Do na da go hv i, U na li i

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It's been a sad week for some of my blog friends. Mushy lost his high school friend, Danny, this week after a long battle with cancer. Moose lost his sweet mother just this morning. My sympathies, my dear friends ... I mean that sincerely.

It was only last night that I found our own sad news; a friend had left us as well. I have not replied to that e-mail yet but I will when I can find the needed words but first I must talk to her here.

She was given the name Vonda, a name which her mother told her was Tsalagi (Cherokee) for 'Child of the Morning'. And she was as bright and sparkling as a new sun rising with fresh, limitless possibilities. She befriended me when I signed up to do graphic art for the Main Street effort in an otherwise spiritless and cold village.

"Vonda, they laid you to that final rest today in a place so very far away from here. I was not by your side in the flesh but I was there anyway. The tears no longer easily fall from my eyes but they still rain within my heart, unseen but as ever sorrowful. I will miss you.

You were there to help before I could ever be shamed to ask in desperation. You gave your heart, time and most treasured belongings to anyone you met. And you were forever hurt in a half dozen decades by takers and users but never let it stop you from giving. I wish I had your relentless faith in mankind, I really do. But I somehow fear that you were finally used up like the precious commodity that you were, that your big heart could no longer bear you aloft in this world.

You befriended me despite my many eccentricities. You adopted us as family. You never hid me from your famous, fancier and richer friends - your love had no earthly boundaries.

I can count the number of people I have met, admired and learned to trust on less digits than my fingers and toes. You took a place on one counting digit and it will likely remain reserved for you. Farewell, friend (Do na da go hv i, U na li i) ... I will miss you deeply until we meet again."
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I stared out the window today, a lot. And I saw an eagle circling, unusual since they had not been by in quite a while. I grabbed the camera with the zoom lens and threw open the window. Just as I was able to focus in on this visitor, it disappeared from view. I lowered the camera and scanned the skies intently for any trace of it. It was simply gone. Perhaps moved on to some freer, more effortless realm of flight as my Vonda did.
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Ads with Subtractions

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I'll admit it, my muse has left me for the moment. And not in a kindly parting either. She smacked me in the face, packed her stuff and slammed the screen door behind her. Okay, so maybe we don't have the screen door installed yet but you get the idea. I think it was all over Mark coming home VERY sick on Wednesday and showing no improvement since, despite already being on antibiotics! Out here in the middle of nowhere, especially when you have no health insurance, such things can be a worry. Tomorrow, the herbs and medicinals will be dragged out again to be brewed up in hearty measures of teas and soups.

In the meantime, I was at a loss to post what I had in mind so I rummaged through my files for inspiration and came up with these. It's all about advertising and these particularly annoying or confounding ads popped up in New Mexico. Do you ever come across ads which simply hit you the wrong way? And do you ever wonder if they did that on purpose?
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This one REALLY grates on me. Maybe it's the message that this woman equates the ultimate proof of love with what material fluff a man can buy her. Whatever it is, I just want to catch Ms. Bad-smell-under-her-Nose bending over and plant a good and pointy-toed boot in her fanny SOOOO badly. Is it just me here? Too bad the image scan lost some of that irritating, nearly snarling snottiness though.
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. Mark was naturally the one to first point out this very disconcerting mixed message above. Here is a very purpose-built device which could make a fellow squirm on a good day and right there in the middle of the ad is a photo of a very appealing young lady. We just didn't 'get it' so we consulted with our professional cattleman, Slim. "Woooo (wince), well, I sure see where you're coming from on that one (wince), no doubt about it. Well, all's I can figure here is that the company owner has that pretty young daughter there and decided to get the message out real subtle-like, you know, while still taking a write-off as advertising." Hey, he's our expert in cowboy affairs and it sure beat any of our possible explanations.
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Here, Lets Try This Then

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Apologies to all the rabid grammarians out there but I removed the contraction apostrophe in the post title (and might yet regret leaving the comma in). It appears to me that these things insert all sorts of unexpected html gibberish if you leave them in place in titles. And I am not in the mood for html hieroglyphs on a good day. It's just another ol' Sam Ludd thing, you see.
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Thanks to your moral support (I WILL remember those who were kindly) when I really needed it, I have come up with this blog plan for the summer:

After today's post, I will be back on the 27th of June and will try to post a story by every Friday thereafter until autumn. Since there are so many stories yet to be shared, these postings might run a little longer than the previous ones and cover several subjects. I know, this is a long interval between posts but a necessary one at the moment.
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Here are the remnants of the old log barn built in the early 1900s. It seemed more fitting to memorialize it in the colorless sepia tones of that era when things were so much harder, so much more demanding of effort to accomplish even the slightest task. Shovels, picks, axes, sweat, a strong back and a powerful stubbornness. Supplies from the outside normally brought in by tall-standing Model Ts with rigid suspensions and near-gossamer tires as time, fortune and technology moved on. But that breed of stone-tough people had arrived by horse-drawn wagon over tracks which were yet to be forged or civilized, had to build their own shelter from scratch in either blistering heat or the inescapable bite of winter. They had no health insurance, no pension, no social hammock to fall back on. They died in the normal course of working and giving life. But they were strong and vibrant with few expectations and appreciated every blessing from nature, fate and the accomplishments wrung from their own calloused hands. Where has the one hundred years hence really brought us? We now die older ... but not necessarily more content and more fulfilled. How do you think and feel on this subject?
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Giving Up the Blog Ghost

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Yes, I am thinking about hanging up the blog rake in the barn, at least for the summer. But first an update on the news at Rat Town.
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Slim's orphan calf, Bully Boy, is starting to look like a healthy calf of his age. Above is a photo taken a week ago. Not quite spunky but his eyes were starting to fill out again as he slowly rehydrated and recovered from malnutrition.

Just last night, Slim asked if he was going to have a heck of a time getting that calf away from me. I said "Well, Slim, I've got him halter broke, saddle broke and even starting dressage but, you know what?" "I can't imagine ... what?" "Well, it's obvious now that Bully Boy just isn't going to make it as my champion saddle bull. Sigh." "Now why you saying that?" "Slim, he's just not sprouting handlebars, know what I mean?" "I sure am sorry to hear that, yeah, it happens. I'll come take him home him then." "I knew you'd understand."
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Here is Bully Boy this morning after his morning bottle feeding which has become a ritual for the entire population of Rat Town. The cats now recognize this as their big outing of the day as soon as they see me fill the milk bottle and put on my long-sleeved shirt and rubber boots. They are already waiting impatiently at the rear door. The dogs are waiting just outside the door, knowing that there is a slight chance for a slurp from this super-sized baby bottle plus a chance to cavort legally with the calf. Somewhere in the middle of all this celebration, someone WILL step on one of my in-grown toenails and this seems to be an expected part of the troupe's merriment. And this was the first morning that the calf kicked up his heels and responded to the dog play. It told me that we had succeeded in bringing him back fully, such an incredibly warm feeling of accomplishment.
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Other news in brief: Mark is looking a bit better after that round of 'whatever that was' although still dreadfully fatigued. Slim is leaving the canyon this weekend with the last of his cattle and won't be back until early winter (serious bummer). The gas company which will be instrumental in our moving Rat Town up top was all 'hurry up and wait' which means that the monsoons may hit before their construction time schedule and the move may have to wait until next year. Which means that I will not have my creative life back until then (this aspect of treading water is getting REAL old). Sooo, all things considered, I am feeling a little uninspired at the moment. Which brings about my decision to stop making new blog entries for a while. Here are the other reasons:

With the exception of a very few family members and some kindly and encouraging souls I have met along the way, it doesn't appear that anyone has that much interest in reading about this particular subject, at least as I am capable of presenting it. That is despite an article in WSJ which talked about the looming energy crisis spawning a trend to go rural and self-sufficient. In other words, shit ... I couldn't make lemonade even after a tornado hit a lemon grove. Maybe I sound a little discouraged? You bet, especially after hearing friends talk about their million hits a month. According to my mother, I still wasn't talking much by age four. The kindly doctor told her that I was fine but just didn't have anything I felt was worth saying. I think I am going to head back to that philosophy for a while rather than talk largely to myself. I have a lot of planning and design work that I have been putting off in shameless and delinquent ways so it will feel great to get some of it done now.

With the doubling of fuel costs, the practical side of me says that I don't need to be burning daytime generator in order to keep up with both the blog AND my e-mails. It's starting to cost some serious money and wear on the generator to keep that pleasure up so it's time to reconsider the brutal economics of it.

