Gettin’ Old, This Adventure Called 'Life' Continues, However…………..

[Gary O]

Well, crap.

I may have fallen head first into male menopause.

I had to move some financial stuff around...I mean I 'had' to.
Thought it'd be a struggle.
Wrung my hands for days...OK, maybe a few hours.
Then made 'the call'.

'Sure Mr O, not a problem.'
'We'll send you the details and confirmation number tomorrow.'
I wanted to cry....really, got all choked up, couldn't talk.
Only mustered out a frail  'thank you'
'Is there anything else we can do for you, Mr O?'
'No'
'Well, you have a nice day now'
'You too'

Watched American Idol the other night.
Had to turn the light off by my lazy boy.
Didn't want my woman to see her hairy an ol' man blubberin' away, face all twisted up, cause some pimple faced kid got a gold ticket.
Had to pretend cough to keep from exposing my sissy self.

just can't hold it in.

Analyse this, here I am.

Man, I need to punch something

[Gary O]

Ever sit on the back deck of a late summer afternoon and, in a quiet moment, a child or grandchild will come barrelin' around the corner, panting, temporarily spent, plopping down in the porch rocker beside you?
And you grab their interest by whittling on sumpm....
And they say, 'papaw, what'r ya makin'?'
'A punjab.'
And their interest is piqued, so you go into an analytical story of the workings of a punjab in relation to life itself.
Only their interest fades to REM stage, fighting the afternoon nap by jumping up and running off....right in the middle of yer profound dissertation of the dangers of teenage hood....

I mean, so what if you were peeling potatoes for supper.

.......coulda been a punjab.

[Gary O]

Gun love

Man, I've got this gun fetish.
Had it since I started walking on my hind legs.
I'm not gun nuts, only one cabinet, no safe, no shrines.
But
Since I was a kid, and bought that Winchester 30-30, I've always had a piece of metal that I've worshiped.
Right now it's my Ruger GP-100 357.
It fits my hand s-o-o-o-o-o well.

And the trigger action;
squeeze
Zero barrel movement all thru the action.

Been a 1911 nut for decades.
Used to time myself, stripping, cleaning, re-assembling.
It's been nothing but a pain, lately.

But that revolver.

It's love.

Sorry Springfield, Kimber, S&W.....you sexy sluts

Ruger 357
damn near self-cleaning;

[rick91351]

Adventures of living at Prairie

WOW as I ponder the last couple weeks and wonder where they went.  I like most people  building a house sort of get wound up tight and forget the good stuff.  Some times the good stuff comes easier - some times good stuff comes hard.  Some times the hard stuff comes disguised as bad but is good......

It all comes with a price be it good or bad.  The little country store up here has had every other week Taco Tuesdays all you can eat tacos – Some times people bring something to toss out on the table and we graze.  After word the dominoes and the pinnacle cards come out.  Table and chairs are moved all around and they play - some of us watch and talk.  I used to play pinnacle before the railroad stole my life.  Now I am watching and remembering those times before the railroad.  The game is coming back to me slowly now.  I talked to a logger up here harvesting timber from the burn for a while.  He just dropped in to see what condition his condition was in.  He drank a beer or two - the kind that has Clamato.  Me I'm sober since 1989 so I nurse a Diet Coke or an iced tea.  On the wall the large screen TV is playing off the satellite dish.  No one is apparently paying any attention to it.  Well until out of the blue some stud types show up on the TV with some girls that have almost nothing on.  And what they do have on sort of resembles a for us old guys that can remember back that far a Fredericks of Hollywood catalog  or if you are a young'in todays Victoria Secret catalog.  A couple of the women made a mad dash for the remote.  Elaine scored the remote and thumbed the channel off to something at looked like a test pattern.  I heard said, "It's a good thing Mary did not see that with her grandkids here."  They were all over across the room playing a board game or a card game.  I was unaware if they were aware of the TV.  Yet if we the adults were aware most surly the kids had their radar on......  Thank God America is not dead.  Thank God a Norman Rockwell painting still lives like this.  Places scattered out across this land.  I think God we still can visit them, and most of all to be part of them.   

