New Story

Over on the right, the link for "Quiet Tales" is my other website for fiction and other artistic outlets.

I've been toying with an idea for a 'universe' where I can set stories, and I posted a short and as-yet-untitled introductory tale. Give it a look and leave feedback. Good, bad or indifferent, it's always welcomed.

Thanks.

Vacation Recap

For our 30th Anniversary, Liz and I booked a cruise over a year ago. Finally the day arrived and we enjoyed our first cruise ever.

I really didn't want to go to the Caribbean, so instead we headed north on a 9 night New England and Canadian trip. Leaving out of Baltimore, we made stops in Portland and Bar Harbor, Maine, then stops in Saint John, New Brunswick and Halifax, Nova Scotia. On the way back to Baltimore we spent a day in Boston.

I like cruising more than I thought I would. We really hit it off with our table-mates for dinner, which helps. We had one very rough day at the beginning as we sailed into the remnants of hurricane Katia, and one mildly rough day at the end as we grazed another that stayed well out to sea (Marie?).

In Portland, Liz and I hit the LL Bean flagship store (in Freeport, not too far away), where I got to eyeball a bunch of gear up close to perfectly prioritize potential purchases. Say that 3 times fast.

In Bar Harbor, I did a bus tour of the stunningly beautiful Acadia National Park, including to the top of Cadillac Mountain. My hike on the Ocean Trail was cancelled. Apparently not enough people are crazy enough to think walking outside is fun. Dammit. I bought maps and guide books, Maine isn't *that* far away from here.

In Saint John and Halifax, Liz and I just headed into the towns and enjoyed exploring on our own. In Boston, I took the "Freedom Trail" walking tour, where we visited the burial ground where Paul Revere (among others) is buried. Then we went to the site of the Boston Massacre, then the North Church (one if by land, two if by sea) and Paul Revere's house. Lots more along the way as well. Pretty cool.

Of course, as soon as we got home, the flu kicked my ass. I still went to work most of the week - self-quarantined - and I'm just starting to feel better.

Here are a couple watercolor paintings I did while on vacation.

A buoy in Portland, Maine:


This was inspired by a lighthouse in Nova Scotia:

Heh. Bush's Fault

Someone tweeted that the east coast earthquake originated on Bush's Fault, just like everything else according to some.

So I'm at my desk, seven floors up, and the building starts jumping up and down and rumbling. My first thought is 'earthquake' because I'm a California boy. I immediately dismiss that thought and think 'something blew up'. I stand up and look out the windows (I'm in the corner so have a decent view in two directions) but don't see any smoke rising.

Thinking to get a better angle, I start walking towards the windows when the second shock hit. This time, filing cabinets are rattling and fixtures are swinging. I moved away from the cabinets that might fall on me, back to my desk and start throwing stuff in my briefcase.

A quick look around to make sure I had everything and it was to the stairwell.

I was pissed at the number of people who were more interested in calling or texting than paying attention and getting the hell out of the building. I filed a formal complaint afterwards too. Stupid assholes.

Walking to our assembly area, I heard no sirens and saw no smoke columns, so I figured that it was indeed an earthquake.

We were cleared to re-enter the building about 45 minutes later, and soon after I left for home (my regular time).

I haven't seen traffic that bad since a big mid-day blizzard a couple of years ago. DC was gridlocked. Two hours to get home, and most of that was spent navigating the first five miles.

Heard that the National Cathedral took some damage, and I'm supposed to check online tomorrow to see if I'm supposed to report to work. I'm sure I will, it wasn't that big a quake.

Good Thing I'm Wearing My Striped Socks

At work today they announced that we're under a Tornado Watch.

My first thought was, "We need an office pool about who the house drops on!"

Hippies and Hikers

Last weekend, a few "need to do" things fortuitously aligned so Liz and I spent a nice, long Valentine's Day weekend down in southwest Virginia.

I took Friday off and we headed down, eventually reaching Roanoke, Virginia. I had never been there before and was surprised at how big it was and by how beautiful the scenery is. Roanoke is seemingly surrounded by the Blue Ridge mountains, and the Appalachian Trail (AT) also happens to pass fairly close by.

First stop upon arrival was a trip out to Seven Springs Farm for vermiculite. This stuff is useful in gardening and almost impossible to find. Seven Springs is an organic farm supply place that not only stocks it, but has it at a very reasonable price. The only drawback was having to go pick it up myself, because shipping the stuff would cost as much as the vermiculite itself (it's incredibly light but bulky).

The online directions were... uh, less than useful. Luckily, our GPS took us more or less right to the place. Let me state for the record, that I still believe GPS should be a "trust but verify" kind of tool, but the more I use it, the more I believe it's made out of equal parts magic and awesome.

It was a beautiful drive. Over one mountain and partway around another, we were a good 45 minutes outside of Roanoke by the time we got there.

