Tuesday, September 20, 2016


We listened to the radio and understood that the tsunami that was to hit the coastal shores of Washington State was significant and that there would be a visible wave entering the mouth of the harbor between Westport and Ocean Shores. The wave was to continue moving inland. The warning was explicit: “Do not go near the beach.” Mom and dad said, “Do not go to the beach.”

So, a friend and I hopped in the the '56 Chevy and headed towards the beach. Part of the highway paralleled the open bay and the channel inlet. We looked but saw nothing. At the corner where the road turned inland, we parked next to the shore line on the vehicle turn-out; there was room there to pull off and we were not in anyone's way. A good vantage point, standing on the roadside, to see “the wave.”

The Bay and shoreline (looking west) as it looks today 

As we looked west, we noticed a dark line moving into the bay and through the mouth of the river. A dark, distinct, slow moving line. Within a few minutes, we could see the line becoming a noticeable, one-foot high rolling wave, moving about 10 mph. Faster than a person could walk or outrun. Although the photo above shows a high tide, the high tide on the day of the tsunami was up to the shoreline, running alongside the driftwood logs. 

It did not take long to see the years of shoreline debris of old logs, stumps and wood gatherings being tossed around like torn paper tossed in the breeze. And, had the wave been much larger, we would not have had time enough to move us or the '56 to safety. But as quickly as it was upon us, it passed, continuing its assault on the shoreline.

The large logs, long ago wedged in place, were picked up, tossed and disgorged as the wave passed by. We were too stupid to even step further back onto the highway. Mesmerized, I suppose, by what we were seeing. Time had changed from minutes into seconds. In its wake, everything had been uprooted, rearranged and dumped unceremoniously in the eddies and mini-currents left behind. The wave slowly became a swell as it continued inland to narrowing shorelines and calmer water.

My friend and I commented on the power of that one-foot wave as it passed us. To see years of leftovers from natural tides and Mother Nature tossed about at will from the power of that one foot wave impressed us. It impressed me. We saw it coming, had no idea as to its power and were shocked at the complete rearrangement of that shoreline after it passed. Without a doubt, the radio and my parents were right - that little wave would have injured anyone caught that afternoon on that beach. 

We learned later that the wave that hit the ocean coastline that day was three and a half feet and contained enough energy to push through the channel inlet and maintain the one-foot wave miles inland towards town. 

Today, there are folks purporting to see the next tsunami on our far horizon. Many of them are sending us cautions and warnings. They tell us that it is a large, dark line slowly moving our way. They tell us to find high ground and do not go to the beach or low lands. They recommend we act now under our own power and fortitude to prepare and protect.

A close friend of ours tells us that he has two weeks vacation now and is spending a good part of his time preparing for winter. He has family and lives in a typical small town and neighborhood. We have had several talks and visits over the past years and talked of many things under the sun. Some of those talks were of tomorrows and things that could happen in the coming years. But now we feel an urgency to keep a constant eye open to the horizon. To think also of local high grounds and better places to see the wave move through. A safe place to watch the after-eddies and currents. It feels now those years have turned into weeks.

We have history on our side to help teach us of tomorrow. Always have. Even history that is just months old shows us what can soon be at our feet. On this day we have more sources of information to look at than we will ever have time to consume. Much of that information is misinformation, though. We need to learn filtering, better thinking for ourselves and come to grips with what we really have control over.

We have friends, family and an inherent desire to offer help and also be open to help.  Our strength lies in our likenesses, not our differences. We can step back a little bit and look at a bigger picture. If we do, will see there we are all in the same boat, just some of us rowing different strokes, against a tide and without common purposes and directions. But no wave in the world can move us if we stand together. Not only does this sound good, it is true.
We may want to take a knee, throw our hands in the air, demand that life be fair, giving special consideration to those insist on it.  Some people are simply not aware. Perhaps the moving line on the horizon knows they are not really obstacles but that they will give in and allow a quicker and deeper inundation.  But the truth is that the line on our collective horizon doesn't give a rat's ass about about how we feel and won't care what we think or feel.

My gut tells me to do the little things I have been putting off and to no longer pay attention to my thinking there is still time. 


Ten days ago, the bride said that there was a break in a main pipe line down south and that there may be a disruption in gas supply along the I-95 corridor.  Also would mean a disruption in goods and services. This had just happened and  the event was in its infancy. I did a little research.

