Narrow Interests, Broadening Knowledge

People sometimes ask me why I read so many different books on a small pile of pet subjects:

1. The Manhattan Project

2. The Space Race

3. Richard Nixon.

I reply that with every book I read on these subjects, I learn something I didn't know before.

Take, for example, something I read today in Craig Nelson's 2009 book "Rocket Men," which focuses on the Apollo moon program.

Today, I read this:

The great historic irony of Operation Paperclip, meanwhile, was that almost every key element that Toftoy brought to the United States was present already. While the army was negotiating with von Braun in Europe, the American navy's director of the Bureau of Aeronautics, Robert Goddard, passed away on August 10, 1945. Five years later his heirs sued the American government for patent infringement, citing such independently-engineered-by-the-Nazi-team-but-already-patented-by-Goddard rocket elements such as gyroscopic guidance systems, jet vane path controllers, and fuel-line turbo-pumps. Ten years later, the United States paid the Goddard estate $1 million for these rights.

It's not hard to argue that the Nazis had a lot of practical experience with these inventions that Goddard may not have possessed in that amount, and he certainly never built a rocket with the power and range of a V-2, but I had no idea that he'd devised much of the technology used to make rockets work.

So I learned something, reading a new book on a familiar subject. Lesson learned.

A Lot of Travel, A Lot of Bugs, and A Mourning Dove

This, or a decent facsimile, was my view for a good portion of the day (I want to say about ten hours):

Our mission: Move Lexi and most of Lexi and Keaton's possessions from Williston, North Dakota, to Ammon, their temporary home while they look for a place to live and as he anticipates starting a job at the Naval Reactors Facility.

It's a big move for them. There is some understandable trepidation. But those are decisions we can't make for them. We can only help.

And help we did.

Casualties of the day: Lots of bugs on the windshield, and one mourning dove that flew in front of the Uhaul I was a passenger in, with Isaac driving:

We saw things on the way. Like rivers. And hay. And some trees.

We saw some fall color on the Ashton Hill:

Made it home shortly after 6 pm. I'm tired.

You can see the entire saga here.

Warty Tree Sightseeing

We traveled hundreds of miles, lugged a bunch of stuff out of their apartment and into various moving trucks and vehicles.

As our reward, we were taken to see this excessively warty tree.

 

THE TREE GUYS ARE HERE.

Yesterday, trees.

I wasn't home to greet them, but for the first time since I put it in, I was able to use the Ring camera to talk with someone on the porch through my phone. Pretty slick.

We'd originally scheduled them to be here a few weeks ago, but they kept getting delayed, which happens.

It was fun, the whole day, to check on progress via the camera.

When I took this screenshot, I thought I saw two dangling legs. But in closeup, he's perched on that branch. Still, he got the short straw that day. And there's no way a fatty like me could have done that, which is why we hired someone to give the birch a trim in the first place.

There we see progress on the good/bad part of the job: Removing a really big pine tree from the front corner of the yard. It's a beautiful tree, but it's rather sappy and drips a lot -- and I mean a lot -- of sap on everything nearby. As it hung partly over the neighbors' driveway, I felt bad because I knew their cars were getting dripped on. So it had to go. I didn't like the idea of killing a living thing, but it was put in a bad place when it was planted. Don't plant drippy trees over sidewalks or neighbors' driveways.

The end result (photos I took when I got home at the end of the day):

Birch tree looks a lot happier. A few years ago we had an early snow and it lost a bunch of branches at the crown from the weight.

And the pine is a pile of logs. A much smaller pile than I was anticipating. We'll have to figure out what to do with this corner now. I do actually have a nice gravel spot there under the treee, but it's been buried over the years under sap and pine needles. I'll have to go out there and clean things up. With turpentine . . .

