wireless looking glass

Steven Hawking

2012-01-07T16:41:00.000+01:00

According to his physics tutor, Robert Berman, “It was only necessary for him to know something could be done, and he could do it without looking to see how other people did.”

Steven Hawking, an English theoretical physicist and cosmologist, now 70, has said if he were young he’d open up a whole new field.

This is a clue to let the rest of us to know there is more out there. If you seek, you could find.

M. on the Beach Boys

2011-12-17T17:51:00.000+01:00

I saw the article about the Beach Boys going out to perform again. She looked up from her computer browsing, thought a second and said she wouldn't buy that four hundred dollar ticket. She said, "After fifty years . . . they ought to be a little rusty.

I nodded at that.

She said what they ought to do is go out to the malls and have people pay to have their picture taken with them.

That seemed a reasonable idea.

"Performing is in my blood," she said in a mock Beach Boys voice.

Then she came back with her M. voice to admonish, "Alchol is in your blood and makes you say that."

I'll let you know, but I don't think we're running out to buy tickets to see the Beach Boys.

talk radio review

2011-12-12T17:51:00.001+01:00

The radio talk waves are filled with nearly radical conservative, angry speakers.

Most folks listening were not top students and absorb too much of what America doesn’t need.

Where is the center path?
Pumping people with anger is probably not sensible.

You have heard: We reap what we sow.

2011-11-30T10:44:00.002+01:00

Managua, Nicaragua - 30November, 2011 (AP)

Miracle banana online, have you seen it? Biblical scholars debate veracity of a banana found in a boat drifting near the coast of Belize in Central America. Biblical scholars and Vatican experts are gathered but have yet to release opinion on the image, showing clearly a man of Middle- Eastern origin.

Found on a derelict sailboat six miles off shore, the banana has what sources believe is the face of John The Baptist on it. Crowds are being held back by police and military at the port where the boat was towed by rescue crews.
Government officials have given no official statement and are keeping onlookers away, dispersing crowds.

It has been observed the face has no beard while others say the man depicted on the fruit was too young to have a bread, appearing to be only about twelve or thirteen years of age when this banana was taken.

http://www.google.com/imgres?q=JOHN+THE+BAPTIST+BANANA&hl=en&gbv=2&biw=1280&bih=636&tbm=isch&tbnid=2XRnny4J05NCcM:&imgrefurl=http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/07/our_muddy_world.html&docid=d-547Xyn0MiibM&imgurl=http://inapcache.boston.com/universal/site_graphics/blogs/bigpicture/mud_07_20/m17_19458725.jpg&w=990&h=695&ei=ii7WToWbF5ePsAbqiuX-BA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=817&vpy=164&dur=373&hovh=141&hovw=188&tx=147&ty=113&sig=109329443433447226663&page=1&tbnh=141&tbnw=188&start=0&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:4,s:0

crocheting

2011-11-23T15:36:00.000+01:00

crocheting

who is making up this spelling?

per (purr): my poetry page

2011-11-12T16:39:00.004+01:00

Kind comments from three young, well, three vixens, arrived boom – boom – boom. Lights my heart for sure. Yes, it is thanks enough to keep the old mans fires burning. Fire – one fire. Glowing – coals glowing gleefully, coal.

My wife was just drying her hair with one of those loud plug-in blowing things and I tried to stand in the shadow and get a little second hand smoke to dry my hair. Not smoke really – gusts of heat.

She didn’t like that. Her time, her space, words like that to shoe me off the court. (shoe - better spelling)

Vixen: I like definition two – a female fox. is that a typical male comment that regresses me back into the depths of maledom-dumb ?

Comments of approval make me want to get out there and score again. win the game ball, gold plate it. But going anxiously can cause a team to throw it away and loose the game.

So, visor down, I’ll keep calm, as best I can. so be it.

Rocket Ship X-M

2011-09-30T17:19:00.001+02:00

Rocket Ship X-M was Captain Video’s space ship on the Dupont Television Network, broadcast live from New York during the early 1950’s. With limited available special effects they simulated turbulence in space by having two technicians shake the pedestal that held the camera.

At one point, the picture starting leaning heavily and viewers saw a wild, far reaching pan across the entire studio as the camera slowly toppled to the floor, and knocked out transmission to sixteen states. In the final split second before all went black you heard the voice of Captain Video say, “Oh, my God,” and the Video Ranger say something that sounded like, “Oh, shit.”

That explosive episode reduced Dupont to just one working camera for its last seventy-two days in existence before the Network's collapse.

Following the demise of the television program Captain Video, the young Video Ranger, Don Hasting, spent the next fifty years as a working actor on the day-time soap, As the World Turns, also out of New York.

By calling this entry Rocket ship X-M, I have reduced the number of blog hits and Google searches dramatically. In fact, this last week there weren’t any searches for Rocket Ship X-M.

As a simultaneous tribute and retribution to my many years in advertising, none of the facts in the above were authenticated, for as the world has learned: It is the impact that counts.

not in the news

2011-09-25T13:58:00.001+02:00

A statement on the Occupy Wall Street website said the protesters have "an interest in returning the US back into the hands of its individual citizens".

Corporate 'enemy'

One protester, 21-year-old Ryan Reed, said he joined in "because what I see - and what I feel most people in this country see - is an economy and a system that's collapsing".

Police carry an arrested man in New York (24 Sept 2011) Police said most of the arrests were for disorderly conduct

"The enemy is the big business leaders of Wall Street, the big oil company leaders, the coal company leaders, the big military industrial leaders."

Catherine is growing up

2011-08-04T14:48:00.000+02:00

Jack benny is thirty nine. That was his claim for many years. It started when I was kid and the laughs continued. Now my daughter has made it to the mark. May she can know how to feels to be a long lasting kid. Best wishes to my sweetie. Wear your years long in comfort and familial love.

phone takes prcedence

2011-05-02T15:58:00.000+02:00

Took a bus and used my time to get to the store. After a wait a salesman was with me and had just begun to answer my first question. His cell phone rang and he held up his hand to indicate I should wait while he answered the call. I expected he would say into the phone that he was with a customer and would be able to talk later, but he kept his discussion going with the person on the phone.

I could tell by his responses that it wasn’t his boss he was speaking with, He was answering questions similar to what I would ask. As his phone talk went on I was wondering what happened to the ethic that a customer was always right, and here I was standing in front of him waiting to talk to him. Should I go back home and call on the phone to speak with a salesman?

Seize the day

2011-04-16T09:38:00.000+02:00

In Horace, the phrase is part of the longer Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the Day, putting as little trust as possible in the future", and the ode says that the future is unforeseen, and that instead one should scale back one's hopes to a brief future, and drink one's wine.

TomC does it again

2011-03-30T18:33:00.004+02:00

Ok, so TomC sends me this. Now I have the new edition of his book on my Kindle.
So, how'd he know I have a Kindle?

Second Edition is now available on Amazon Kindle for a paltry $2.99! Yes, folks you too can relive the experience of Tom C's times on the edge as you careen around the tight corners of the blacktop of life on your Badass Harley Davidson.

The ebook is also available (has color photos Kindle does not include) in a Scribd version for the same low, low, low price of $2.99. Here you can preview the intro and first chapter of the book just as it would magically appear on your computer. This version is good for laptops, iPads and what not... especially the "what not".

Last, but not least... there is a dedicated web site that provides background and info for the first signed, hand bound leather bound hard copy edition of the internationally acclaimed book (yes, we had one buyer in Australia folks!).

Don't delay though as the second edition ebooks are in limited supply... we have no way of knowing how many can be downloaded before cyberspace runs plumb out!

Please share this with at least 10 people you know - especially people you would not like to hear from again! If you do this you will receive a welcome email from my cousin in Nigeria who needs to send you a ton of dough in return for your very small deposit...

2011-02-17T21:51:00.000+01:00

John Lennon

2010-12-08T12:32:00.000+01:00

All we are saying
is give peace a chance.

