Ten Things I'd Like To Do...

My brother invited me to contribute to his blog; why, I don't know, but I'll try to keep it different than the things I post in my own The Cynic's View blog.

Pursuant to a recent discussion I had with a friend about world travel and travel in general, here's a list of things (including travel) that I would like to do:

1. Spend a month on a bicycle tour of Ireland.
2. Hike the Appalachian Trail from start to finish.
3. Visit Machu Picchu, Mt. Shasta, and other "spiritual" places.
4. Go whitewater rafting on the Snake River.
5. Visit Russia and live among the people, not in the cities.
6. Tour historic sites of Greece and Italy.
7. Wander the Scottish moors and play golf at St. Andrews.
8. Spend a summer on a motorcycle tour of N. America.
9. Work a cruise to New Zealand and spend a month seeing both North Island and South Island.
10. Stay in a remote Rocky Mountain cabin for an entire summer.

It's a somewhat random list, because my interests are varied, but all of them would be "an experience of a lifetime". You have your own lists, I'm sure. Comment and tell us where you would go and what you would do.

Windows XtremelyPissedoff

I’m so pissed.   I just wrote one of my longest blogs ever, and lost it to the vagaries of Windows.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


(I’m not even going to try to redo it…and because of the subject matter, it’s probably for the best)(and no, I’m not going to tell you what it was about)

And so it goes…

Time Enough for...R and R

I’m going on vacation next week.   This is our annual family vacation, which generally includes my wife, my two teenage children, my mother-in-law, my brother-in-law, my nephew, and myself.

That may sound like a recipe for disaster, but it’s not.   We usually rent a cabin about five hours north of here in the middle of nowhere, and spend the week fishing, swimming, hiking, and generally ‘getting away from it all’.

Unfortunately, my brother-in-law is one of those can’t sit still kind of guys, and wants to gogogo all the time.   My mother-in-law is a nervous type, but likes to go for walks or just relax around the cabin.  My wife is wishy-washy, and will do anything her brother thinks should be done, ‘cuz she just can’t say no to him.

My kids are okay for a couple of teens.   My son likes to swim, fish, or sight-see…and he’s enough like me to want to do whatever I do.   My daughter is easily bored, but aims to please most of the time, and will go along with the majority with a minimum of complaints.

I like to relax.   Swimming is okay…it’s fun exercise, and with the temps in the mid 90’s, I don’t have a problem with that.   I’ll go on the occasional hike, camera in tow, so that I can get some memorable and perhaps beautiful shots.   But most of all, I like Rest and Relaxation.    I don’t find running here and there, road-tripping, or rushing from one activity to another particularly restful.   What I do find restful is floating on a boat, beer in hand, waiting for an adventurous but hopelessly doomed fished to bite my hook.   Or better yet, sitting in the shade with a good book and a beer, dozing to the sounds of waves lapping on the shoreline and leaves rustling in the trees.

This year, I am determined to relax.   I need it.   It’s been a stressful year, with no end to the stress in sight.   So whatever time I can grab for myself, I will hold onto dearly.

Wish me luck.

And so it goes…

Broccoli As Life

I’m in a black mood.   I never really thought of this kind of feeling like that before, but I read a reference to it in a novel, and that’s what it is.

A black mood.

I feel angry—not at anyone or anything in particular, but at everyone and everything in general.

I’m frustrated with my life—is this all there is until it’s over?  Work, go home, do house stuff, run the kids hither and yon, go to sleep, work, ad infinitum…

I feel like a kid who’s in a candy store, with all the rich sweets placed in front of him…and then his parent says, “You can’t have what you want.”   So, instead of candy, I get broccoli.  

You see, I know what I want—I just can’t have it.   I’ve been eating a steady diet of broccoli for years, with no end in sight for that big plate of greens—and I want more!   I want it all, but I am settling for what is safe and known.

I could take some risks, but would the risks be worth the cost?   Would I risk it all, and end up without even my plate of broccoli to show for it?  

I guess that’s what risk is all about.   I have to be willing to lose it all to get what I really want.   Keep my eye on the prize.   And hope like hell I don’t end up more miserable than I already am.

