Author Archives: Ken Hansen

Columbus Corruptus

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Happy October to all the boys and girls in the Gregorian Calendar Universe!! Whether you’re a cat or an ant lion, I hope you all have a wonderful October; and may the Great Pumpkin bring you lots of presents on Halloween. But, hey, if you really ARE a cat or an ant lion, it’s not likely you’re reading this, so just nevermind. Go eat some antmice or something.

For all youse human reading-type beings, Happy October already. Not sure about your neighborhood, but ours will soon be extravagantly beautiful with glorious fall colors. Autumn is truly a magnificent time of year.

So this coming Monday will be Columbus Day.  A federal holiday here in the U.S.; which is why our daughter now refers to it as “no mail day.”  She actually calls it that for other reasons, which I shall elaborate upon in a minute.  Even though it’s a holiday, nobody invited us over for Columbus Cobbler with Moosetracks ice cream and small waffles dripping with olive oil.  Maybe I was expecting too much!!  I don’t need any of that stuff, anyhow. My COVID midriff is already becoming large enough to store unused motor oil. Wanna go get a Whopper?  I think they’re on sale!!  Anyway, I remember hearing about Columbus when I was very young. Most of you probably do too; you know… he journeyed over here in 1492 in three ships: the Ninja, the Placenta, and the Hanna-Barbera. Or something like that…

Now that I’m an old fart and have learned a few things, I’ll have to say I’m a bit confused about the fondness for Columbus Day. Well, I understand how the Italians think it’s pretty cool; he was one of theirs, after all. But when I was a kid, the teachers lied to me with their faces. They told me that Columbus discovered America. This makes me cry inside. They even made us learn that stupid poem:

In fourteen hundred and ninety two,

Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

If he hollers let him go,

Eeenie, meenie, mynie, moe.

Pretty weird poem. Even though I may have it a little wrong, my revised version makes about as much sense as Columbus “discovering” America. Sure, he was able to talk Isabella into financing a voyage to look for a new route to India. He basically got lost and ended up in the Caribbean, in what later became known as the West Indies.

Eventually he figured out where he really was, so he made several more trips and got the ball rolling for Spain to conquer Central and South America. Then lots of Europeans were catching on to the riches in “New World.” Bad medicine for the folks who were already here for several thousand years (not so good for lots of Africans, either). The white folks were absolutely sure they lived in a Superior Universe, and if you didn’t believe them, they had the weapons to prove it.

OK, I digress.  Remember when I mentioned that my school teachers lied to me about Columbus “discovering” America?  Well that’s because archaeologists and historians have learned otherwise.  Turns out Vikings were here about 600 years before Columbus, and even tried to settle in a place they called Vinland. Didn’t work out so well, so they went back home. Guess they were happier chasing whales and herring.

My ancestors were vikings, but that’s not your fault.  Come to think of it, it’s not my fault either!! And it’s also not my fault that when I was a kid in school, we white folks didn’t seem to get nearly enough information on the history of the Native Americans; who were really the first ones here. But hey, why should we have focused on any of that?  We Europeans stole this continent from them fair and square!

Can you tell I feel strongly about this?? I mean, Columbus didn’t discover ANYTHING. Lots of folks knew about this place before he did. When I was a younger lad, I’d rant and rave about this stuff like there was no tomorrow. Get really emotional and all that. Veins protruding from my neck, pale face turning into red face. With freckles. Now I’m still a young lad, but I live in an old man’s body; so I’m pretty sure all that red face vein protrusion stuff is not healthy.  But I’ve learned a few things over the years; and now I can do something REALLY weird. I can pay attention to what’s going on, and vote. Change the things I can, accept the things I can’t.  No more red vein protruding face stuff.

Sure, I love living in a free country and having the luxury of owning too much junk. But I try to be sensitive to those who were here first. I still get mildly irked about all the Columbus Day hoopla, but it’s numbed out substantially. Thankfully, the term “Idigenous Peoples’ Day” is being celebrated as a substitute for Columbus Day in more and more places every year.  As our daughter so accurately stated:  for us, “Columbus Day” is just another day when we don’t get mail.

As I said in the beginning of this little rant, the Autumn colors of the trees will soon reach a peak. Now, THAT’S something to celebrate for a Happy October!! Fresh apples and lots of other fall harvest goodies are ready and waiting for us at the farmers markets and in the stores!!

Well, it’s getting late outside. Just got back from a football game over in Walker, about a 40 minute drive from here. It’s rather warm tonight, but we had frost warnings earlier this week. Holy Varfnoggles!! I missed a grand opportunity!!

I could have gone outside to “discover” cold air!

Oh, and remember when I mentioned that one of Columbus’s ships was the Hanna-Barbera?  They made a lot cartoons!!  Unfortunately, I could only find snippets of them on the interwebs; so I didn’t really want to plop a lousy snippet here for the weekly video.  So here’s a here’s an early Merrie Melodies gem I “discovered” after some digging (meaning I’ve never seen it before).  Hope you like it as much as I did.

Rock The Vote!! Again, And Again, And Again…

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Say what??  Most of us in the U.S. are pretty sick up and fed with election crap, and we’re really ready to move on with life.  Doesn’t matter which side you’re on;  there is sure to be much more activism and mudslinging pretty much forever; or so it seems.  Lately, political rhetoric has reared its ugly nostrils and is sniffing in the deliciously annoying media compost bins. 