Lounge Lizzard-like

2010-11-08T22:21:00.000+01:00

I' m in philadel. in the lounge.

A few minutes after I boarded the plane to Philiad. in Cleveland they paged Jack Sender. We hadn’t taken off. I had just taken my seat in the rear portion of the plane. Oh, no. Why did they page me? I worried about you.

They said, "If Jack Sender is aboard he should press the blue button."
I looked. The light was blue but the button was white, but I pressed it anyway.
The attendant up front looked back and waved at me and I waved back. The announcement came back “We have found your wallet.” She was talking to me.
Was I going to get another wallet from another Jack Sender?

I had boarded the plane early and was in the back, so I had to wait fifteen minutes for everyone else to sit down before I could go up and get Jack Sender’s wallet.

During the wait I realized that my wallet, the blue pouch with the zipper containing my cash and credit cards were missing. I waited fifteen minutes for the other passengers to sit down before I could walk up front and get it.

When I finally got the wallet, my wallet, I opened it and my money and cards were there. Walking back to my seat, still looking, I noticed my passport was not there.

I told the attendant and began looking in my computer bag and all my pockets for the passport. They were waiting for me to close the airplane’s doors. I could stay in Cleveland and look for my wallet or go to Philadel. I looked in my bag and all my coat and pants pockets and didn’t find my passport.

I thought the best way to search was to dump the entire contents of my back pack out so I could single out the passport, when a passenger a seat in front of me pointed at my chest and said “What’s that?” In my shirt pocket was my passport.

Suddenly all was well. We flew on from Cleveland.

I have decided not to see downtown Philiad. this time.

I am in Philia in the lounge where the internet is this year free, but they said you can’t bring in any outside food and I just had a sandwich you packed for me. Hope all is well with you.

fallen

2010-10-26T02:17:00.001+02:00

When a nominee for governor in one of our states
tells the US president he can take his endorsement
and shove it, i see how far we have fallen as a
civilized nation.

Hot time - could've been

2010-08-30T00:22:00.003+02:00

These are the times that try men's souls. - Thomas Payne

Just when I thought summer had exhaled in Ohio and the new
breath would bring autumn, it's back to 90.

The air conditioner that we had fixed two weeks ago, quit
at the darkest hour. well, the hottest hour, four p.m.

While I scratched my head and called the plumber who will
not pick up his messages until after coffee and a doughnut
Monday morning, M. swung into action. She checked Youtube
videos and found one for ac repair. It gave her a video
checklist for possible problem solution.

A breaker was thrown. She fixed the air conditioner.
Saved us another two hundred dollar visit. Thank God the
plumber didn’t answer his phone and come on double time
Sunday.

31 years later and the little lambie has become a heroine.

A friend recently wrote about weekend camping near alligators
and coyotes. For older persons, sleeping without air
conditioning in 90 degree Ohio has nearly the same degree
of adventure.

2010-07-19T02:16:00.003+02:00

re: something I wrote on A Warming Trend Post

It was Time Machine, Friday 16 July. I’ll wait if you have to go look at it. It is not necessary. A percentage of you will look, others will plod on thinking you can get by without the bother, and I’m with you, but I have been wrong before.

Onward.

This poem called Time Machine has repeats in it because at times I am seeking through novel poetical form, ways to bring poetry into the new millennium, the newish (21st) century.

How many years do we call it new millennium? New, old, It is the only millennium we have, but we do recall the old one. I think we should call it new for ten or twenty years, maybe longer. After all, It does go on for a thousand years. Step back and look at that. One thous and years.

Century is another matter, that only goes one tenth as long as the big M., Century is new one tenth of the time as the big M. We then can call the Century new for one or two years. That’s enough.

Now back to the subject at hand: repeating, as done in the Time Machine. (Here I have to say parenthetically that this sounds more interesting than it may actually be, I mean the words “repeating as done in the Time Machine”, intriguing.)

to topic:

Sing a popular song, ha, if you can, and it will go round and round – the hook is one name for the repeating part, the catchy part.

Although my repeating upsets me off ( word change there) because I began this sentence, then had to go do something else, and when I returned, I fogot what I was writing. There – I mistyped forgot , I almost wrote misspelled, but obviously I can spell forgot without ifficulty, as It is not I before e tricky.

There I left the d off of difficulty. Another typing error. not spelling. It was a physical thing. I should have my finbgers checked. Maybe you should too. You do that and I’ll be around somewhere when you return. If you decide against it, so long.

Fourth of July celebration

2010-07-04T01:39:00.003+02:00

Here's one Fourth that we remember well, the Fourth of July at the Indian Reservation in Payson, Arizona, in the mountains a few hours north of Phoenix. Apache land, they’re still around in this roughed, desert hill country.

My wife’s folks lived in that little town, she and I were visiting. Her dad and his family were from nearby Globe. That evening we all went to town for the festivities.

The main event was fireworks, at the rodeo stadium. Payson’s rodeo, called the oldest of them all, has been held every year since 1884. We showed up a hundred years later, just for the fireworks.

After walking around, eating snow cones and hot dogs, the evening was dark enough, a perfect temperature, everyone found seats in the rodeo stadium for the fireworks.
An announcer in the bleachers at the far end welcomed everyone and introduced a few people, like the mayor and town dignitaries.

Then a young girl about twelve and her horse were introduced. She rode out onto the field carrying a large American flag on a staff, had blonde curly hair, leather vest with leather tassels and flecks of glitter. Both she and her horse were cleaned up, polished and decked out in old western finery.

The crowd stood as an excellent orchestral recording of the national anthem began. A live chorus and the crowd sang along, while the girl started walking her spirited, well saddled, flowing golden mane, chestnut brown horse along the length of the stadium.

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

From a walk the horse changed to an elegant high stepping cantor.

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming

She broke her horse first into a light run and then full gallop, head down, riding hard, kicking up dust as they leaned low in the turns and circled the stadium.

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

At this point she brought the horse to a skidding, dust raising halt by the flag pole, and then reared it up on it’s hind legs.

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

She brought the horse down and dipped it into a bow. The ovation was loud as thunder. When the cheers ended, she brought the horse up, reared it up on it’s hind legs once more, and then rode off the field at full gallop. You’re right, it was moving.

UFO Again

2010-04-14T16:36:00.005+02:00

There are many UFO videos out there. Many are junk.
Here is an interesting clip you won't see on the news. Only 45 seconds. Normal speed, slow and very slow.

The Latest News

2010-04-14T15:44:00.000+02:00

Where are the old newscasters, the ones from last Century, Walter Winchell, Douglas Edwards, Walter Cronkite, the rest? We could use them.

Yes, they are gone, and so is the news. Today I checked our local Ohio newspaper and on the front page the top story about who won and who lost on the TV program Dancing with the Stars.

Where have we gone in this Twenty-First Century, and will we ever return?

Market Study

2010-03-25T20:47:00.000+01:00

It happens all over I am sure, poor choices made in creating product names. I understand how they make these errors. By moving ahead without asking for another opinion, ultimately to be surprised, as when the movie title Free Willy had an unexpected impact in the UK. A willy in Great Britain is slang for a male’s private part.

I just bought a breath mint call Frisk. Say Frisk and I think of a patting down by police of a suspect on the street . Or I think of the hopping jumping wet puppy, as in frisky. For a new name with an isk, I’d choose Brisk or Disc. Frisk is a risk. Tisk-tisk.

Seth Godin has an informing and entertaining site for similiar concerns and observations.

Travolta

2010-03-20T20:44:00.001+01:00

Forty year ago I was a young U.S. sailor on the Pacific island of Guam.
On one of my first trips to the capitol city of Agana I ran into a young group of young sailor toughs from the Philippines.

They recognized me as an American, and smiling they gathered together and began clapping in a rhythm that high school cheerleaders of the time used. One two three, one two three, one two three Four five six. and then they all shouted “Travolta”. They waved and laughed. Saturday night Fever was the movie hit of the time.

