Monday, December 11, 2017

MY FIRST CAR

I left home at age 17 after having graduated class of 65 from EHS. I was invited to live with Carl and Robin, my debonair cousin and his wife.  They lived in Petaluma.  I spent the summer a bit disoriented.  Carl got me a babysitting gig over a long weekend and I wound up somewhere in Russian River babysitting a 13 year old while the parents and teenager and friend attended a local dance.  Hell, the kid should have gone and learned some social skills or at least watched her parents dance together.  Carl told me about Fairchild Conductor and he took me there to fill out an application, shortly after I turned 18 and was hired and became a wage earning, tax paying, emancipated minor.  I got a roommate not to long after that and we lived in a fairly nice house in Novato.  Sue had a car so no problems there.  She kept wrecking them though.  One of the ladies we worked with told us that her husband who was in the Air Force at the nearby airbase sold used cars.  Yeah sign me up.  He sold me a brown 57 VW, it was a stick and I learned how to hold a pause on a steep San Francisco hill without burning up the clutch.  However long before that I was stuck somewhere and the car broke.  I tried to start it, Sue kept yelling, "Pop the clutch!" I had NO idea what she was talking about.  I called a local foreign car repair who towed it and repaired it.  Crank shaft had cracked right down the middle.  So how do I get this thing repaired.  I used the pink slip for the repair shop to hold until it paid for the repairs.  Pam's husband felt sorry for me and left me have it for the amount that I had paid so far, about 250 bucks.  She was pissed at his poor business practice.  So I puttered around in that thing for a couple of years.  One summer visit, Dad decided I needed a better car so they traded their 65 Barracuda to me for the VW.  All the girls learned to drive the thing.  Oh I remember now why Dad gave me the car,  That summer I was home I lost the brakes on the VW and he decided to step in.  Also the drive across the desert was boring, no radio.  So I sang my way "Going to Winnemucca, Winnemucca here I come!", topped out at 35 mph going up the foothills of the Sierra's to get to Reno.  Only other mishap I ever had was running the battery down, when I had stopped at Bergies drive in, you summoned the carhop by turning on your lights.  Gotta remember to turn them off.  I learned how to change tires as my bald tires would go flat or shred at inopportune times.  I paid about 100 dollars for a set of four around then.  I am sure I could have shopped around for a better deal. Uncle Carl asked me how much and I think I lied and said I got a bargain. So my adventures with the Barracuda began.  It was just the right size to fit a twin sized mattress in the back and other bits and bobs of a young person moving from place to place.  It was fairly powerful and kept me on time for work.  Only accident it was ever in was when I loaned it to a friend while I flew home  Got home and dummy had poked a hole in the frame near the hood.  I never got it repaired. And I never loaned it out again...ever.  Oh wait the only OTHER accident to the Barracuda was the winter I decided to drive home because IT WOULD SAVE MONEY.  I did okay until I hit a patch of black ice and blew up the engine just outside of Rome, Oregon.  Called the folks, eventually got it towed, had one valve reground that cost 65 bucks at the time and got a loan from Grandma Horn so I could pay for the repairs.  And Dad insisted on taking me home.  Boy was I pissed/relieved.  God bless him.

Thursday, November 30, 2017

I think I invented a sport!

To dream that you are watching a sports competition represents two opposing viewpoints or conflicting opinions.

I woke up from a dream and it was very different.  I was talking to a young athlete who was anxious to get back into his game.  The game involved him brandishing a sort of spear club like thing.  The club was made of very thinly sliced bamboo about six feet long.  The bottom bamboo slices were unbound and if tapped against the floor provided bounce.  The middle of the spear had a stylized handle and the top of the bamboo had a sort of shallow curved spoon for either catching, blocking, hitting etc. 

I could see a black box that consisted of one inch square blocks that were automatically stacking up into a square foot black block.  I am not sure what the rules were but I think team members had a certain amount of time to gather up loose blocks and try to destroy the block before it completed building. 

The defending team had to use their sticks to deflect incoming smaller blocks. Each small block is worth one cent.  The whole block is Lord, math fails me how many one inch squares are in one square foot?  That's 12 x 12 x 12.  There is a dollar amount in there somewhere.  The opposing team does not make any points unless the block is smashed apart.  Once a block is smashed, there is a toss up of one block at center court.  The athlete was wearing what looked like some sort of sports leotard, and didn't look bruised, so contact may be against the rules.  Need a name. How's about a pick up game of "Smash?" Needs work.

