Memorial Day Thoughts

I had once volunteered to help spruce up the graves of veterans before Memorial Day. It was a beautifully sunny day and a cool breeze ruffled the grass in the shadows of the tall trees. With the help of the little map, I quickly found my assigned area. I stepped out of the truck and saw hundreds of colorful potted flowers waiting to be planted three to a marker.

At each new site, I would read the inscription to learn more about that person. As I fought with stubborn weeds to make way for the new flowers, I found myself tracing around the Born and Died dates with my index finger. I smiled when the dates showed a man surviving a war and living on to eighty or ninety years of age. The ones which saddened me were those with a death date corresponding to war years; young sons and husbands who did not return to continue on. The short two-date summation of their lives drove me deep into thought as I troweled away. There was my Uncle Bob whose B-17 was shot down in Europe, Uncle George and Uncle Gordie who charged ashore from landing craft on D-Day, Uncle Hank whose navy ship was torpedoed off the coast of France. Only one did not make it back home to us. I also remembered the drawn, weary faces of the WW1 veterans from my visit to a VA hospital, those who had already been hospitalized for fifty years from mustard gas attacks upon their trenches. You can't forget those faces, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the immensity of their sacrifices. By now, time had claimed all these stalwart old soldiers and they all seemed to join me now in this quiet little cemetery and I lost it just as I did the day they played taps by my father's grave.

And this weekend I insist on celebrating the survivors as well as the fallen. To Jim who survived the med-evac chopper runs in Nam, to Red who survived the downing of his B52 and his POW time in Hanoi. Jim, you've been a loyal friend all these years - long after others deserted the ship and, Red, you have been the brother I always wanted most in my heart. And to my newly found blog friends, Bruno and Catmoves, too. I was the one most blessed when God chose to bring you home from war and I know that I am not the only one who feels that way. Remain strong, fight the dragons to the end, and know that you are always loved and honored.

I have received lovely comments on this particular post but I will be holding back comments from being published. It just seems right somehow.

Shopping Trips as Necessary Evils

It's been two weeks since Mark's last supply run to town so we are in short supply on most of the perishable basics by now. After the incident noted in the last post, we just might go to a two week schedule instead of our previous one week intervals. This will mean getting used to buying more of any given item and it will probably take us several tries before we get the quantities right. Still, it is better than exposing Mark to more oncoming traffic than necessary, at least for a little while.

On the accident front, we have not heard any positive news so far but we haven't given up either. Many, many thanks for the moral support you have given us with your comments.

The good news is that we finally got disciplined enough to sit down and put together a materials list for the new small rear addition. It will be just big enough to house the future solar power equipment and the elements needed to give us real 24/7 on demand water in the rat trailer. You probably have no idea how exciting this prospect is after being without running water for a year and a half!!! Our wonderful Virgil helped out with the first step in making the rat plumbing water-ready and I will be writing more about that soon.

If you enjoy reading stories that make you chuckle and say "Boy, ain't that the truth!", then you have to go read the May 25th story from Alphonse Da Moose. Click on his blog link in the left column of this page. The man just has that way of telling great stories.

Hit and Run

Friday, May 11th, was our last town run for supplies. Mark has become very good about letting me know when he is finished his errands and now back on the dirt road and heading home. He called just a few minutes after turning off the highway and was now only about an hour and a half away. What can I say? I worry about people, I inherited it from my mother. Get used to it 'cause I ain't about to change any time soon.

For an ETA of 1.5 hours, I allow an extra half hour before I start to really pace back and forth. Sometimes the roads are rougher than expected, sometimes you might meet up with someone and shoot the breeze a little or maybe just get stuck behind a herd of commuting cattle for a while.

A little over two hours after his call, I hear Mark's diesel as it drops down into our canyon. Brou hears it as well and can't wait to whine and widdle all over the porch when his best buddy returns. We're all out on the porch grinning when the Dodge pulls up beside it. Mark gets out and starts unloading without so much as a salutation for any of us. Hmmm ... something's up but I will just let it slide for the moment. He is even unusually oblivious to the curious dog noses poking into every new package. By the fourth bag of groceries deposited on the porch, however, he mutters something inaudible. This is my historic cue to open the floodgates of what has been eating at him. An impressive flood it was, too, and I soon became drenched with anger and outrage myself.

The Tale: About ten minutes after he had called, he was still on that part of the road which we both find unpleasant for its never-ending heavy washboard ripples and its thin layer of gravel which feels like oiled ball bearings under the wheels. Aside from the feeling of very little traction, we are going to have to make these trucks last a long time to come and, as a result, we plug along this section at 10 to 20 MPH tops.