As my good friend (not) Mr. Nixon would have said, “Let me say this about that.”  While voting at the polls is a vital responsibility for those who wish to live in a democracy, there is also a type of voting all of us should really embrace as a way of life.  We need to determine what kind of planet we want to live on, and more importantly, what kind of planet we want for our kids.  So in my professional opinion, we all need to rock the vote.  Again and again.  Not just with ballots, but with each dollar we spend; and every action we take.  Now, I can’t tell anyone what to do, but here are just a few examples of how I “vote” and why:

Chemical Pesticides, Fertilizers:  I do not buy them.  Ever.  Why?  Foist of awl, pesticides are poison.  Pretty good reason not to buy them, right?  Unfortunately, most pesticides often kill beneficial creatures like wasps and spiders; not to mention the harmful effect they have on humans and other animals (hey!!  I told you not to mention that!!).  Food crops can be grown with companion planting to minimize pest damage; and there are many other Nature-friendly ways of keeping plants safe from pests.

Fertilizers offered by Mother Nature are available in most places where plants grow naturally.  Composted leaves, grass clippings, and manure are good examples of soil building materials, and are natural fertilizers.  Because I grow a fairly good sized garden, there are times when hook up my trailer and  jump in my automobile to retrieve these things.  Usually all I need is available free at our local landfill transfer station (fondly known to us as “the dump”).  However, if I were to go to a store to buy even organic stuff, much more energy is consumed mining, processing, packaging, and shipping fertilizers and pesticides.  A lot of dinosaur juice (petroleum) is used to support this industry in the form of fuel for energy, and petrochemicals for processing.  And let’s not forget how they are packaged, either in paper bags (bye bye trees) or plastic bags (petroleum again!). And even more wonderfully, the factories that manufacture these goodies pollute, and when it rains their products also pollute.  And don’t even get me started on “weed and feed.”   Our lawn gets mowed, that’s it.  The neighbors probably cry when my dandelions are in bloom.  We think they are pretty, and the bees love them.

We get some pretty awesome veggies that we grow organically.  We do not spray any crops to keep the bugs off, but rather we use crop rotation and companion planting to keep insect damage to a minimum.  I’ve heard some folks say, “Without fertilizers and pesticides you would not have all that wonderful produce you see at Meijer.”  Well that is simply a crock of moose juice.  Anybody notice the proliferation of certified organic produce at the supermarket??  Huh??  Guess what?  Those growers are doing pretty well these days.

Packaged Meals:  First of all, blech!!  We prefer fresh food and home cooking, thank you very much. Package meals are intended to be convenient, of course, but holy MOLY the ingredients are poisonous awreddy!!  Sodium, ingredients I can’t pronounce, sugars, sodium, and also more sodium.  What I’m saying here is that packaged meals are chock-full of chemicals, and many of these are known to damage our bodies.  Of course, all these nasties are made by chemical plants.  Chemical plants consume energy and pollute.  More petroleum.  Oh, and not to forget the packaging:  plastics and paper.  More dead trees, more dinosaur juice.

Automobiles:  One of my all time favorite hot rods was a Toyota Corolla.  I got 35 miles to a gallon, sometimes more.  When our son’s car died, I passed it along to him; albeit with a “serious defect”:  the odometer won’t go any farther than 299,999 miles.  It’s a known defect and the only way to change it is to buy a new instrument cluster.  The stupid thing is 17 years old and still runs like brand new!!  My lovely wife has a  15 year old Toyota Matrix, which will also get over 30 mpg.  Although we’d love to have electric or at least hybrid cars, we at least can drive vehicles that don’t burn so much dinosaur juice.  Our planet has a finite supply of oil, and cars are just a small part of the consumption of it.  So although I don’t have the bucks for an electric or hybrid car (yet) I do like the fact that the cars we own have a track record of lasting up to 20 years.  Call me a “tree hugger,” or whatever other radical environmentalist label you like; but Hummers and Escalades and the like should be illegal (again, that’s just my professional opinion).

Electricity:  “Turn the lights off!!  Whaddya think, we own the Edison??  That’s what your Grandma and Grandpa would say ya know.”  My beautiful wife would shout this at the kids to remind them that power costs money.  She used “the Edison” to refer to the power company because when she was a kid growing up near Detroit, that was the name of the outfit that ruled the electrons.  So she echoed her mom and dad when yelling at our kids.  We must have raised them right, they both confess to be habitual light switcher-offers (technical talk).  Here again, electricity generation relies a lot on fuel, whether it’s coal or natural gas or whatever.  There is more and more alternative energy available these days but the percentage is meager compared to the output of fuel burning plants.  More demand equals greater dependency on petroleum, either directly (burning to generate power) or indirectly (shipping coal).  During the Arab Oil Embargo in the seventies, Mr. Nixon (holy cow, I mentioned him again) urged everyone to conserve.  Businesses were urged to turn off all lighting except that required for security or safety reasons when they closed up shop for the night.  Drive past any shopping mall and see if this is the case these days.  I think just a couple thousand people are leaving the lights on!!

Reuse, Recycle:  Reusing objects is pretty much the norm at our house.  Cloth grocery bags have really been a nice way to keep all those plastic bags out of the house.  Of course, we do buy disposable things like food storage bags (for example); but we wash and reuse them regularly.  There is a limit to this, of course, but plastic freezer bags can be washed and reused several times before they go into the trash.  We also we also do weird things like reuse plastic half gallon ice cream containers from Country Dairy.  When I make too much soup, I scoop it into the ice cream bucket, put a small hunk of tape on the lid, label it and date it, and into the freezer it goes.  Glass jars make very nice containers for dry beans, corn meal, popcorn, and the like.  We have very little trash left over after composting our veggie waste and recycling the plastics, cans, and glass.

Think Globally, Act (buy) Locally: “Everything’s made in (expletive deleted) China!!” That’s the refrain my lovely girlfriend and I have chanted many times over the years when we went shopping. Never thought I’d actually say it, but I do my best to buy goods that were made locally or at least as close to home as possible. And yes, I do find myself looking for the “Made in USA” label. Of course, we buy things that are made abroad, but having some awareness is vital. Keeping the dollars at home will help our communities thrive.