To carry forward the dream analysis of two ideas I think I can safely say that I was contemplating a BIG idea and a LITTLE idea.  Swell.



Monday, November 27, 2017

ASSIGNING TERMS AND PUNISHMENTS TO SEX CRIMES

I have been thinking about the apparent differences between the various men in the news lately and degree of their crimes.  I think we need to distinguish the varying degrees of involvement.   For instance I think the apparently innocuous crime committed by Al Franken could correctly be termed "pattycake"
Pattycake: Undocumented touching which would include "I don't remember".  Recommended punishments: Fine: Dollar amount determined by judge.  Sexual harassment classes, counseling.
Pattycake 1: He leered into a camera, touched a sleeping co-worker while she slept.  Recommended punishments:  Fine to be determined by judge.  Sexual harassment classes. Work in a Women's Shelter for 30 days. 
Pattycake 2: for instance would be a man miming a sex act behind a woman who may be bending over.  Recommended punishment: Fine to be determined by judge. Sexual harassment classes. Work in a Women's Shelter for 30 days.
Pattycake 3: is same as Pattycake 2 with his act witnessed by male co-workers. Recommended punishment: Fine to be determined by judge.  Sexual harassment classes.  Work in a Women's Shelter for 60 days.

I believe other actions are covered under various statues and do not need to be repeated here. 

Sunday, November 26, 2017

CIA GIRL ASSASSIN AND SEX

I have been avoiding sex scenes as I haven't quite decided the circumstances.  She can handle the actual sex, her problem is how to avoid becoming the go to girl amongst the entire bunch of Taliban.  After thinking about her approach she targets the main leader who seems to wield the most power.  She is aware of the cultural bias against hairy bodies and offers to make his body, let's give him a name like Omar.  She thinks of him as Hairy Man as mentioned in the Haka.  So making acceptable or not haram she offers to remove the hair from his body.  This involves sugaring which she can make work.  She is not allowed a knife but she can use thread as scissors to twist off a few hairs at a time when shaping eyebrows, beard, around ears, etc.  She must also make herself hairless as well.  She only has to do her genitalia as she has difficulty reaching other bits adequately.  This proves acceptable with Omar The Hairy and she attends to him only.  There is no romance about any of this, she is only trying to stay alive until she can teach the Haka and be rescued.  She is not allowed anywhere near the fire, knives or pots and pans as far as cooking is concerned.  Sure,she could kill him with the string but it's would be premature and messy and likely to get her instantly executed.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

Addendum to book I HAD A GREAT IDEA!!!!

See Facebook regarding my book. You know, the one I haven't written and probably never will.  However, I do work on the plot every once in a while.  I have a fertile imagination, just have problems connecting characters, plots, logical sequences, beginnings, middles and er ahem...ends.  I'm good at titles and general ideas though (cough).

I had the idea that our CIA girl assassin has gotten a little tired of her captivity by the Taliban.  She doesn't get enough sunshine, the food stinks and she is caught up with all the chapters of "Dies The Fire".    So she decides it is high old time that she got rescued.  So she teaches the Taliban a Maori war chant. Since Maori does not translate well into Farsi, she teaches them the English version that she knows.   

Prepare your feet, stamp with fury and gusto
It is death, it is death
It is life, it is life.
Behold the hairy man who reigned in the sun so it shines.
Arise! Arise!
Rise up to the heights to the rising sun
It is death, it is death
It is life, it is life.

Well they practice a lot.

The next time they went out on patrol, they assembled on
a close hill side.  The got into formation and began to chant, wave their guns, slap their thighs, slap their arms, slap their chests and roared the Haka.  A CIA spotter reported the activity.  They called 
back and confirmed, "They have our girl! Call in a Seal team!"
See Facebook the Haka video, it is very impressive.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Nostalgia and mechanical grinders

Every year NPR puts on Mama Stamburgs cranberry recipe.  It is very different.  This year the 8 year old granddaughter helped with the grinding.  They use an old fashioned hand grinder dated sometime prior to 1909.  They grind up a bag of cranberries, a small whole onion and drain off the juice.  This is set aside in a bowl and add two big tbsp. of FRESH horse radish, 8 ounces of sour cream,add a little sugar.  Mix well and store in freezer until needed for topping the turkey or addition to left over turkey, dinner roll and cranberry relish sammies.