And they extracted some ancient Christmas lights that a previous homeowner had installed therein:

The Only Voices Worth Listening For

There are a lot of voices out there -- some of them our own, in our own heads -- telling us lies about our lives, ourselves. Making promises that won't be kept, because the voices don't care about promises; they want us to be miserable.

It's important to listen to the voices, and they can be hard to hear, that offer encouragement, hope, resilience, and love.

Those are the only voices worth listening for.

That's What Agency is all about, Charlie Brown.

Helpless. That's how I'm feeling at the moment. And my underwear isn't even showing.

I won't share the details. Suffice it to say I am developing a deeper understanding of what my mother meant when she said she loved the time when we were all little kids and that she'd do it all over again.

I might. Not necessarily with the career I had when the kids were younger, but certainly they were simpler, less frustrating times.

Agency is happening, and that's fine. That's supposed to happen. Doesn't mean I can't feel like I want to help, but I know I can't intervene. Not my decisions to make.

So, I can text. And pray. The ol' dismissed "thoughts and prayers." But that's what agency is all about, Charlie Brown.

 

A Proust Moment for My Students

I'm going to age myself a bit here -- like you don't already know I'm an old man -- and mention that I grew up in the age of the cathode ray tube.

That's what televisions were made of, back in the day before the liquid crystal and plasma displays we use and take for granted today. I love how light the modern displays are, because those old ones, with the massive glass and metal cathode ray tubes in them, they were *heavy*.

But one quick sentence I spotted on social media helped me remember something about those old CRTs that I'd experienced many times, but had since forgotten:

If you own a CRT, or happen to know someone who does, or are one of those people who collect CRTs, maybe you know this. But here's what this is talking about:

With the television on, the action of that beam of electrons that creates the moving images on the screen, stray electrons in the form of static electricity collect on the outside of the screen. Rub your fingers against the screen and you can feel the static electicity as it discharges into your body, making the screen feel as if it's furry.

When I read that, I was instantly transported back to the house I grew up in, in all its 1970s glory with the orange shag carpeting, the wood paneling, the yellow kitchen with the blue linoluem floor, and that gigantic television, heavy in its wooden case, that did indeed have fur when you wiped your hand across the glass.

Why am I telling you this?

As you write your own essays, I encourage you to immerse yourself in the time you're writing about. Most of you are writing about a memory. I want you to feel that memory. Pull up any photos you might have of that time, that place. Maybe you wrote a social media post about it, or even an old-fashioned letter. Pull up whatever digital or physical memories you have of that event, and remind yourself what it was like being there. Feel that memory's fur.

One more thing, then I'll go:

French writer Marcel Proust wrote a book called "Remembrance of Things Past," a seven-volune(!) work in which Proust recalls memories of his own childhood and growing experiences. One of the most famous passages from the book is known as the "episode of the madeleine."

To summarize (Proust does go on about it), Proust is fretting over a task as he's having a cup of tea. He puts a bit of a cake called a medeleine in the tea and eats it -- triggering a flood of memory of doing the same things as a younger boy in his Aunt Leonie's house.

We all have a Proust moment in our memory, it's just a matter of finding a way to bring it to the surface. For me, it was a social media post about how TVs used to have fur.

Antitrust Lawsuit (Class Action) Developing . . .

Maybe you remember this from a week or so ago. I know I do.

The problem isn't getting better.

Chrome, still no play the YouTube videos. I don't know why. This *might* be a red herring in this, the stupidest timeline.

It *did* play in Bing. Until recently. No workie now.

I had been using Brave but gave it up for reasons. Reinstalled it and it worked for a bit, but now, no workie with the YouTubie.

So I downloaded Firefox, which I gave up for other reasons. Right now, it seems to be working. But I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

Google can police Google on Google, but it seems odd to police when the user caves and relies on Gen X training and ignores the commercials - sometimes by skipping, I admit - but most of the time by just letting them play unless Google pulls something stupid and puts in an ad that's actually longer than the video I'm watching. I hate that.

