Return To California

No, I haven't moved back from Texas. I went back last week to attend my aunt's services. She was a warm hearted woman who led a quiet life. She never married, though she was engaged to a soldier who died as a prisoner of war during the second world war. She kept her engagement ring in a lock box, and his photo was always on her nightstand. So it was decided that these be placed in her casket. That was very touching gesture and one she would have appreciated.

I spent a lot of time with my family still in the Bay Area, my two younger brothers and my youngest brother's wife. They were my aunt's primary caretakers during her last year and a half of life and deserve all the credit possible for sacrificing so much time and effort in doing so.

The services themselves were quiet and dignified. The priest who said the Mass remembered me, even though I was only in high school when we last met. I hoped the remembrance wasn't for something dumb I did as his altar boy some Sunday.

I took an extra day before heading back home and went into San Francisco. That was an odd experience because even though I spent fifty years living in the Bay Area, I did not feel that comfortable being there. This was probably because I no longer had any roots, such as a home, in that region. Plus my last few years there were not very pleasant.

Also some of my favorite stomping grounds no longer existed. I had spent countless hours browsing Stacey's Books on Market Street. They had an amazing collection of just about everything in print. Plus they had guest authors every week. That was how I got to meet my two favorites, Clive Cussler and Scott Adams. But sadly it closed last year. Also closed since I've left is Virgin Records. Again this was a place that had everything, music, videos, books, the works. Two other favorite haunts had closed just before I moved to Texas, Scenario Games in Fremont and San Antonio Hobbies in Mountain View. They were incredible hobby shops where again I spent many hours, (and dollars).

I did take a stroll through Chinatown, and was pleased it had not changed. Back to downtown San Francisco, I also noticed some other things had not changed, starting with the complete lack of manners. I like how in Texas total strangers will acknowledge your existence and say hello when you pass them on the street or in a parking lot. In San Francisco they act like you are an intrusion on their personal space, will rarely greet you, and if walking towards you make little to no effort to move aside so you don't run into them. It was that type of attitude I was glad to leave behind.

I stopped by my old office and that was an interesting experience. A lot of people were genuinely glad to see me and engaged in chitchat about what had happened since I left. Basically, not much had changed. Unfortunately I briefly saw my ex landlady, she greeted me with her usual phony smile and cheerful voice. I just grunted something in reply and kept on walking.

One friend asked if I wanted to come back to work. I think my emphatic, "Hell No!" was an appropriate response. I had a very enjoyable talk with my old supervisor. She said once again she never really did understand exactly what it was I did, but I didn't cause her any problems so I must have been doing a good job. All in all, it was a good visit to the office, though strange as in the feeling that I really didn't belong there.

Driving in the Bay Area again was another experience. I noticed drivers were going much closer to the speed limit instead of the "pedal to the metal look at me I'm an arrogant jerk driving like an idiot" style I was used to. I concluded there were two reasons. First gas prices are significantly higher there than in other parts of the country. Second, the roads had noticeably deteriorated since I left, and going fast would shake your car to pieces... literally.

Stoned Fairies And Other Phenomena

I just realized it's been ages since I've done any updates. So where to begin? How about with the Texas Renaissance Festival? I went once before, five years ago, and was quite impressed. This time we went the day after Thanksgiving, partly to take advantage of half price admission.

One problem, it looked like the entire state of Texas had the same idea. The fair is located about 25 miles from where we live, which would normally be about a 35 minute drive. Well.... this one was almost two and a half hours. Fortunately we took my wife's car, which is an automatic. Since mine is a stick shift, the drive would have been a nightmare.

But we persevered and finally made it, and it was worth the effort. I had been to the northern California version of the Renaissance Faire many times, and always enjoyed myself. The last time was also five years ago, and I was rather disappointed. It just felt somewhat cheesy and run down. Not so with the Texas version. First, in the true grand Texas manner, it is huge. Tons of vendors, lots of shows, great food, and the decor is quite elaborate. It is almost sensory overload from all the sites and sounds.

Our favorite show from the last time, "Bold And Stupid Men," wasn't around, which is a shame as it was hilarious. But there were many others that were very entertaining. One I enjoyed was a musician playing a clarrion, a keyboard that controlled an elaborate series of bells. It was very impressive. Naturally one of the songs played was "Carol Of The Bells."

There were some amazing costumes, but one that stood out was a young woman dressed as a fairy. Her costume was well done, but she looked like she had smoked a bowl of Mendocino Gold. I kept bumping into her throughout the day, and she always had the same half smile and glazed over eyes. One had to wonder after a while if she was a performer at the fair, an attendee dressed in costume, or if that really wasn't a costume but what she wore every day whether at the fair or not.