I just saw Travolta on a commercial in Italy and remembered how long that guy has been a superstar. The movie came out in 1977. In 1975 he was on the TV show Welcome Back Kotter. John is now 56 years old.

(Even those of you good in math can't figure this out. I was on Guam in '69 and '70. Those young Philippinos didn't know about Saturday Night Fever because it hadn't happened.

Now you just wait. You'll see how entertaining getting old can be.)

For the people

2010-03-19T13:28:00.000+01:00

My brother in law fell and hurt his shoulder, tore something. They put him back together to the tune of twenty-five thousand dollars. His insurance paid eighty per cent. Still there was a chunk left over he had to come up with.
He’s a college professor. He’s working. He’s lucky , as lucky as you can call anyone who falls and hurts himself to the high cost of 25k.

Medical care and medicine are costly. It is time the U.S. join the other industrialized nations of the world and provide health care to its citizens?

After all, this is still a government for the people, right?

Star Diner

2010-01-12T17:56:00.002+01:00

From deep space it is blackness absolute. The nothing of nothingness, open and hollow. Moving at light speed there are streaks of light. Then slowing they are dots, obvious stars. One is our sun with planets around it. One is a blue ball. Our planet. Not entirely blue, bluish if you put a color to it. There is our moon. Neon ivory white and pitted. Half in shade is nearly unseen.

Moving closer, away from the other stars it becomes more defined, with features, land masses and clouds and what appears to be China, Russia, Europe, water. America, it’s particular shape. Mountains appear. Inland from the east, over forested Pennsylvania, West Virginia with mountains, then Ohio. Zooming closer, lower and slower, closer. North is the lake Erie with islands. Inland a bit is the town of Norway, Ohio. Closer, lower, near the corner of two intersecting highways is a structure sitting alone. An odd rectangular shape like nothing in particular. The wind blows debris around it.

Star Diner. Nothing special. Away from town, out with nothing particular around it. Not near a gas station or a drug store. The building itself is off the old road that forks off in two directions, depending if you’re going out into the country or back the other way to town.

It’s in the small Ohio town, Norway; named by the settlers who came there back in the seventeen hundreds, they think. Maybe Norway was someone’s last name. It wasn't written down, and now no one really cares where the name came from. Local historians care that the Cleveland Indians won the pennant in 1953, and who was pitching.

Trucks fill the parking lot at the Star Diner every morning. Pickup trucks, seven or eight trucks parked along the front, and a few more parked on the side and around back. Most are customers, some are the people that work here. This day is sunny, as is every day that isn’t rainy or snowy. There is only so much variety to go around in Norway, Ohio.

Although from first glance it looks as if the restaurant was made like a dining car of an old train. What ever it was has been reconstructed so many time you can’t what it was meant to be. It’s wide with table on either side of the door, a counter on the right side. Off to the left side is a restroom. the back is the kitchen and a small office area.

Despite modifications, the restaurant has retained this basic shape during my lifetime. Only one minor remodeling occurred that I remember, when a stock car race track opened about five miles down the road. They took a mounted fish down from the wall, and glued a plastic model Chevy truck on the wall.

Nicky in blue jeans, t-shirt and red scarf around her neck, was the waitress this morning, rolling in smooth motions, from counter to coffee pot to table and table. No music plays, no radio or TV. A lot of talking goes on in the café. Tables are filled with locals on their way to work, or just stopping by to meet friends and drink some coffee and chat.

“So when I was a kid I go to school and there’s forty-eight states. Then they tell me, no. there’s fifty.” The guy speaking put his hands in the air and looks around puzzled. “ What happened? Were two missing? How in the hell did they find two more?”

“They ought’a have only two states. North and South. We’d have fewer politicians.” A cheer of agreement erupted.

A customer raises his cup to signal for more coffee. Another pores sugar into his cup while watching the younger waitress reach up toward the donut rack. Her skirt hikes up in back revealing a bit of thigh and he keeps poring sugar. Another customer sees him watching and poring, and shakes his head.

A full house means about twenty-five customers, if anyone cared to count. The place is open from six a.m. until two in the afternoon and is usually packed.
When Buzz and his wife came in they wandered to their usual table. It was vacant and they sat down. Looking around, they more or less recognized faces, but don’t know anyone by name. The waitress, of course, knows them as regulars and came over in less than a minute with their coffee.

Marge was chatting away, telling Buzz the things she has to get done that day. As always there was some shopping to do and, of course, work in the garden. Buzz casually looked around to see who was there. He was thinking of the work he has to do that day. There was some paperwork and two appointments this afternoon to take orders for people who want replacement windows.

A guy at the next table is pontificating and reading the paper to two or three of his friends.

“There’s been a big science meeting and they’ve decided to go to the moon to search for water.”

A customer says “Well, where do I have to go for a glass of water?”

Florida -

Meanwhile, like the view of a high flying bird. We see that down in Florida preparations are underway for another launch at the space center. Steam from that morning’s rain shower is coming off the pavement in the sun, where crews are transporting bombs in long trucks, while others are loading more bombs. Many, many bombs. There was much truck movement in an out of hangers. Nearby in the marsh the alligators sun themselves or scurry in the shallows of the water.

Neatly dressed helmeted men with checklists are talking among themselves, pointing to other parts of the hangers and giving instructions. A runner comes over with papers to be examined and initialed.

From miles away you see the large rocket slowly towed, moving out to the launch spot. It looks as large as an office building or a lighthouse and, freshly washed, it gleams in the sun.

People were coming into work in the control room area, a gymnasium size, well windowed room on the top floor of a huge office building. Some days they come for practice. Today it’s the real thing.

launch day -

It was the morning of the launch and private vehicles out beyond the fences were pulled off the side of the road to watch.

“The whole thing is full of bombs,” a guy says to his family. The wife looks skeptical.

“They’re going to look for water,” he explains with both hands in the air. The wife has a “heaven forbid look” on her face.

In another car a boy is giving a girl an engagement ring. They kiss and hug and see nothing else.

The countdown begins, and then ignition, launch, and up to the moon.

the boy and girl’s car in rocking. you can’t see in the fogged windows.

Someone in a car outside the Star Diner is listening to the radio and hears,
“…when the rocket gets there it will go into lunar orbit. . . . while every movement is checked and rechecked by the NASA engineers on earth.”
Scene shows men in a backroom at NASA playing checkers.

To the moon -

Five days later the scientists are set to begin and the signal is given to start dropping bombs. tremendous bombs.

“I wanna do an orange one.”

The drop bomb button is jammed. They keep pushing a jammed button. All three men aboard are pushing and punching at that button, at the same time, unknown the them, all the bombs are falling.

Night scene from the diner where a waitress goes on smoke break and sees the explosions on the moon. “look how pretty”
colored flashes light up the diner, waitress outside staggers back half blind. she bumps into a car and falls down.

Aboard the spacecraft -

The scientists about the space craft orbiting the moon are rocked around as the repercussions from the blast move the ship and the moon.

Back on earth -

Within hours it’s reported the explosions have apparently shaken the moon out of it’s orbit.
“It is not unusual and there is nothing to worry about,” says the obvious young voice on the radio.

Days later -

After a few days it becomes evident that the moon is moving closer to earth
People outside are pointing and talking about the moon.
Because of the gravitational pull the earth is knocked off it’s regular rotation.
Sometime it’s rotating faster, sometimes slower.
birds seem to be walking more and flying less.

At the diner -

People in the Star Diner are eating and talking as if it were normal day/night/day.
A big shadow sweeps across the Star Diner, then light, then shadow again.
Then the shadow swings across again – this time going the other way.
only half of the customers seem to notice. Half are panicked near tears.
One woman is sobbing at the counter. Another customer taps her on the shoulder and then asks her if she is going to finish her toast.

as a result of the change of moon orbit -

naturally, time is screwed up world over.

Twelve hour plane rides take seven minutes and the airline schedules are ruined.
passenger: “What time is it?”
another: “four o’clock”
passenger collecting baggage after flight.
“This flight is scheduled to leave in five hours and we’re here all ready.”
another: “Why don’t you go back to the counter, cancel your flight and get a refund.”