Well, I could go on and on, and this could become a very very long Happy Friday.  Suffice it to say that I would love to see more people join a movement of “Let Every Dollar I Spend Send A Message.”  And yes, I’m sure there’s much more that I could do… I sometimes spend my money on crap just like anybody else.

Of course, I’m not so naive to think that voting with dollars is the only answer. Rather, it’s the tip of a very large iceberg. Decisions we humans make have deep and lasting effects on our Mother Earth and all the Citizens of Nature (that includes all of US). Every action we take, every word we speak, really, really matters.  There IS positive change in the works, but it is woefully under-reported by the media.

My friends, we need to stand up for what’s right, but learn to disagree without being disagreeable.  We can do this.  Together.  With Love!!

It’s not a new concept…

We Are Men, So:  Retreat!!

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What does it mean to be a man?  Biologically speaking, I guess a man simply means being male and past the age of puberty.  But of course, it’s much more than that.  Right??  Well, I hope you’re not going to try to pin me down on what a man is, because I’m still learning that one.  While I was growing up, movie stars like John Wayne, Glenn Ford, Gary Cooper and the like were considered male role models.  Real men! Gun toting, sports loving, woman dominating guys that made this country great!!  Right??  

I don’t think so!!  

And because I don’t think so, according to some males there must be something wrong with me.  I don’t give a rip about sports. I don’t own a gun. In regard to women, I have nothing but the highest respect for them.  Admit it guys, you really have to give a huge amount of credit to women.  They brought us into this world, and in spite of the way all too many men have mistreated and abused females over the years, we still have women who are willing to put up with us.

Is that dedication or what?? 

Well, one of the things I’ve learned along the way is that fire and water don’t mix.  Even more importantly, firewater and family life definitely don’t mix.  At least not in my case, where one serving of firewater was too many and a thousand wasn’t enough.  And that is also the case for most of the men I consider friends these days.  We all have a common bond:  firewater make man crazy, stop drinking firewater and get into recovery, recovery make man better.  We’ve embraced a rather strange concept called “surrender to win.”  There is a bunch of us, and for those in this neck of the woods who get their application turned in by the deadline there is the annual “spiritual retreat.” 

In case any of you man-boys out there are thinking of attending one of these events, here’s a little sample of what you might find, which may or may not be a completely silly joke (well OK, it’s a joke) that I’m in dire need of writing because of the horribly brain draining universe I’ve been living in these days…

Day 1:  (Friday evening)

 Check in.  I was handed a packet of welcome materials, including a schedule, from a nice man who smiled at me and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Go find a place in the dirt for sleeping.”  So, I humbly took my tent to the mosquito infested river bank and set up my “room” for the weekend. Some friends saw me fumbling with the poles and walked over to mock me and pretend to help.  They all had a good laugh as I battled the blood sucking bugs, smacking the ones on my head with my hand until I was speaking in tongues.  Then they led me to the camp fire where a very old man with three teeth and big, bulging eyes was telling a story:  

“Long ago in Grandfather’s beard, a small squid died and stunk for days. All the village Elders offered him fire to drink and hid his remote control. Little children crawled up to see him and chewed off his toes. His own family sent for the Magic Bowl. They filled it with bird runch and mixed in pork, crayon shavings and geek fat. The ceremony began with the first three episodes of “Gilligan’s Island”; and when Grandfather started lusting for Mrs. Howell they fed him the Modongo. Very soon Grandfather blortled and fipped. He asked “What kind of bird runch are you feeding me today? Anyhow?” His family laughed at the snackwonder, and said, “This is a very joyful time for us.  We must remove our Flingel shirts and dance wildly around the Popsicle stick.”  As he finished the last sentence, everyone received a Popsicle.  

After this rather strange ritual, all the guys got dressed again and “Little Louie” shouted, “Meeting Time!!  C’mon, everybody grab a stump!!”  Then we started off with a topic, “using macramé to kill cravings.”  Silly me, I thought macramé was a forgotten art, but each man was handed some twine and when it was his turn to share about some issue with which he was struggling, he was to add his twine to the weave.  The finished product resembled a large duck with a sledgehammer on its head… and it was announced that, “Some lucky person will be taking this home after the retreat is done.”

Midnight rolled around and none of us had eaten dinner.  But we were assured we wouldn’t go to bed hungry; and that we should line up and a “fine feast” would be waiting for us in the lodge kitchen.  By this time I had already made a few friends and boy, I’m telling you, that bowl of Rice Crispies was just plain awesome.  After eating I flopped into my tent and slept like a baby until reveille.

Day 2:  (Saturday)

At about 5:30 in the stinkin’ morning I hear some kakahead  near the lodge yelling, “Breakfast for Kings!!  Breakfast for Ki-i-n-ngs!”  I’m thinking manly thoughts of running over and choking this guy.  But then my serenity kicked in, and I put on an happy face and dragged my sleepy hiney over to see what this “Breakfast for Kings” was all about.  Turns out they had invented a new way to cook eggs the previous year, and “Old Herman” was dropping a dozen or two straight into the coals of the camp fire. Shells and all!  We were each given a wooden spoon that had been soaked in castor oil and told, “Just get them eggs outta there when they’re done the way you like ’em.”   I excused myself and went to my car, where I had carefully stashed a Snickers bar and a RC cola.

 After the “King’s Breakfast,” there was a long line for the port-a-john.  Once the fumes cleared, the activities coordinator jumped up on a stump and spoke loudly.  “We’re gonna have some fun today… now we know you’re here for your spirit, but we gotta play a little too.  So, we’ve arranged for golf and tree-bowling.  Just tell Arliss over here if you wanna golf, and tell Rufert over there if you wanna go tree-bowling.”  Most of the guys hooked up with Arliss, and my good friend Dick asked me if I was going to golf.  I told him that I don’t really golf, but thanks anyway.  In the spirit of the retreat, he promptly told me, “Well, I guess you’re just a stupid wuss and I won’t be talking to you anymore after today.”  So, remembering that tolerance is the key to spiritual wisdom, I prayed for him to hop into his car and run over his clubs while I walked over to Rufert to find out about this tree-bowling.  