I told her that I was heading to town to top off the tank. Quite awhile ago, we adopted the half-tank is an empty-tank philosophy so, we try to adhere to filling up the tanks when the gauge reaches half. She asked if I was nervous and I said "no." But this is what part of our plan is. Should something out of the ordinary start somewhere and there is a chance it will advance to us, we will do this and do that. I was doing "this" more for practice and being true to some of our plans. I also topped off the little rat car. It took no more than a half hour do to both. Nothing out of the ordinary that day at local gas stations. Prices still low.

I also sent out emails and texts to friends saying for them to check out the story and top off. Also part of our plan and a little time well spent.  

Today, the leak has risen to 330K gallons from the original report of 250K gallons.  Now, folks closer to the event site are experiencing considerably higher prices/ shortages and closed pumps. Ten days and future possible problems, initially reported, have come to be today. Panic buying and no product available. 

So, a wave starts in Alabama. We can see it and know it may come all the way up the east coast. The media has a hold of this now and may blow it all out of proportion. Expect some misinformation and hype. 


 "Shocked!!" are the headlines of this past weekend. I am not shocked. I asked the bride if she was shocked. She said she was not. So who is shocked by acts of terrorism (oops) in the homeland? Several photos of the "perp" and an American Chicken joint as a background for people walking around all day. Leaders of the people, from the top down selling us goods. Which reminds me. 

The sky is not "plaid." No matter who, what, when or why folks, the sky is not "plaid." You and I can walk outside at any given hour and see it for ourselves. Blue background, wisps of cloud cover with hazed orange light rising.  (This morning there is no sky, just white.) I return to the kitchen and damn if I am not told again that the sky is plaid and not to question the report/reporters nor to seek the truth. The snow flakes and teleprompter readers poking Chicken Little.

If you have ever chased gas stations around the countryside to find gas, then you know it happens. If you have ever walked into your local grocery store to find the shelves empty and emergency lights flickering, then you know it happens.  

Best we keep an eye on the horizon.  



Friday, September 16, 2016


On a clear day, I can see the sky over Boston. I need to look South East and somewhat up, but it is for sure, the sky over Boston. 

I would not be surprised to awaken one crisp fall morning and, while taking the first cup of coffee to the porch rocking chair, look up to see a large object parked there in the sky over Boston. Not an original idea here, but there are objects being reported near and around the space station and other planets now. The photos show blurs, or the streaming cameras on the space station are turned off. My bet is that in some darkened, dusty corner, an astronaut can whisper to us the truth. But we cannot handle the truth, so a blurred object it is. With our photography technology that can read the time on a wrist watch from space, the very best image we can get from the space station is a blur? Seems we ought to be able to read the craft serial number, year built, and if its celestial license is current. I have heard that at any point in time we are actually thirty years ahead with technology and science as witnessed from today.

I did not plan to go down the alien rabbit hole today but I am. I am just saying that I would not be surprised. It will be at that moment when all of my worrying will be completed. I will better understand a few things and know even less. Maybe it will be just another moment in our time and earthly human endeavors. Like every thing else in our long history, we would have to come to grips with this out, too.

Can you imagine the media and political arena run amuck with this story? The media weatherman who now dress up in full-blown Burning Man rain gear paraphernalia to report rain and breezes would be hard pressed to dress for this story. By the way, "the sun is dimming", no longer covered by a layer of clouds. Be wary wary scared!! 

I might sit down, open my cell phone to find nothing connecting. Then I would turn on the ham hand-held to hear only a cacophony of clinking and buzzing. I would mention to the bride to expect our neighbors walking up the driveway to visit sometime today. I could not wait to ask our neighbor if he still thinks nothing bad is going to happen. The dog would be pacing and exhibiting abnormal behavior. The barn cat would catch an open kitchen door, run in and park in some soft secure couch corner.

Hot morning coffee means we still would have electricity. But do the vehicles run? 

I think I would sit there for quite awhile and be at peace.

Later in the afternoon, I would get the bottle of Remy Martin XO, a shot glass and go to the front porch rocking chair. I would ask the bride if she wanted to join me in a few shots and some conversation. She would opt out of the shots offer. The rocking chair would be positioned to see the sister ship in the southern sky, the first shot poured and held momentarily. Getting comfortable in the chair would be important, then the view and then the shot. Yea, a few shots.

I dip my toes here this morning because so many headlines are just unbelievable. Shaking my head no longer softens the blow. I try to avoid the politics but it is impossible to pull anything up on the temperature of the world and not have societal infections inflicted on me. Somewhere, just somewhere, there have got to be breaths of fresh air. Maybe I just need to take a knee. 