An employee goes to work on Friday and an eight hour shift ends on Tuesday.
guy comes into diner and asks for “two eggs scrambled.”

“Were not serving breakfast right now. You’ll have to wait until day after tomorrow, or yesterday, which ever comes first. care to wait?”
The customer nods.

Three weeks later -

The moon now rotating in orbit only a few thousand miles over the earth. it is unnerving to see it so close.

Freeway commuters are driving and looking up. Many collide.

City walkers with the moon overhead bump into each other.

“It’s getting closer,” a child says to his mother.

A golfer in mid swing with the moon overhead keeps his mind on the game.
dog walking by as moon passes and dog looks and barks. rushes off with tail between his legs.

At the star Diner a guy says he bought tickets for a game in Cleveland - a day night day game.

The moon slows down to get in sync with the earth rotation.
Lowering gradually, the moon finally touches earth in the vast area of Siberia. Camera shows happy Russian military jumping up and down urging it down. Finally they rejoice in celebration. Russian champagne uncorks.

A news broadcast shows a soviet speaking. The camera pulls back to show a reporter who translates that “ because it is on Russian property, the moon now belongs to Russia.”

We see the moon in a long shot and it rolls once, as if settling.

Weather is all wild the world over.
a weather map on TV screen is shown with a woman pointing to areas.
“High winds, high water, heat and cold.”

Newspaper headlines about the weather changes.

The shadow of the moon causes only three hours of sun to hit parts of Europe and Asia.

And there it sits – the new earth with moon attached. a long photo from space view.
the moon starts to leak water all over Russia.

A scientist during a TV interview explains that, “ The earth is rotating faster than normal for about seven hours, then slower than normal for sixteen hours, then quickly again for twelve hours.”

Interviewer, “That’s the new pattern then.”

scientist, “Well, it’s changing.”

The man holding the microphone shakes his head as if agreeing, then says, “Okay, then Rod, back to you in New York for sports.”

At the Star Diner all runs normal. The earth is on a wobbly irregular rotation now, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. Some trucks are piled with baggage and furniture as if moving out of town, or into town . . . somewhere.
Someone runs by through the parking lot screaming.

Outside the star diner the area looks trashed, boxes on the side of the road with abandoned vehicles and furniture.

The restaurant is filled with regulars and some fleeing to God knows where.
We hear their chatter.
A man plans vacation to Russia to see the moon.
“Can you climb on it?” some youth asks.
“What kind of winter do you think it will be?” says Austin.
“I’m not sure. What season do you suppose it is now?” Mikes asks.
“Are you serving breakfast now?” another said.
“Course we are,” replied the waitress, “ Now were serving breakfast all day or all night – whichever comes first!”

ufo video

2009-11-13T00:30:00.003+01:00

If you have half an interest watch this.

School Starts

2009-09-09T02:37:00.005+02:00

About five-thirty in the afternoon Meridith and I started a short walk up the street to the library. Next door our neighbors were out. The boys were. Dad was watching Cooper the older child, nearly four, playing in the yard. He was rolling a walnut up and down the sidewalk. We stopped to talk.

Three year old Charlie was in a rocker on the porch, waiting. The older boy was relaxed playing. He’s a veteran, been to preschool. I helped him roll the walnut a few times.

Charlie is pushing three and anxious to get his wheels rolling into education. He spoke to Meridith. Told about school starting tomorrow. This is his first time at school. His cousin Tate will be taking a bus. Tate was here the other day for a sleepover. Then he said, “Getting new shoes Spiderman.” Meridith nodded. That said it.

Good luck, boys. Have fun and do well. The world is opening to you.

I love the radio and other things

2009-09-01T18:39:00.012+02:00

Moving across the radio bands in the middle of the night I heard some guy on a half-hour infomercial. He sounded enthusiastic and informed. Probably an actor. If not, then the entrepreneur himself. I didn't listen a half hour, but I knew the format. Whatever they pay for, that's how much time they get. The salesman was talking about pharmaceutical grade fish oil pills. He said these capsules are rated ninety per cent. This is the kind of thing fish envious of. Most fish aren't rated ninety percent. I lasted about a minute with that.

Then on the all night program called Coast to Coast people were calling in to say whatever they wanted to talk about. I heard a caller tell about a guy walking down the street with a pile of LSD in his pocket. It began to rain, the drug got wet and absorbed into his system. For the next two years the guy thought he was a glass of near transparent orange juice, always worried about getting knocked off the table and spilled. One day someone bumped into him and he died. Doctors said it was a heart attack.

At this point I took of my earphones and put down my radio and had a dream that I was lying in bed not listening to the radio, just kind of sleeping, when my Aunt Irene called me from downstairs. She called me a couple of times but I didn’t answer. There were a lot of people down there. I could hear them.

Later I decided to go down there anyway for some of the good food. I was going down in my underwear, I figured that would be okay, then I thought my wife wouldn’t like it so I put on a pair of large white Bermuda shorts that were in my drawer. I never saw them before, but they fit.

Downstairs my aunt Irene was all worried. It had something to do with the catholic church and our neighbors when I was a kid, the Steinmetz family. Something happened in the sixth century and the Chinese were involved and that meant they definitely couldn’t be in a regatta. My friend, a Steinmetz, had recently retired as a college professor of chemistry, never took to sailing, and I wondered what this had to do with a regatta and the Chinese in the sixth century. I never got anything to eat.

rain on the parade

2009-07-11T16:54:00.004+02:00

“It’s a washout.”

I looked at her and shook my head. “It will be over in an hour and the parade will start.”

"I’m an Indian and I know,” she replied.

“Well, I’m a computer person…” a boom of thunder shook the house, interrupting me.

“I thought you were going to say you’re a clown,” she laughed.

That time I squinted at her. She looked serious. "I am a computer person and I checked the radar and it will end and the parade will begin on time,” I said and walked out of the room. Let her think what she likes. I know what will happen.

Out on the back porch I watched the downpour. Buckets of rain came down and the wind whistled through the trees. No birds or squirrels around now. Where do they hide? It was really storming. I wouldn’t mind being a clown. The long flapping shoes would be too much to walk with, but the bald wig with the hair sticking out on the sides would be fun, and the big red nose.

Then the rain stopped and we could hear the parade band a few blocks away. She was eating cookies.

gone away gone

2009-06-07T18:34:00.010+02:00

Just in case you think this stuff i write falls off a tree in my backyard and all I do is take a basket out and pick a good one up - hah! Double hah!

Let me tell you I wrote something for today and edited it five or six times; you know how it is when every so often something turns out the way you want it, well this was it.

Then I turned around and it was gone, way gone, not anywhere, absolute-away gone. I wasn’t drinking. I wasn’t stoned. Counter intelligence operatives didn’t sneak in to grab my poem and head for the other side. I dumped it somehow.

I thought to try my recovery software and couldn’t find my recovery software. I searched for another software and it said free, so I downloaded it and installed it; but when it found what could be my missing file – it wanted me to pay for it before I even looked at it. What kind of free is that?

It’s like when you buy a toy in the children’s department, and then you take it home you read the small print that says “Important. Keep this out of the hands of children!”

So today I give you this account, when what I really wrote for today ended in the he isotonic curve of the subtle sphere, where the closer you get to finding a thing, the harder it becomes to find.

clawfoot tub

2009-05-22T20:11:00.002+02:00

I needed a claw foot bathtub. Well, need is too strong a word. We have a hundred seventy year old house that has been left pretty much as it was built, with a lot of original things in it, and were going to put in a bath upstairs. A shiny new reproduction didn’t seem right. An old tub seemed the way to go.

We began searching for an old claw foot tub. There aren’t many around, not when you need one. Now and then I’d see one in the newspaper. Usually priced higher than I wanted to pay, three or four hundred dollars. Then one day I opened the newspaper to find an old tub from a guy who was called anyway.

