state, and more than happy to see you. Politics never enters conversations unless someone (read here, you) bring it up. Then Arizonans are passionate about their freedom, their rights, and making sure people understand their issues.
On my next entry (Monday) we'll explore the lands south of the valley, including a Titan Missile Silo.
Doughnut
Let' start in the northern part of the state. The greatest of Arizona's attractions, The Grand Canyon. I have been to the GC twice this summer, and it never ceases to amaze me. It is a "big hole in the ground" but it is a gorgeous big hole. The striations of the rock and the changing colors and contours leaves no doubt of some event or guiding hand in the painting of its grandeur.
As we return to Flaggstaff, the San Francisco Mountains rise up and grace our view. Early June still finds snow on the caps, while later in the summer, we can see "the purple mountains majesty." Although the area to the east and north of Flagg has been devastated by fire this spring, the mountains are still a wondrous sight. And the absence of heat makes the crossroads of Arizona a great escape. Add in the Phoenix Cardinals Training Camp during August, and it becomes the even more appealing.
Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon area are outstanding for sights and mysteries. Sedona is sometimes called "The Harmonic Center of the Universe" so it is filled with little shops that sell New Age items. It also has what are called Vortices in and around Sedona which supposedly help visitors feel peace and tranquility (read lots of hippies and wannabes here). It also has an area outside to the west that is a haven for UFO watchers and has an Area 51 flavor to it as it is protected by government and fenced in.
Past Cottonwood on AZ 89A is Jerome, a mystical place in its own right. This hamlet, built upon the side of a mountain, was once a mining town, but is now filled with shops, taverns and eating places. Jerome is renowned for it ghosts, and a trip to Haunted Hamburger and other places may get you tapped on the shoulder by a ghostly countenance. The drive back down from Jerome to Prescott is filled with switchbacks and hairpin turns which challenge driving skills and your inner ear as vertigo sometimes takes over. The 30 mile trip often takes about an hour, but the time goes unnoticed, as you seemingly fly down the mountain and end up on the plains just outside Prescott, the one time Capital of Arizona.
Prescott is a bustling hamlet that has unique courthouse walk. The walk has a timeline of history carved into it, and visitors can walk the trail of time and get an idea of the history behind the community which wanted so badly to be the leader of state. A stroll down Whiskey Row and a visit to bars along it entertains visitors with spirits of the liquid kind and stories of spirits of ethereal kind. Prescott Rodeo Days offers a look back to "the thrilling days of yesteryear." (Although you won't see the Lone Ranger anywhere.)
From Prescott, travelers can choose to go back to I-17 and visit Campe Verde one of the first outposts of the US Army, or go to Montezuma's Castle, a city built around 1100AD and abandoned in 1400AD by the Sinagua Indians. (Montezuma was never there). For more thrills of Ghost towns, a quick trip south on AZ 60 and stops in Congress and Yarnell can bring more spirits and stories. Wickenburg is the largest town this way, and it is trying to stay true to its Western Heritage while embracing vineyards and wineries. This way takes you in the "back door" to the valley and you find yourself on Grand Avenue on the west side of town.
All along the way there are many shops, restaurants in which to stop. In all of them you will find people who are proud of their state, and more than happy to see you. Politics never enters conversations unless someone (read here, you) bring it up. Then Arizonans are passionate about their freedom, their rights, and making sure people understand their issues.
On my next entry (Monday) we'll explore the lands south of the valley, including a Titan Missile Silo.
Doughnut
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Catchin Up and Pushing off.
I just realized that I have not written since July 26; where does time go? I mean, just yesterday I was writing, playing touron host, and going about my business of selling books. And I lost the writing part. Man, am I a slacker or what?
But in my defense, it was hot those three weeks; deadly hot. Fry an egg on my front walk hot. I know, I did it. Fat guys like me have a tendency to go into hibernation and stay in the AC all day, except when we are out in the air conditioned car tooling around. Being out without a hat can fry one's brain cells easily and I have little left to cook. But now that cooler weather (and heads) are occurring, I should be able to get back in the swing. Heck, I got up today at 7AM, took a shower, and kissed my wife good bye as she headed out to school, I think I can handle doing some writing.
The sale of my book, Growing Up Doughnut has been going well all summer. I say that, but I really have no idea how many copies I have sold. Seems that the release of the book was early in the reporting period, so I get no report until Amazon, Barnes and Noble and any other distributor reports to my publisher late this month. I guess it it doing well, though, as the book remains in the top 1/3 on Amazon, and is rated in the top 75,000 on BN. I know, that sounds like it is way down there, but the shear volume of books sold on those sights is in the millions.
I am getting ready to go back to Central Illinois on Labor Day Weekend. I will make a sincere attempt to let you folks know what is happening, but I make no promises. I have quite a few speaking engagements, TV Appearances (the Hubble is in line at the right time) and book signings. I will get to spend some time with some friends, my big brother (who is much smaller than me now) and see some sights.
Once that is finished, then it is back to the grind of writing the next part of the Saga of "Growing Up Doughnut" and I am doing a couple other things, also.
BTW...(I seldom use text symbols) have you heard the sounds of school yet around your house? I found the silence almost eerie now that Dorothy is gone for the day. And the anticipation of her return home so I can hear the stories of the day is almost too much to take. This is what it must be like for parents with children in school.
Maybe we need to have more kids....Rod Stewart did, and he is 65!
Doughnut
But in my defense, it was hot those three weeks; deadly hot. Fry an egg on my front walk hot. I know, I did it. Fat guys like me have a tendency to go into hibernation and stay in the AC all day, except when we are out in the air conditioned car tooling around. Being out without a hat can fry one's brain cells easily and I have little left to cook. But now that cooler weather (and heads) are occurring, I should be able to get back in the swing. Heck, I got up today at 7AM, took a shower, and kissed my wife good bye as she headed out to school, I think I can handle doing some writing.
The sale of my book, Growing Up Doughnut has been going well all summer. I say that, but I really have no idea how many copies I have sold. Seems that the release of the book was early in the reporting period, so I get no report until Amazon, Barnes and Noble and any other distributor reports to my publisher late this month. I guess it it doing well, though, as the book remains in the top 1/3 on Amazon, and is rated in the top 75,000 on BN. I know, that sounds like it is way down there, but the shear volume of books sold on those sights is in the millions.
I am getting ready to go back to Central Illinois on Labor Day Weekend. I will make a sincere attempt to let you folks know what is happening, but I make no promises. I have quite a few speaking engagements, TV Appearances (the Hubble is in line at the right time) and book signings. I will get to spend some time with some friends, my big brother (who is much smaller than me now) and see some sights.
Once that is finished, then it is back to the grind of writing the next part of the Saga of "Growing Up Doughnut" and I am doing a couple other things, also.
BTW...(I seldom use text symbols) have you heard the sounds of school yet around your house? I found the silence almost eerie now that Dorothy is gone for the day. And the anticipation of her return home so I can hear the stories of the day is almost too much to take. This is what it must be like for parents with children in school.
Maybe we need to have more kids....Rod Stewart did, and he is 65!
Doughnut
Monday, July 26, 2010
Why Would I Do That Again?
As we near the end of July, school posters, ads, and reminders pop up all over the place. Do I miss teaching? YES! (Well, let's qualify that....) I miss the kids and the challenges they give me, but I do not miss the administrative and bureaucratic BS that now goes with the profession.
Just the other day, I realized that in one small hour on the phone about a job interview. I was going to be a TA (Teaching Assistant) for an online university based in Clinton, IA. The people on the other end of the phone were nice people, well-intentioned (I think), but hardly aware of what grading papers in an English class is like.
Over the 34 years I taught English, I had learned to manage the barrage of papers that I created for myself. Sometimes I would give assignments that required one sentence answers to questions; sometimes I would give multiple choice assignments, and once a week, I would give an essay. These essays would range from usually around two pages to more than that. But, I knew how to budget my time, because I felt that if a student was going to spend the time writing this assignment, then I certainly should take the time to go over every bit of it and make it a colorful red. I had over 125 students, and that meant reading and marking over 250 pages sometimes. (Depending on if everyone turned in the assignment and met the required length.) I did this every week for the 36 weeks of school for 34 years.
When I asked how many students I would be responsible for, the lady told me 30-60. When I asked how many pages each assignment was, I was told 2-8 pages. What was I getting paid for this? Approximately 850 dollars for five weeks, or about 160 dollars a week. I was expected to get the papers back to students within 48 hours, I was to use a rubric to grade the papers and I could only work 12 a week, max. Now, if I followed their procedure, students may not get what I thought was a good review of their work, as I would have to spend less time on each page, and I would not get to use the same amount of red ink I was used. But the final straw, as I listened to the "college people of higher learning" was that they really did not care about quality, they only cared about quantity.
Later in the day, I read that there over 2000 "for Profit" universities in the US alone. And, according to the article in USA Today, they were going to have to start meeting certain standards, just like the secondary schools now have to do. So, Arne Duncan, who ran the Chicago Public Schools into the ground, and his colleagues in the US Dept. of Education now want to restrict the learning of folks at colleges and subject them to the same standards of what appears to be the No Child Left Behind Act. (Which I call The Every Child Becomes Mediocre Act)
After hearing this, and seeing the workload and the pay, I came to a conclusion. I would be better off spending my time floating in the pool and working at the museum and writing than I would be grading papers.
I mean, after all, I was not going to be the assistant, I was going to be the teacher. Been there, done that....
Doughnut
Just the other day, I realized that in one small hour on the phone about a job interview. I was going to be a TA (Teaching Assistant) for an online university based in Clinton, IA. The people on the other end of the phone were nice people, well-intentioned (I think), but hardly aware of what grading papers in an English class is like.
Over the 34 years I taught English, I had learned to manage the barrage of papers that I created for myself. Sometimes I would give assignments that required one sentence answers to questions; sometimes I would give multiple choice assignments, and once a week, I would give an essay. These essays would range from usually around two pages to more than that. But, I knew how to budget my time, because I felt that if a student was going to spend the time writing this assignment, then I certainly should take the time to go over every bit of it and make it a colorful red. I had over 125 students, and that meant reading and marking over 250 pages sometimes. (Depending on if everyone turned in the assignment and met the required length.) I did this every week for the 36 weeks of school for 34 years.
When I asked how many students I would be responsible for, the lady told me 30-60. When I asked how many pages each assignment was, I was told 2-8 pages. What was I getting paid for this? Approximately 850 dollars for five weeks, or about 160 dollars a week. I was expected to get the papers back to students within 48 hours, I was to use a rubric to grade the papers and I could only work 12 a week, max. Now, if I followed their procedure, students may not get what I thought was a good review of their work, as I would have to spend less time on each page, and I would not get to use the same amount of red ink I was used. But the final straw, as I listened to the "college people of higher learning" was that they really did not care about quality, they only cared about quantity.
Later in the day, I read that there over 2000 "for Profit" universities in the US alone. And, according to the article in USA Today, they were going to have to start meeting certain standards, just like the secondary schools now have to do. So, Arne Duncan, who ran the Chicago Public Schools into the ground, and his colleagues in the US Dept. of Education now want to restrict the learning of folks at colleges and subject them to the same standards of what appears to be the No Child Left Behind Act. (Which I call The Every Child Becomes Mediocre Act)
After hearing this, and seeing the workload and the pay, I came to a conclusion. I would be better off spending my time floating in the pool and working at the museum and writing than I would be grading papers.
I mean, after all, I was not going to be the assistant, I was going to be the teacher. Been there, done that....
Doughnut
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A Slice a Day Does the Body Good
Have you ever had one of those feelings that you really should not have awakened in the morning? I did that yesterday and missed writing. During the whole day, I just did not feel complete or full filled.
The day started with me being in some kind of stupor (not stupid... that goes without saying). I just could not get my head off the pillow; nor could I open my eyes for any specific length of time. My mind was awake, but my poor body was not. I lay in bed thinking, "It's time to get up!" I heard revilie, my mother shouting at me, even thought I felt cold water on my face. Still no reaction; I was glued to my bed with my eyelids shut. I knew I had arms and legs, but they did not work. What was my problem?
I had worked all weekend with my head lower than my butt ( not in it!). Bending over and doing the work on the floor of my daughter's house seemed to have taken its toll on me. Or maybe I was stuck in a real life version of "Groundhog Day" and I was Bill Murray's character. I kept dozing, waking, trying to move... dozing, waking, trying to move.
Finally, I succeeded in moving and my body slung itself over the edge of the bed, and my eyes opened as I was able to roust my bones from their aperture and get them perpendicular with the floor. It was a feat of both physical and mental strength. I felt good on the edge there, but still I had to become fully erect and gain the ability to put one foot in front of the other and march into the kitchen for a cup of joe.
My mind was not fully functional as I made a usual breakfast of a ham sandwich on toast, coffee and some grapes. I looked at (note I did not say read) the AZ Republic and played the morning news show in the background, not really caring about any event that happened outside the four walls of my humble abode the night before or early in the morning.
I teetered to the living room and turned on the flat screen to gaze at some TV that I had recorded over the weekend. The show went by fast and I can't really tell you what I watched. I do know, though, that my eyelids again betrayed me, and I felt compelled to return to the comfort of my bed. I had a choice... bed or pool. I could go float out in the pool, or I could crawl back betweeen the sheets. One offered soft gentle rocking, the other a cool breeze. After much cogitation on the matter, I decided that bed would be better as I would not have the peril of rolling into the deep end of the pool and being possibly being fished from its clutches. Three hours went by quickly and quietly.
When I awoke from what seemed like a long winter's nap, I drove to the airport and picked up my second born who was returning from a weekend of debauchery in Chicago with her friends. She had not forgotten Ol'Dad... She and my surrogate daughter had gone to Giordanos before they parted in Chi Town and the youngest of the fruit of my loins brought back enough stuffed pizza to satisfy a craving for a while.
My day ended with those old feelings of remorse for the day being put in their place. Amazing how a good slice of pizza makes the day seem better.
Doughnut
The day started with me being in some kind of stupor (not stupid... that goes without saying). I just could not get my head off the pillow; nor could I open my eyes for any specific length of time. My mind was awake, but my poor body was not. I lay in bed thinking, "It's time to get up!" I heard revilie, my mother shouting at me, even thought I felt cold water on my face. Still no reaction; I was glued to my bed with my eyelids shut. I knew I had arms and legs, but they did not work. What was my problem?
I had worked all weekend with my head lower than my butt ( not in it!). Bending over and doing the work on the floor of my daughter's house seemed to have taken its toll on me. Or maybe I was stuck in a real life version of "Groundhog Day" and I was Bill Murray's character. I kept dozing, waking, trying to move... dozing, waking, trying to move.
Finally, I succeeded in moving and my body slung itself over the edge of the bed, and my eyes opened as I was able to roust my bones from their aperture and get them perpendicular with the floor. It was a feat of both physical and mental strength. I felt good on the edge there, but still I had to become fully erect and gain the ability to put one foot in front of the other and march into the kitchen for a cup of joe.
My mind was not fully functional as I made a usual breakfast of a ham sandwich on toast, coffee and some grapes. I looked at (note I did not say read) the AZ Republic and played the morning news show in the background, not really caring about any event that happened outside the four walls of my humble abode the night before or early in the morning.
I teetered to the living room and turned on the flat screen to gaze at some TV that I had recorded over the weekend. The show went by fast and I can't really tell you what I watched. I do know, though, that my eyelids again betrayed me, and I felt compelled to return to the comfort of my bed. I had a choice... bed or pool. I could go float out in the pool, or I could crawl back betweeen the sheets. One offered soft gentle rocking, the other a cool breeze. After much cogitation on the matter, I decided that bed would be better as I would not have the peril of rolling into the deep end of the pool and being possibly being fished from its clutches. Three hours went by quickly and quietly.
When I awoke from what seemed like a long winter's nap, I drove to the airport and picked up my second born who was returning from a weekend of debauchery in Chicago with her friends. She had not forgotten Ol'Dad... She and my surrogate daughter had gone to Giordanos before they parted in Chi Town and the youngest of the fruit of my loins brought back enough stuffed pizza to satisfy a craving for a while.
My day ended with those old feelings of remorse for the day being put in their place. Amazing how a good slice of pizza makes the day seem better.
Doughnut
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Construction man going wild
Ever done something and the next morning regretted it? I have that feeling this morning. It is not an alcohol induced remorse, but rather a physical one. I am not exactly a weekend warrior, so the exhaustion and lactose buildup is not due to some athletic endeavor. No, I thought I would help my daughter out and do some remodeling on her house.
I have done some restructuring of houses in my time. I built multiple decks, torn down walls and redone them, tiled floors, put in windows... you get the idea. All I had to do here was raise her sunken living room floor by four inches. No problem... I just take out the carpeting, frame up the outside, lay the joists and then put down the plywood sub floor. Easy... I get to use my new Craftsman Hammer and I will be done by evening.
What was it that Shakespeare said about mice and men and plans?
What I did not expect was that construction of the house involved a four inch lip around it before the carpenter put up walls. In the Midwest, slab houses usually are a slab, then the walls are put on that, so I thought it would be no problem. Here I have to drill into the lip. This took me all day to do ONE hole, and I knew there had to be a better way. I went to Ace and talked to the helpful hardware man, he reiterated the bolt method. I went to Home Depot and they said I should get a nail gun and literally shoot the nails into the concrete. Sounds like fun. Me, a powder charge and nails... WOOT!
So I dragged myself out of bed this morning ready to get armed and dangerous. Look out world, I will be shooting the nail gun soon.
Who said that remodeling is not challenging?
Doughnut
I have done some restructuring of houses in my time. I built multiple decks, torn down walls and redone them, tiled floors, put in windows... you get the idea. All I had to do here was raise her sunken living room floor by four inches. No problem... I just take out the carpeting, frame up the outside, lay the joists and then put down the plywood sub floor. Easy... I get to use my new Craftsman Hammer and I will be done by evening.
What was it that Shakespeare said about mice and men and plans?
What I did not expect was that construction of the house involved a four inch lip around it before the carpenter put up walls. In the Midwest, slab houses usually are a slab, then the walls are put on that, so I thought it would be no problem. Here I have to drill into the lip. This took me all day to do ONE hole, and I knew there had to be a better way. I went to Ace and talked to the helpful hardware man, he reiterated the bolt method. I went to Home Depot and they said I should get a nail gun and literally shoot the nails into the concrete. Sounds like fun. Me, a powder charge and nails... WOOT!
So I dragged myself out of bed this morning ready to get armed and dangerous. Look out world, I will be shooting the nail gun soon.
Who said that remodeling is not challenging?
Doughnut
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