As I wrote here in - some times the good stuff comes easier, some good stuff comes hard sometimes it is disguised.  It all comes with a price be it good or bad.  Our last February or first of March trip to town had a disaster moment.   It was a  disaster yet nothing was hurt really other than self pride, self sufficiency.  In classes I have taken those two culprits, those two exact things keep us away from the clan of man and others.  They cause us to almost fell we are more important and more creative than God Himself.  So I thank God no one was hurt, no one was injured   Yes no one was injured and as by what I will call divine providence it occurred where it did.  The road being closed between Boise and here.   There are road closed signs posted and if caught you can be ticketed.  The road around by the dam is a lot longer and tiresome.  Yet has a lot more paved miles.  It is sort of thou shalt things yet......  I knew the road from Boise was passable because the highway district has been working on it.  In fact I even called some one from the highway district and asked them what they thought.  I received the same answer I would have replied had it been me.  'Ya give it a shot and if you don't like it turn around and go back.'  Sounds so simple yet......how many people in the west and Pacific Northwest every year get stranded or freeze to death or die from exposure just doing the same thing?  The road from Boise is no exception.  Yet I know the road and know I can turn around and go back.  So I talk myself and my wife and the dogs into lets give it a try.  All three agree we shall.  However by doing so it could have been injurious to my wife and I - and others.  We turned off the freeway and went around the sign.  We almost made it to the top of the first grade or summit.  The road has a fairly thin coating of clay mud sort of like a potter slip.  I am holding over to the middle of the road or a little past.  Yet I cannot hold it over.  I turn the wheel  slightly, gingerly  to correct it.   It is slowly yet surly pulling me to the barrow pit or ditch on the other side of the road.  Like a NASA video of a black hole devouring a star that is our pick up.  In my mind I triangulate our course in my head.  We might make it.  A short 120 feet from the top I stop because we are now caught in the Idaho clay mud vortex for sure.  So I stop......  I think to myself if I put it in reverse we might just be able to back down to safety.  So I do and take my foot off the brake and are body slammed in to the barrow pit and the side hill. But we do stop.  I open the door and step out to assess the situation.  It is so slick with the Idaho clay 'dobby' mud you can not stand up.

As I mentioned earlier providence in deed divine providence for this is absolutely the last place on this route that you in close proximity to cell phone service until you reach the spotty service of Prairie  Down below this point there two other place after you leave the pavement where if you are addicted to you cell phone you can stop and treat your cell phone withdrawals.  Oh there are places but from the road and not a three hour climb to a mountain summit - up and back down in the dark just to check your Facebook page.  Call three friends and post something on Twitter.  So  I reach in and get my cell phone.  And struggle to the top of the hill though not far yet it is with this mud you can not hardly walk.  Yet maybe thirty feet there is sand - and the going gets good well not good but better......   I check for service....  It is there ..... Now my next dilemma......  Who do I call? ......Who is one my A list to call?  I think it over and call Pastor Joseph the guy that worked with me framing the house.  I tell him our problem and ask if he can give us a hand.  Joseph says he will be right there.  Well as right there as can be.  For it is an hour from Prairie to there on a good road.  This is not a good road.  So I go back to the pick up and change into my insulated bibs a grubby shirt - no coat because it is going to be trashed.  I get Sid the Shovel out of the tool box and a bunch of log chain and the pick up tire chains - one set.  I go under the front end and start pulling mud and cleaning sticky clay mud from the front end.  I get a set of chains on there.  I figure as as much time as I have I might as well try the rear end as well.  That turned out to be a lot harder or bordering on impossible with the bank where it was.  But it was something to do. Dig we must.....