I think I am going to pen in Vermin Supreme for president. I see where AVU's (accessible voting units) are available in some states starting October 21st. All the improvements in our ability and ease of voting gives my heart hope this election cycle.

Vermin (if I can use his first name) promises everyone a free pony, free dental care and a willingness to ride along side us into a Zombie Apocalypse. A candidate who will stand toe to toe with the common folk when push comes to shove. But in all fairness to the man and process, I have a few questions here too. Damn “Basket of Deplorables” always have questions.
If we all get a free pony, then my wife and I will have two ponies to keep. We have a few acres but no grazing land and no place to adequately provide fenced-in roaming. We are animal people and the health and welfare of our ponies would be as important as they are for our dog, barn cat, moose, squirrels, birds, Fischer Cats, bears and bees.

So are we to bear the costs of all of this? My son and his girlfriend live a few miles away and they too will get two ponies. But they rent and both work. I just know he will want us to help with his and her ponies which brings our brood up to four. A larger burden.

Will the ponies come with an upkeep stipend? Priced per pony or will there be a group rate? What about pony health care? Animals cost money and time. Anyone who has even had a gold fish knows that it can all go south from simple neglect or too much love.

Maybe the ponies will only be free for those with ten acres or more. Well, then there goes another failed political promise to the masses. Who tells the eight year-old girl she cannot have a pony because they own no property? What about opting out of the pony program?

But free dental care ought to be much easier. Show up at any dentist office to get the infected tooth pulled. Pull a number and wait to be called. Reminds me: I spent a year in Germany flying helicopters. Great duty, beer, and food. I had an abscessed wisdom tooth and the Army has free dental care so off to the line of dentist chairs (like a barber shop) I went. You know that wisdom teeth are seriously anchored in the human body. The German dentist sat me down, shot me up with Novocain and the tooth was removed. No x-rays and no oral surgeon, no stitches.  Think of yanking an old rusted nail out of a 4x4 with a pair of pliers.

The dentist stuffed the hole in my lower jaw with a chunk of gauze, told me to keep pressure on it till it stopped bleeding and yelled “next.”

It was a rain dreary day as I drove back to the base. I would spit out some blood, repack with dental packing and drive on. Hurt like hell by then and I am a baby when it comes to dental pain. I parked the old car and noticed a line of rain soaked blood streaks down the outside of the drivers door. Looked like a bad case of road kill.The hole in my lower jaw was now starting to throb. 

I was seeing an Army nurse at the time. She was on duty that day and said she would run over quickly to the apartment and bring me some pain pills: Darvon. She specifically told me not to take more than what the prescription said; one every 12 hours if memory serves me right. Drugs for pain back then were probably drugs for pain.

I popped one, a half hour later another, a half hour later, another. The next thing I remember is waking up with my nurse friend sitting on top of me in the bed, physically beating and yelling at me. I guess finding me passed out in a pool of dried blood around my face and open pill box, both scared and pissed her off. As for me, I was sleeping like a baby and there was no pain. Never ever did that again!


So the pony and free dental care come with questions. It all sounds good and so easy, but the devil is indeed in the details. And then there is all of us riding together into a Zombie Apocalypse. I have this gut level feeling my candidate will not be standing along side of me when the time to advance on the Zombies is given. Maybe just a few of us standing there on said line with puzzled Minion looks on our faces.

The bride left a half hour ago saying she was off to buy an Anvil. Yep, an Anvil. She came to me, asked if it was a good idea, here is a photo, what do you think? I shook my head yes and as I started to answer, she whirled around and said, “I am going to buy it, hope you do not mind.”

I told her to stay in touch. She was mumbling something about swords and plowshares when she left.

Boston skies are clear today.

Sunday, September 11, 2016


Years ago, if someone would have told me a story like this, I would have scoffed. I was younger then and knew most everything there was to know.

I turned 60 in June of 2005. My wife said my birthday present should be worth remembering. Something important. What did I want?

Excerpts from the log I kept on the 2005 trip follows.

Not a physical gift for my 60th birthday nor something purchased nor even made by hand. What I really wanted was an adventure, something different, a challenge, a trip and something that I could also share with my wife. Something I could look back on someday and say “I did that.” So to my wife I said that I wanted to ride our Harley Davidson across the United States and then bring her back during her 2 weeks of vacation. All in all about 5 weeks gone from home. The routine and all the responsibilities would be left behind for her to detail and worry about. I would pack up on the morning of July 10th, 2005 and leave, heading to the West Coast. She would be happy for me, wave good bye and with a smile and in the same spirit of happiness as myself. This was the present I asked for.