“Hi Rufert, I’m Ken,” I announced as I shook his hand.  I looked around for any evidence of equipment and asked, “What’s this tree-bowling about, anyway?”  “Well,” he said sheepishly, “we didn’t have enough money to rent a lane at the bowling alley, and nobody had any pins at home.  So….”  I waited eagerly as he paused and looked at the ground and tightened his lips.  “So,” he continued, “we found some trees that are in a formation like bowling pins.  We’re gonna use this big beach ball over there and pretend we’re knocking them down.”  Then I responded, “Ohhh… ok…. well, ummm… how are you gonna keep score?”  “Oh FINE!! So you don’t want to play, huh??  What are you, some kind of wussy??  You better go before I lose my patience here,” Rufert snorted.

I decided to relax by the river and read my meditation books while the rest of the men played their very important games.  I don’t know about any other men out there, but one of the most helpful books for me is, “Daily Meditations for Men Who Have No Self-Esteem and Are Not Likely to Get Any.”  I believe it’s one of those Hazelnut publications.  Interesting, because in light of what was going on around me that day, the reading fit it to a tee:  “You are surrounded by dogs.  Remember that you are also a dog, and if you step in dog dirt your Higher Power will help you clean your shoes.”  How profound!

Well, when the men came back from their fun, it was time to eat again.  We were all amazed that we were eating so early… 10:47 p.m. and we were all famished.  “Old Herman” had outdone himself this time:  marshmallow pudding with peas, and deep fried salami sandwiches.  I was totally unaware that you could deep fry a whole sandwich, but “Old Herman” pulled it off.  I asked him later how he managed this feat, and he very humbly shrugged and pointed to the minnow trap in the corner.  When I turned my head to look, I saw that the wire trap glistened with oil droplets.  Then I turned my head back toward “Old Herman” and he gave me a wistful wink and nodded his head.  Then he abruptly excused himself and made a bee line for the port-a-john.

After dinner I scraped the grease off my face and slid back into my tent and enjoyed indigestion rumblings and numerous trips to the port-a-john for the entire night.  Maybe part of my inability to sleep was anticipation of the next morning, which was the wrap up session for the retreat.

Day 3:  (Sunday morning)

No “King’s Breakfast” this morning.  Ah well.  Instead, we got instructions on what wild fruits and edible plants were available in the area, and also a hand-drawn map on where to find them.  As we all set out to forage, I made a loop through the woods and got back into my car where I had some Little Debbie snack cakes tucked under the seat.  “Old Herman” spotted me and invited himself in, and the two of us shoved snack cakes into our faces until the rest of the poor souls returned with thorns on their lips and burrs in their clothing.  We were all invited to circle around the camp fire to say a last group prayer before departing.  “Old Herman” and I gleefully burped often and blew the scent of Little Debbie snack cakes into the nostrils of our famished neighbors.  Then we all did the secret handshake and called each other vile names, hopped in our cars, and gunned our engines to get the heck out of there.  Each of us abused our transmissions and kicked up globs of dirt with our tires until there was nothing visible but a huge cloud of dust over the lodge.  And I think I saw that poor macramé duck thing along the road as I drove home.

So as you call can see, this story about the men’s retreat was completely fabricated. But hey, I can hardly wait till next year!!  I’m sure I’ll be going, but I’ll make sure to tell “Old Herman” I’ll be a little late.

Gotta stop at the store on the way…

And now for something completely different.

Cashes To Ashes

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When we were quite young, my Beautiful Girlfriend and I were plucked from suburban lifestyles and thrown into the Northern Wisconsin Dingleweeds. Strangely enough, both of us ended up in the same small town called Rhinelander; which slapped each of us in the brainplace with some heavy duty culture shock. However, we met and then fell in love in that quaint little town. And I’m very grateful that we had a magnificent marriage that lasted over 50 years. She passed to the Other Side this past May. Not sure how I lucked out, but somehow the Most Beautiful Woman In The Universe became my best friend. And then she let me marry her!!

Oh, and for the record: all other women in the Universe are the Second Most Beautiful.

Anyway, besides our relationship, a marvelous benefit arose from small town life: we both acquired a deep fondness of Nature and natural living. And no, by natural living I don’t mean residing in the bush with stone tools and strange, handcrafted clothing. I’m talking about farm life. Our huge (well, maybe not so huge) plot of 5 acres has given our children and us much joy and lots of delicious homegrown veggies over the years. A couple of creeks (pronounced “cricks” by us country folk) traverse the property; which provide an amazing playground for kids of all ages, and of course a unique environment for all types of living things. We very much enjoy seeing and hearing all the creatures with whom we share our small chunk of Paradise.

Another part of country living of which we’ve grown rather fond is the bone-warming feeling of wood heat. At first, burning wood was an economic necessity. Our home was built in 1940, and no thought was given toward any insulation at all. Consequently, the Oil Guzzling Furnace Monster in the basement was sucking money right out of our wallets. Thankfully, the chimney was originally built to withstand the burning of coal; so it was ideal for burning wood.

When we were kids, my brother and I were total wood slaves. Dad loved his fire, and we cut, chopped, stacked, and toted many tons of firewood to keep it going. Believe it or not, I actually began to enjoy all this manual labor. It was a great way for a frustrated teen to blow off steam without being destructive. Kept me pretty fit too. And little did I know that all those wood slave skills would one day ease the economic burden of keeping an old, uninsulated house warm.