About an hour and a half Joseph arrived white knuckled and not impressed with the road.  We talk about the options of getting us out.  I want him to pull me from the head end on the sandy spot on the road.  He opts for the rear end snatch grab and jerk out of the barrow pit thing.  I talk him into the head end being so I am chained up there.  So he gets into position  hook up and pull us out half way.  I take another hook and out it comes.  So now how do we get home?  Joseph says he figures back to the freeway and around by the dam.  And we can buy him dinner he missed in Mt. Home.  One thing about Pastor Joseph - God first then there is a jumble of helping others and food.  And he is thin and in shape.  I wonder when it is going to come crashing down on him. So far so .........  So I get turned around and down off the hill I come on that slick mud with the chains on the head end.  With more than a half ton of wonder board and other stuff in the back and chains on the front.  The rear wanted to be in the front, and the front in the back.  So would have speed up to keep it straight then slowly slow back down and the rear end would try and pass again.  I wanted to get the chains off but something was telling a little further a little further.  When we got to where there is a small RV park I stopped and jumped out to pull off the chain and got a laugh.  I went to the rear and no chains.  Huummm!  OH YA! Headend. DUHH!! Head end..... Joseph and I stood there and talked a short time, and someone else showed up and we told them what happened to us. They decided to go around as well.   We made sure Joseph was well feed on the way home.....

I look back the bad was not all that bad fact of the matter it was really pretty good that nothing bad had happened.  It was good that Joseph would come to our aid.  It was good I stopped where I did and we could get the other couple turned around or they surely would have ended up as we did.  Life is never dull with Norman Rockwell......

[Gary O]

Man, be gone a coupla months and I miss a Rick read.....



Dad passed away last week.
91

Man, I must be a weird ol' coot.
I just don't get sad or down with anyone's passing.
I may have spent a bit too much time with tribal elders.

Folks close, my sister, mom, grandfolks, friends, and now dad.
They all experienced what we know as life.
And then, in some way, they go back.
Pretty simple.
Either you savor life, the good and the bad, or you get all careful and watch TV or something....you become a watcher....now that's sad.


Folks around the shop kept askin' 'how ya doin'?
'Fine, you?'
The owner stopped by my office and asked if I wanted a card, knowing how I am.
I selfishly said no, then reconsidered....

I'm giving the eulogy at his memorial on the 24th.
Nobody else around willing or emotionally able.
Guess everyone has some sorta purpose.

Can't wait to get back to the cabin next month.

[Redoverfarm]

Gary sorry for your loss.  It wasn't but last fall I lost my Dad as well.  When it does come close to home which I am sure it will just remember it is a part of life.  We will survive but there will always be a piece missing. 

[rick91351]

Gary I have been wondering about dad.  Must be the vibe thing.  I am sure sorry to read his passing.  I am taken remembering your writing of interesting from time to time as I take a rest now and then.  I look over the hills and meadows - honest the word interesting pops in to my head.  I smile and giggle under my breath.  Don't want to let anyone know I have lost it any worse than I already.  I think someday ---- interesting ------ wonder what is under that rock ---- interesting.  Drove an Arizona highway I could see ahead forever ------ interesting.      Wonder what is up over that saddle as I climb a draw ---- notice a bug I don't think I seen before ----- interesting.  Thanks Gary now I have a song locked in my head.... interesting.  Your dad made more than one impression.....           

[Gary O]

Well.....ain't you guys the peach trees in this filbert orchard

[rick91351]

Well.....ain't you guys the peach trees in this filbert orchard

I like to think of us being the sycamore in the ponderosa pine forest.  The one pine tree that grows in the middle of a desert flat.  I think of myself being the one guy in the office (never worked in one) on tie less or blue jean Friday show up with a suit and tie or a tux and scowls at those that would so conform. 

[Gary O]

I've spent most of the week composing my father's memorial.
I've given speeches, held seminars, been the keynote speaker more than a few times, but it seems these events were just a preparation for this.

Not sure how many will be there this Saturday, it bein' Memorial weekend and all.
I really don't care.

If there's only ten of us, we'll share eleven people's memories of my Dad.

If the church is full, well, it's gonna get intimate.