She smiled at me and told me I could do anything I was big enough to do.

And I did. I left early in the morning, wound my way down the driveway after goodbyes, kisses and a few dog head pats. A lump was in my throat and a tear in my eye. Moments like this weigh heavy in my life.

It was a trip of a life time. All that a trip like this could be and so many memories and views of America and American people that time and words will never well represent. To ride a Harley Davidson across the United States twice, coast to coast to coast is an adventure for everyone. Do these adventures while you are young!

I was to spend time with my mother living on coastal Washington State. I would also meet up with all of my high school class members at a camp site on the west coast. A weekend class reunion.

I did not tell this following part of the trip story to my wife over the phone. I wanted/needed her in person as I would try to describe the event. Even now (a few days afterwards) having told the story several times, I feel very inadequate and am not sure I do the moment justice.

I must also clarify here too this was a spiritual event, the first (and only one) in my whole life. It was as real as any thing, person or moment of grandeur I saw, met or experienced on the trip

I am not nor ever have been a church-going person. But, I have prayed for help, said thank you on many occasions for blessed occasions and moments in my life. I have always been satisfied that my relationship with God was personal and enough for just me to work and understand. Other people always muddied the waters of my understanding, thoughts of religion and God.

I am and have always felt that there are powers greater than I can ever understand and that have an effect on my life. Beyond that, things get fuzzy. I always felt/understood that God was inside of me and with me as I was trying to be with him. I always admitted that I can not understand much of all of this. But I believed.

On Friday, July 22nd, I left Anacortes, Washington very early in the morning. I had packed my bags on the bike the night before and left a friend's boat in Anacortes Harbor while they were still asleep. We had said our good-byes the evening before.

It was important to me, on this day, that I make the 07:30 Kingston to Port Angeles ferry. Extreme minus tides prevented the 08:45 and 09:30 ferry runs that morning. The next ferry I would have been able to catch would have been the noon ferry to Port Angeles.

I made the 07:30 ferry with time to spare and always enjoy being able to be the first on the ferry as the motorcycles are always loaded first. The short 30 minute ride was enjoyable and I spent the whole trip on the bow of the ferry looking over the inlets and bays of the early morning waters. A little channel fever mixed with the sights and sounds of protected waters.

As we docked and I prepared to ride off the ferry, a thin man with pure white hair and riding an old time 1950's pedal bike approached me. He told me of the very best place in Port Angeles to have breakfast. “Turn right at the light and go straight to the water front. The restaurant is located right there and they make pancakes like your grandmother made.” I said thank you and found it so curious that anyone would approach just me and offer this kind of friendly advice. The man was slight of build, dressed in all light weight white clothes. I also noticed that no one else seemed to look at him or notice how out of place he was or that he was even there.

As I approached the restaurant, that same older gentlemen was standing by his pedal bike, pointing to the restaurant. I nodded my head and parked behind the octagonal building. How did he ride here faster than me on the Harley? It puzzled me that morning.

Small, warm and homey, the restaurant bustled with morning locals. Their conversation hummed in the back ground as I told the waitress that I had heard they make pancakes like my grandmother use to make. “You bet your boots” she replied with confidence.

The full breakfast and pancakes arrived in record time and was enough food for any seagoing voyager leaving on the morning tide out of Port Angeles and into the Straits of Juan de Fuca. The pancakes were thin and had flavor beyond any morning pancake I can remember eating. It was a permanent memory to add to this trip's log.

I tried to wait out a local rain shower, drank more coffee and read the morning paper. The rest of the day lay ahead of me, the destination day. I knew this part of the country very well and was looking forward to some familiar scenery that I had not seen in many years. I put on my rain gear and left knowing that I would out ride the shower and end up under party cloudy skies and cool, coastal breezes.

Several miles out of Port Angeles, on 101 West, I became enveloped by a feeling of something soft and protective. It was physical, spiritual and mental. It told me  .... you are ok here.” slowly and deliberately and words so clear. “Not only are you ok here, but you are ok when you leave.” came next. And finally, “But more important .... is that everyone is ok here and everyone is ok when they leave.” The words were real and I remember them clear as day.

A few moments passed and there came a most noticeable relief off my shoulders. A relief we have all felt when we finish an important task that has been hanging our our heads for awhile. A relief when a prayer for someone else is answered. A noticeable, sighing relief and a noticeable weight lifted off of me.