I have to wonder: Is Google trying to punish people who used ad blockers, or skip too many ads by disabling YouTube on other browsers? This is the age of Really Really Stupid Illegal Crap Going on Online Because Orange Man is in the White House, so you never know. Maybe they're disabling Chrome for the moment to throw what federales there are still doing their jobs off the scent.

Aww, you were present at the birth of my conspiracy theory.

(Chances are *really* good you get a Liberty Mutual commerical longer than the actual video. That is if you can see anything at all.)

Or maybe not mine. I finally found the right keywords to use on Google itself, and this is what's coming up.

Google: Maybe play more than those damn Liberty Mutual or Geico commercials, and we might not mind all that much. The only LiMu commercial I want to see is the Thanksgiving one where they eat that stupid bird.

I did use AdBlocker on Chrome (and on Firefox, ironically). But I got sick of Google's complaints. So I turned it off. Then uninstalled it. Then uninstalled and reinstalled Chrome. Still doesn't work. So what it means is that for the moment I'm not using a Google product to watch videos on another Google product.

Irony is that YouTube hosts a lot of pirated content and they seem pretty lax on throttling that, but will throttle users who know they're going to get *really* sick of that WalMart clogging shoes commercial really quick.

Dad, Where Were You When the Constitution Was Stomped On?

So here's a fun thing.

President Donald Trump said the following at his inaugural address earlier this year:

After years and years of illegal and unconstitutional federal efforts to restrict free expression, I also will sign an executive order to immediately stop all government censorship and bring back free speech to America.

Never again will the immense power of the state be weaponized to persecute political opponents — something I know something about. We will not allow that to happen.  It will not happen again.

Under my leadership, we will restore fair, equal, and impartial justice under the constitutional rule of law.

Of course it's clear now there should have been some provios attached to his statements.

We're seeing today the government teetering on the edge of major violations of the First Amendment. ABC and Disney share some of the blame in this spineless game, of course. There aren't any good guys anymore.

I took a screenshot of this portion of his speech, in case it's memory holed later, which I fully expect it will be.

One of my representatives -- Mike Simpson -- is on social media celebrating the potential erosion of our First Amendment freedoms. I sent him a polite missive I expect will be ignored. Meanwhile his "newsletter" is full of polls asking leading questions that expect the sheep to agree with Trump's policies. No thank you, sir. No thank you.

We really do live in the stupidest timeline.

Calm Down, Dude

Two accidents within a week at First and Tabor, right about the time I'm heading home from work (5:45 or so).

Both accidents looked as if someone were being impatient about waiting to get from Tabor onto First Street, though I confess I didn't get close enough to the accident tonight to see what was going on. All but one eastbound lane was blocked by the accident and emergency vehicles, so I opted to get off First at Evergreen to avoid the mess.

That led me to NW Bonneville Drive -- should have stayed on Garfield and gone through to Woodruff; I'll remember that next time. There were others on the detour trying to turn left back onto First. One driver peeled out and gunned it to get into a small break in traffic.

Three others -- THREE OTHER ADULT DRIVERS -- nearly ran over a pedestrian who'd pushed the button at the Hawk crossing on First at NW Bonneville, taking advantage of the traffic that stopped at the signal FOR THE PEDESTRIAN. Saw that kid push the button and knew some idiots would try to run him over. Sure enough, they did.

Dicks.

Slow down, people. Be patient. I got through just fine right behind these idiots, and I only had to wait maybe ten seconds after the idiots did their maneuver before I could go.

It's the illusion of progress, I think. I had to stop at Walgreens on First and Woodruff, and on the way home I went out at the light on Woodruff to get back onto First Street. I could see the green arrow, but we were backed up almost to Caribou, so I stayed put. Some other driver didn't and rode the turning lane all the way down to First, where I ended up just two cars behind him at the new red light. Genius-level tactics there, mind you. He really got to his destination a whole lot faster doing it that way.