I can make folks laugh and I can make 'em cry.
I'm the funeral guy.
The crowd is easy...emotions are at nerve ends, ready to erupt.

But this is so different.

There is no way I'm going to 'perform'.

I'm going to give my utmost to simply, surgically, depict everything I know about my Dad,
everything I've ever understood about my Dad,
everything good, everything not so good.....about my Dad.
Nobody will go home not knowing a bit more.... about my Dad.

Funny thing.
He'd be proud.

I wish I could see him,
in the audience,
one more time,
nodding his head,
smiling that smile that only he could.

Wish I could, one more time.

Sure wish I could....just one more time.

[rick91351]

Gary sounds like your living the best of times....living the worst of times..... good to miss him.  The alternative sure is not cool.....

[Gary O]

Welp, the festivities are over.

I knew about ten people of the 200 or so that came.
Hate it when they know me and I don't know them from Adam.


I'm now officially the eldest of the clan.

My head hurts. (freaking Irish wakes)


I'm precutting timbers for the new cabin.

Life goes on......

[rick91351]

Welp, the festivities are over.

I knew about ten people of the 200 or so that came.
Hate it when they know me and I don't know them from Adam.


I'm now officially the eldest of the clan.

My head hurts. (freaking Irish wakes)


I'm precutting timbers for the new cabin.

Life goes on......

Thanks for the update and sharing.....

rlr

[Gary O]

Not to belabor it...oh, why not.
One more shot.
There's only one funeral per customer.

So I'm the keynote speaker, or...not sure what the preacher said.....sumpm about life portrait, a synopsis per se.

Anyhoot, my brother nudges me and sez he wants to get up with me to say a few words.
Heh, he laid the first egg, and it was a doozey.

Yeah, we both bombed.

OK, there were over two hundred folks there...totaling eighteen thousand years.
Do the math.

Now I had a string of successful funerals hangin' on my belt, going back precentury.
Laughing, crying.
Pretty confident this would be no different.

I don't think anyone moved. Ever.
It was like talkin' to the stones on Easter Island.
I kept checkin' the mike.


After my brother crashed and burned, I looked at my notes and mentally scribbled out half the jokes.

I tried one, just to make sure;
'Dad always told me that if you are nervous about talking in front of a group, just envision them all in their underwear.'
I slowly panned the audience, stopped and stared at a couple grizzled degeneratarians.....then shuddered.
My brother, our wives, and a few folks laughed...then caught themselves.

Some folks think funerals are for sorrow and weeping only.
I call BS.
I consider that to be a bit too masochistic.
My dad enjoyed a good laugh.

So, my brother, our wives, and some select clan hit the bar down the road.
Man, the memories we shared were hilarious.
Not sure, but I think we closed the place.

'twas a good sendoff.

[Adam Roby]

In many cultures, the funeral is more of a celebration of life.  Sure you feel pain and sorrow about not having the person around anymore, but then you think about how it would be if you were in that casket your friends and family were all standing around crying and feeling terrible.  I think everyone grieves differently, and even if you feel terrible you should force a chuckle at a speech like that because you know the person speaking needs you to.  After all the funeral is for the living left behind, not the person that has passed away.

Sorry for your loss. 

[Gary O]

I can identify with this, Adam...it's rather tribal.

To add a bit, my family spirit beings seem able to be touched.
When I hold a saw, my grampa comes very much alive.

[rick91351]

Ellen asked me if I would preach and officiate my father-in-laws funeral.  I told her I would be honored.  I made one mistake  I took a chance with an open mic.  One granddaughter went to the mic and told everyone there they ought to lighten up....  Grandfather would not have liked the sad and solemn funeral and she did not either.  If looks could kill she would have been zapped and slapped by my mother in law......   Apparently none of us seemed to have seen him in the same light as she did.  None of us seemed to remember him as the fun loving quick witted person she seen grandfather as.  To me his personality and humor was left frozen in the North Dakota farmlands when he escaped off to the CCC's pre WWII.  This was also noted by a lot of people shuffling their feet and looking at their laps and a twinge of head shaking wondering just were in the world she came up with that one.  Very practical was Ellen's side of the family.  Lightening up did not seem to be in the fold of the German - Norwegian tradition he had propagated.  Pretty simple and straight forward was his stock......