Unfortunately, our town runs also put us in the position of being a lone salmon facing a steady stream of gas field vehicles heading into the field in the morning and back out at night. Such was again the case when Mark approached a blind corner after calling me. A pick-up going about 60 MPH popped into view and lost control as the driver swerved to avoid the guaranteed head-on collision. It was now sideways in the loose gravel and still heading for Mark. Mixed in with the thoughts that he was about to become a fatality, Mark managed a hard dive into the high brush on his right and braced for the crash. A kind brushing of fate had the other truck hook a little traction at the last moment and nearly straighten back out, nearly. Mark felt a sharp jolt and knew that he had been clipped as the other truck sped up and disappeared without so much as a tap of the brake lights in some sense of decency or responsibility.

Still shaking from the sudden adrenaline dump, Mark stepped out to survey the situation. Sure enough, there was a heavy swipe running from his left rear wheel well to the rear bumper which ended by breaking the rear tail light. And the guy never even thought about stopping for even a second - that was the final insult to injury. Our field friends looked for a week to find the culprit but their efforts yielded nothing so we are kicking this up several notches now.

There is a disturbing new trend in the gas field towards producers running vehicles without any identifying signage at all and nearly black windows. This anonymity is certainly handy in incidents such as the one Mark just survived and we are pretty angry and determined at this point to get some accountability and responsibility restored to where it belongs. We will let you know if we have any success to this end so "Watch This Space". If this incident had ended Mark's life or incapacitated him, this dream of ours and this blog would have all come to a painfully abrupt end so it seems a worthy quest to pursue the matter on principle.

No Mo' Lampshade - Hallelujah!

While there was plenty to write about during this past week, I just couldn't get myself into the right mood to do it. I was generally sort of disgruntled although I can't say that I would necessarily recognize a feeling of 'gruntled' either.

The photo has nothing to do with any state of gruntling at all. It is announcing that Brou is now free at last from 'The Cone' and that our shins are starting to heal, the cats are starting to unwind again. Here's Brou looking out the window in a pose which reminded Mark of something he couldn't put a finger on right away. It finally occurred to him that it reminded him of a particular Edward Gorey illustration which is shown below the image of Brou. Hey, you have more thought time to make strange associations when you reside in the middle of nowhere.

I will write more, either tomorrow or on Sunday, about the event which ignited my disgruntlement. Mark also had his gruntle severely wrinkled by the matter. Never a dull or occasionally deadly moment out here up the creek, it seems.

A Good View of the Ol' BombBay

I heard Mark exclaim "Gagghhh!!! You're really part pig, aren't you, Daisy?!" so I looked out the window. I shouldn't have. What used to be the tri-color new dog in town was now a uniform, dripping mud brown. Worse still, she had convinced Brou to follow her into the mud wallow. So much for the vet insisting that we keep his surgery site clean. Sigh.

With the addition of this newest warm body to the clan of the rat trailer, I was beginning to understand the concept of population stress. I was having a serious lemming moment, in fact, so I rounded up the kitty boys to go hiking in search of cliffs. Ms. Daisy was secured to the grounds but Brou tagged along with us. The cats seemed a little miffed that we didn't leave him behind like we did last time but got over it quickly.

About a mile away from home base, we were hiking along half way up the mesa when a low flying B1 bomber flew directly, and I do mean directly, overhead. Close enough to see some details, loud enough to raise the hackles on everyone in the hiking party. It was awesome! Well, at least I thought so but, then again, I am a gearhead. Brou went berserk, barking and jumping up and down as he loves to do when the low fliers approach. Ming the cat velcroed himself in place, his eyes so big that they were almost glowing, his ears dead-sideways and now looking like two black horns. He laughably looked like a demon having a very bad hair day. But where was Beautiful Dave the Cat? He must have taken off like a jack rabbit because I spotted him some five minutes later emerging from the shelter of a cliff wall a good distance away.

Between the fly-over and seeing several new-to-me flowering desert plants, it was a marvelous walk about. Well, maybe 'the boys' didn't think so but I sure did.