I just wish I had a crystal ball, so that I could take a safe risk.

But that’s just cowardly.   I need to just take the risk, and hope for the best—or at least something different.   Maybe that’s just what I’m looking for…something that isn’t the mundane life to which I’ve become accustomed.

A black mood.   How appropriate when all I see ahead of me is a dark, dead end.


And so it goes…

Let's Do it Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

“Money.   It’s a gas”…no, wait, I think that goes:  “Money.   Pays for gas…”

This situation is becoming untenable.   Gas is well over $3.00/gallon, which puts it well over the milk gallon/gas gallon = 1/1 ration that has held for many years.   And now gas is actually closer to the price of the over-taxed, inflated cost of a pack of cigarettes.

Next week, I am planning a trip to the northern part of the state (“up-north” to the natives), and renting a 15 passenger van to carry the seven of us and our shit.   We did the same last year, and spent over $200.00 on gas, and did very little extra driving.   This year, with gas 20 percent higher than last year, we can look forward to spending closer to $250.00 on gas.  

When I was a kid, we used to drive to British Columbia (that’s western Canada for those whose geographical skills have waned since high school).    It’s roughly 1800 miles one way.   Now, driving a VW microbus fully loaded like we did in 1967, we spent about $100.00 for the whole round trip!    And that included side trips to tourist attractions and relatives homes.

Granted, gas in 1967 was less than 40 cents a gallon, and that hundred bucks constituted a good portion of a week’s pay…but it was affordable even then.

Today, however, that trip would be prohibitively expensive, unless you’re driving a Toyota Prius and using the electric drive almost exclusively.    And then, what are you going to pack?   One small duffel bag for each of the four people you are going to cram into your little eco-safe runabout, and that’s about it.   And don’t even think about going into the mountains with this little puddle-jumper.   Even if it weren’t under-powered, you’d have to kick in the gas power…and there goes your spending money!

It just gets tougher all the time to take your kids anywhere exciting and/or educational.   Even if the cost wasn’t so dear, when would you find the time?   Take a week’s vacation, and spend it all traveling so that when you get home you’re more exhausted and burnt our than when you left work?   Take two weeks, and try to cram a lifetime of experience into 14 days?

Or do what most people do:   tune into the Discovery Channel, and watch someone else take the trip that you are aching to do.

And so it goes…

Actions Speak Louder

Today, I read the blog of someone close to me (my brother), and it dealt with death—not in a morbid sense, but how we deal with death, and convey our feelings about someone else’s loss to them.

I, too, have run across this problem, and have taken the coward’s way out:  I try to ignore the fact of the matter, avoiding the person who lost their loved one as much as possible.   I can think of only one case in which I dealt with another’s loss in a more positive manner…and that only when she returned to work after a couple of weeks.

My friend lost her nineteen-year-old son three years ago this past June.   I have known her for nearly sixteen years, and her children virtually their whole lives.   So I felt her loss keenly—especially since it made me wonder how I would deal with a similar loss.

When my friend “D” returned to work, she looked haggard and grief-struck, and my heart went out to her.   Not knowing what to say—the usual clichés just didn’t seem right—I told her how I felt the only way I could.   During a moment of privacy and quiet her first night back, I walked up to her, put my arms around her, and gently held and hugged her.

Her tears were quiet, but they wouldn’t stop flowing.   So I loosened my hug, and produced some Kleenex for her.    We sat together for a quarter of an hour, silent but for her sobs, then I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and smiled slightly as I walked away.

Later, “D” told me that she appreciated my gesture more than she could possibly say.   She said that I respected her right to grieve, didn’t ask questions, and didn’t say anything insincere.   She said that it was almost as if I knew that she needed a hug, and to be held, so that her world, if for just a moment, would stop spinning.

So, sometimes words won’t do.   Sometimes they will.  

I just happened upon the one time when what I did meant more than anything I could have said.

And so it goes…

Having My Say

You know what’s really neat about having a blog?