My concentration sort of took a left turn thinking of everyone in Bozo the Clown hair and noses.  It was a sort of military funeral as he was a WWII vet.  Sort of spoiled the flag folding and presentation for me.   I managed to capture the somber tone once again as the bulk seemed to demand.  By golly I managed to pull it back in and pull it off........     

   

[Gary O]

So, the JB weld on the Jeep radiator housing finally gave up the ghost.
Dang, I think that was six months ago.

To braze or not to braze?

Aftermarket radiators are $150.
S-o-o-o-o, got it, the hoses, clamps, coolant.

Simple job.
I'll just knock this out and be watchin' jeopardy in an hour.

Took me all evening.

The toughest part of it all was getting the intake hose off the engine...and on the engine.
It's underneath....hiding...behind several other lines, hoses and brackets, and greasy things.
I could see it.
I could feel it.
I could actually get my hand wrapped around it.
That is all.

OK, taking it off...a razor knife....duh.
However, getting the hose clamp off was an adventure.
I could put my fingertip on the screw.
My trouble light revealed I was touching the non-screw end.....
It takes approximately 47 minutes to grind off a hose clamp when lying on yer back, reaching up with weary quivering 65 yr old arms.

Putting the new one on....not so fast, nimrod.
There's a convenient rise in the flange end so one can know there will be no leaking of coolant once the hose is on and the clamp is fastened in the correct position.

Once the hose is on.

After repeated attempts to press the hose on, I came to the realization that I shoulda worked out with those handgrips for '20 minutes every night' that I'd promised myself several years ago.

Soap!

I'll just slather the flange and the inside of the hose with soap!

In my weakened state, it didn't seem to matter.

In one last effort, before trudging to the showers in utter defeat, I took my bad arm, the one that is just happy to hang by my side, sometimes, on a good day, holding down the shift tab on the keyboard....and reached up, grabbed that hose, and, gritting my partials, doggedly pressed it, one more time....evenly onto the flange.

I'd like to take just a minute here to expound on the obscure long term benefits of the many teen and preteen months of, shall we say, extracurricular activity.
That hand is still amazing, and evidently still has more purpose than just opening stubborn canning jars.

The Jeep is now able to hold in all it's coolant, and all is now well in my tiny world.

[Gary O]

Dawgs are the greatest of drinking partners;

They don't tell stupid stories.
They don't get louder.
They don't sing...unless you do.
They're not offended by the term 'bitch'.
They're not offended by your farts. They enjoy them, taking in as much as possible, then looking into your eyes with an expression of sincere admiration that says 'good one'....and.....theirs are much much more potent.
They hang around when you pass out...especially if they are already passed out.
The snoring, twitching and air running is acceptable (they are really not bothered by whatever you do).
They have sense enough to take it outside when they feel the urge to throw up....or pee.
(I recommend drinking on the back deck for the lesser intellectual pups...or people).
But, if you happen to be the one to inadvertently blow chips, say, on the floor or deck, they don't go 'ewwwww!', but have been known to diligently clean things up....you don't even have to ask.
No training required.

and

walking sideways over to the water bowl is hilarious!

[Gary O]

Ode to ol' Gray



So' I've got this rag bin.

It's my special dresser drawer.

Third one down.

Where I keep the holy raiment of yore.

These are semblances of tank tops, sweat shirts, button up shirts.
They cannot be hung in the closet, lest they wither, spindle and involuntarily fall off the hanger to the carpet, never to be found, draped atop the dusty 17 pairs of shoes I never wear.

I have one that is the favorite of the favs.