Since a lot of my favorite blog friends have decided to put their own blogs on hold for the summer, it is as good a time as any for me to give it a try, too. I'm not saying that this is going to work any better than trying to ignore those big, gorgeous chocolate bars in the pantry but I am going to try any way. In the meantime, you are invited to read through the archives. Just start at the beginning since this IS a journal of our challenges and joys to date. If you have any questions, just ask. It was always my primary intent to encourage others (at least genuinely NICE others) to follow their dreams of settling into the countryside. It's a great life if you don't bring any city rudeness with you.
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The Parting Shot (humorous images sent in by Ken)
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Don't ever give up on pursuing the greener grass on the other side of the fence even though it can present some unexpected technical problems.
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Yep, this is what we experienced as we finally escaped a 15 year exile in Northern Ill-annoys to our new greener pasture. I like to think of this as God's way of saying "Never look back on that place and such people with any regret" and it has surely worked. If you are not one of the "What have you done for ME, ME, ME in the last five minutes" sort of folks, I hope you find your own greener pasture soon.
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Joys of Big Boys and Their Toys

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I'm just pacing and killing time until Mark returns to the canyon. It was to be one day of driving West and a day of driving back but he got sick last night while traveling, very sick; hasn't kept a thing down in his stomach for the last 24 hours. Was it a matter of catching the stomach flu or running into one of those killer sliced tomatoes ... who knows. But he is not a healthy or happy camper and he's now under strict orders from the Fuhrer of Worry to either stop at another motel for the night or, if he insists, head into the canyon without our usual supply stops. Pace, pace, pace ... no phone update yet.

I am posting this non-journal item in the interim to take my mind off of his well-being and whereabouts.
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Update (10:30PM): Our boy finally made it home and fell immediately into bed. The roughness of the dirt road had compelled him to stop several times to heave from an already barren stomach and he looked disturbingly ashen as he listlessly trudged over from the truck. Before dropping off to sleep, he expressed his great thankfulness to finally be home. Me, too!!! We'll see what tomorrow brings for him.

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I love watching any truly skilled craftsman at work whether it be a stone mason, a jeweler, a glass blower, it doesn't matter. But show me a heavy equipment operator with finesse and I could sit there spellbound for an entire day. Buddy John has sent me links to videos such as one showing how a skid steer operator loaded himself onto a tall flat bed without ramps that left me breathless but his latest series of photos tops even that performance. You will need to click on the image to see the details but it's only 250K and absolutely worth the download.

This is a back hoe operator in action. You're not going to believe what he does with his machine to get a job done. And here I am all thrilled if I manage to walk down the Rat's rickety stairs without falling on my butt. This fellow is a true master of his trade! And with more than just abs of steel.
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Petro Tour 03

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Since there were so many petroglyphs at this one site, I just couldn't resist sharing a few more with you before continuing on to the ruins.
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This one is so very old and worn but you can still see the faded shape of a figure. Notice the fine gravel and layers of sand in this sedimentary rock.
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Although not the most pronounced and best preserved, I think my favorite is this turkey which was etched in good proportion and great detail right down to his feathers. It is hard to say if he succumbed to an ice pick in the butt or if that symbol had been there earlier or added later.
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Brou intently analyzing the Spanish horsemen of the big panel.
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Cousin Colin intently analyzing another cache of carvings.
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Colin caught up and asked if I had seen that odd 'statue' back around the corner. "You mean the one that looks like a frog in a tri-corn hat and uniform from the 18th century?" "Yes! That one indeed!" and then we laughed about how two eccentric minds can think so alike.
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Now, before you go getting all fluttery about the deeply mystical and superior spiritual nature of these ancient inhabitants, let me bring you back down to earth a notch or two as did my very, uhm, unusual and unexpected guide at Mesa Verde. He had overheard an official park guide expounding in rapt New Age speak about the inhabitants and the great spiritual significance of their every structure. He continued on with a hint of disdain that the people were not that dissimilar from us, living largely in unremarkable and mundane ways for the most part. I have no reason to doubt him, especially given his curious nature. An example of the mundane is shown below.
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We came across this inviting niche in the rocks and I crawled inside. Quite the cozy and intimate setting really. It wasn't until I exited that I noticed this faint carving which I have blown up for you in the upper right hand corner. This was obviously some young man's little den of seduction and he indiscreetly carved a tribute to his conquest later. This might even be one of the earliest examples of a fellow asking a young lady in to see his etchings. The archaeologist we met 'up top' confirmed this notion, stating that they had found some doozies in the way of prehistoric 'guy' art. Caves or bathroom walls ... boys have always been boys and will likely remain that way for as long as the human race survives. Ya gotta love 'em!
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It's good to be back for a bit so comment away if you feel like it!
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Petro Tour 02