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Humor of the day: (from buddy John E. in Phoenix)

Happy Mother's Day

So, we had this great 10 year old cat named Jack who just recently died. Jack was a great cat and the kids would carry him around and sit on him and nothing ever bothered him. He used to hang out and nap all day long on this mat in our bathroom. Well we have 3 kids and at the time of this story they were 4 years old, 3 years old and 1 year old. The middle one is Eli. Eli really loves chapstick.... LOVES it! He kept asking to use my chapstick and then losing it. So finally one day I showed him where in the bathroom I keep my chapstick and how he could use it whenever he wanted to, but he needed to put it right back in the drawer when he was done.

Last year on Mother's Day, we were having the typical rush around and try to get ready for Church with everyone crying and carrying on. My two boys are fighting over the toy in the cereal box. I am trying to nurse my little one at the same time I am putting on my make-up. Everything is a mess and everyone has long forgotten that this is a wonderful day to honor me and the amazing job that is motherhood. We finally have the older one and the baby loaded in the car and I am looking for Eli. I have searched everywhere and I finally round the corner to go into the bathroom. And there was Eli. He was applying my chapstick very carefully to Jack's ... rear end. Eli looked right into my eyes and said "chapped."

Now if you have a cat, you know that he is right--their little butts do look pretty chapped. And, frankly, Jack didn't seem to mind. And the only question to really ask at that point was whether it was the FIRST time Eli had done that to the cat's behind or the hundredth.

And THAT is my favorite Mother's Day moment ever because it reminds us that no matter how hard we try to civilize these glorious little creatures, there will always be that day when you realize they've been using your chapstick on the cat's butt.

Laughter really can be the best medicine

We've had a run of overcast skies and damp, chilly temperatures. Slim sounded pretty bummed out on Friday during the rain but had lucked out up top on Saturday and Sunday with a dry weather window for his annual cattle round-up. I don't imagine that having a trailer full of rained-out volunteer workers and bored kids would be a treat when everyone had been hyped up for serious cowboy action. Nor could I imagine having to wrestle with a lot of wet calves in the mud, especially since we still have all of his plumbing supplies in the back of the Dodge that he needed to get the showers up and running again. I guess we all just ran out of time on that project.

We had our own cabin fever moments brought on by this weather. It turns out that Daisy, the new dog in town, loves to find mud holes and returns soaking wet and mud covered. As she dries out, her thick, kinky hair sheds dust everywhere by the mound full. To cut down on the dirt, we have been keeping her indoors far more than hoped for. Two people and four critters are possibly too many for a place the size of the rat trailer, especially when that really means the kitchen and living room area. Daisy chases one of the cats, Brou chases Daisy as the new enforcer, Mark chases Brou to call him off. I sit here wondering where all the wonderfully deafening silence has suddenly gone.

A cabin fever hike was overdue. Rather than bring the entire entourage, I snuck away with just the original boys; Beautiful Dave the Cat and Ming the Merciless. As we threaded our way through the sage to the spring, I could hear Mark's exasperation with the two dogs who knew very well that they had been left behind. Just me and 'the kitty boys' once again and thankfully the whining and barking died down after we disappeared from view. Serenity had returned at last. We hiked along, exploring new and intriguing holes in the eroded sandstone walls and finally finding a new way up the embankment to the first bench overhead. Ming dashed from the cover of one tree to another but Dave boldly walked out in the open with me so I scanned the skies overhead for the golden eagles who had just been patrolling for prey again yesterday. So far, so good but maybe they had a better sense of the weather than I since it started to rain. Nothing like a little rain to motivate cats, believe me. Before long, we were all at a trotting pace for the half mile trek back towards the rat. Once the boys recognized our standard trail down, it was obviously 'every man and cat for himself' and they left me behind to pick my own way down the treacherous shale around the yuccas. The boys looked a little mousse-spiky from the rain and I must have gotten a serious chill.

I was feeling pretty miserable by the time the generator came on and was able to check on a friend's blog. I felt a surge of warm energy run through my aching, shivering limbs as my eyes welled up with tears from laughter. It's obvious that this man has not lost the ability to tell a good story in 35 years. If you need a good laugh, check out his tale of May 5th at:
http://alphonsedamooseramblings.blogspot.com/
or just click on his link on the left side of this page.
Thanks, Alphonse, I sure needed that.

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Humor of the day (sent in by Alphonse himself)

Barbara Walters did a story on gender roles in Kabul, Afghanistan, several years before the Afghan conflict and noted that women customarily walked 5 paces behind their husbands.

She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands. To her great consternation, despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem happy to maintain the old custom and walk even further back behind their husbands now.

She approached one of the Afghani women and asked, "Why do you now seem happy with the old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?"

The woman looked Ms. Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation, said, "Land mines."