Terrible. I Still Have A Job

 

A brief text exchange with Isaac this morning, after a long discussion about jobs and their sucky necessity the night before.

He had a pretty rough day of it Monday, with equipment being shuffled and worked on over the weekend and returned with metal shavings where the ice cream ingredients were supposed to go. It took them ten hours to get the machine running and at the end of that ten hours, the boss still wanted them to make ice cream.

Isaac -- never shy to speak -- told the boss in a brief term that ice cream was not going to happen. He expected he'd be out of a job come morning, but there we go. They know without him, they don't have much of a production crew.

"Shout out, Bill. Thanks." Listers: A Glimpse into Extreme Birdwatching, by the Reiser Brothers

This isn't going to be for everyone, but if you like the idea of a pair of stoner brothers making a documentary about bird watching by jumping into the hobby with both feet, give this a watch.

I'm watching it now, and it's been highly entertaining. Some salty language, so be warned.

A sample:

"With the bird software still down, we looked to others for guidance."

"We heard this man calling from a ways away, just 'Help! Help!' Just kinda in the distance. And we look over and it's a guy with binoculars in a powered wheelchair, but he's stuck in the mud. And so we go over to help and we push him out, and in exchange for pushing him out and specifically not telling his wife, he told us a lot about birds. He told us about the Elegant Trogon, which was a bird we had never even heard of."

"Just saw the Trojan. The Elegant Trojan. A beautiful bird. Shout out, Bill. Thanks."

Pepi Longsocks -- A Classic

 

We had proper after-school specials when I was a kid.

No, really. This plays off the Norwegian Pippi Longstocking films we watched after school, right down to the incomprehensible overdubbed dialogue which was certainly in English but didn't necessarily make that much sense.

YouTube White

UPDATE, Sept. 14.

The Windows update  I forced a few days ago only solved the problem temporarily.

My next attemtp to fix was to reset all of my Chrome settings to factory specs. That included removing any vestige of Chrome extensions.

That, so far, has worked.

But you know, if one Google service (Chrome) was interfering with the display of another Google service (YouTube) something tells me things are a mite confused down Weinberger Way.I'm seeing a lot of this on YouTube lately.

I had to discover this (maybe) fix on my own, as no one is as of yet talking about this as a recent problem. Walt Bernbaum, get with the program.

About an hour later: Nope, not working. Dumping Chrome for now and using Brave. We'll see if that fixes it.

My video plays, but part of the way through -- sometimes after I skip an ad -- the screen goes white. I get audio, but no video. And it's like that through the rest of the session, including the ads.

No one seems to know what's going on.

I asked my techie friends on Facebook, and they suggested a few things, and they worked for a bit, but then I'd be back to the white screen with audio.

Googling the problem brought up similar things from several years ago, but nothing current.

I do know my desktop computer is ancient, isn't eligible to be upgraded to Windows 11 -- but the intermittent nature of the problem is odd to me. I'm watching a YouTube video right now, and it's all fine and dandy.

It's hard to think it's not something nefarious from Google. They were irked when I had AdBlocker. I used a private brower for a while but that meant giving up having my subscriptions front and center, because signing in meant Google knew I was using a private browser and got upset all over again.

Button, Button

Young, stupid, impressionable me was really struck by this Twilight Zone episode aired in 1985.

Button, Button.

Push the button, and the mysterious Mr. Steward will deliver $200,000 to you, tax free. The only thing is someone you don't know will die.

Thus the conundrum. Norma, the poor schlub, wracks her soul over whether she should push the button. Her husband doesn't want her to do it, and is very melodramatic about it.

She does, of course, press the button.

But -- ah, melodrama -- his last line is that the box will now be delievered to someone Norma . . . doesn't know.

Hokey as hell?

Absolutely.

With a resolution patently obvious?

Yes indeedy.

Most of these morality tales are meant to be that way. They're not subtle. They present the audience with a moral conundrum and ask us, "Would you press the button?"