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More views from Wednesday's petroglyph tour:
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If you look closely at the enlarged versions of these images, you may find many different styles and subjects mingling on a single panel of rock and which might have been carved any where from A.D. 500 to the 20th century.
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. Certainly look like elk prints to me, especially given the rack on that dancer!
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.This is the left half of one large split rock panel. Notice the Navajo corn growing up from a lineal rain cloud.
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.Here is the right half of the large panel. White men on horseback appear on the scene. At the top, one such rider was lost to the frailty of the sand stone.
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An enjoyable hodge podge of feet and who knows what else. Below shows you its setting on the skirt of a sandstone giant.
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I'll be back in a few days with a quick glimpse of the lands these peoples chose to call home and some ruins they left behind.
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Petro Tour 01

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We took a drive down the canyons late this morning and found new petroglyphs to explore, ones which we had not seen for ourselves as yet either. Virgil had told us about these a year or two ago and they were well worth the drive to visit. I want to show you the highlights over the next couple of posts.

If the weather holds, Colin and Terry will head into Albuquerque tomorrow for a couple of days. The forecast doesn't mention rain but the winds are kicking up and rocking the Rat a little and the skies are a dull gray.
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It was a perfect day to explore; the lightly overcast skies kept the temperatures bearable and these delicate prickly pear cactus flowers were in bloom everywhere along the petroglyph trail.
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Your guess is as good as mine as far as interpretations so let's just walk along quietly and enjoy them.
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I'll be back with more in a couple of days!
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Don't have a Cow, Dude

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Sunday's plan was for Mark and Colin (me cuz from England) to take a tour of the rest of the ranch and the proposed Rat Town site, maybe wander as far as Slim's camp. But plans never remain solid out here for long.

Before they even left home, Slim had called and asked if they would roundup a small orphan calf which a gas field worker had noticed in Slim's far northern range. If he hadn't noticed this little stray, it would have died in a few days so big brownie points go to Chevron this week for having some conscientious employees out there.

The cows and their calves had been shipped home to Colorado from that range two weeks ago and this little fella had somehow become separated from his mother and left behind. He managed to evade predators on his own and survive without cow milk at remarkable odds. He was born so late in the season that he was even missed in the Spring round-up and branding.

Mark and Colin restricted their tour to sights on the mission route and headed straight home once they picked up this emaciated calf. They unloaded him into our corral from the back of the pick up truck. .
.With a stop at Slim's for milk replacer and a very large baby bottle plus Slim's instructions, Mark did his first surrogate mother job and the calf obliged like he was in the care of Dr. Doolittle. You can see curious Brou in the foreground and Daisy's brown nose sniffing frantically at the calf's rear ankles. They had both chased cows before but this was their first chance to meet such a small version.
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Both became comfortable with the whole arrangement and settled down to relax and enjoy, everyone except Brou who was now far more interested in having a turn at that milk bottle.
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Photo of a young sitting bull

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After the first bottle-feeding was managed, Colin devised a sun shade/shelter from a scrounged wall panel and a metal frame and the young bull calf found it immediately and gratefully followed its moving shade until the sun set.
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. The calf was less interested in the later feedings and Colin, who has long experience with dairy cattle, showed Mark the above method for forcing the issue and it worked very well. The little bull calf has a lot of weight and strength to recover and can't be missing feedings now just because he feels like it.

He will probably be going home to Slim's camp in a day or two and I will miss not having him around. Since Slim is dead set against us having anything to do with horses, I am very tempted to have him leave the calf here as my future 'saddle bull'. That'll teach him to put me off having saddle horses. Hmphhh!
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For the next week or two, I won't be able to answer comments as often as I have done in the past so I am disabling the comment option until I can catch up later with visiting and commenting over at your blogs as well; in other words, enjoy your mini comment vacation!!! We'll be back before you know it!
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Comfort Thoughts