The guy said it was in good shape, nearly perfect. I went over to see, and I bought it. He said he’d deliver at no cost. What a deal. He said he really wanted to get rid of it. I asked if it were haunted or did someone die in it. He laughed and said no, nothing like that. He’d bring it over right away. I gave him our address.

When the man delivered the tub I asked for the story about it; like, where did he get it. He said it was in his house when he bought his place. Then when he and his wife did some remodeling they took it out and just kept it around. I leaned back against my fence to listen.

His sister from back East was in town about that time and heard he was getting ride of the old tub. She hurried over to tell him that old tub would be perfect for her. She wanted to put flowers in it and set it in her front yard.

Well, being the good brother he said that was fine with him and he’d deliver it - bring it along, that is, the next time they came to visit her in Connecticut. Later that summer he made the trip and delivered the tub. He and his wife visited a bit with his sister and her family, and then drove back home to Ohio.

Less than a month later his sister called. He wanted to ask if she had flowers in the tub, but she was obviously upset; said she was getting a divorce. After saying how sorry he was to hear that, he asked his sister if he could help her with anything, anything at all. That’s when she told her brother that he could come and get his damn tub if he wanted it, cause it had to go. They were selling the house, and it was in the way. They are both tired of walking around it.

So the brother said, no problem, and agreed to pick up the tub to get it out of her way. So to see his sister, see how she was doing, and to help her any way he could, under the pretext of getting the tub out of her way, he drove again all the way to Connecticut had a visit and returned with the tub.

In all the excitement and confusion from the sadness of his sister, and the long journey there and back again it didn’t occur to him until it was over that he didn’t want the damn tub again. That’s when he put it up for sale for only fifty dollars to get rid of it. He didn’t want to look at the damn thing anymore.

As of this writing we have had the tub installed in our home for five years. My wife and I have each used it once. It looks pretty, for as old as it is. Need a tub?

back in the pool

2009-05-21T18:23:00.001+02:00

I went back to the swimming pool today for the first time in six months. The lifeguard was Danielle. I didn’t remember her name, I had to ask her. She worked the pool five years before and had been in California with her husband who was in the military. Plugged in, un plugged, that’s how it goes. First you’re talking, then it changes. Little by little I am returning to Ohio.

I went over the to hot tub and noticed the hand written sign on the side of it. it said: The drain lovers are raised on the bottom. What kind of strange message was that? Was it a joke? I looked at it a few minutes and wondered.

Then I walked up on the side and climbed down into the tub. When I stepped on the bottom of the tub my foot felt a lump - the drain cover. Aaahhhh. It was the hand printing on the sign that confused me. The letter C looked like an L.

Maybe M. could sew my pants together at the knees so I’d blend in better with the stylin' younger generation.

breakfast sans M.

2009-05-20T19:39:00.005+02:00

I pulled up out front facing the bright sun and turned off the engine, and as soon as I opened the door to get out of the car a wave of heat hit me and I heard the noise blaring from the open windows of the restaurant. What the hell was gong on?

It’s only a little out of the way breakfast and lunch place, the size of a short trailer, and I walked toward the door hearing the noise and was wondering - do I really want to do this. What the heck has happened in the six months I’ve been gone. How much noise can a person stand?

I opened the door of the restaurant and the place was jammed and hoppin'. I scanned around quickly to see if it was a TV or a radio in the corner that was making all of the commotion. There was neither. The racket I heard was nine guys talking - like they were really hot about everything, only it was nothing. There was no big topic, just chatter. Blah, blah, blah.

Talk about women yakking, hah. There was a table of two guys, another of three guys, one of three more, and one guy alone at the counter who was reading the newspaper instead of yakking. He was the odd man out, all the others were cackling away like hens on a roost. I ordered two pancakes and coffee, and settled in. Welcome home, Jack. I know what I can take, and about then I was on the edge, the hillbilly edge.

mobile bird homes

2009-05-17T21:38:00.007+02:00

Last year, M. stood by in my laboratory and watched as I cut a small circular hole in a large hollow dried gourd the size of a soccer ball, carefully following her instructions as to size and position of the hole. She thought it would make a fine bird house. We hung it low in the not so tall magnolia tree in our front yard. Eventually birds moved in, and evidently enjoyed their hanging gourd summer home.

Today, one spring later, M. asked me to get that natural colored, unpainted gourd out; it was the time for birds to nest. When I found it and wiped off the dust, she hung it again in the same low tree, near where she was doing spring flower yard clean up. Before noon it was up, and she continued work near the potential bird home.

A half-hour later she came in to tell me the wrens had moved in and were making a lot of racket chirping while rearranging furniture and bringing in new sticks. I guess they had been waiting for their mobile home to return. For the rest of the day they sang and sang, coming in and going out.

On another bird house front -

This afternoon when I stopped at Captain Bob’s to pick up a groundhog trap, he gave me an extra bird house he had made. after I mentioned that one I had put together from old wood had disintegrated. The former shop teacher – turned fishing boat Captain, presented me with a sturdy rust colored bird home that surely would last several bird lifetimes.

I would have felt hesitant about taking it, but he already had seven others hanging in his yard, and a few more in his garage. Once a shop teacher, always a bird house maker.

Gerry

2009-03-18T10:39:00.002+01:00

Our friend Gerry stopped by one afternoon this fall before we left Ohio for the winter. It was a fine weather afternoon. Meri and I were both out in the front yard when he pulled his truck into the drive. A big shiny, red truck. We paused in our work and walked over to see him. He was smiling but said he was not feeling well. He had been sick for a while. Gerry sat in his truck as we talked.

When we asked, he said the doctors were still checking. He’d had a sore back and other pains. Stayed home a lot. But as the conversation continued we talked about the usual things, the out of doors, how much damage the groundhogs were doing to Meri’s vegetables this year. Rabbits and birds and the fish in my pond, and of our mutual friends and what they’re up to.

He was a smiling, easy going, likeable fellow. It was always a pleasure to run into him. We often met at one of the pancake breakfasts in one of the area towns, or sometimes at our local outdoor amphitheater overlooking the river on weekend evenings where the locals often stop to chat with old friends and acquaintances. I wanted to write a tribute to Gerry for the friendship, for the times we laughed together, for the common history we shared in our small village. I’ll always think fondly of him.

Just a few months after our brief talk, on the Internet Meri saw the item on the site of our hometown newspaper. Services were held, relatives came. Our friend had died following a six month bout with cancer.

Ricardo Montalban

2009-01-15T12:24:00.001+01:00

When I worked in Hollywood I had the pleasure to meet many of the stars. It happened because my work as a talent took me to places they were, and if I put all the names together, at or near the top of the heap would be the few minutes I spoke with Ricardo Montalban.

There in that flaming, rushing mass of importance and hurry, the film capital of the world, I found a moment of calm. We were in Bell Sound Recording Studio passing in a hallway and I had only to lift my eyes and pause to give that look that people do when they look into the face of a star. They can read that look of recognition in your eyes for they’ve seen it a million times.

“Ricardo Montalban,” he said as he offered his hand in greeting.

“Of, course, Mr. Montalban. How do you do. It is a pleasure,” I said. “You’re doing some work here?”

“Yes, for Cordoba, actually it is pronounced Cordo ‘ba, but they want me to say Cor’doba.”

That’s the only particular I recall of the few minutes I spoke with the intelligent, well-spoken man in the hall before one of us was called in to work. There was more, because I remember going home and telling my wife who I saw today, related our brief exchange and what a gentleman he was. So more than the words, I am left with the indelible impression that he was everything you’d want or expect Ricardo Montalban to be, and I want to repeat, he was a gentleman.

Edward G. Robinson

2008-12-15T21:14:00.002+01:00

Twice I crossed paths with actor Edward G. Robinson. Not much, just a little, but both times it was a somewhat particular experience. The first time happened in a department store in Columbus Ohio in the mid 1960s. He was in the city to perform in a play. I remember I’d happened to see something about that in the newspaper.