If she ever visits Berkeley, I'm afraid no one would notice.

Wings Over Houston

I spent Halloween day with a friend at the Wings Over Houston airshow at Ellington Airport. Ellington's claim to fame is it is used by the Johnson Space Center, and has even seen the space shuttle stop by on occasion.

I love air shows, one of my earliest memories is my Dad taking me to one in Albuquerque when I was four years old. I clearly remember being able to identify by sight several types of planes, and could only conclude dad had shown me pictures and told me the names before the show. I thought it was fitting that my friend took along his four year old son. It was the lad's first show, and he is a very smart and well behaved child. He had a blast at the show.

There were several static displays of contemporary and historic military aircraft. But three highlights of the show really stood out. First, Texas is home to the Commemorative Air Force, once known by the rather politically incorrect name of the Confederate Air Force. This group has been around for several decades, and is a collection of aviation enthusiasts. They dedicate themselves to locating and restoring old military planes, with emphasis on World War 2 examples.

They have contributed many aircraft and pilots, to movies. In the late 1960's they participated in the Battle of Britain film. However, I doubt any of them were given speaking roles seeing as how most of them are Texans. Somehow a pilot telling the late Sir Lawrence Olivier, "Yeeehaaaaaaa!!! We got the Germans and the damn Yankees on the run!" may not have quite fit in with the atmosphere of England in 1940.

They had enough P-51 Mustangs to form an aerial demonstration team. Another demo was recreating the attack on Pearl Harbor with about a dozen replicas of the Japanese planes that participated. This was complete with some pretty spectacular pyrotechnics. They flew over a grass field next to the runway, which then erupted with some great looking explosions. Meanwhile you had sound effects of frantic officers giving orders, anti aircraft guns opening up and air raid sirens. It was loud, and it was great.

Some other demos were a huge C-17 transport flying with an ancient C-47. The C-47 looked like it was flying with the pedal to the metal, (they weren't renowned for their speed), while the C-17 pilot was hoping he wouldn't suck the poor C-47 into an engine.

Meanwhile, back on the ground there was a display of a C-130 that the Hurricane Hunters use. Plus the crew was on hand to demonstrate their equipment and answer questions. I told one they did a great job this past season since no hurricanes hit Texas. I imagine when these guys fly commercial, they aren't the least bothered by turbulence. They are dedicated and certainly brave, after all anyone who actually wants to fly inside a hurricane is a cut above the rest of us. It was interesting hearing what they see inside a hurricane. I had always envisioned it as a constant dark gray, but in reality you see all shades of gray, and then you break into swaths of clear sky between storm bands. The eeriest is the eye, which is crystal clear, blue sky surrounded by cloud bands.

I did wonder if anyone who applies to fly with them must first of all have no next of kin. And in case they had to abandon the plane in the middle of the storm, I have a feeling the exchange with the Coast Guard would go something like, "We're in the ocean floating in the middle of a category 5 hurricane, when can you pick us up?" "Nothing personal guys, but you're on your own."

The highlight of the show was the Blue Angels. As many times as I've seen them, I am always in awe of their skill and steel nerves. I saw them last year in San Francisco a few weeks before starting my trip to live in Texas. My ex landlady hated them. She said, "Oh I hate those jets. I was trying to talk on the phone but they were so loud I had to tell the person I was talking to I'd call back." My reply, "What you heard was the sound of our armed forces giving you the right to be selfish, self centered and not have any appreciation for the sacrifices they make so we can have the freedoms we enjoy."

All in all, it was a spectacular show, and probably the best I've ever seen. I'm already looking forward to next year's show.

So Where's My Award?

... For good intentions. Not sure what those intentions are, but I should be rewarded for them. After all, if Obama can be given to Nobel Peace Prize for his good intentions after only two weeks in office, then I deserve one.

The point of course is that an award should only be given after you actually accomplish something. A director intending to produce a great movie isn't given an Academy Award until the movie is made. A baseball player intending to have a great season doesn't win the Most Valuable Player award until the season is over and he's actually had a great season.

Perhaps before his term is over, Obama will negotiate a lasting peace treaty in the Mideast or something else that actually is deserving of this award. But for the Nobel committee to give him this award is not only way premature, but it makes what has already become an award tainted by some of the recent recipients an absolute joke. I am very disappointed the President accepted it. If he had any integrity he would have said, "I'm flattered, but am not worthy."

Personally I would be offended if offered the Nobel Peace Prize. And for two reasons, first it was given to Yasser Arafat, a terrorist who when he was giving the face of turning into a respectable political leader used the opportunity to rob his own people blind.