Since I”m not interested in spending all my free time cutting, splitting, and hauling firewood, I buy most of it. Hauling it from outside to inside still helps me stay fit, and believe it or not, I’m still pretty OK with being a wood slave. We’ve greatly improved the wood burning appliances over the years and have remedied much of the insulation woes. This place is pretty darn cozy, even when it’s well below zero outside. The Oil Guzzling Furnace Monster has been replaced with a high efficiency natural gas furnace; and it might actually be cheaper to heat with gas. But we got hooked on the wood because it warms the body much better.

When you’re a firewood customer; you run into some very interesting folks who cut wood for profit. To be honest, I’m not sure how they can make a profit after putting in all the work of cutting, hauling, and then delivering it to me for $180 a cord. We go through about 6 cords a year; so we have to find someone who works with large quantities of firewood. We’ll look through the newspaper, or maybe on the Bookface or Craig’s List, and give them a try with a cord or two. If we like what we see, we buy more. Always with cash… they gotta have cash. And who could blame them? However, we’ve learned that if a firewood guy says he’s coming on Saturday at 4 PM, that means he’ll probably be there on Saturday… but who knows what time. “Oh, I was on a different run so I thought I’d come early” one might say while we’re eating breakfast. Or perhaps they don’t show until 9:30 PM. And some of the trucks these guys own look like they’ve been in a demolition derby. Regardless of all that, I’ve never met a firewood guy I didn’t like.

Our current firewood folks are real weirdos. They wear clean clothes. They show up on time. They have a truck that’s older but it’s obvious they keep it in very good shape. They have all their teeth. They’re really, REALLY nice. And they have very nice wood. Not your normal firewood folk; at least not in my experience.

I went to the drive up ATM the other night to get the cash. Dunno about you, but this here country boy don’t see $360 in $20 bills very often. Kinda dazzled me I guess. Anyway, the following morning I stopped at the gas station to get an orange juice; and I noticed my debit card was missing. Went back inside, but nobody found my card there. Started retracing my steps… Family Farm & Home. Called them. Nope, no debit card. Then I called Family Financial Credit Union where the ATM is. “Yes, it was shredded,” said the nice lady; and then she explained, “If you forget your card in the slot, it’s automatically shredded.” “Good!!” I said. Not because I was happy my card was destroyed, but I was relieved that it wasn’t lying about somewhere.

Oh well. As the old saying goes, “Cashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Or something.

They Don’t Make ‘Em Like They Used To

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Once upon a time, a horribly beautiful, terrible but remarkable, and yet pretty amazing thing happened: our water heater died. One may well ask, “How can the death of a water heater conjure so many adjectives in one sentence?” Of course, one (or even two) may not ask that at all. I mean who really cares, right? Water heaters croak… new ones are only guaranteed for 6 years and are expected to last for maybe 10 to 15 years.

So what’s the big deal? Well, we knew our 80 gallon Hotpoint water heater was old when we bought the house way back in 1982. This was when dinosaurs roamed the earth and people communicated over long distances with tin cans connected with string. What we didn’t know until it died was that our trusty old water heater was built in 1952!!! I mean, this thing was born before us!! Seventy two years ago!! I told the installer, “Hey maybe we should keep it, it’s eligible for Medicare!!” One friend on that BookFace thing on the interwebs said it might be a world record for water heater longevity.

As I watched the poor “kids” (when you’re in your 70s, “kids” are anyone 30 years old or less) haul the disconnected monster out of the basement, I couldn’t help but reflect on the throw-away world we’ve built around us. Too many things have obsolescence built into them; because hey, business depends on sales, and sales don’t happen when things last forever. That may be good for sales but it’s not very good for our planet.

However, I do know from experience that there are a few companies on this planet who make things that last a long time; but in my professional opinion those are few and far between. Toyota is one of those companies. They believe that business should be sustainable; not just growth oriented. Toyota makes some of the longest lasting cars on the road; and that’s what brings customers back. They certainly sold me; the 2003 Corolla I bought brand new had well over 300,000 miles on it. We don’t know how many miles it went exactly, because a factory defect for that model year prevents the speedometer from going any farther than 299,999 miles. The body was still in very good shape, and it runs like brand new. Our son inherited it when the odometer refused to change, so he just used the trip meters to plan for oil changes and such. I think it had almost a half a million miles on it when it went to the boneyard.

Lots of folks chase the newest, shiniest toys: cell phones, cars, TVs, etc. My Beautiful Girlfriend and I were always happy to live in the Stone Age with our aging (but very functional) cars, landline phone, and antenna TV. So basically we were weirdos; and we liked it. Our favorite thing about all our stuff was that we owned it. We have zero debt. Nada. Zip. Nibbit. Blazoo. Well OK those last two “words” aren’t words, but as I said, we were weirdos.

I rather doubt this new water heater will last 65 years. Maybe, just maybe, it will outlive me; but I’m not counting on it. No, they just don’t make ’em like they used to… and sometimes that’s a good thing. They don’t make music like they used to either… and now it’s time for me to share some of my favorite “oldies” with you.

Enjoy!

Peace, Love, And Understanding

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Well my friends, here we are again in another election cycle. Lots of opinions flying around the interwebs and the Twitbooks and Facepages. Some opinions are based on facts, some are making up “facts” as they go along. All I know is, if someone is very sure about themselves, there’s not much I can do to get them to look in a different direction. There was a time in my life when I felt it was very important for me to try however; and all that accomplished was hurt feelings and sometimes the loss of a friendship.

A very dear friend of mine used to say, “You know, we can disagree without being disagreeable.” As I grow older and moldier, I try to practice that philosophy. Sometimes I fall short, of course; because what can I say? I’m human. In tough times though, I’m finding that peace and harmony are much more important than getting on a soap box.

Does all that mean that I’m OK with injustice, hatred, and environmental insults to Mother Nature happening in this world? Of course not! I just need to be careful not to spit out all the “My Way Or The Highway” platitudes. There’s certainly enough discord in this world without me stirring up more. However, anger can be stirred up even when facts are presented. An example: I remember posting a complaint about the actions of a government official on the Bookface. A torrent of comments ensued, some agreeing and some not. I was saddened by one of our leader’s actions and I spoke out, but I was not prepared for the sniping that my post generated. Then, unfortunately, some name calling ensued.