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The last several days have been physically unpleasant so I was almost glad to see that nearly everyone had wandered away from the blog to do Memorial Day Weekend things. But I am equally glad to see you wandering back now, it lifts my sodden spirit and body considerably. I finally had enough last night of languishing atop bedding which I had drenched repeatedly since last week . I got up, lit the kerosene lamp and sat quietly in front of the Rat's large living room windows, letting the breeze wick away some excessive fever heat. My lymph nodes (or were they nymph lodes? I was too drained to figure which) were aching away painfully. According to the pain mimicking broken ribs when I cough (which thankfully isn't often), I suspect I might have a touch of pneumonia settling in. I was going to do up an herbal chicken soup but I knew that the eye-watering aroma of heavy amounts of garlic would have Mark gagging, screeching like a girly and heading for the door so maybe later today! The soup really does work well though; garlic, onion, turmeric and whatever else jumps to the fore medicinally as I scrounge through the cupboard.

And when I feel this down, comfort thoughts are as important to me as comfort foods. Comfort thoughts have helped sustain me through many bleak times at the Rat so far. I was reminded of this today when a friend wrote about the joy of creating with his hands. I needed that reminder. Creating with my hands was one of the activities by which I defined myself and my greatest joys. Restoration more so; reviving things which have been unappreciated, neglected, tossed aside and left to rot away, little bits of history possibly insignificant but a loss nonetheless if they disappear forever.

So, in my aching misery, I thought back to consider an odd cart which is now underneath the 45' moving trailer, just barely out of any driving rains but still subject to the direct ravages of the sun and dusty winds. Like my dear friend, the Katlady, I have a great appreciation for things built to last; like things made out of oak and cast iron, not molded plastic destined to clog landfills in two short years after the sun destroys them. I am sure this common passion forged our friendship even deeper beyond our mutual love of motorcycles. And she taught me the fine art of abandoning all dignity in high heels to salvage a roadside or dumpster piece with, you know ... potential!

Mark is generally a placid, logical and analytical creature. These are excellent traits in a partner for a scavenger who can actually follow through with a renaissance. But it took a while for those traits to develop a calm faith in what the junk cat had just dragged home; quite a while actually.
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.Case in point is the cart shown above. I got those junk hound goose-bumps when I found it. Cast iron and vestiges of solid oak ... chills down the spine. Although I had help in loading it into my truck, I was able to unload it (ain't gravity a wonderful thing?) just minutes before Mark was due home. I garaged the truck quickly and posed nonchalantly upon my new treasure and waited for seemingly ever until I could hear his footsteps coming up the long drive. And then steeled myself.

My salutation and broad grin drew his attention to my new and vulgar settee. Before he could compose himself, he flashed the old 'look'. But this time he imagined that it was truly justified as he surveyed my proud pile of rust, red paint and rotted wood. "Sigh ... mind telling me what you brought this home for?" "Absolutely! I've ALWAYS wanted one of these!" "I see ... but ... why?" "Well, because I've always loved Victorian railroad era stuff and this just ... " "But it's totally shot, Lin, a pile of junk that someone was thrilled that you dragged away. And that they made a few bucks in the process." "Sigh ... oh, you of little faith as usual. Here, grab one end and lift - it cost me less pound to pound than bags of ready-mix cement!" His turned, sighed again and then shrugged in martyr-like fashion and walked towards the house.
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Okay, fine then; you can see from the detail above that maybe it wouldn't have stunning curb appeal to most. If it had, I wouldn't have been able to afford it either. So much oak had rotted away around the carriage bolts over the front casters, one push handle was completely missing, the other hopelessly bunged up, the cast iron wheels were so badly rusted and seized and, in some places, looked as though they had been run through cement and left to dry that way. Are you starting to get the idea? This was a magnificent challenge of the first order, especially now that Mark had cast down that biting gauntlet of doubt.

I made a pilgrimage up to my wood man and he was able to supply me with straight grain white oak planed down to precise widths, enough to make two new push handles and replace two sides of the cart. Not cheap mind you since we're not talking big box store crappy pine or even their pricey red oak here. It was a healthy three digits before I got out of there with the oak and a short mahogany plank for a spinet desk restoration. This is why I was so protective of my restorations supplies. I remember one occasion where I heard the shattering of my salvaged antique glass in MY shop and went to investigate. Mark and a visitor emerged pleased and proudly holding a two foot long piece of my custom cut and planed 2" straight-grained white oak. "Took a while to find but this piece will be perfect to drive the RV up onto to level it out!" They beamed, at least until they saw my ashen reaction. "Uhm, that is a $60 chunk of wood you're holding there so I would prefer it if you could find something else, okay?"