Well, would you?

Huh?

We don't get the resolution from Mr. Steward. We don't know if the next in line presses the button or not. But neither does Norma. [Cue the spooky chiller music; zoom in on Norma's frightened face.]

Norma, of course, is painted as an ugly soul. An other not too concerned about the other "she doesn't know," so who cares if she presses the button? She does so, she's on Easy Street. Unless, of course, the next guy is also an ugly sould who doesn't care about that person "she doesn't know."

Today's audiences would scoff at the naked morality of such a premise.

And a good portion of *them* would push the button as well. Then, as now, a fallen world.

Burned

Was severely burned by the oldest tonight.

We were discussing my rather tough week at work and the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde personalities one deals with.

"Today," I said, "Dr. Hyde was back. It was better."

"I thought it was Dr. Jekyll," oldest said.

"Yeah, you're right. It's been a long time since I read the book."

"I never read the book."

"Philistine."

"Yet *I* knew it was Dr. Jekyll."

[Applied copious amount of burn cream.]

ERO No More

I have to give my participation for more than 15 years in our company Emergency Response Organization credit for saving me from a few layoffs over the years, but the time has gone: By the end of the year, I'm free.

As I'm officially no longer physically attached to the RWMC, I've asked to be taken off the team. Any drill participation or emergency participation would involve me driving towards danger, and that does not make sense.

I feel bad for the lady who called me today, as she says they've had a lot of turnover in the organization. I get it's hard to find volunteers. But it makes sense they find someone who actually works at the location concerned.

It goes mean I don't have to do the drill next week, which would basically kill two days' worth of work.

It's an Ash, I Guess

 It's an . . . Ash. At least according to the boffins who created identify/plantnet.com.

Here are a few pictures from our tree:

And the results from plantnet:

When the Muse Strikes . . .

Back in 2016, this happened:

“Of course. Of course they want Framderick. What group of mud-streaked, smelly peasants does NOT want Framderick?” Patrick thought. “There is not enough wine in this inn to convince me to sing it. There is not enough wine in the KINGDOM. But, alas . . .”

Patrick strummed his lute. As the familiar chords shrivered his spine, the crowd shouted until debris and a few cats fell out of the overhanging thatch. He strummed a bit longer and watched as mothers of young children, aghast, pulled them from the crowd and out the door, while the men – oh, the familiar men, all old and wrinkled before their time so it was impossible to tell one of thirty from one of seventy – pushed to the fore, leering and elbowing each other in the ribs.

Patrick began to sing.

The floods of spring came early,

That dark and loathsome year.

The Klof bore mud and branches

Bringing yon Kenputeris near.

The rain, clouds shed, the mountains fled

The villagers soaked their hats

When on the mats of floating wood

Came Mount Kenputeris’ fearful rats!

Framderick! Framderick! To you the nation calls!

Horribly, Patrick could see the crowd getting ready. Swelling to a man, filling their lungs with air, sucking in the stinking fug of the inn, ready to belch out their contribution. He scanned the room for sympathizers – and saw them. A pack of frowning women, arms folded sternly across their breasts. They would help. By the steely looks in their eyes, they would help. Frantically, he tried to remember the order – and then sang, without missing a note:

Framderick! Framderick! While the kings’ men lick

THE WALLS!

He breathed a sigh of relief. Though the men poked each other, laughing terribly at their wit, Patrick and the women knew they’d won. Putting the heavier strings on his lute had helped, Patrick thought. They make a heavier sound.

But the battle was not over yet. Some of the men jeered at him as the sound of what had won penetrated the alcohol. Others turned to their women-folk and half-heartedly barked at them to leave.

Patrick continued:

The rats were black and ravenous,

They ate crop and home

Then they ate the fish of the River Klop,

Spreading blood among the foam.

The kings’ men came a-hunting,

With sword and pike and spear

But they all got drunk and with a hunk

The rats bit them in the rear!