My response: I deleted the post. I could no longer bear the sniping.

All of us have the right to our thoughts; but when discussion morphs into anger fueled rants, communication is sabotaged. Name calling will not promote harmony; which is desperately needed right now. I’ve come to realize that any negative thought can be harmful. At the very least, negativity causes my Serenity Alarm to loudly clang between my ears; but my professional opinion is such thoughts are harmful to the Universe in general. Lately I’ve been working much harder to keep my thoughts as positive as possible. An exercise I’ve been reading about insists that any negative thought must be immediately replaced with a positive or at least neutral thought. This applies to situations, places, things, and of course people. Instead of bad mouthing any him or her, I instead work to pray for the person to be happy and healthy all the day long. This isn’t always easy, but the result has been much greater peace of mind.

I’m pretty sure God wants me to live that way. In fact, I’ve come to believe that God wants me to love everything and everyone. Years ago I stumbled upon an anonymous quote which stated that “Nature is God’s reflection.” Holy Wazooky!! That means everything from molecules (or smaller) to galaxies and beyond!! Although I have no idea of the origin, it has become one of my favorite quotes. Then a friend challenged me by saying, “So Ken, that means all of us are part of that reflection, right??” Of course I had to agree. So I do my best to love everyone, even those who I will likely not invite to dinner. It’s just better that way.

To quote a favorite artist of mine, “What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding?”

Good Grief

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Here comes our last goodbye; at least in the physical sense of the word. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll be putting my Beautiful Girlfriend’s bones in the ground. She wanted to be cremated, but she also wanted a stone; so of course that’s what we did. Her name, my name, and our son’s name all carved on the face; as the local cemetery allows up to 3 sets of cremated remains in the same plot.

Her remains are in a biodegradeable container… a cylindrical pressed cardboard thingy with a nice picture of some trees covering the outside. I put Never Anne’s cremated remains in the container with my Honey Pie… our daughter reminded me that Mom made that a requirement some time ago. Nevvie was our calico cat who lived with us for 21½ years. Although she started out as our daughter’s kitty, when our daughter moved into town she knew full well that Ms. Never Anne, the inside / outside mighty huntress, would never tolerate being cooped up in an apartment. Very soon after our daughter moved out, Nevvie latched on to my Lovely Bride and wouldn’t let go.

Last Friday we were graced by the presence of well over 100 loved ones who came to the Celebration Of Life. Many came from quite far away. And since my Honey was a nurse, the local chapter of the Nurse Honor Guard blessed us with an amazing tribute to my Honey’s nursing career. In contrast, the internment will be a small affair… a total of 16 of us. Immediate family only, biological and extended. I’ll be reading a short goodbye piece I wrote in honor of My Sweetie’s passing, and I’ll lead the group in The Serenity Prayer at the end to finish up. All this just one week after the Celebration of Life, and 3 days after what would have been our 51st wedding anniversary.

We want to be done.

To honor her, I posted a memory on the Bookface on August 21, the day we were married way back in 1973. Got lots of love and caring comments of course. But every now and again folks say things like “I’m sorry you have such pain.” I try to reassure them that it’s OK… this is what grieving is all about. Our embracing of the principles in our 12 step program have given my Honey and me some tools along this journey we call life. We’ve been able to endure the travails of her illness. And holy cow, she was able to face her demise with grace and dignity. We were able to tell all our friends and family that we were “… grateful and content much of the time.”

And we were!

So the pain of losing my life partner has been both bearable and unbearable. I’ve cried often; and will likely continue to do so when needed. I remember telling her, “I can see myself crawling into a deep dark hole when you’re gone.” Not a healthy way to deal with any of this. Instead, since she’s passed I’ve gone to more 12 step meetings than I have in many moons. I continue to see our therapist who has helped both of us process the challenges of a terminal illness and its inevitable outcome. I’ve signed up for two grief support groups for those who have lost spouses. And my social calendar has filled up quickly. Even made some very nice new friendships!! I’ve learned long ago that God works though people; and that sharing all my feelings with those who care about me is a very important part of the healing process. And yes it still hurts, but the sting is waning a tiny bit. A very tiny bit.

I’ve asked her to come home several times but that doesn’t happen for some reason (duh). However, I’ve felt her presence numerous times, and have also received what I’m sure are thoughts from her on matters ranging from who to mention in her obituary to “I want some of that strawberry shortcake!!” I’m absolutely certain that although she left her body behind she is still very much alive in The Great Beyond. It can be comforting when I stay reminded of that; but I do miss her terribly and sometimes I just need to have a good cry. So I do.

And that’s very OK.

So… I posted this video on the Bookface recently but the song won’t leave my head lately so here it is again. I sang it often when she was here, and I suspect I’ll continue to sing it for some time.

Nitrite Ni-Nights

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I try to do my best to eat a healthy diet. But sometimes… just sometimes mind you, I veer far away from such self discipline and just go for the gusto.

Well guess what??  During a recent grocery store excursion, I was determined to find some low fat stuff that was fun to eat.  Like maybe liverwurst or hot dogs or something.  Don’t ask me why, but about every six months or so I get a craving for that stuff.  Yes, I know there are lips and noses and all sorts of weird stuff in hot dogs.  And God only knows what all they put in liverwurst.  Sure, they both have ingredient lists on the package, but you just can’t help but think they put something in there that they aren’t talking about.  Although both have sodium nitrite in them (not a good thing for your body), I don’t eat them often enough to get any nitrite nastiness. I hope… Anyway, I figured once in awhile won’t hurt.  Anyway, on my latest munchies mission I was looking around for some foods that wouldn’t put the lard in my booty, and guess what I found?  Low fat liverwurst (known in these parts as braunschweiger) and fat free hot dogs!  I grabbed a package of each, and very soon enjoyed the decadent pleasure of processed meat.  A liverwurst sandwich with low fat mayo and a dab of mustard for lunch, and a couple fat free hot dogs with my stir steamed veggies for dinner.  I was in hog heaven.  Pun intended (there’s really no such thing as “low fat liverwurst”).