Now the sanctuary of even that dark, damp shop is gone. The long-collected supplies had to be jettisoned at the last moment thanks to the sloth of professional movers in packing our semi-trailer and that deepest joy of my creative life vanished with it.

So here is my hard-earned advice to you if you plan on relocating to the boonies: know the passions which are dearest to you, make sure that they make the move and are accessible in relatively short order. If the vent of that passion is denied you, you may wither much sooner on the vine when other challenges come to the forefront. Such passions might be books and reading, knitting, fly-tying, your attempt at the world's largest ball of tin foil - it doesn't matter, don't let it slip away when you are about to tackle a radical change of lifestyle. Comfort thoughts are very helpful but can only last so long.
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Here was the finished product. Cutting mortise joints into that long side plank of 2" oak to fit tested my absolute strength with each pass. With no sandblasting available, I had to chip, chisel and file the corrosion off each cast iron wheel. The front casters were horribly worn and resting at lax angles but I was able to find the perfect piece of metal tubing to act as a new, snug bushing after being packed with grease. While fussing over the cast wheels, I came across a foundry name and did some research on it. It was active during the Civil War and survived almost into the new century. At that point, I stood back and became very pleased with my bit of preservation. Don't ever think that you can't save a small piece of history here and there. I've see so many wonderful things accomplished by first-timers simply willing to try.
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Everything Hits the High Desert

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Seems as though in every place I have ever lived, eventually some local would come up with that painfully tired old saw "If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes." Heard it, thank you, bo-ring.

While New Mexico normally has very predictable and pleasant weather, it can throw in some extremes from time to time. The following photos describe our weather over the course of the last four days. The irony struck me in that I am trying to advise my cousin on what to bring in the way of apparel for his visit next week. At this rate, he will need four steamer trucks and a state room on the QE2. But that is our little secret; we can always find him suitable garments once he hops off the plane with his single carry-on bag.

.Tuesday: Low 90s in the shade

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Wednesday: High winds and dusty! 80 degrees

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Thursday: Cooler mid 50s, the rains move in

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Friday: Snow!

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As fragile as they appear, the hummingbirds never let the snowflakes as large as silver dollars slow down their quest for nectar!
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Techno warning! It took my computer over half an hour to switch on this morning. Since it doesn't have a spark plug, I haven't a clue how to remedy this problem which has become steadily worse over the last few months. If I disappear without warning, know that computer death is the likely cause!
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Summer Hits the High Desert

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It has been simply gorgeous out here today. The sun is gauzed over lightly by wispy clouds, keeping the air cooler than normal. There is a strong wind blowing through, suggesting that Nature is about to bring new weather our way. You never know quite which way she will change, you simply know that there is change afoot.

And I am finally comfortable in pronouncing that summer has hit our high desert. It was barely two weeks ago that we had our last hard frost with temperatures dropping down into the mid-twenties before dawn. That one felt like the last official frost of winter to me, finally! Yesterday, the temperature broke the nineties mark and prompted the annual ritual of reviving the swamp cooler. If you have never lived in arid regions, then you probably haven't a clue about how this odd, simplistic and miraculous item works. If you tried this in Missouri, you would be mildewed from head to toe and sweating even more profusely.

The more dignified and descriptive name for this device is 'evaporative cooler'. The idea is to drizzle water down over fairly absorbent materials in the in-take filters so that air flow will cause 'evaporative cooling'. To bring this idea home, remember back to running under the sprinkler as a child and feeling the breeze bring a goose-bumpy chill as it hit and dried the water on your skin. THAT is evaporative cooling at work!
.The Rat's swamp cooler had been draped over with canvas since last Fall and now the Spring uncovering and resurrection was due. It is a ritual to mark the seasons. Mark found and readied the ladder and, since I am least likely to break the Rat's smallish rafters with weight, I climbed up onto the roof and unfastened the tarp cover. Mark winces noticeably when I scale the metal ladder in my 'construction slippers' (which are basically soft-bottomed moccasins) but I like the real time connection with my footing and the rungs don't seem to bother my in-step at all. This explanation of the 'construction slipper' is really for my U.K. cousin who has asked what apparel might be most suitable during his upcoming visit. The term came about since I have used such footwear forever and for everything, including severe house make-overs. Mark never did get over my use of them and OSHA would undoubtedly faint dead away at the prospect. But what was most hilarious was when I mentioned construction slippers to an old friend who I found again after twenty years and he knew EXACTLY what I meant. "You wear construction slippers, too?!" Sure enough, he sent me a photo of himself building a log cabin and shod ever so comfortably in those versatile moccasins. Great minds and all that, you know, but not recommended for the faint of heart and tender of foot.