The men, Patrick knew, were ready this time. Fewer had sung the refrain, sucking in what air was left in the room, swelling for the chorus:

Framderick! Framderick! To you the nation calls!

Framderick! Framderick! While the kings’ men lick

COW STALLS!

Oh, the men shrieked at their misfortune as they knew once again they had lost the battle, while the weaker ones passed out from the exertion of shouting. A few began to throw bits of fallen thatch and empty mugs at Patrick, but the innkeeper came with more beer, clinking the change the women had collected.

“Come on, bard, sing it right! Sing it right or we’ll toss you in the well!”

The shouter looked capable of performing that feat. Built like a brick outhouse, but swaying slightly out of tune with the music. If Patrick were lucky, he’d be on the floor before the next chorus. And he knew even though he and the bulwark of women fought common cause, they would not intervene, having enough to handle when their drunk husbands and fathers began to sober.

But the pups of the famed Framderick

Framderick, Whelper of a Thousand Pups!

They caught the rats and chewed them up

As Framderick birthed a dozen more!

The doodles then chased the kings’ men

Out of the village, out of the fen

Leaving a trail of reddened pats

Stained in the blood of a thousand rats!

Framderick! Framderick! To you the nation calls!

Framderick! Framderick! While the kings’ men lick

SEAGULLS!

Tin plates sailed through the air as the crowd vomited displeasure and warm beer. The women in the back of the room, arms still folded, smiled smugly, and shouted at Patrick to stop. But they made no move when the men churlishly turned their backs on them and urged Patrick to continue. The rhythm of the song led him to the final verse.

When at last the food was gone,

The rats stole in to the babies’ cribs

But the pups of famed Framderick

Crushed the rats’ curved ribs.

Then the plague set in, with terrible din

The women of the Klop did pray

But the pups of famed Framderick

Remained in the terrible fray.

Framderick! Framderick! To you the nation calls!

Framderick! Framderick! While the kings’ men lick

KINGS’ HALLS!

Oh, with the howling, Patrick thought the plague had returned, as lamentations threatened to lift the thatch clear off the rafters. Men were smashing chairs into the floor and climbing on tables, rending their clothes and dancing naked, filling their mouths with beer and spraying it at the women and at Patrick. But for every one man able to climb on the table and sloppily spit half a mouthful of beer in the direction of their tormenters, there were five stumbling about, knocking those more sober off the tables, upsetting tables, smashing chairs over their compatriots’ heads until the sheriff burst into the inn with six armed deputies, all bellowing for calm.

“You! Minstrel!” the sheriff yelled. “What doggerel stirs these fine folk to such debauchery?” The sheriff, who gutted a man only last week for urinating in the street in full view of the priest, rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Balls.”

One word from a weak voice at the bottom of a pile of drunken men, and the room was in pandemonium once more.

I'm Out of Sand

I am out of sand. But the yard is done, in a ragged line from the apricot tree to the generic tree on the back fence.

Goal for tomorrow: Identify the generic tree re: species. I'm tired of not knowing.

The Great Leveling Has Begun

I've been putting this off, but since I gave in and brought four bags of Soil Pep home, I'm committed. As if the half yard of sand in the backyard wasn't reason enough.

That there is eight wheelbarrows of sand mixed with two bags of Soil Pep. It's actually going a bit further than I hoped, but I can tell I'm going to need a lot more sand.

It passed the first inspection. We'll see how the rest goes. I'll do more this evening.

Pavers, OUT!

So the fun in the backyard begins in earnest. These pavers have been in the yard since we bought the house. I imagine it's the last remnant of the shed that was in the corner (the one our neighbor says was built around the two utility posts in the back corner).

I kept saying I'm going to take them out, and since I'm leveling the back yard starting today, it's finally getting done.

I had to break the first one to get it out, but I've been able to pop the rest out intact with a pry bar. Fun times.