It was a tank top, a gray tank top....pretty sure.
He comes to 'old Gray'.
Holes are getting bigger.
Thus, ol' Gray is getting bigger.
I think he's a 4X now.
I won't tell him.
He has a perpetual stain in the belly area.
I won't tell him that either.
Found him in the garbage a few months ago.
IN THE GARBAGE!!
Ol' Gray......tossed like....like....a rag.
I gently pulled him out of the refuse, like an abandoned newborn child.
Shook him at my woman.
Coffe grounds flittering to the floor.
'THIS! IS OLD GRAY! MR GRAY TO YOU!
IF HE GOES, I GO!!'

Dinner in the garage was cold.

I just laid him in the wash this morning.
I always have a bit of angst when I do this.
Hoping he doesn't get caught up in the lint catcher.
One day, not long from now, he'll become just a wad of fuzz, frolicking in the dryer.
Not a bad way to go, really.
I miss him already.

But,

Mr Beachy, my 'South Beach' imprinted blue tank top is waiting in the wings, fourth drawer down.
Akshly, he no longer shows South beach. I think it's 'out each', of which is a conversation piece with the babes.

'the babes' is my sweatshirt, keeping company with Mr Beachy in the fourth drawer, as I type.
Had to retrieve her from under the sink, beside the Bab-o cleanser, a few years ago.

I'd rifle thru my woman's dresser drawers and toss all her old underwear out,

but

I like seein' 'em on her too much.

sigh

[rick91351]

Recently I received an e-mail from our friends in the Seattle really the Tacoma Area.  Wondering where I am going to write my best seller in the house now that the house is pretty much complete or finished. I did come up short an office or writer's space in the design.  That was okay I told myself after all I am getting to old for that dream. I never have published.  I have never sold a story nor a book.  Nor a photo or anything I have created. Photography and writing was always been 99.9% as when I cook for my own enjoyment.  Oh I do toss out snippets of what I write now and then.  Or post a photo somewhere.  But most of my stuff is just mine. Yet there in the back of my mind there is always the idea of a project that I do sell.  That people clamor for more books and articles.

This letter of query did kick my mind in to gear and free some writer's rust. So I replied

Well that is a great question and I really have pondered that one.a lot.  I so hate typing on a laptop.  Writing is a struggle.  Yes it is a struggle for me anyway!  Wink!! Let alone on a laptop.  But when I go into writers mode my brain is firing so much stuff at me just trying to get a few chunks copied and secured is not easy.  Proofreading is a joke because my mind knows what I wrote.  I reread it and it is what I wanted to says but did not hit the page at all.  Right there somewhere between mind - fingers - eyes and jumble...  So when I proof read it is like my mind sees it as it should be but not as it is.  Hard to explain.

I am so excited by the thought of a desk with my 'old I Mac'.  Dad had a smallish desk we kept.  Small file drawers on both sides.  Pencil drawer in the middle.  I am thinking it was a Thomasville most likely wrong on that. But if you go back through when you were here.  The one bedroom that had the closet with the cubby hole above.  (Not the one Ellen said was going to be her sewing room / spare bedroom)  Single window off to the west.  That desk goes in there between the closet and the outside wall.  A niche just made for a desk.  I have a feeling I will spend a lot of time there and on the 'kitchen table'  or the dinette / nook table where we all sat while you guys were here.

But then after I sell ten million copies of my best seller I will have my own writer's cabin.  Wink!!!  With its custom built bookcases and my huge rosewood desk that I kept from the downstairs office.  The cabin is smallish with western artifacts and an old pot belly stove trimmed in nickel.  Glowing cherry red as I crank out page after page while Ellen is sewing her quilts on her longarm machine in the Quilters Cabin next door not far away yet worlds away.  Hers I see has been invaded by a ton of gabby ladys visiting most likely dropping off an applique for her to quilt.