I can pretty much say anything that I want to, and it may reach an audience of one, two, or hundreds.

Of that minor multitude, no one may agree with what I have to say…or all may agree…but no one can keep me from saying it.    Their only recourse is to send me feedback, or blog on their own.

Kind of neat.   Almost like freedom of speech.  

And so it goes…

American Rage

I just read my father’s blogspot (The Bard’s Corner), and in it he mentioned that the weather in Houston is in the 90’s.   Well, 1300 miles north of him, it is 96 degrees F, and humid as hell…so I guess I can relate.

Also, most of his blog details what he sees as a great threat to our way of life—the issue of what to do about the Mexican “invasion”.  

I, too, am worried about this, which puts me in the minority of those who still believe that our country has been, and could still be, one of greatness.   But with the influx of illegal (for those among you who don’t understand that word, it means “against the law”) immigrants who are not willing to become American citizens and integrate themselves heart and mind into our society, that same society is falling prey to the ills of any polyglot people: failure of communication, racism, and cultural upheavals.

Our Congress is currently considering measures that would make English our official, national language—a step over two hundred years late in the making.    While this will not necessarily force everyone to learn English in order to live here, it will make it more difficult to function, since government offices will no longer be required to make information available to the populace in any language but the national one.    

Mexican-Americans (who, if they are citizens, should be known simply as Americans, or at worst, Americans of Mexican descent) are in an uproar over this step.   It will water down their heritage, they whine, and make it more difficult for immigrants to assimilate into our country.    Well, I say, if they are that worried about watering down their heritage, then leave that heritage in Mexico.    If immigrants want to be assimilated into our country, then let them learn the language and come here legally.

And if they cannot—or will not do this—then the treatment they should get as illegal—ILLEGAL!!!—immigrants is all they deserve.   Other countries, less disposed to humanitarian ideals than ours, shoot illegal immigrants.   We just send them back where they came from, at our expense.

So, next time you see someone flying the Mexican flag, or celebrating Cinco de Mayo (a uniquely Mexican holiday), use the univeral language that everyone understands, and give them the good ol’ American finger!

Whew!

And so it goes…

Lazy, Part II

Well, two days off, and guess what?

It didn’t help.

And so it goes…

Lazy

Sunday.   Last day of my working weekend, and by far the laziest day of my week.

Today, I sat at my computer for a while, wandered around the backyard tidying up a little (for about ½  an hour), then decided to take a nap.   This took me until about 5:30 pm, at which time I had a snack, and then wrote this little blog.

Now it’s time to go to bed and finish the ‘nap’ I started earlier.   Only two more nights of work, and I have two nights off—in a row!

Maybe I’ll have the energy to really let my thoughts go aimless then.

And so it goes.

I'm Certain That I Am For Sure

The phrase that makes me cringe today is “For sure.”   As in, “I’m not for sure where he went.”   Shouldn’t that read “not certain,” or “I don’t know”?    Wisconsin.  Land of the Fractured Speech.


Anyway, it’s been a while, and a busy while at that.   My youngest daughter now has a car to drive…and that’s scary.    Reminds me a lot of Robert A. Heinlein’s novel, “Time Enough for Love,” wherein his character (Maureen) is discussing the freedom that having a carriage gave her and her beaus when they went out (referring to the way things were at the turn of the last century).  

I’m pretty for sure  ( that my daughter has forgotten how to walk—at least since she got the car.   And her friends have found a new taxi.   But at $3.00+ per gallon of gas, that taxi had best start charging, because Daddy Warbucks I’m not.   I can’t stand the thought of filling my own gas tank, let alone my daughter’s.


We held our 9th annual Party on Prairie this past Monday (July 3), and it was, as usual, a good time.   Lots of eats, drinks, and camaraderie, punctuated by a moderate fireworks display and lots of splashing in the pool and on the waterslide by the kids (and a couple of adults, too.).

Some notable absences from the guest list this year—some didn’t show because of personal reasons, some didn’t show just ‘cuz they couldn’t make it.

But, hey—there’s always next year:  THE BIG TEN!



And so it goes.