My family recipe was a jello version and tasted MUCH different.  The original recipe calls for lemon jello.  That was discarded in favor of black cherry which makes a much richer combination.  Grind the berries, one whole orange, add one cup sugar, macerate one hour, prepare jello, use half the amount of water or juice called for it jells quicker and more solidly.Add chopped walnuts and chopped cerery, set and serve for dinner.  

Now, Virginia's version of the use of the meat grinder was a bit more involved.  We had to use a large bread board to anchor the grinder as the jaws were note wide enough to go around the edges of the counter.  So one lucky kid got elected to sit on the board AND. HOLD. IT. STILL.  God help any one who wiggled.  Also must place chair holding a drip bowl beneath the grinder as it leaked like a sieve.  And the juice got used religiously in the prep for the jello. After all of that proceed with rest of the recipe.

The only other occasion when the grinder appeared was one day I came home from highschool and there was something odd lying on a plate in the middle of the table. 

"Mom, what is that thing?"

" It's a cow's tongue."

Ugh, Dad had purchased a yearling calf at the auction, had it butchered and we were now blessed not only with 400 lbs of ground beef, roasts and steaks but the organ meat.  The meat was kept in a local locker as no one owned large home freezers then.

So Mom boiled up the tongue, peeled the thing and ground it up in the meat grinder.  She mixed in fine chopped onions, some salt and pepper and Mayo.  It made mighty fine sandwich spread.  I don't remember if I tortured my siblings with that item or not.  But I knew that artistically slices of tongue would go unconsumed. Bon appetite.


Woke up this morning completely infuriated.

To dream that you are at a factory represents repetitious thinking and an old way of doing things. It is symbolic of predictability and unchanging habits. Alternatively, it signifies business, productivity, energy and bustling activity. You are a person that can get things done.
Dreaming of an abandoned or run-down factory means that you have broken from your routine or have escaped from a monotonous aspect of your life. You are leaving a meaningless past behind and are thinking for yourself. 

I woke up this morning.  I was angry in my dream, so angry I was thinking of trashing something. 

For some weird reason, I was working on a project in a rather dingy factory.  My immediate supervisor was from the continent of India.  Things had been moved away from my office and I demanded to know who had moved my stuff.  My supervisor had a long name with lots of D's and I's in it. I asked him sarcastically to spell the other guys name so I could find him.

I looked in my office at one time and it was piled high with boxes of tools, cleaning supplies, linens, appliances.  What is this!? They needed the space. 

Next time I looked all the items had been sorted, the fridge, washer and dryer were along one wall.  The linens and towels and stuff were neatly folded and stacked on the washer/dryer.  The desk was piled high with boxes of tools and the place had no room for me. 

I was furious.  How was I going to get my work done?  I began to think after a minute, why hadn't I been fired?  I was being so rude! Then I asked myself, you never get angry, you get busy.  So I began looking around for places to move this stuff and reclaim my office.  Then I realized that this was a dream and that I didn't have to deal with any of this nonsense.  What a relief!

So I woke up to NPR's Weekend Edition and a review of an all girl's play about soccer.  Bleahhhh.

The dream interpretation pretty closely hit the nail on the head.  I have settled into a predictable life.  While I no longer work, I do some small things around the house.  I no longer go downstairs to the basement.  Darling Man has taken over the laundry completely and does a wonderful job.  All I have to do is fold, hang and put away.  Yay me!!  My main tasks consist of morning exercises, breakfast, other small frequent meals but breakfast is usually the biggest meal of the day.  I can't do any hand sewing until this eye thing is cleared up, so I must resort to clothing that does not need buttons attached unless it is with a safety pin of some sort. I have to keep those covered up because my lap kitty, Charlie, will chew on buttons and anything SHINY.  I wash dishes and sweep and mop the floor. note NONE of this is on a regular basis, y'see.

I recently watched a Facebook post about the Japanese method to avoid laziness.  Basically, if you can do something for one minute, that's right 60 seconds, you cannot call yourself lazy.  AND there was no preaching about incremental minute increase.  Hmmm. well I can say that I have worked my way up to 30 seconds.  Hah! Take THAT!

I do after all have Pilgrim ancestors fresh from 1600's Holland by way of England  looking for the chance to practice conservative religion and encourage the work ethic.  Oy!