I the writer am stumped - I'm tired and need a nap.  Funny how exhausting writing can be.  I trudge over and say Hi! I listen to the gossip for a couple minutes.  I raid the teapot of some spicy concoction filling a Shelley Dainty Blue tea cup.  I stand there in the middle of the room with cup and saucer in hand like a snubbing post in the middle of a corral.  The writer moves to the counter and eyes the cookies the quilter in residence has set out.  He stashes a few Snickerdoodles in his writers coat pocket and I notice my famous Chef Paul Prudhomme's Decadent Chocolate Chip Cookies were also visiting the Quilters Cottage today.  Two of those go into the cookie pocket depository.   As he sets the cup and saucer in the sink his mind trails off.  Tails off to when I made those years ago and kids of the neighborhood somehow someway knew it.   Damned little thieves, the urchins  would rob me clean of them....yes rob me bare as quick as they came out of the oven.  Me the writer struggles not to smile at the thought that kids liking them and loved us for not rationing them out.  But then what the heck good is a cold chocolate chip cookie when it can be eaten warm and gooey.  I never could vouch for the milk they consumed.  Me and my lactose intolerance.   
         
As the writer leaves the ladies - he makes a point to not say goodby or even smile just leaves as his custom.  If they say good bye he does reply in kind.  Good byes in life are so unnecessary other than to people you truly care for.  Hi's and Hello's are required.  Glad to see you's often are a damned lie one hides behind.  With his cookie thoughts on his mind the writer trudges back to his cabin.  Back to a writers solitude and loneliness.  So his bruised brain can make up stories of not being lonely and bored.  While the writers loneliness could be nurtured and suckeled to life at the Y Stop or the Prairie Store or any of the ranches around.  He chooses not to.  Yet when he ventures anywhere he is sponging and sucking up all he comes in contact with.  For while part of him is very lonely yet the part of a writer is overflowing with stories and ideas and urges.

He has however noticed how people since he has sold ten million copies now often take time to tell him about their lives and experiences.  Same people a few years ago that would hardly even speak now are chirpy little mynabirds.   Really he does not care to listen and sponge from that so much as experience life but the writer does listen.  After all they buy the books and lots of them.   He notices the phone rings a lot more now.  He also notices he picks and chooses when he decides to pick it up.  When locked in the cabin he just turns it off.  That after I first sell my first ten million.

[Gary O]

the writer retires to the room with a window

sits

muses, as he looks across the pond
'the geese have arrived early this fall'

His iphone buzzes

'Hmm, it's an update from my publisher
only ninemillionninehundredthousandninehundredninetynine to go....

well, looky there, Gary O' left a review'

[rick91351]

the writer retires to the room with a window

sits

muses, as he looks across the pond
'the geese have arrived early this fall'

His iphone buzzes

'Hmm, it's an update from my publisher
only ninemillionninehundredthousandninehundredninetynine to go....

well, looky there, Gary O' left a review'

LOL Where I fell in love with writing as an adult was under the stairway to the basement not to long after we were married. I had a sort of cubical where the only windows were the tiny basement windows they allowed back then. 1920 house and all. Wonderful eye level view of a gravel driveway and all. Even watched ants from there dragging stuff over the rocks to where ever the ant hill was. That little retreat is where I set up with an Olivetti portable typewriter (a manual at that)and before long I got a great deal on an electric - then soon a portable word processor. Strange sort of machine. Sort of a go between a typewriter and a computer. This thing had a amber screen sort'a like a computer back then. And when you got finished with your project of maybe a couple pages or so. It seemed then you put the paper in much like a typewriter and pushed a magic button and it printed. Then page two same way.

We moved from there to the house out in the country and a series computers 286 - 386 - 486 then stuff exploded. Experimented with hardware and software from Word Perfect, MS Office and knock offs. I had a wonderful office there. It was in the basement yet still looked up and out. This evolved to my man cave. No TV was allowed in to it. I hate TV except for NCAA Football and Nascar Racing. My mancave was a reading and writing place. I did allow in a sound system. Actually it had an egress window with a wonderful view of a huge galvanized window well part of my love of house remodeling and wood work. Yep I made theses puppies built in. Hand made not out of a Costco nor an Ikea box. The egress window I hired cut out from the concrete basement wall before I framed it. Now today sometimes I sort of wonder what I did to myself selling that and trading that for this.  Now that I am retired and could used it now....