I suffered no ill effect, and got my processed meat craving out of the way for awhile.  Well, OK, there was one effect, but I don’t really consider it a bad one.  I got a free “movie” out of the deal.  It’s like this, OK:  I don’t eat processed meat very often.  When I get that urge I mentioned earlier, I usually go in like gangbusters and have lots of yummies with chemicals that are not normally in my body.  And I’ve noticed that whenever I stuff my face with things that have sodium nitrite in them, well, I have very interesting dreams…

There I was, minding my own business, on a pontoon boat with no side rails or canopy.  I was one of several people on a fishing trip, and we had just sighted some huge bluegills when the guide started complaining aloud, “Well, we can’t fish here.  The grocery store doesn’t want us fishing in their parking lot.”  I was pretty disappointed, but when I looked over the side and saw the parking lot markers on the asphalt (about 6 feet underwater) I knew that this was just the way things had to be.  We motored off into the middle of the lake (or whatever it was) and slowed down while we passed a strange wooden dwelling that jutted out of the water.  The structure was not painted, and had obviously been there for a very long time.  Inside, people with very long noses were speaking a strange language and drawing pictographs on each other’s backs.  Then suddenly, the scene changed…

I found myself in a college lecture hall, and my sixth grade teacher was having everyone stand up and do recitals that were due that morning.  I got the sudden sense that my turn was quite awhile off, so I decided to take Bishop the Wonderdog for a walk.  We walked through a nearby neighborhood which was bordered by some woods, and stumbled upon a very large cat.  My first instinct was that we had met up with a mountain lion, but the coloring was that of a domestic feline.  However, this kitty was very large, probably in the neighborhood of eighty pounds or so.  I expected the cat to get all poofy at the sight of my doggie, but quite the opposite happened.  I heard a thrashing noise, and turned to see Bishop’s fur getting all poofed up.  He was visibly trembling and excited, and his ears were flapping about and looked like small horse tails flying every which way.  At this point I went back into the lecture hall, only to learn that my turn to recite had long since passed and everyone had gone home.

Now how does one analyze that dream?!? It was just plain fun!!  That’s my analysis.  Recreational dreaming.  Before retirement, I told stories of hot dog dreams to friends at work, and I remember a guy was envious a few days later, because he had eaten several hot dogs and had no dreams.  He thought maybe he might shoot up some hot dogs before bed time, but I am pretty sure that HOT DOGS MUST NEVER BE TAKEN INTRAVENOUSLY.  And really, with all the chemicals and whatnot; I wouldn’t even advise eating them at all, except for the fact that sometimes they just plain taste good.  So the next time I go to the store, I’ll try to help my non-dreaming friends out and see what kind of cool dream foods they have…

Probably start in the frozen camera section.  I’ve heard that deep-fried watch batteries are very delirious and full of norg oxides, which strengthen your screaming bones.  While urging the ceiling tiles to quit sniffing crayons, Clamp Store Managers often shout at squid as they have cart races through the small table mazes.  Ink-flavored baggage has been found to prevent shoe decay, so when the Amazing Puckered Jelly Mixer begins to twinkle in the closets, all the new employees will be happy to learn of their celery.  As we move now to the chain-operated video spray, thick woolen camouflage breadsticks push other bagels out of the paper fudge racks.  Now, we are sure, no foods in this whole universe are better than freeze dried pajamas.

I think I should maybe stop eating braunhotschweigerdogs for awhile now…

Berg Snerfles Who Live On Mars

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Note: The following story was inspired by our grandsons when they were several years younger than now. If you don’t believe me, just ask me some time.

Back in the day, which was the day before a few thousand days before today, on a Saturday, during the summer, a large, pickle shaped meteorite fell to Earth with great screeching and flaming and smoke and kaboom. All the local folk saw it land in Clem Barfington’s corn field; and it seemed like just as soon as it hit the ground there was a crowd of curiosity seekers closing in to check it out.

Several minutes after the meteorite landed, there was still quite a bit of smoke floating up from the cornfield crater. However, the smoke was very strange… it was bright orange with green and purple stripes; and had a very unique odor. Cindy Tringletoes was pretty close to the site, and had been breathing some of this strange vapor as the crowd grew. Suddenly, her eyes opened really wide as she took a couple long, deep sniffs. Then her face kind of twisted sideways as she started speaking out of the left side of her mouth and said, “Hmmm… smells like a combination of Zanga fruit and Brope noodles!!”

After Cindy’s strange announcement, her Mom started to ask her what the HECK she was talking about; but was interrupted by a faint tapping noise coming from inside the meteorite. The tapping grew louder… louder… LOUDER and was quickly followed by a shrill noise as a part of the meteorite began to move. The movement continued and it quickly became apparent that some kind of door was opening out of the meteorite. The crowd gasped and stepped back quickly; and Steve Woofclank blurted out, “Ummm folks?? This here ain’t no meteorite!!” Of course by this time the crowd was pretty aware they were witnessing something very strange.

The door opened completely and two strange beings climbed up from inside; and stepped out of what the crowd now knew to be some sort of space ship. A hush fell over the crowd as they stared in amazement. None of the townspeople had ever seen beings from outer space before; and the bright orange skin with green and purple stripes (very much like the strange smoke) fascinated them to the point that they all stood very still with their mouths open.