Second was when Al Gore was the recipient, along with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, (IPCC). IPCC is a shameful political organization baying at the moon on "climate change." They have been discredited as shills with no credibility, but they are well funded with their eyes on stealing even more money from governments and businesses sadly caving in to their shenanigans.

Al Gore of course is in the hip pocket of IPCC. But what galls me the most, is another nominee the year he won was Irena Sendler, who nearly died from her tireless efforts to save Jewish children from the Warsaw Ghetto in World War Two. She rescued 2500 children, getting them false documents to hide their identities. Here's her story, courtesy of newsbusters.org:

Irena Sendler, born in 1910, was raised by her Catholic parents to respect and love people regardless of their ethnicity or social status. Her father, a physician, died from typhus that he contracted during an epidemic in 1917. He was the only doctor in his town near Warsaw who would treat the poor, mostly Jewish victims of this tragic disease. As he was dying, he told 7-year-old Irena, "If you see someone drowning you must try to rescue them, even if you cannot swim."

In 1939 the Nazis swept through Poland and imprisoned the Jews in ghettos where they were first starved to death and then systematically murdered in killing camps. Irena, by than a social worker in Warsaw, saw the Jewish people drowning and resolved to do what she could to rescue as many as possible, especially the children. Working with a network of other social workers and brave Poles, mostly women, she smuggled 2,500 children out of the Warsaw ghetto and hid them safely until the end of the war. Sendler took great risks - obtaining forged papers for the children, disguising herself as an infection control nurse, diverting German occupation funds for the support of children in hiding. She entered the Warsaw ghetto, sometimes two and three times a day, and talked Jewish parents into giving up their children.

Sendler drugged the babies with sedatives and smuggled them past Nazi guards in gunny sacks, boxes and coffins. She helped the older ones escape through the sewers, through secret openings in the wall, through the courthouse, through churches, any clever way she and her network could evade the Nazis. Once outside the ghetto walls, Sendler gave the children false names and documents and placed them in convents, orphanages and with Polish families. In 1942 the Polish underground organization ZEGOTA recruited her to lead their Children's Division, providing her with money and support. Her hope was that after the war she could reunite the children with surviving relatives, or at least return their Jewish identities.

To that end she kept thin tissue paper lists of each child's Jewish name, their Polish name and address. She hid the precious lists in glass jars buried under an apple tree in the back yard of one of her co-conspirators. In 1943 Irena Sendler was arrested, tortured and sentenced to death by firing squad. She never divulged the location of the lists or her Polish underground contacts. At the last moment she was saved by ZEGOTA which bribed a guard to secure her freedom. She still bears the scars and disability of her torture.

What isn't added is that after her rescue, she went back to her rescue work. So how many lives did Al Gore save?

My Life Is Now Complete

But first a techie rant. Can anyone explain why iTunes makes burning a CD of your playlist as difficult as possible? One would think there would be a drop down menu item with "Burn CD" but that would be too easy. Instead you click on an obscure icon at the bottom of the screen, select a playlist, then remember to right click to bring up the burn CD option. Really intuitive... not! It all works after a fashion but for a company that prides itself on easy to use software they really fell asleep at the switch on this one.

Ok, now about the title of this post. When I was growing up, my dad always mowed the lawn. In Livermore, we only had a front lawn, as the backyard was taken up by various shrubs, patios, tetherball courts, swingsets and raised planters, so no grass to mow. Being a do it yourselfer, and being particular about how the yard looked, Dad never asked any of us to help. That was ok with me, as it meant one less household chore.

After moving away from home, I was in several apartments, which meant no lawn, though the ghastly green shag carpet in one tried vainly to achieve at least the visual of one though failing miserably at it. I then bought the townhouse in Fremont, which had a small lawn in front that the homeowners association took care of. The landscapers usually did this very early in the morning and with lawnmowers so raucous they would make a jet engine at full power in the living room seem peaceful.

Then last year it was the move to Texas, and to a house with a nice big lawn. However, my wife, who has the green thumb, (I've been known to kill silk plants), insisted on doing the mowing. Fortunately, she had a self propelled lawnmower, but still the size of the yard combined with the heat of Texas summers made yard care something that required careful planning. As for me... well, her insistence on mowing the lawn kept up my tradition of getting out of a household chore.

Then last night she had a lot time sensitive work to get done for her web based job. However, the back lawn was in desperate need of mowing, and as usual there wasn't a herd of goats handy for the job. Being the gallant gentleman I am, I volunteered. Uhmmm... volunteered to mow the lawn, not make like a goat and eat it.

So with visions of either chasing a runaway mower down the street, or worse mulching my wife's tenderly cared for flowers and shrubs, I got to work. It took a few minutes to get the hang of controlling the mower, but once I got going I felt very... domestic. And fulfilled, uplifted even. I could feel Dad looking down from heaven, and saying, "You missed a spot, those rows are uneven... oh never mind, I'll be down to do it myself."