So Gary please hold notice I had nor have no such place with a pond nor lake nor goose, swan nor mallard nor even a moose. The Good Lord gave no providence to claim a view of such let alone a claim to grieve, loon nor even lowly coot do I view. The proposed writers area I shall have a view of sage brush, lava rocks and a small pine tree grove with a hand full of trees and lava rocks. As of late several people have visited our house. They looked at the more than ample walk in master closet and ask is this your writers nook. I start to tremble, no window, no draft or breeze. Yet I would still write. But please Lord give me a view and some air in this stage of my life. Real air that I can draw in and feel.

Gary please also notice I am jealous and found wanting.  You have cranked out several books to completion.  You have actually sold a book or two.  You have an IPhone. Up here where we dwell if it does not have a cord it does not work. So I have no Iphone nor cloud to hide my work and carry it along. Also there is another problem up here in the sticks. I have people that can fall trees and mill them. We have people that can put in a drinking water spring and plumb it to wherever. I swear they are so good they can run water uphill and down the other side to a tap without a siphon nor a pump. But never have a midnight computer failure. Hard drives up here is the road out to Mountain Home or Boise with the sun setting and stealing your vision as you go into the shady spots. Memory up here is said to be not what it used to be...... a keyboard sort of holds up a shed from falling over..... In the valley I had a geek that I swear was awake and up 24/7 and had fixes and hardware and hardly charged me anything. He held a regular job on the railroad as well... I have been over there at three in the morning eating breakfast burritos and drinking Doctor Pepper right along with the head geek.... as well as three in the afternoon eating breakfast burritos and Doctor Pepper...  I found I could receive a good discount in his work not with beer nor whisky, scotch nor bourbon...  But a case of on sale Doctor Pepper, a box of deli hot or cold chicken and a bag of Doritos was worth huge dividends on the next emergency crash call. So goes geekdom....up here.

[Gary O]

Well, looky there.
I jus normally assume everone has a smarty phone.


sumpm I writ recently;

Future considerations

In preparing for what I imagine to be an extended 5-10 yr sabbatical (moving to my cabin) in six months, I've come across a bit of a poser.
I'll be off grid, unplugged, relying on gas, diesel, solar, batteries, generators to light a bulb or....maintain some sort of connection to the outside world.

Smart phones are extremely low voltage, and can be tethered to laptops.

So, it appears I must part company with my faithful tracfone, or 'Flippy' as I've come to call my traveling partner.

('bout the only time he calls me is when a new boner pill has hit the market)


I'll miss Flippy, nestled in his little leather pouch clipped to the sun visor in the Jeep.
He never asks for more than $10 every three months.


I've chatted this around.
Seems everyone I know that has smart phone is 'getting ready to upgrade'.

Here's where the problem lies;

Seems now, when you buy a new phone, you might as well immediately saunter a few paces over to the customer service desk and trade it in for....a new, even smarter phone.

So

If I buy one now, it'll be a laughable relic by the time I move to the cabin.

I may just totally unplug....



Naw, Ricky, you are a rich man.
You've got the vision in yer head, same as the old man, imprisoned in a dungeon for decades, hangin' upside down....smilin'.

I will buy yer book.
I'll be of the first.

As for me and my fractured prose, I've lowered my goals a tad.
Now, now my goal is just to match the number of books written with the number sold.


So far, so good.




Two peas in a pod, we are.


Cheers, mate

[Gary O]

Well crap.

It happened again.

Watched a rerun of 'The Voice'.

Couldn't keep from blubberin' when the kid from East LA sang this really beautiful song....turned all the chairs.

Ever try real hard to not cry?
Woman thought I'd choked on a popcorn kernel until she saw all the goo erupting from my nose, thru my fingers.

Really whooped it up when they showed his folks all cryin' an' happy.

It's inevitable now.

I need a hysterectomy.