In the "small world" category, the folks from the farm had given a talk on organic and sustainable food production during a class Mookie took at Mary Baldwin college. I said that their website sounded like the place was run by "hippies", she laughed and said, "yeah, pretty much." Growing up in the San Fransisco bay area during the 60's, to me the term "hippy" is more a term of endearment than derision.

So we get to the farm, drive down a dirt road, find the store and nobody is around. Posted on the door is a list of things to do if nobody is there. This isn't the actual list, but it's close:

1. Honk your horn several times, wait a few minutes.
2. Go over to the house, knock and see if anyone is home.
3. Go into the store, use the phone to call ...... and tell him you're at the store.
4. Call ...... and tell Daisy you're at the store (she lives a couple miles away, so be patient as you wait for her).
5. Go to Daisy's house (directions below) and knock on her door.
6. Use the computer inside the store to send an email to ....... and let them know you're waiting.

And so on.

Liz and I waited a little bit and I walked around and checked the barns and sheds in the vicinity. No worries, on a weekend like this, I can be patient. Soon enough a truck pulls up and a guy gets out with a load of compost. Within minutes the farmer arrived too. He asked us what we needed (we were expected, I'd let them know via email beforehand), and we got directions to the "warehouse", which was another large barn down a couple more dirt roads.

We loaded up the bags of vermiculite, I paid and we all talked about gardening and farming for a bit, then we headed back to Roanoke. It had already been a long day.

The other big event in Roanoke was a hiker's gathering on Saturday. A couple of Roanoke locals had posted the idea on a forum I frequent that they'd like to host an evening of pizza and beer, just to get to know other hiker's from the area. If anyone else wanted to come, they were welcome to join in too. The idea caught fire, and in a few weeks their were almost 30 people coming. It also grew to include a Saturday morning hike and maybe a slide show or two from folks to show some of the trails they'd hiked.

A quick word about hikers on the Appalachian Trail. Many take on "trail names". Sometimes the name is bestowed upon them by other hikers because of a memorable trait or moment, sometimes the hiker names him or herself. Either way, there's usually a story. Not surprisingly, my trail name is Rocket Jones.

I opted out of the hike. This was a valentine's weekend for us, so spending time with Liz was my first priority. Besides, I'd be gone to the gathering most of the evening, and Liz didn't want to go to that.

Those who hiked went up to McAfee Knob, a landmark on the AT. Here's one of the iconic pictures of the trail.

Most everyone who hikes by McAfee Knob takes a photo, but only the bravest sit on the edge like this. You can also get an idea of the view from up there.

Personally, I've seen way too many RoadRunner cartoons to sit like that.

In the photo, by the way, is Caitlin. She came down from the University of Miami, Ohio, with her friend Sunshine and Sunshine's dad Kerosene. He drove from Ann Arbor, Michigan to pick up the girls and just kept right on driving to Roanoke. Kerosene is a section hiker, he's done about 1500 miles of the AT, section at a time as his vacations allow. Someone who does the whole 2200 miles in one go is known as a thru-hiker.

So yeah, Kerosene and the girls got the award for mostest out-of-town. Jersey Dave came in second, and my measly four hour drive was almost nothing in comparison.

The gathering was held at a great place in downtown Roanoke, hosted by Hikerhead and J5Man (real names are Don and Jeff, but most of us only knew each other via forum/trail names). Lots of good beer, good pizza and great conversation. Much putting of faces to names. I met Graceful Roll, who was diagnosed with Leukemia in November and spent most of December in the hospital (mucho goodwill and gifting sent to her once word hit the forum). She's just been cleared by her doctors to hike again and she still wore a goofy hat-thing to hide the after effects of chemo. After meeting her, I have no doubt that she'll kick its ass.

I spent a good bit of time talking to a nice older couple named Haranzo (I think his name was Henry and I can't remember hers at the moment). Turned out that they're the parents of John Haranzo, who had a new shelter built and named for him as a memorial on the trail (John's Spring Shelter). Henry is now the trail maintainer for a few miles of the AT, making sure the trail is clear of tree blowdowns, picking up trash, making note of any erosion problems, etc. He hikes up the mountain four times a week to do that, as a volunteeer. Later, it came out that Henry is 76 years old! I really enjoyed talking to them.

There were several great slide shows afterwards, but the highlight (for me) was CookerHiker's set from the John Muir Trail in California. This is the part of Yosemite that the lazy tourists don't see.


I left the party several hours later, full of pizza, stories and with lots of new friends. They're planning to make this an annual event, and I'm definitely going back.

On Sunday, Liz and I headed back home. As we drove up I-81, we paralleled the mountains and I think for the first time Liz realized that along those blue ridges the Appalachian Trail meandered, and that somehow, someday, I was going to walk those 2000 plus miles.