Even More Houses

We toured more houses. Two winners in my book this time around. The market locally seems to be expanding, with sellers lowering prices.

1830 Avocet

Little old lady and big dog still living there. It does have a new sewer and main water line connection, new bathroom. The spot you were worried about in the basement that looked like water damage just looked worn to me. Maybe a little water damage, but not much. The drywall felt dry, not stained as I've seen water-logged drywall look, and the basement did not smell musty. Yard needs a lot of work due to the new water/sewer connection. Small garage, might get one car in it. Big back yard, close to church. Steep, narrow stairs to basement. Parts of the house in need of a refresh or update. It's all functional, but a lot of it looks worn.

270 E 21st Street.

Not yet on the market. Owner has done a complete remodel. New plumbing, new electric, gas heat. Basement fully finished, has two new egress windows. Upper floor has all new windows as well. Access to basement is via the garage, which is even smaller than the one on Avocet. Probably not getting a car in there, but a good work area. Basement staircase has a twist in it, so probably not getting any big furniture down there without a fight. Gas heat. Yard needs a lot of work. House itself on the outside is not much to look at (see photos attached). Very close to church and a tidy community park. Neighborhood had a lot of young families, judging by the people we saw walking and on bikes. Neighborhood is well-kept and quiet. $310,000 when it's on the market. Google photo is a little old, the bare lot next door has a vinyl fence around it now. Has alley access. And squirrels.

Lexi and Keaton are looking to expand their search to Pocatello. We'll have to leave that up to them to tour, as we're not willing to go that far. They have given notice they don't intend to renew their lease at the end of the month, so they'll be coming this way sooner or later.

Suddenly Emptier Nest

Our youngest – at age 21 – announced last week he was moving to Pocatello to share an apartment with a friend there and possibly go to Idaho State University.

I hope he and Kimren get along well as roommates. It can be different living with someone, than hanging out with someone. But they both like each other, and are pretty laid back, so their chances are good.

It’s exciting for him, getting a bit of freedom and independence. And saving a little gas, as he spends most of his weekends in Pocatello anyway, though I say only a little because he’s still working in Idaho Falls and now has to commute 100 miles round trip for work. But he’s working on that, applying for jobs in Pocatello now.

He’s cleared out most of his stuff, took the idle window AC unit we have in the garage, a box of dishes I had left over from when I was Scoutmaster, and is still moving stuff. They got a washer and a dryer and a chest freezer. It’s all surreal.

I’m all for it. It’ll be good for him to get that little bit of independence. And see how tough it is to make rent payments and utility payments. But I have no doubts for him. He’s a hard worker, goal-oriented in many ways like his mother. And getting him in school, even if he’s only interested in general education at the moment, is a positive step.

It’s going to be odd, though. The house is emptying.

That leaves, ironically, our oldest at home now. He’s doing online school, and should be looking for a job but I think the autism is holding him back a little. It can be hard, I know.

We pray for our kids a lot. I hope they do well.

But the older I get, the more I understand what my Mom meant when she said she missed it when we were all little kids. I look at my own kids’ pictures and ponder, were they ever than young? Was *I* ever that young? But we were, and that time has passed and the world is turning and inevitably I’ll be at the end wondering how the hell I got so old.

The Roomies -- Isaac on the right, Kimren on the right. I don't know the name of the dog who wanted to be in the picture.

Tiger Ears, Uh, Tiger Bites

Today our first, and I believe only, shift at the Tiger Ear booth for the Grand Teton Council.

First, the hairnet. And beardnet.

Next, the lady I got to work with, which always makes the day better:

The council got the booth next door this year and so expanded the menu to include deep-fried hotdogs and what they're calling Tiger Bites, which are Rolo caramel chocolates deep fried in dough. They are good. Glad I only brought home, because I'd still be eating them.

Last, what it felt like, which I say every year: Coming in at about 1:28 in: