COVID-19

I’ve promised myself that I would avoid this topic, normally focusing on lighter fare in this blog. 

But occasionally some things hit you between the eyes, begging a serious response. 

The poem “A Clattering Train” was one of Winston Churchill’s favorite poems. It was written in the late 1800’s following a train wreck blamed on a sleeping crewman. 

It poses the metaphorical question throughout its text: Where is the leadership in the face of this ever-emerging crisis?

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Who is in charge of the clattering train?
The axles creak, and the couplings strain.
Ten minutes behind at the Junction. Yes!
And we’re twenty now to the bad—no less!
At every mile we a minute must gain!
Who is in charge of the clattering train?

Why, flesh and blood, as a matter of course!
You may talk of iron, and prate of force;
But, after all, and do what you can….
Man is in charge of the thundering train!

Man, in the shape of a modest chap
In fustian trousers and greasy cap;
A trifle stolid, and something gruff,
Yet, though unpolished, of sturdy stuff….

Only a Man, but away at his back,
In a dozen cars, on the steely track,
A hundred passengers place their trust
In this fellow of fustian, grease, and dust….

The hiss of steam-spurts athwart the dark.
Lull them to confident drowsiness. Hark!
What is that sound? ‘Tis the stertorous breath
Of a slumbering man—and it smacks of death!
Full sixteen hours of continuous toil
Midst the fume of sulphur, the reek of oil,
Have told their tale on the man’s tired brain,
And Death is in charge of the clattering train!

Those poppy-fingers his head incline
Lower, lower, in slumber’s trance;
The shadows fleet, and the gas-gleams dance
Faster, faster in mazy flight,
As the engine flashes across the night.
Mortal muscle and human nerve
Cheap to purchase, and stout to serve.
Strained too fiercely will faint and swerve.
Over-weighted, and underpaid,
This human tool of exploiting Trade,
Though tougher than leather, tenser than steel.
Fails at last, for his senses reel,
His nerves collapse, and, with sleep-sealed eyes,
Prone and helpless a log he lies!
A hundred hearts beat placidly on,
Unwitting they that their warder’s gone;
A hundred lips are babbling blithe,
Some seconds hence they in pain may writhe.
For the pace is hot, and the points are near,
And Sleep hath deadened the driver’s ear;
And signals flash through the night in vain.
Death is in charge of the clattering train!

Readers, please stay safe and enjoy your day. 

CUP HOLDERS

Until a few months ago I owned a very simple and fun 1995 Honda automobile whose main claim to fame was that it was equipped with two cup holders and not much else, unless you want to count the stereo cassette player.

In 1995, cup holders were a pretty nifty addition to a car; one gets to drive through the Grand Canyon while sipping on a 7-11 quart-size Slurpy. What better way to enjoy a driving experience? I’ll give Honda some flak, though. They placed the cup holders in a place that was impossible to reach thus making them irrelevant. Our other car (a 2004) is also pretty spartan in terms of accessories, having cup holders and not much else.

A few weeks ago the 2004 car had to be rescued by a tow truck from the clutches of a Safeway parking lot due to a massive automobile electrical failure. [As an aside, if you wish to place a curse on someone you dislike, use the phrase "may your car have a massive electrical failure". It's a fate worse than death]. In the end, the process of tracing the electronics of our 17 year-old automobile was time consuming and, at $125 per hour, exceedingly costly. So costly, in fact, that it led me to believe that we should replace the car with a new or newer model. 

To that end, in my calls to Honda, Toyota, Subaru, Hyundai and Mazda dealers, I asked the following question: "I'm looking for a minimally-equipped car...one that has cup holders as the only add-on feature." This simple question was met with total silence on the other end of the phone line.

What I discovered was that it is next to impossible to find a late model automobile that is minimally equipped. Thus, along with the requisite cup holders, car buyers have to invest in backup cameras, lane warnings, Alexa compatibility, Bluetooth such and such, MP3 hookups, digital thermometer controls, rear seat DVD players, etc., etc.

Given the fact that buying a new car requires an investment into a vast array of unwanted technical gizmos, I've decided to put the money into repairing the old car with the cup holders.

The $125 per hour repair cost is not so bad after all.

Readers, enjoy your day.

MOLES

If both of my readers may recall, some time ago I wrote a blog about the moles who were terrorizing my yard.  In order to make sense about the rest of today’s article please take a few minutes and read my “mole blog” from February, 2018. Here is a link:

http://westofdenver.blogspot.com/2018/02/patent-application.html?m=1

OK, now that you have read or re-read this entry from yesteryear, welcome back. I’d like to now take you to a YouTube video that I recently found. It gives credence to my belief that I’m not the only crazy person in this world. Enjoy the video, here’s a link:

https://youtu.be/wPYxP-XQHeA

Readers, enjoy your day. 

STUMP

Some years ago I became a Sussex Spaniel enthusiast. My interest didn’t stem from any real knowledge about the breed nor did I have any desire to enter a dog in dog shows. Instead, I thought that the dogs of Sussex Spaniel lineage were just funny, goofy-looking dogs that must be fun to own. I could picture a Sussex lying comfortably in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter day enjoying a lengthy afternoon nap. Thus, it was with this pedestrian interest that I wanted to acquire a Sussex Spaniel for my 55th birthday in 2004. Luckily, there was a breeder close to where we lived in Albuquerque whom we contacted and ultimately bought our Sussex. True to form, our spaniel didn’t disappoint us. She was a funny, goofy-looking dog who provided us with many hours of affection, laughter and enjoyment for the 10 years of her life.

During the time that we owned our Sussex, I became close friends with her breeder and would drive north of Albuquerque to visit her and help her with various home projects. During these times she would educate me on the ins and outs of dog championships. It was during one of her dog shows that I had the pleasure of meeting “Stump”. His given pedigree name was “Clussexx Three D Grinchy Glee” which is a bit of a mouthful, thus his more common name of “Stump”. He was a legend not only in the breed of Sussex Spaniels but also among ALL breeds, having amassed an unheard of number of dog show wins. This includes a best in show win at the prestigious Westminster Kennel Club show.

While helping out my breeder friend at a dog show in Bernalillo, New Mexico, she pointed to a dog across the judge’s ring and told me “That’s Stump.” At that point I took the liberty of meandering over to that side of the ring and introducing myself to Stump’s handler. I asked if I may pet the dog and his handler gave me the ok. I then sat down next to Stump and gave him a quick ear scratch. He proceeded to wiggle his body around, thus ensuring that numerous parts of his body that needed scratching were, indeed, scratched. It was at this point that Stump laid his head down and promptly went into a shallow doggie nap. This nap was interrupted after a short time by Stump’s handler who told me that Stump had to see the groomer prior to his participation in the show.

That was the first, last and only time I was ever to spend time with this wonderful dog. Overall, I was left with the feeling that Stump, given the choice between being a show dog - flying around the country to various events and shows, etc. or just being a house dog, he’d probably choose the latter. As he put his head on my lap and went to sleep, I can only imagine that he was dreaming of just being a regular pet dog, lying comfortably in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter day enjoying a lengthy afternoon nap.

Readers, enjoy your day.

HANDSHAKES

It’s the widely seen act of greeting - the handshake. Furthermore, it has come to signify a bonding between individuals. Business people have had handshake business deals in which both parties were bonded to a stated verbal agreement.

More commonly, it kind of goes like this:

“Hey, you old so and so! Come on over here - I want to shake your hand.”
“A new baby? Let me shake your hand.”
“A promotion? Put ‘er there, pal!”

Of late, I’ve become rather put off by the act of shaking hands. This is not entirely because of cleanliness issues or health concerns, mind you. It has more to do with the nonsense of the whole thing. You see, I’ve done a bit of research into the origin of the handshake and am amazed at the history of this ritualistic behavior.

It all started as early as prehistoric times when one cave man would approach another cave man. Neither of these individuals wanted the other one to brandish a club, so upon seeing the other, each would raise his hand to show the other that he had no weapon in which to bludgeon the other one and subsequently steal his prize dead hyena that was destined for the dinner table.

Fast forward to the Middle Ages. The ritual of holding up one’s hand to show the absence of a weapon took on a new twist. Now, each individual has to shake hands with the other. The reason for this behavior is shocking. It’s because of distrust. By shaking the other individual’s hand, each could ascertain whether the other one was carrying a hidden weapon. Presumably, upon shaking hands, a knife, club or spear would fall from the other guy’s armpit thus giving away his evil intentions.

And this behavior continues after many generations of humans blindly following along.

Maybe I’m naive but I really don’t feel the need to shake loose a concealed weapon from an approaching individual.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Fist bumps, elbow bumps and peace signs are gaining popularity as personal greetings. I’ve always been partial to the “Butt Bump” but I don’t see that becoming a mainstream greeting. Nonetheless, I’m excited to see how this whole thing “shakes out” over the next few years.


Readers, enjoy your day.

CHEAP WINE

Wine snobs tend to annoy me. But, then again, people in general tend to annoy me. But let’s get back to the subject at hand - wine snobs. As one who cannot tell the difference between a Chateau Rothschild and Mad Dog 20/20, I’m uniquely qualified to comment on this.

The wife and I took a trip to Napa, California some years ago. We had a great time visiting wineries, eating wonderful food and experiencing the Wine Train. I couldn’t help, however, that I felt out of place. No matter where one turns in Napa, one hears people singing the praises of various wines. Where I get the feeling that I’m an outsider is when hearing or reading about descriptions of a particular wine (“it has shades of apricot accented with light hints of grapefruit”). To me, it just tastes like, well, wine.

That stated, I’ve always gravitated toward wines that are placed in the section of the store deemed the “economy section” next to the Old Milwaukee and down the aisle from the generic cheese doodles. In these wines one cannot discern hints of apricot or grapefruit, just undertones of potato peelings. Despite misgiving that people have about economy wines, after years of experience I can attest to the fact that one can get used to their taste. Mind you that socially you become a bit of an outcast when showing up at a party with a 1.5 liter bottle of Lancer’s Rosé. On the bright side, usually you can go home with most of the contents of the bottle intact.

Thus, after 35 years with the wife who has quaffed numerous bottles of cheap wine with me, she told me something that shocked me to my very core. She told me that she discovered a love of more expensive wines. The reason for this is that “they don’t give me a headache and acid reflux.”

Now I’ve heard it all.

In simple economic terms, one can offset the offensive effects of a $3 bottle of wine with a few Advil and a handful of Tums which may set you back a total of 25¢.

And that’s still a heck of a lot cheaper than an expensive $3.75 bottle of wine.


Readers, enjoy your day.

HOBBIES FOR OLD FARTS

I've been searching for a good hobby to keep my hands and mind occupied. It used to be that old farts would play checkers, collect pennies or stamps, play a harmonica or other such activities. Of these hobbies I find one of them to be the most humorous.

Collecting pennies? How ridiculous.

As none of those mentioned holds any particular appeal to me, I've been actively seeking other ways to occupy (spelled W-A-S-T-E) my time. I was at a dead end until last week when I read that there's a local group of model airplane flyers close to where I live. They even have their own airstrip. Thinking about this, I remembered fondly how when I was a young boy I would beg my father to take me to where model airplane enthusiasts would fly their creations every Sunday. On occasion, he would drop his Sunday Boston Globe and take me to the model airfield where we would hobnob among the "pilots" (that's what they called themselves). To a young kid, these guys were the real deal, dressed in airplane-appropriate clothing, having huge aviator watches, and wearing those ultra-cool sunglasses with green lenses. Yep, to me, these guys were "the high and the mighty". I loved how they talked to each other with sweeping hand gestures, describing the last flight of their model crafts. Even as a young boy I ascertained that the pilots' conversations were highly exaggerated but were nonetheless exciting to my young ears. 

Thus, with a newfound youthful enthusiasm I dug into every bit of online information that I could find about radio-controlled (RC) airplanes. I was amazed at how much information was available. 

In analyzing and synthesizing this veritable warehouse of data, I learned one thing - these model planes crash...a lot. Each and every pilot related horror stories about how many planes they have crashed over the years. Interestingly, most of the pilots take it in stride, the thought being "I'll just buy a bigger faster plane". (NOTE: One which they likely will subsequently crash.)

So, armed with this information, I did some math. First: Each flight of a model plane lasts about 10 minutes. Let's exaggerate that time and say 20 minutes (or about 8.5 hours per 6 months). Next: Pilots who fly weekly will crash a plane every six months (my SWAG estimate). Thirdly: A fairly good plane and setup will run you about $500. So, if we ignore all other factors (gasoline, jewelry, dinner, wine and dancing for neglected wife, etc.) we come up with $500/8.5 hours or about $59/hour. 

For a guy as cheap as I am that's a pretty expensive hobby.

Accordingly, I've changed my mind and have decided to collect pennies.

Pinching the ones that I collect will be a bonus.

Readers, enjoy your day.