On an off shopping day, like a Tuesday or maybe a Thursday, There was something I had to pick up at the department store and just left the second floor riding down on the escalator, when I noticed across on the escalator on the other side, coming up toward me was Edward G. Robinson.

The store was nearly empty whatever hour it was. We were riding along, albeit in opposite directions, as we came closer. It took only a second and I’m sure the recognition began to show on my face as we stared at each other. No doubt he was used to the reaction, a questioning look that turns into a smile of recognition. He smiled back as we crossed and continued our separate ways. I was delighted by that chance encounter.

A few years later, and two thousand miles away I was at Los Angeles International Airport, again alone on an escalator, when I glanced across and there, on the opposite escalator, also alone, heading my way was Edward G. Robinson. Again few people were anywhere near.

I had turned a half second before him this time and the benefit of that split second was time enough for recognition. I knew who he was as he turned his head toward me, and was already staring at him.

In that instant he saw me I had it in my mind that he recognized me from our previous trip on an escalator together because that first time we were quite alone in the store and looked at each other quite hard.

As we passed each other this time he turned his head back and kept eye contact a bit longer than was necessary, with a questioning look on his face, as if trying to remember where he had seen me. This time he was riding down and I was heading up. I smiled and nodded in passing. It was a goodbye to him.

I wanted to turn and tell some one, anyone who would listen, what had happened. But what could I blurt out to a total stranger in ten seconds that would tell the story, how it was, how I felt about the unlikely strangeness. Nothing. I had to digest the event alone and keep going. Let Edward G. Robinson figure it out and smile at the incongruity.

Golden Brown

2008-11-30T11:20:00.001+01:00

I am looking at a plantain recipe, that says I should cut the plantains in circles? How the hell do I do that? It’s a banana!
Another thing. Why is everything fried until it’s golden brown. is that the only attractive cooking brown? Isn’t there another?

Rome/Ohio

2008-11-27T09:53:00.002+01:00

Sure there is a lot of living in Roma, an arsenal of events and color. It is an ordeal to survive in the hustle. Always something to do, and whatever it is, it isn’t easy. I mentioned in my other blog, An American in Roma, that I can live more in a day in Roma than I do in six months in Ohio. That’s true enough, more or less.

But, Ohio, Beautiful Ohio, there is much to be said for it. Ohio, where we live half the year, is on nearly the same latitude as Rome, so the light, the beautiful light that painters love, is the same. I’ve painted in both places. And. the nature of Ohio is provincial, beautiful and full of country life.

When I write, in Ohio I take inspiration from seagulls, trains whistles, the lake, the river, and plenty of weather. That’s why they call it Beautiful Ohio. I was born and raised into it, and there is my heartland.

Rome? Well, it keeps me on my toes.

heros with heart

2008-11-23T17:49:00.003+01:00

not like a metal man that flies and crunches steel
our heroes had heart
after saving the entire town and little bobby
the mother would say to Tonto, “who was that masked man?

Tonto would not say, “him be the lone ranger”
Tonto who never went to school a day in his life
would use the subjective form of the noun and say
“He the lone ranger”.

Okay he left the verb out
but he got subject and object - two out of three, not bad at all

addendum:
so I quit with this poem and did a spell check on tonto because I used a small letter t.
The suggestions I received were: ton to, onto. tomato, Tonti, tent and tint.
Tonti is a private apartment management company.
Also mentioned -Free online game: Tontie is a Whack-A-Mole for the 21st century. Simple but addicting game!

Curious, I did a computer search on Tonto. Unlike the old days, “ Results, about 494,000 for tonti. (0.09 seconds) “ 0.09 seconds. I take longer than that to blink. What would Tonto think of that?

Here I inject my story. This goes back to when they were doing a new Lone Ranger movie in the late 70s. I was doing what they call talent work. I was the talent for any thing producers could come up with, radio, TV, stage, film, live show, whatever and my agent he called me to do an audition for the voice that says “Hi Ho silver Away,” doesn’t say it, shouts it really. I say sure, I'll do itThey were dubbing the guy in the mask, so they may as well get a voice who yells for the horse to get going. I asked who did the voice for the Lone Ranger and why didn't I get called for that and my agent says they picked a known guy,a known actor, a friend of a friend. Okay.

So later that day or the next I happened to be at a studio in Hollywood when someone calls for me on the phone to do the audition. I take the call in an empty studio and the voice on the phone asks if I’m ready. “Ready for what,” I thought they were going to ask me to go somewhere, at least into a studio, for auditions like they always do.

The voice asks me to do "Hi-ho-Silver" on the phone.
“You mean now?” I asked. They meant now. I felt a little, well, stupid. But I did it, didn’t get the job and that was it.

So a friend I worked with at the radio station KBIG, I didn’t know his last name, it wasn’t his real name anyway, just Gary. I told him about the audition. He tells me Clayton Moore thinks he really is the Lone Ranger and he wants the part in the film.

I asked how he knew that. He tells me, right then, at that time Gary was living next door to Clayton Moore, the fellow who played the Lone Ranger on TV for the last four years of it’s run

First run as an experiment in on the radio 1933, many actors played the masked man. Clayton Moore ended it. My friend told me that Clayton would be outside his house dressed as the Lone Ranger. I couldn’t argue with Clayton. He was the only Lone Ranger I knew, or watched on TV anyway.

So when the new movie was being cast the studio looked for another man. They had to file an injunction preventing Clayton from making personnel appearances, specifically wearing the mask. Clayton continued with the costume, but donned sun glasses. When the movie was released Clayton was 67. "He the old ranger, Kimosabe."

on the fly

2008-11-11T22:13:00.003+01:00

most of these people are dressed like they’re going on a duck hunting sleep over, and these are the passengers at Philadelphia International Airport.

In preparation, knowing I had a big trip ahead, last night I went to bed at 9:30. At 11:30 the neighbor’s dog began to bark. It could have started earlier, but that was when I woke and looked at the clock. One bark every twenty seconds. I timed him by counting off the seconds. 12:20 a.m. he was let into the house. I was awake until 4:30.

M. got up at 5:30. I told her about the dog. She told me to stay in bed and sleep. I did and I slept until 5:40. We left for the airport at 7:00.

By 8:30 I was in place, waiting at Cleveland Airport, 8:48 an alarm went off. Very Loud. It was meant to be heard. A summons to invoke immediate action. However, no one moved. They don’t even look up. The alarm must mean something, still no action is taken. It was driving me crazy.

8:53 it is quiet and an announcement is made. The smoke alarms are being tested.

8:56 – 8:58 the test again.

Then all is quiet until 9:02 – 9:03. A final test. Then all is quiet.

9:06 we boarded, passing directly under the alarm. Every one looking up at the alarm.

10:30 – 6 p.m. I wait at Philadelphia International airport for my flight to Roma.
This is good. M. has packed me food. I have a book. I have the Internet. I have coffee. I have it all.

Dubbing Willow

2008-11-09T19:41:00.008+01:00

My first time out to Lucas Skywalker Ranch was 1988 for a dubbing, or looping job on the movie Willow. The ranch is in the rolling hills in Marin County north of San Francisco. There were about fifteen of us for the Willow job. Mostly men and three or four women. I don't recall if they had any scenes with kids in that one, but they weren't doing any kids that day. Most of us were talent from the same San Francisco agency, or one of the top two agencies, and all the actors knew each other from doing work together over the years. There was no audition. We were just picked based on our abilities and reputation.

That day we were to do various voices for people in different scenes in the movie. It was clean up work for the film. With this kind of job you never know what you're doing until they tell you at the job what you're going to do. They took us to one of the large audio studios where we'd do our work. We were all professionals and were there to do the voices, so no scripts were necessary, we’d make it up as we went along. Now and then there were a few set lines given for specific scenes if a face stood out and it looked like it needed a line. Although most of it was ad lib crowd stuff.

I remember when we did the bar scene. There were microphones, of course, set around the studio where we were, and a large screen was on one wall. The lights lowered and the projector rolled and we saw the villagers sitting and standing, crowded in a bar. There was no sound from the film. We made noises like breathing, clearing of throats, grunting and did the general crowd talk. The engineers would mix it into the film later.