But when I was done, my wife was pleased. Partially because it got her out of a household chore. I didn't have enough daylight to do the edging, but something tells me there is a weedwhacker in my future.

How Do You Climb The Corporate Ladder When You Are The Ladder?

One of the nicest things about being your own boss is you can set your hours, and you have better working conditions than in an office. Unless of course your office has something like Larry Ellison or Bill Gates on the door. In this case the office is usually something like a yacht the size of an aircraft carrier, often with a corporate jet parked on the deck and accommodations so lavish they would make King Tut feel self conscious.

My work conditions are quite nice since I have a room set up in my home with everything I need. I still don't have the cats trained to fetch me food and drink from the kitchen yet, so I'm forced to make the sacrifice and actually take care of that myself.

But there are plenty of other perks. Start with... no meetings! I figure in a corporate environment, (and in many ways there is no difference between that of private industry and government), you can end up spending a third of your career zoning out in meetings. Not that zoning out is a bad thing, and in meetings it's probably the most productive use of your time. Zoning out is not recommended at all times, however, as for someone like an airline pilot it is a bad thing.

Another great perk is no managers. I give myself directions, and expect myself to follow them. And if I don't, make up excuses. And if I don't believe my own excuses, then I can fire myself. Hmmmm... wonder if I could get unemployment if I do that? It could be worth a try.

But the work does bring in a bit of income, and it helps give me a sense of self worth. I'm embarking on a new venture soon, selling training software called LearningZen. It's a great looking product, and I hope I can make a go of it. I would also like to be taken on as a contractor to EPA, and am preparing a proposal. Hopefully all this will work. I have no feeling one way or another what will transpire, but as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

More Rambling Thoughts

When I was with EPA, I got in a fair amount of travel. This was partly because I was in demand for my data consultation services, and partly because my boss could get some peace and quiet by having me out of the office. Last week I had my first business trip since retiring and setting up my own business. It was to the Hualapai reservation in northwest Arizona. They are a client, and a good group to work with. The visit itself went smoothly. I came way with a better understanding of what I'm expected to provide.

The trip itself made me wish I could find a surplus Harrier jump jet at the local airport I could buy. It would have saved me a lot of driving, which ended up taking a lot more time than the actual flights. I decided to take the cheaper flight to Phoenix instead of the longer and more expensive one to Las Vegas. For a start, any flight out of Houston means careful planning, beginning with getting to the main airport, (Bush), in the first place. The traffic to Houston is god awful at rush hour, so my first task was getting flights in off hours. I decided on a 4 PM departure, and return flight that would get me in at about 8 PM. So far, so good.

I threw a couple days worth of travel gear, including my laptop of course, into the trunk of the faithful Corolla and set out. The drive to the airport was uneventful. I left the car at a very well run and convenient off airport parking lot, took a shuttle to the terminal... and proceeded to walk 512 miles to the gate for my flight. Bush is spread out. I got to the gate, and was promptly told the plane to Phoenix was broken and I'd have to wait for a new unbroken one before I could be on my way. Oh well... it gave me time to start on the latest Clive Cussler novel, Spartan Gold. As an aside, it's not his best, but it ended up being entertaining.

Finally, I was in the air, and two and a half hours later, was in Phoenix. First time I've flown into there in about 20 years. First time I've rented a car there. First time I found out the car rental center is located somewhere just north of Wyoming. Fortunately there is a free shuttle from the airport to the car rental center. More fortunately, the shuttle had functioning ac, which in Phoenix is always a good thing.

I got the car, a rather nice Nissan Versa. But I was disappointed. I was staying in Kingman, which is off old Route 66, so a 1963 Corvette would have been much more appropriate, as fans of the old TV show by the name would appreciate. But sadly, the last one had been rented out just before my arrival. Next time....

Anyway, by this time it was starting to get dark. But at least the rush hour traffic, (and it is brutal in Phoenix), was pretty much over. The drive itself was ok, and I was treated to a pretty nifty lightning display a few miles off the freeway. The downside was the drive was over 4 hours. So counting the time from my house to the Houston airport, waiting for my flight, actual flight time, driving time from Phoenix to Kingman... and let's just say it was a very long day. By the time I got to my hotel, I wasn't in the mood to tack on a couple more hours of driving to party in Vegas.

The return drive was made during the day, so I got to see the scenery I missed since the first drive was made at night. And there was some quite nice scenery, enough so that I want to return and tack on a day or so to play tourist. I especially want to see more of the Grand Canyon, and then divert to Sedona afterward.

Now if I can just be certain that 1963 Corvette is available.