There'll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight

It's major windy here, sustained over 25mph, gusts over 40mph. Wildfires have shut down the interstate at our exit. I heard on the radio that Maryland is having the same issues. So far, authorities are saying that our fires have been caused by cooking fires at the "hobo camps" where the homeless gather. Sounds plausible, as from what I see on the maps, each fire originated in wooded areas that aren't developed yet.

I have a feeling that Prince William County is going to be rather unhospitable to the homeless for a while after this.

For The Record

If "applewood smoked bacon" disappeared from the planet tomorrow, it wouldn't bother me a bit.

Perfect

We have to use a card key to enter the building where I work. They're having problems with the card reader and it takes several tries to get the doors to open, and of course the fucker teases you by flashing the green light for a split second. I asked the armed receptionist (guard) when they were going to fix it and he told me that the reader was "just sensitive". Great. Now, in addition to dealing with people all day, I have to put up with emo bullshit from a mechanical device.

Attention Span of a Bumblebee (UPDATED)

This post will be all over the place.

I don't feel well. In fact, I feel like I've been kicked in the balls. Hard. That's what happens when you pass a tiny kidney stone at work. I have some apologies to make in the morning, because I was a prick to some people who really didn't deserve it.

Some did, don't get me wrong.

The last two times I've had fast food, my order has been wrong. Last week, I didn't get the crust I wanted on my pizza, and tonight my burrito isn't even close to the one I asked for. Maybe these mega-menus have gotten out of hand, because if you fuck up my order, then I really didn't get it "my way" now, did I?

This morning I delivered a huge bag of vermiculite to a co-worker (more on the vermiculite hunt later). She commented on how light it was, and I told her it was made of the crushed hopes and dreams of the people who worked in our office.

If anyone wants to go hiking, backpacking or camping this Spring, Summer or Fall, give a holler. I've got plans for Shenandoah National Park and Prince William Forest Park, at the very least.

Update:

Mixed feelings about this one. A couple of months ago, DC tore up some road to repair and repave. They did the grinding down bit to remove the surface and jackhammered up some other patches. Of course, the following day Winter arrived and they've left the road torn up because it has been too cold to lay asphalt. So every day, about a quarter mile of my commute is like driving through a third world country. A couple of days ago, we had a fluke single day of 70 degree weather. Damned if they didn't get that road paved. Credit where due, someone was actually paying attention.

STPD

On my way to work this morning, I followed a car with vanity plates that announced:

TP SHELF

And I wondered why anyone would put that nonsense on a really nice car. I mean, I have a toilet paper shelf in each bathroom. WTF?

Then I realized, it's supposed to mean "top shelf."

Sorry Mario, that's a big FAIL.

Time and Effort

I spent all day working on something that didn't need doing, and I would have known that if only I spoke fluent fucking idiot.

Chutzpah

Used to be, the common example for chutzpah was the kid who murdered his parents and then begged for mercy from the court because he was an orphan.

We have a new candidate.

One of the local power companies (not mine, thank God) has an abysmal record when it comes to restoring power after storm outages. I'm talking days later than adjacent power companies here.

This power company just requested a temporary rate increase to make up the money they lost because so many of their customers weren't using electricity for so long after the last storm.

I wonder if that orphaned kid grew up to be a utility executive?

Wet, Strong Probability of Ugly

Our snowstorm has fizzled into some wet flurries. Just enough to make everything glisten with moisture and the air to look foggy. Tonight it's supposed to get down into the 20's.

Joy.

Government In Action

I work in DC. Yesterday, while heading to lunch we walked near a park notable for the number of homeless people who hang out there. My friend pointed out some new signs attached to the trash cans in the park:

"Keep Our Streets Golden"

Brilliant. I can hear the conversation now:

"Honest Officer, I thought I was just obeying the new civil ordinance!"

Let's Review

If you own an SUV, then you don't need to come to a complete stop before easing over a small speedbump. Check with lost and found, maybe they've seen your balls.

We're All Full Up Here

DC that is. My latest encounter with a "special" person is a middle aged woman who walks down the middle of the street where my parking garage is in the city. Up and down the street, all day as far as I can tell. Meandering from curb to curb, hauling a huge duffle bag and a slightly less huge handbag. Well dressed too. Horns don't faze her, neither do angry shouts and gestures (I haven't and probably wouldn't given the circumstances).

I don't know where she's at in her mind, but she's the fucking Queen there.

No Point to This, But I Make Up for it By Randomly Capitalizing the Title

So two days ago we got big rain, which moved on through and then turned into the Nor'easter which is currently kicking ass up New England way.

Today is windy as hell, from being on the tail end side of the Nor'easter. Beautiful and sunny, but windy.

Today was also "bulk pickup day", which happens in the Spring and Fall. Pretty much anything you can drag to the curb gets picked up and hauled off, saving trips to the dump. I took the opportunity to get rid of a lot of crap in the backyard and basement, including unbelievable numbers of flower pots that had accumulated over the years.