So we started as folks sitting around talking to each other in this bar. The director cued us by saying, “more talk”, or “less talk”, something like that.
A while into the scene soldiers burst into the bar and began to raise hell and beating on us. We were surprised, terrified, moaned and cried and wailed at the soldiers. Once in a while one of the funny guys like Jim Cranna would say something stupid or off color then we’d laugh and have to start over again.

The director who was in the control room had us do it again a few times. After a while the voice from the booth said, “Okay. That was fine. Men only this time and we're going to do the same scene, only this time you’re going to be the soldiers.”

The same clip started again and again all was silent in the studio as we watched the same scene, until the soldiers burst in, that was us now, and we began yelling and mildly cursing in anger as we attacked the people in the bar. The same people we just played before. We had fun beating ourselves up.

The last scene in the movie had Willow walking away and we were the general crowd again, all saying goodbye to him. If you listen carefully you can hear me yell somewhere in the mix, “Fare thee well, Willow. Fare thee well.” Hey, even ad libbing you have to make up a good line in order to make the final cut.

We all got our session fees, of course, a days pay I think. Maybe it took us two days. But now years later they still send me a reminder – a seventeen dollar check each year for use royalties.

day'ja have

2008-11-03T20:08:00.004+01:00

Sunday I commissioned Somethin’-To-Do-Bob to row out to my small sailboat and straighten it up a bit, general cleanup, that sort of thing. He knew what I meant. He knew which boat was mine. No problem.

I figured he could use the work and I’d get my boat squared away somewhat. I’d see how he does. It was just a trial job, but I didn’t tell him that. I guess he knew. Bob did odd repairs of the sort limited to clean up or light sanding. Seven dollars a day was the maximum he charged. That was enough for a bottle of beer and something to eat, whatever he ate.

He never wanted any more money in his possession. He waved off the offer for more saying he would get into trouble. I found that interesting. Ken told me later that Bob drank a bit. Okay. Well I’d see how his work goes. He'd start first thing today.

Boat people generally get going early, as I did. I waited past eight, made breakfast and cleaned up. Then a bit after nine that good weather Monday morning I began getting worried that Bob wouldn’t show up. Finally I saw him row out to my sailboat which was anchored out a few hundred yards off to the side of the harbor channel. The sun was out, the sky was blue, winds were calm. Another perfect California day.

Now the guy looks a shambles, a real wreck. You’d have to go long and hard to find a worse dressing, grubbier guy, but Bob had a child-like affability about him. While perpetually gentle and easy going, I really didn’t know how reliable he’d be as a worker, but there he was. I’d seen him doing work for other guys but didn’t know how he’d be.

I watched as he tied up along side my boat and felt relieved that he’d pick up and straighten up for me. It wouldn’t be much, but at least it would help.

While still home on board that morning there was some work in the city for me, so I prepared to leave. About a half hour later I left the houseboat, looked out into the channel and noticed Bob was still sitting in his row boat tied to mine and doing something in his boat. That was interesting. I shook my head and left for the city thinking that whatever Bob did out there would be some kind of improvement. I wondered how creative he’d be. This was the first time I had Bob do work for me and was anxious to see the results.

Two hours later, after noon sometime, I returned from the city and the first thing I saw when I checked out to my sailboat was that Bob’s row boat was still tied up out there and he was still sitting in it. It looked as if he were eating. Must have brought along something to eat.

I made my lunch and kept watch on him. From my galley I could look straight out there. I had some boat work of my own to do and all afternoon kept glancing out to see if Bob was making any progress. I never saw him on my boat. A little after four he untied his boat from mine and rowed back to the docks.

He didn’t come over to my houseboat and I didn’t go looking for him.

The next morning while I walked out to the boat yard toward my car I ran into Something-to-do-bob crawling out from under his overturned row boat he kept along side the back of the main boat repair building. He slept under his boat and was just getting up.

“Day’ja have?” he called out to me as I walked by.

I turned at the call. Bob was just getting on his feet, already fully dressed in his grubby, rubberized foul weather gear with dirty bare feet. He must have slept like that.

“What’s that, Bob?” I asked.

“Day’ja have?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are saying,” I told him. It sounded like English, but the words. . .

“Day’ja have. What day do you have? What day is it?” He said.
I told him it was Tuesday and then he asked about money for the day before. I told him I saw him and that he never went on board my boat. Then he told me not to worry about paying him.

“Okay,” I said, “Say, I know you were out there. I saw you row out, and watched you in your boat. What were you doing out there all day?”

I couldn’t duplicate his speech so I’ll tell you that he explained that his I Ching book was out of order and he had to take it apart and re assemble it into an order proper for him. Then he told me I didn’t have to pay him for yesterday. We had already discussed this of course, but I told him fine, I wasn’t going to pay him, then I offered him some money anyway. He refused the cash. I said we could try the work again some other day and he nodded in agreement.

"How about today? Do you want to do it today?” I asked.

No, he said he had some things he had to do today. I accepted that answer. Some other day. We parted friends. Boat friends. That’s the way it goes. That’s life on the docks. That’s Somethin’-To-Do-Bob.

The Return of Blackie

2008-11-01T12:26:00.001+01:00

Beginning in the spring we have a lot of birds in our yard. My wife likes to keep the bird bath clean for them. The cardinals have their own bath they prefer to use, while the other birds use the community bath. There are robins, sparrows, doves, starlings, cardinals and blackbirds. We bought peanuts for ourselves and threw a few to the birds because it seemed the friendly thing to do.

While other birds didn’t pay much attention, one black bird in particular loved the peanuts. After just a few days it was apparent that the free peanuts got to be a habit for this black bird. He’d come around everyday at the same place for a tasty peanut. Only a short while later we had named him Blackie, our favorite bird.

It would have been nice to have a colorful cardinal, or even a blue jay as a favorite, but the other birds remained aloof. The best we could attract was our new feathered pal, the solo blackbird.

That summer a lot of birds came and went through our yard, but only Blackie was a regular that we could identify. It was his poise, his confidence, his swagger. The robins had children and hung around teaching them to dig for worms, and the doves walked around in pairs. But, Blackie made a noise to attract our attention. We talked to him, took our places and he would fly in for his peanut.

In the fall, most birds migrate south for the winter. Only the illusive cardinals stay year round. One day The following summer, when my wife was working on the side of the house she heard a black bird squawk. She looked up and said, “Blackie, is that you?” It was. She went around to the other side of the house where we used to feed him and he followed, and took up his usual position at a particular spot on our fence and waited for his peanut.

My wife and I were happy to see the old wanderer and enjoyed the surprise visit for a second year. Throughout the summer Blackie was a regular, and became friendlier and calmer with our presence.

The third summer he returned again. Now he would fly to our back porch and I’d sit in a chair and put a peanut on the small table and he’d hop onto it and take his peanut. Now we had a pet.

By the end of that summer he was taking peanuts from my hand, still a wild bird, but happy to play the routine of entertaining us for his peanut. Most every morning Blackie would be there. We’d look out and see him on the fence, and as soon as we came out with the peanuts he’d fly over and take one.

Many blackbirds were living in a wild an area a mile south of our home. Each morning they’d fly over and head to the farmers corn field where they’d feast for the day, then return in the evening.

The fourth year farmers had complained and the city burned the wild area where the birds rousted. No longer did we have flocks of black birds passing over head. Blackie had moved on with his friends.

May rushed by with no sign of him, we wondered if he died, relocated with the others, or went off to make a family. Then in June he returned, and this time he brought a younger bird with him. We called it Blackie Junior. This was the fourth year in a row for Blackie on our fence. The same spot, the same routine of squawking and waiting for his peanut. Unbelievable, four summers in a row we had Blackie as a guest. We only saw him a few days that year. His son never developed a taste for a peanut.