The beings sensed that the crowd was amazed, and maybe even a bit frightened by what they were seeing; so they quickly spoke through their cravnabs to introduce themselves. And yes, like every strange story about space beings, the visitors knew English…

“Hello Fellow Universe Beings!!” the first visitor said. “My name is Wognob, and this is my wife Bleeftok. We are Berg Snerfles from Mars, but I think we made a wrong turn near your moon. Hope we didn’t mess up your corn crop too badly when we landed.” After Wognob uttered his greeting, he turned to his wife and whispered, “Oh my, these strange beings are rather weird looking, aren’t they??” Bleeftok pinched Wognob’s cribnoot and whispered back, “The Creators made all beings in the Universe, we must not be rude to them even if we find them homely and smelling like Martian fish food.”

Then Bleeftok spoke up and said, “We need to get back to Mars soon because we’re missing the Celebration of Chiggles. But we’ll need some fuel and we hope you can help us.” Cindy Tringletoes, still very wide-eyed, walked up to them and asked, “I will help… what can I do?” “Well,” Wognob said abruptly, “we believe your Earth has just the fuel we need. We’ve been receiving your television signals for many years, and we are pretty sure that if we could get some of your Lucky Charms and a little milk that would help quite a bit.”

Very quickly, Bleeftok turned to Wognob with a puzzled look and asked, “How will that help our fuel situation??” Wognob’s face turned turquoise as he looked at the ground and said, “OK it won’t, but I’m hungry!” The crowd laughed, but Cindy and Steve took off and quickly returned with several boxes of cereal, some milk, bowls, and spoons. It wasn’t long before everyone was sitting down while munching on Lucky Charms and telling stories about their children and the upcoming Firefly Festival.

Bleeftok ate her share and stood up to thank everyone. “We very much appreciate your hospitality,” she said happily. “Now if we could just get a few hundred gallons of maple syrup and a pack of matches we can be on our way.” George Frocksnibble shouted from the back, “I have a load of syrup on the back of my pickup truck you can have!!” “That’s right neighborly of you, George,” said Bleeftok. So George backed his truck up near the space ship and Bleeftok jumped aboard and began slurping ALL the syrup out of the containers. Afterward, she got some matches from Brenda Shortsnout and pushed them into her left air sniffler.

Bleeftok’s head began to wiggle strangely as she ran back into the space ship. Suddenly, what sounded like a huge sneeze came thundering out of the belly of the ship; and very soon afterward the outside lights started flashing as a whirring noise seemed to signify that the spaceship was starting up. With a startled look, Wognob dropped his bowl of cereal and ran over to the door of the ship and shouted a few things to Bleeftok, who was still inside. With a few nods of his head, he turned to the crowd, smiled, and shouted, “Sorry kids!! Gotta go!! Thanks for everything!!” Then he jumped inside and the hatch closed behind him.

The space ship shuddered a bit, then rose slowly as more orange smoke with green and purple stripes began to flow away from the landing site and over the crowd. Finally, there was a very large farting sound and the ship was gone. After getting a few sniffs of the weird smoke, the crowd all became very wide eyed and smiled broadly as they started reciting Martian poetry and did the Elbow Hooking Dance.

Wognob and Bleeftok were very grateful for all the help they received, and have been leaving messages of thanks on the insides of boxes of Lucky Charms ever since.

The End (…for now)

I’m very certain this week’s cartoon exemplifies exactly what it’s like on Mars. Oh and don’t forget the second cartoon to enjoy Bimbo’s journey to the red planet.

A Silly Letter To My Fossilefooted Friends

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Dear Fossilfeet,

Now that you have been eating all those bug flavored crayons, please remember to wash the tree cups with yellow potato hair before Santa starts singing rodeo songs again. You probably know by now that only really good fossilfeet will get spaghetti with baseballs for dinner. That’s exactly why I have gone to the Coconut Store for a fresh batch of pencil slime.

Sometimes I can see through walls!! Other times, I walk right into them. It all depends on whether they are made of glass or gravy. The gravy can be scraped off with a Radio Rake and used to make a very yummy Chocolate Pudding Pot Pie. Just add a few handfuls of ice crackers and about 3 quarts of raisin skins and you’ve got yourself a brand new bag of fluffy pajamas. This is best served in a steaming hot squid basket just before the full moon drops its corn dust in the hall closet.

All joking aside, I really need to ask you all an important question: why do you keep asking the toaster where the cat is hiding his new computer?? Don’t you know that toasters will make a horrible clanging noise when they fall out of bed?? Do you really think the cat will use his computer to draw up plans to make another burping shed? I mean, I don’t even know why people have to use the shed for burping… you can burp just about anywhere these days. Just always remember to be polite after you burp and say, “More soda please.”

Now we get to the part where I issue you your work assignments. After all, there is much to be done around here. Always remember that doing chores with a smile on your face requires you to be both quick and slimy at the same time. Chores include mud making (we need 372 pounds for the upcoming Snork Festival), telling stories to the lawn tractor, and on Tuesdays we also need someone to grease the bath mats. Oh, and not to forget: we need someone to wash, dry, and fold all the firewood before we plant it in the seaweed sauce before next year’s log harvest.

Very well then. As you can see, the sky will turn purple with pink polka dots shortly after we put the macaroni and cheese in our pillows. New dust lanterns will walk to school together to learn about ketchup farming in New Norkulus. The cream cheese I put in my shoes will give my ankles great happiness; and I can’t wait to tell them how silly they looked at Harmonica Harry’s liquid television store. Snakes will give more money than ever before to all the owners of cellphone activated minnow traps in Northern Michigan.

I like you very much, and I’m glad we don’t have to argue over that last piece of peach dust I found in the Martian Money Basket I’ve been sniffing. Please tell your neighbors that we are very pleased with their nervous systems. Remember to have the scientists inspect your nostrils before you go flying backwards through the jelly spraying trucks.

Peace, Love, and Hugs,

Me, Your Fossil Finding Friend