Mark scaled the ladder next and siphoned out the slimy residue left over from last year before refilling the sump reservoir and making sure that the make-up water float control was functioning properly.

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Job done! Here is the swamp cooler ready for hot weather action once again. Now you can see that the unit has a louvered intake panel on all fours sides. Behind each louver is a pad of material over which water is drizzled continually by a small amp pump. The big strain on the generator is the start-up of the fan motor, one not unlike your furnace fan but without it, you are not going to get any cooling effect in the living space.

Our regimen is to open the exterior hose bib which supplies the water to the pump and then let it catch up since water will evaporate from the reservoir over night. To allow proper and even through-circulation, we then open a window at each far end of the Rat and make sure to close intermediate windows or at least narrow the openings considerably. Then we make sure that the sensitive computers are not on during the start-up of the cooler. You can turn them on as soon as the start-up amp demand of the fan motor has been satisfied however. The last step is hitting the cooler switch. If the start-up doesn't kill the generator with its demand, you grin and begin to feel the cool relief wafting down from the big ceiling vent ... a glorious relief!

The pros and cons of this unit in our situation:

I suppose we could have gone without any cooling at all and simply lay there sweating and whining incessantly throughout the entire summer but both of us run body systems more suited to Alaska and don't tolerate heat all that well (don't ask us why we settled in the desert - it was just one of those strong emotional things).

With the prospect of only generator power and maybe eventually solar power, standard compressor-driven 'refrigerated' cooling was absolutely out of the question. The electric supply required to keep such a system happy was too great for our situation.

The swamp cooler has much less electrical demand but it is a shameless water hog. I monitored its water consumption through the translucent walls of our 350 gallon water tank. The unit will consistently use almost 100 gallons of water a day during the hottest weather. If you have to truck water in, this is not an affordable option. Fortunately, we have a shallow and plentiful well and can refill our tank as needed.

Just as an exercise, now consider what demands such popular cooling systems would place on the limited water resources of any quickly growing city in the desert. Some new desert McMansions may consume three or four times that amount of water. You can eat up water or electricity ... or just wilt miserably and unproductively in the heat. Decisions, decisions, decisions ... as always.
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Me-me-me-me

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Okay, okay, fine then ... I will indulge in one of these meme things despite my usual stance, as expressed in the blog preface. But ONLY due to the unlikely planetary alignments which cascaded into place: A) Scully 'tagged' me and I happen to have a soft spot for her. B) Carteach did a titillating and inspiring job of responding to her challenge already. C) They both confessed that it was an effort requiring few deep mental gyrations D) AND the most important aspect of this rare alignment; I belatedly stumbled upon a post from Buck in which he had been tagged and respectfully acknowledged that I was not an option in passing on such a slimy booger. Guilt will get you EVERYWHERE with me; my mother could have told you that without a pause or a quick blink. Just don't think that I have declared open-season now, okay? I AM still a hermit and curmudgeon after all - you must not forget that this is why I am out here writing this journal in the first place.

Soo ... the idea is to answer these questions with only a photo or other graphic, NO words allowed. Here goes then (but I reserve the right to complete and childish asininity):

1. What is your current relationship status?
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2. What is your current mood?
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3. What is your favorite band/singer?
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4. What is your favorite movie?
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5. What kind of pets do you have?
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6. Where do you live?
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7. Where do you work?
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8. Who do you look like?
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9. What do you drive?
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10. What did you do on Saturday?
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11. What did you do on Sunday?.
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12. What is your favourite network TV Show?
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N/A
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13. Describe Yourself.

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14. What is your favorite candy?

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Sooo ... do I dare pass this one on to the other folks regularly supporting my social life with their comments (and haven't already been tagged)? How about Buck, Mushy, Fat Hairy, Cat, Bruno, David, Ginger, Da Moose, Goddess, Alex, putz? It's okay, you can be a curmudgeon just like me. And who did I miss that might actually be game for any of this foolishness? Just let me know!
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