The fifth year there were even fewer birds around. Although our bird pal was mentioned many times May and June passed without a sign of him. Then at the end of July, when we had all but given up hope, we heard his squawk, looked at each other, we both said "Blackie" at the same time, and then ran to our places. He had returned. It was a quick stop, but it was really him. He must have been living farther away, but he made his appearance, did the squawks and the peanut grabbing routine on our porch, then flew back to the fence. I swear he looked back at us for a second or two before he flew off, and he was gone. That was it for Blackie’s visits.

Now years later we still occasionally look for him, or the son of Blackie. Or realistically at least, we do think about him. But, of course now the visits from Blackie remain warm in our hearts as a pleasant memory. Yet we still, still keep peanuts ready. Just in case.

Larry Fine

2008-11-01T01:31:00.000+01:00

It was an uneventful nothing day, not a lot of people around that section of LA airport that morning in 1970. I was on my way between one terminal and another, a large blank spot in the airport, and then I couldn’t believe it, who do I see walking toward me but one of the three stooges. I stopped where i stood. As he passed I called, “Mr. Howard?”

He stopped and turned then said, “Fine. I’m Larry Fine,” and pointed at his chest.

“Of, course, Mr. Fine. I’m sorry, I knew it, but wasn’t thinking,” I said. "I remember the one you did when you were all doctors, 'Dr. Howard, Dr. Fine, Dr. Howard', I was just so surprised to see you.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” He bashfully wobbled his head and continued to smile. "Moe and Curly Howard I worked with, and then his brother Shep when Curly died." Now I was nodding. He was with two tall blond show girls, each about six-two and he was rather short. He saw me notice the girls on each arm. “we’re on our way to Las Vegas,” he said with a large grin. Happy to be working I guess. All retired performers love to be wanted. He was a bit older than his prime, but still looked like the same Larry to me, the one I saw hundreds of times.

I told him how much I enjoyed his work, how much all the kids always did. How we used to cheer when a Three Stooges Short began back in our hometown movie theater. All the laughter he brought us. He thanked me. It was a just a minute or two that we chatted. I know he enjoyed it and I did too. I thanked him again and we both waved goodbye.

flashing the mirror

2008-10-29T03:52:00.001+01:00

Playing at the edge of the woods behind Dick’s house we came upon a little spot where trash had been dumped for years. Fun for kids to rummage around in junk like that. In the pile we found cardboard boxes, springs, assorted metal, cans, bottles, wood and things, and a large piece of a full length mirror. Immediately we pulled it out, and after looking at ourselves for about ten seconds, we used the heavy afternoon sun to flash the mirror.

Before long we decided to target old Maude Barn’s house, the nearest one, just up the hill from us. She lived alone, might have been sixty-five but looked a hundred. We flashed the mirror on her old wood house and could see a remarkably bright spot of sun that the mirror reflected. It blasted a beam of light. Then we flashed it right into the window of her kitchen. We played for a while taking turns flashing the mirror. Then heard the big town hall siren all the way from the fire house. Where could the fire be? We heard the truck siren coming closer. Soon the fire truck was at the corner and rambling down the street. Oh, my God, it went directly to Maude’s house. We could see her outside in her robe, waving her arms as the truck and men arrived. We were in trouble. They ran in and a few minutes later came out.

In a short while the excitement died down. Neighbors were out standing all around. Some were pointing our way. Oh, no. Tom’s dad was on the team of volunteer firefighters and soon came down the hill to where we were playing. He looked like he was going to say something to us. We were looking as inconspicuous as we could.

“Did you boys shine that mirror at Maude’s house,” he asked. We said we were just playing, found it in the trash and didn’t mean to, but we might have.
“Maude saw the flash on her coffee pot and thought the house was on fire.”
We put the mirror back in the junk pile and that ended our play.
The crowd went away, the fire tuck left and Maude went back into her house. We saw her glance out way before her door closed.

thinking and doing

2008-10-21T23:06:00.000+02:00

So thinking about Roma again. It’s about time. Three weeks to go and I haven’t really started packing. Just in my head, and there’s not much there. Meaning not much I‘m thinking about taking. I’m leaving three weeks before M. She has to rake the leaves, and that’ll be some doing. But she likes the work. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was raised with it and she’s from California. No raking there.

Our Van is getting a part. It’ll be back tomorrow, I think. We had to drive sixty miles back from Amish country this weekend at twenty-five miles an hour. Some part broke and it wouldn’t shift out of second gear. Talk about a “go slow”. We took little roads back.

“You want to drive to Oberlin to see this new house for sale?” she asked.
“No.” That took care of that. Now she’s outside finding some work to do. Hey, She likes it. All winter long in Roma she’s trapped with nothing to do.

I went outside and found her. Had to walk all the way around the house to catch up with her. Whatever she was doing, she was through and I had to stay out there and scoop leaves out of the pond. About half the leaves have fallen, and it’s getting time to pick them out of the pond. It took about ten minutes to get what was there. Soon they’ll be falling in earnest. Some days I will have to go out three times each day to get them. I don’t want them filling up the pond. When they start disintegrating they get harder to find. Sun is shining today. That’s good.

M. bought about six ears of dried corn for the squirrels. We’ve had one lying in the middle of the yard for a week, ear of corn I’m talking about now, and they still haven’t found it. She put the ear of corn on the bench. They always hop up there. Good luck to them. I’ll give ‘em about a week to find it.

47 degrees and no cap or jacket

2008-10-21T18:54:00.000+02:00

It'll get colder for sure. Now it's 47 degrees Farenheit during the day, and the frog is out there living in the pond in our backyard. I know he's there. We saw him a week ago.

Yes, he is a male. We checked the size of the spots where the ears would be, the tympanum. He's a male. His spots are larger than his eyeball. We call him Herb because that's what he says when he says anything. It's the only word he knows so he repeats himself a lot. There was a female, but she was murdered a few weeks ago. I think a stray cat did it. Other than two months of mating season in June and July, frogs are solitary creatures. They always sat on opposite sides of the pond. So he may not be lonely.

So what is Herb doing out there? I think of frogs as warm weather things. I don't see him around. Is he underwater holding his breath already? It is cold. He doesn't have a cap or a jacket. He should have another month before he goes in the water and holds his breath until spring. Breathes through the skin then. How about that?

We have gold fish we bought for nineteen cents apiece that have endured ten years out there. They slow down in the winter to nothing, then start moving again when the water warms in the spring. We keep a waterfall going year round so the noxious gases escape and the creatures can live. This is the second winter for Herb in our pond. Other frogs come and go during the spring and summer. They seem to travel with the rains.

Good luck, Herb. Been thinking about you. Hope you're feeling okay. Look forward to seeing you in the spring.

the campaign

2008-10-20T16:20:00.001+02:00

Politicians don’t have to travel all over the country and speak to crowds. They can stay at home and do their talking in front of a TV camera. Why spend the money and time traveling. It is a heck of a high cost. Security, airplanes, vehicles, locations, food, itinerary, etc. etc. All sorts of expense we can’t imagine.

And what has the candidate done for two years but travel, hop around, in and out, here and there. What a waste of time. How about one crowd appearance a month, others can be daily twenty or fifty people in a conference room. Choose your people, choose your rooms. Let the nation hear how they slant their talk for every state’s interests.

This is the TV age for heaven’s sake. Don’t tell me it is so important for people to be deep in a crowd and see their candidate jammed live in the thronged arena. Hey, even the Beatles learned years ago that it was too big a forum to function.

Then Take Rush, Hanity and the rest of the hate mongers and put them away for the next eight years. They incite unrest and hatred. I worked in L.A. at the largest radio station in the U.S. I have an idea how it all works. I knew people like these. I know it’s about money and not any deep heart-felt emotions. Money. That’s it. Boot em out. Free speech my ass. Money is the root of it all.

Then find a way to boot out lobbyists. Cut their connection to Congress, thus cut their power. Let them start all over again. I don't want to say vote out all incumbents, that would cut the lobbyists link, but we'd also loose some good Congressmen and women.