My yard looks much better and uncluttered.

Since I was doing the cleanup this morning, I couldn't go hiking. I'll go tomorrow.

Just for fun I took my backpack out back with me. After hauling the last of the rubbish to the curb, I set up my hiker kitchen and started a pot of water to boil. While that was heating up I finished raking the leaves.

When it was ready I made oatmeal and a big cup of tea, and enjoyed them out in my newly clean backyard. Very relaxing, and I've pretty much done everything I *need* to do today, before noon.

Sure is windy.

My First Contact With A Visitor To The Meth Clinic

I now work in downtown DC. My parking garage is about four blocks from the building where I work, and I drive in early enough that I normally don't see but one or two people on the sidewalks in the morning.

Turns out that wasn't what I should've been watching for. This morning, just as I stepped off the curb to cross the street - with the light - a brand new Lincoln Town Car screeches to a nose-dropping stop halfway into the crosswalk I was in. Not ten feet in front of me.

The driver was an elderly black man, grey goatee, porkpie hat, dark suit, dark shirt, light colored tie. Pimp.

I glared at him. He glared at me.

I walked around his car and continued on my way. Behind me, the light changed and he turned onto the street I was on, already flying as he passed me.

Two blocks later, he's parked on the street and stepping out of his car, greeting his addict friends as they all waited for the Meth Clinic to open. After doing their thing, they all wander over to the building I work in and mingle with the homeless in the open-to-the-public cafeteria. This happens every. Freakin. Morning.

I'm a live and let live kind of guy, and as long as Pimp Nitwit doesn't try to run me over again I'll have no problem with them. I'm glad they're getting help. On my dime. And I don't ever use the cafeteria in our building.

Remembrance

This will be a little different from most 9/11 posts and articles you'll see today. This one goes a little more towards who we are, as Americans, and how we approach life in general. This is not full of great insight or analysis, it's just one of my little stories.

When I got my orders to Germany, I had to go alone because my family was not allowed to join me until I had secured housing on the German economy. This was standard procedure for almost everyone who went overseas. It wasn't a quick and easy process, both because acceptable housing was limited off base and you had to house hunt while in-processing and getting up to speed on your new job.

And I found a house. The village was named Reuschbach and was about 5 miles from the air base. I moved in to the bottom floor of a two story house (the landlords lived upstairs) and Liz began the process of getting our household goods shipped over and scheduling the trip for herself and our two very young kids.

In the meantime, Reuschbach was having a party. Maybe it was their 750th birthday* or something, I don't remember. But the important thing was that there would be a weeklong party out at the village park, in the woods outside of town. My landlord made sure to invite me and made sure I went.

The first night was fun. I straightened out the beer vendor, who insisted that all Americans drank beer ice cold. German beer sucks when it's ice cold, it's meant to be cool. Like I said, that happened once, and I was even more accepted after that. I ate sausages and saurkraut** and staggered home in the early morning hours.

The next night we did it again. I drank beer and became best friends with several people who spoke as little English as I spoke German. And there was one very pretty young lady there.

I started to talk to her and found she spoke much better English than most of my new friends. She was 20 years old, and it wasn't until we both got up to get more beer that I discovered that she limped badly from a physical deformity.

As the night went on, I found out that she really wanted to be a teacher, but the Government wouldn't let her because "a cripple cannot take proper care of children." I was outraged, and spent much of the next two nights encouraging her to fight back and not accept their stupid rules.

At one point, she told me, "You Americans are always like this. You never give up and you think you can have anything you want, just because you want it." She said this with wonder in her voice, as if she was discovering that all she'd heard about us crazy Americans was true.

I pressed her on it, telling her that if she was willing to work hard for it, there was no reason that she couldn't fulfill her dream of teaching. To hell with the authorities who decided she was better suited to clerical work in an office, just because of her bodily imperfection.

Eventually her Mother got involved, reminding me that I was a guest and shouldn't be putting crazy ideas into her daughter's head. We exchanged a few letters after that, and at one point we were going to meet in a nearby city so that my wife could meet her too, but plans for that fell through and were never followed up.

I often wonder whatever happened to her. I sometimes wonder if a little bit of the crazy American attitude rubbed off on her. Lord knows I tried.

* If that sounds implausible, a good friend of mine lived in Biersborn, not too far away. They celebrated their 1500th birthday while we were there. Biersborn appeared on ancient Roman maps as a trade route waypoint.

** I had saurkraut that night within weeks of arriving in Germany, and never again even saw it on a menu in a restaurant for the rest of my three-year tour.

During my temporary hiatus, I'd remind everyone about my other blog: Quiet Tales. Think of it as me expressing my creative side when I haven't forgotten my meds.