But I had not been carrying anything on my shoulders. Nothing was troubling me nor was I worried about anything. I was on this day more relaxed and enjoying every mile of the trip around the northern loop. But I could still feel that I was enveloped by a softness and a calm. A protective barrier.

Around the next long sweeping right hand curve, the bike felt airborne, but was not. It was smoother than anything I have ridden or ridden in. The engine noise was much quieter. While going around this corner, I became the passenger. My hands were not turning the bike nor was I leaning. Someone else was turning the bike and my hands and body followed. Not for a long time, but fully through the sweeping and long enough for me to notice this was something I had never experienced before. Then I felt the bike again, the road, heard the louder engine noise and all the normal life noises around me returning. The feeling of being enveloped continued for a few more miles, but fading.

I pulled the bike over in a turn out next to Crescent Lake and turned off the engine.  I needed to digest what had just happened and try to understand the last few miles behind me.

I think this was the most wonderful and personal message ever given to me and one I will forever cherish and share. "I am ok here and when I leave. We are all ok here and all ok when we leave."

And maybe guardian angels also wanted to try riding a motorcycle. Maybe dad snuck away from the angel pack or got permission and tried the motorcycle because dad always wanted to ride a Harley Davidson, but never did. I just do not know.

September 2016: Some thoughts on all of this after all these years. A little more background as it has come to mind.

Mom and dad so loved weekend trips around Washington State and coastal Washington and Oregon. They always over loaded me with all the great places they had breakfast or lunch. They loved their trips to Port Angeles.

My father had a wild streak before he met mom and started a family. He once rode a motorcycle through a tavern in Raymond, Washington. And he had talked with me a few times on much much fun owning and riding a Harley Davidson would be. A wish and dream for him and his son got to live it.

The man that talked to me when I got off the ferry was slight of build, had snow white thin hair and a small trimmed white beard. He was dressed in all white, light weight pants and long white shirt. Very light weight clothes for early morning weather in Port Angeles on the water front. Out of place.

He approached me to get my attention. He told me of a great place in Anacortes to have breakfast and related the quality of the food as being as good as home cooking.

The trip on the main roads to the restaurant that morning, riding the Harley took me 5 minutes at least. That the man was already there at the restaurant waiting for me, again standing next to his bike did not fully register, yet seemed out of place and odd at the time and more so today.

And the experience and message that morning was as I have written.

I must admit that I have no fear of leaving this earth nor the after in that sense. Death and dying was always something that happened to someone else as I have gained my years. 

The message that I shared with you in this story happened. It was as real as the day is long.

Yes I believe in God and still do not understand. I say prayers now much more often and ask mostly for God to watch over me, my wife, my family and to teach me/us lessons on being ready for tomorrow. I also ask him to show me ways to help him. I do not think God intends or is able to meet all of our needs and prayers and that he too can use some help. More so now than ever before. It is a believing thing and I am personally comfortable with all of this.

I believe the man and the story was my father visiting me and putting his son's heart and mind at ease. He was that kind of man.

The “voice” that talked to me was like nothing I can explain. It was not audible, but a linked internal/external communication. If we really only use 5% of our total abilities here on earth, then this conversation surely existed in the other 95%. I like this. We are linked to this after while we are here. The link is opened at will from the other side. 

When I hear stories like this, I believe.

I believe that I am ok here and ok when I leave.

I believe you are ok here and ok when you leave.

Sunday, September 4, 2016


The recent post from my Vietnam era was a heartfelt and a quick reflex when I came upon the video I had made years ago. I found it tucked into old photos on an old computer. I get big lumps in my throat sometimes and that old video did just that. I wanted to share it.

I grew up with the notion of being born too late. I wished I was timed right to fly P-51 Mustangs, P-40's, P-38's, the gull wing F4-U or the like in war.  It was not war that drew me, but the flying in the most freedom of flight.  I may not have lived to tell stories of heroes and exploits flying in that era, but the dream to fly those large horsepower piston engine driven fighters is sewn securely in my soul. How can the starting, taxiing and flying one of these old birds not light a fire inside someone? The sound of a piston engine loping, as each of the 18 cylinders catches, thumps places deep inside me. Say it with me; “R-2800, 2804 cubic inch, 18 air cooled cylinders arranged in two rows.” Makes the old “56” Chevy a little wimpy. 

President Nixon decided that experienced Vietnam helicopter pilots needed to return to Vietnam in 1969. I had been flying border patrol in Germany and was content to finish my tour of duty there. Then the paper work arrived and I was to be sent back to Vietnam for my last year of obligation. I decided to transition into the Huey Cobra and spent that last year flying Cobra gun ships. Good flying and stories. Sitting on the tarmac at idle, canopy open with a full load of munitions. Yea! Good stuff but still not big piston engine flying.
I could always be found on a flight line where ever we were stationed. Quite often, I would see a flight of two or a single A1-E Skyraider circling to land and I would stand as close to the runway as I could when they turned final approach and landed. Little pilot(s) sitting in this massive flying engine and wings. That airplane could carry an aircraft carrier in munitions. Several times, I had the wonderful opportunity to pick up where they left off on a given mission or to bring them in after we expended our ammo. The air force quite often had layers of fighters over head as needed. But to see one of those pilots dive to a target, let go with what ever they were using and then perform an effortless, hard-climbing turn with wingtip vortices etching their place in the sky and painting aviation art masterpieces. You will soon see that I am easily distracted by anything that flies. I digress!

My "after" here in this blog refers to an inner concern of being ready for the big flood, fire, earthquake, nuclear exchange, market crash, zombie advance, empty store shelves, flag-hating, national anthem hating, hating, UN crowding our cities and streets, meltdown, some of our lives not mattering and you know. Shall I add more here? Nope. But you know I could fill this post with nothing more than these kind of examples. I sense a good portion of the populations now have been soaked in the same stew for so long that we are over-cooked and are looking to climb to the rim of the pan for fresh air and a look-see how far it is to the counter top. I am not alone in this stew and that carries no comfort.

Roma tomatoes are in their last throes of life here, returning the love. Each tomato plant was given a cracked raw egg, placed 8” down hear their roots. The bride found this information and I tried it. Nitrogen/iron? Our results have been an explosion of tomatoes.

Mother nature cares not our daily routine nor interruptions. She dumps our planting and growing efforts in our lap like a micro burst. Since she is ahead of me on taking care of this bounty, I have found that the tomatoes are warm and red ripe. Bursting with color and flavor. A group in boiling water for about a minute, the skins pull off and the hard core is trimmed out with a sharpened paring knife. In a few minutes a full pot of tomato sauce begins. The bride picks green peppers, peppers, garlic, onion, basil leaves and other herbs. Crushes and chops two cups and adds to the pot. A minute or two with the handheld emulsifier and the bright red sauce appears. All homegrown. Canning today and then another batch to start. Maybe a couple dozen jars when completed. I have been talking to our plants all summer now and they have come through. How can I not follow through saving all they offered this season.The drained tomato juice from this cook is shot-glass worthy. Every flavor of the garden that completes with a little heat. And yes, I do swirl the cooled juice around in the glass, whiff the fragrance and finish with the audible "ahhhhhh."

The big rock still sits in the trailer. Not like there are not enough rocks here. The builder had to blow the top of the hill off when they build our house years ago. Ledge. Lots of small rocks then and now. But we found someone giving away large rocks and the bride wanted them. I have a plan on to drag it off with the tractor, but just have not gotten to it yet. 

Woodpile outback getting smaller and woodshed filling up. Still weeks behind compared to years past. Usually by now, I could sit a while and survey my completed woodpile work. Behind on so many things. And instead of outside working in the cool morning air, I sit here and write.

Plan to do better with more of The After stuff. Not OMG OMG nor ###, but just writing out loud. I should open up comments and am getting a little closer to that. Not sure what my hang up is.

For The Fun of it.

I planted the cut-off end of a celery stock in the corner of the raised garden a month or so ago (upper left of photo). Then another a week ago (middle of photo). Read they would grow again. Dirt and water!!

A gallon of water is still 50 cents this Labor Day weekend, bread $0.99. Twenty-nine ounce canned peaches are a dollar, lights turn on, water pump runs, car starts, sun rises, cooked chickens are cheaper than whole raw chickens. Milk and dairy products fill the shelves to the front of every row. Store aisles overflow and Monday mornings can find a dozen folks re-stocking local markets. Day-old breads, pies and cookies can be had for songs and gas is $2/gallon. The deli is flooded with cooked food and fixins' for any kind of sandwich/salad with any kind of condiment you like. We still travel freely to and from, a happy meal just minutes away, moms make apple pies, the national anthem puts tears in my eyes and turns others into haters. We have off buttons, mother nature reclaims what we neglect and there is order in the world.  For now.