Wednesday, May 31, 2006
More pond
We picked up some more rock for the pond, and trimmed the liner, and dry set the flagstones that will make up the edge of the pond. We need to work some more on the waterfall, and build up the edges a bit.
Tomorrow is my first day back at work, and I suspect that by the time I get home I'll desperately want to bash something with a sledgehammer. I'll settle for pouring concrete and setting the rocks I guess.
Ex-Marine news
I found that last story by googling "ex-Marine." Here's a few of the ex-Marine stories in the news this month:
An ex-Marine in Madison, Wisconsin, a Desert Storm veteran, is homeless and in a wheelchair.
A 78-year old ex-Marine in Riverdale, Illinois, was beaten with pruning shears by a 14-year old boy who had broken into the man's house. The ex-Marine fought back and shot the attacker four times.
A 29-year old ex-Marine from Pennsylvania, was convicted of rape after fathering a child with a high school student.
A 31-year old ex-Marine is running for Sheriff of Jefferson County, Alabama.
An ex-Marine in Columbia City, Indiana has loved being a mail carrier for the past 30 years.
Business is good for this ex-Marine, who's also a former member of the French Foreign Legion.
An ex-Marine in Madison, Wisconsin, a Desert Storm veteran, is homeless and in a wheelchair.
A 78-year old ex-Marine in Riverdale, Illinois, was beaten with pruning shears by a 14-year old boy who had broken into the man's house. The ex-Marine fought back and shot the attacker four times.
A 29-year old ex-Marine from Pennsylvania, was convicted of rape after fathering a child with a high school student.
A 31-year old ex-Marine is running for Sheriff of Jefferson County, Alabama.
An ex-Marine in Columbia City, Indiana has loved being a mail carrier for the past 30 years.
Business is good for this ex-Marine, who's also a former member of the French Foreign Legion.
Cornered by thugs, ex-Marine kills 1, rejects hero label | ajc.com
Cornered by thugs, ex-Marine kills 1, rejects hero label | ajc.com
There's a few things that I noticed about this story. When I saw the headline "ex-Marine" I assumed he was a recent Afghanistan or Iraq veteran. He served in Desert Storm and was discharged in 1992. 14 years later, and he's working 3-11, waiting tables on Memorial Day. He goes on to say that "growing up in New York" shaped his response more than his military training.
The robber who died, a 17 year old named Amy Martin, was described as a 10th-grade high school student. Obviously not a scholar. Her family, predictably, blames her death on falling in with the wrong crowd.
There's a videotaped interview with Thomas Autry on CNN here. He seems like a soft-spoken guy.
I don't know why I find this story so sad.
There's a few things that I noticed about this story. When I saw the headline "ex-Marine" I assumed he was a recent Afghanistan or Iraq veteran. He served in Desert Storm and was discharged in 1992. 14 years later, and he's working 3-11, waiting tables on Memorial Day. He goes on to say that "growing up in New York" shaped his response more than his military training.
The robber who died, a 17 year old named Amy Martin, was described as a 10th-grade high school student. Obviously not a scholar. Her family, predictably, blames her death on falling in with the wrong crowd.
There's a videotaped interview with Thomas Autry on CNN here. He seems like a soft-spoken guy.
I don't know why I find this story so sad.
Giving credit
By the way, before I forget, I got the cool Spider Baby trailer from YesButNoButYes. He's got a cool section called The Grindhouse that's chock full of sleazy movie goodness.
Spider Baby
Spider Baby will give you nightmares forever! Her sweet kisses engulf you in a bloody web of horror!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Yes, I am a hillbilly
I actually used my grill to cook bacon. It was goooood. I did feel kinda bad about letting all that grease go to waste though.
You know he's right
Scary, but right. Click here to watch an entertaining and yet disturbing little video.
I'll be at the library, reading up on distilling whiskey from okra.
I'll be at the library, reading up on distilling whiskey from okra.
RATTLESNAKE MASTER !
No, that's not how I'm now demanding to be addressed by my wife and children. That is the name of a native plant that Miz Bubs ordered to go along the border of our yard. She called in the order to Possibility Place Nursery this morning, and we'll pick up the order in a couple of days. One of the cool things about Eryngium yuccifolium Michx is that its roots are used to heal rattlesnake bites. And also for impotence, venereal disease, and expelling worms. Once this plant is thriving I can move forward with my plans to start an obscure Christian snake-handling cult.
We're also going to plant spicebush, which has its own swallowtail butterfly, anise hyssop, tall coreopsis, smooth aster, blue sage, wild petunia, white prairie clover, big bluestem, prairie brome, copper shouldered oval sedge, wild bergamot, hoary vervain, birdsfoot violet, butterfly weed, prairie milkweed and geranium maculatum. Whew.
Tuesday morning coffee
Good morning. We're onto the second pot of coffee this morning, and it feels like a slow Monday here at the compound. Miz has returned to work, and I'm sitting here waiting for a contractor to show up for an estimate on a new front porch. I tried to get my doctor appointment moved up, so I could go back to work tomorrow and have the satisfaction of not taking an entire month off. Doc's office says that can't happen, and I can't even get an earlier appointment tomorrow. Oh well. Not counting the days that I was scheduled to be off anyway, and the vacation days that I planned on taking but which the Department has to give back because I'm on sick leave, I only missed 13 days of work. Not bad for recovery from abdominal surgery, I think.
Speaking of all things surgical, I just got all my bills and insurance statements. I think I did, anyway. Total retail cost of my gut surgery: $22, 740. Amount I have to pay after insurance: $965. I am one lucky man. $965, while a pain in the ass, is not going to kill me. For a lot of other people, though, that's a month's rent or a house payment, or car repairs that won't get paid for. This is how people in America go bankrupt. According to a study by Harvard University, over a million Americans went bankrupt as a result of injury or illness in 2004. The same study says that more than half of bankruptcy filings are due to medical issues. Here's my favorite quote from that second article:
"Our study is frightening. Unless you're Bill Gates you're just one serious illness away from bankruptcy," said Dr. David Himmelstein, an associate professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School who led the study.
Thank you insurance industry, thank you HMO's, thank you trial lawyers, and most of all thank you Republican party and everyone else who screams socialism every time the topic of single payer, national healthcare comes up.
Speaking of all things surgical, I just got all my bills and insurance statements. I think I did, anyway. Total retail cost of my gut surgery: $22, 740. Amount I have to pay after insurance: $965. I am one lucky man. $965, while a pain in the ass, is not going to kill me. For a lot of other people, though, that's a month's rent or a house payment, or car repairs that won't get paid for. This is how people in America go bankrupt. According to a study by Harvard University, over a million Americans went bankrupt as a result of injury or illness in 2004. The same study says that more than half of bankruptcy filings are due to medical issues. Here's my favorite quote from that second article:
"Our study is frightening. Unless you're Bill Gates you're just one serious illness away from bankruptcy," said Dr. David Himmelstein, an associate professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School who led the study.
Thank you insurance industry, thank you HMO's, thank you trial lawyers, and most of all thank you Republican party and everyone else who screams socialism every time the topic of single payer, national healthcare comes up.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Some patriotic cartoons for Memorial Day
First, we have Donald Duck's response to Nazi propaganda.
Then Tex Avery and the three little pigs teach us about preparedness. Any similarity between the wolf and Adolph Hitler is purely intentional.
Popeye slaps the Japs and gets a furlough; once he gets home his nephews teach him all about home defense.
Bob Clampett sends Hitler on a bombing mission over Moscow, where he learns all about musical gremlins.
Special thanks to Bawb the Revelator, Mister Ph.D., who turned me on to the offensive banned cartoons and WWII cartoons website.
Remember, if we stop laughing at offensive cartoons, the terrorists have won.
Then Tex Avery and the three little pigs teach us about preparedness. Any similarity between the wolf and Adolph Hitler is purely intentional.
Popeye slaps the Japs and gets a furlough; once he gets home his nephews teach him all about home defense.
Bob Clampett sends Hitler on a bombing mission over Moscow, where he learns all about musical gremlins.
Special thanks to Bawb the Revelator, Mister Ph.D., who turned me on to the offensive banned cartoons and WWII cartoons website.
Remember, if we stop laughing at offensive cartoons, the terrorists have won.
The pond would be good for you...
Miz Bubs and her youngest daughter Hannah were amazing today. The pond, initially just a bourbon-induced fever dream, is taking form...we'll never have a pool, but we will have a pond, and the pond would be good for you.
Nora and I planted some more in the vegetable garden. We now have 3 kinds of tomatoes, hot and sweet peppers, bush beans, radishes, lettuce and nasturtium flowers. In the herb garden we have mint, chive, garlic chive, basil, dill, parsely, cilantro, rosemary and thyme.
Defiant Gardens
NPR : Tending 'Defiant Gardens' During Wartime
"Gardens in the war," writes Kenneth Helphand, "...exemplified the struggle to create something normal in the most abnormal conditions."
This story comes along at a perfect time, tying together my recent thoughts about gardening and war.
"Gardens in the war," writes Kenneth Helphand, "...exemplified the struggle to create something normal in the most abnormal conditions."
This story comes along at a perfect time, tying together my recent thoughts about gardening and war.
Memorial Day is there for a reason
"Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
--John 15:13
One of my regular beefs, which my wife and kids have long since tired of hearing, is this:
Holidays like Memorial Day and Veteran's Day are there for a reason, and it's not just a day off school/work, or an occasion to picnic. I always felt that my kids' schools didn't do a good job of teaching the history of the holiday, or imparting the proper sense of respect. Memorial Day, in particular, gets watered down into a broad, hazy day of remembrance. Kids need to understand, Memorial Day is there explicitly to honor war dead.
We both served in the Illinois Army National Guard, in the 108th Medical Battalion, back in the mid-80's. We were both 91-B, Combat Medical Specialists. Miz Bubs was in the 708 Ambulance Company, and I was in the 508 Clearing Company. We were in at a good time: we were discharged in February 1989, well ahead of the first Gulf War. I figure that any time someone can spend 6 years in service to his country and not get shot at, it's lucky.
So far, since our invasion of Iraq, 14 Guard soldiers from Illinois were not as lucky as I was, and have died in the service of our country. The most recent reports show that three more US soldiers died on May 25. They are:
PFC Caleb A. Lufkin
Specialist Robert E. Blair
Captain Douglas A. DiCenzo
So far, in Iraq, 2,464 US military service men and women have died.
I'll fight the urge to make an angry political statement here, and just ask that anyone who reads this spend a quiet moment, or say a short prayer, for the families and friends of the people who've given their lives for us.
Decoration Day
One of the things I really like about Miz Bubs' family is their tradition of going out every Memorial Day weekend to decorate family graves. I've been privileged to go along on a couple of these trips, which begin with everyone meeting at the picnic shelter in Elkhart, Iowa (population 362, according to the 2000 census.) There's lunch, and some catching up, and then a loose convoy drives around to 4 or 5 rural cemeteries, some more accessible than others. I try and keep all the relations straight, but I can't, so I just sit back and nod politely like a recent immigrant and try to be a good listener. I was sad to miss it this year.
There's something so sweet to me about all these generations, living and dead, connected through the shared task of maintaining and decorating rural graves. There are the graves of family members, and then there are the other graves you see: the veterans' graves, marked with flags, the small markers of children, entire families buried in a short time due to fever or milk sickness. It reminds me that all of us are where we are thanks to the work and sacrifice (or in some cases, the monumental failures) of those who've gone before us.
Miz Bubs' sister recently wrote about her trips to the cemeteries as a young girl and wondering what the people buried there had been like. She makes a good point that grave markers should contain mini-biographies so that strangers visiting years later can have a better sense of the dead. I like that. I've officially stolen that idea and have put my children to work on coming up with a good epitaph that will capture who I was, once I'm dead.
While we were in Key West we visited the cemetery. I don't know exactly why this is, but I've always loved graveyards, and my bride and kids are the same way. The Key West cemetery seemed more cheerful, somehow, than any other graveyard. So many of the graves, even the old ones, had fresh flowers and were clearly being taken care of by someone who cared. Some of the family plots had markers for favorite pets that were buried next to their humans. There were feral chickens roaming around, and the random crowing of roosters in the afternoon sun added a jaunty note. Some of the headstones are famous for their epitaphs: "I told you I was sick" or "devoted fan of Julio Iglesias." Many of the headstones bore photographs of the person buried, which is something I've only seen before on some Gypsy and eastern European graves. It seemed much more popular in Key West, which I liked. It's neat to think of someone walking by your grave and thinking, "what a good-looking guy he was" or "wow, she looked like fun."
There's something so sweet to me about all these generations, living and dead, connected through the shared task of maintaining and decorating rural graves. There are the graves of family members, and then there are the other graves you see: the veterans' graves, marked with flags, the small markers of children, entire families buried in a short time due to fever or milk sickness. It reminds me that all of us are where we are thanks to the work and sacrifice (or in some cases, the monumental failures) of those who've gone before us.
Miz Bubs' sister recently wrote about her trips to the cemeteries as a young girl and wondering what the people buried there had been like. She makes a good point that grave markers should contain mini-biographies so that strangers visiting years later can have a better sense of the dead. I like that. I've officially stolen that idea and have put my children to work on coming up with a good epitaph that will capture who I was, once I'm dead.
While we were in Key West we visited the cemetery. I don't know exactly why this is, but I've always loved graveyards, and my bride and kids are the same way. The Key West cemetery seemed more cheerful, somehow, than any other graveyard. So many of the graves, even the old ones, had fresh flowers and were clearly being taken care of by someone who cared. Some of the family plots had markers for favorite pets that were buried next to their humans. There were feral chickens roaming around, and the random crowing of roosters in the afternoon sun added a jaunty note. Some of the headstones are famous for their epitaphs: "I told you I was sick" or "devoted fan of Julio Iglesias." Many of the headstones bore photographs of the person buried, which is something I've only seen before on some Gypsy and eastern European graves. It seemed much more popular in Key West, which I liked. It's neat to think of someone walking by your grave and thinking, "what a good-looking guy he was" or "wow, she looked like fun."
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Gardening
God bless my wife. She's full of ideas and enthusiasm, and it's amazing just how often she knows exactly what I need. Like today.
We'd managed to make it to church, which was good and needed. The first two Sundays this month I was moping around contemplating my incision and didn't feel like leaving the house much, and last Sunday we were on vacation. We found out earlier this month that our pastor is going to another congregation, and I've been coming to terms with how badly I've taken him (and his wife, also a minister) for granted. Our church is wonderful, and I can't say enough about how much comfort I've gained from it over the years. I've been struggling over the past year to attend services more often. Anyway, Rev. Lynn was doing the children's time during the service, and I was looking at all of the young people standing up there, and I was nearly overwhelmed with the awareness of the passage of time. Seeing 15 year olds standing up there while simultaneously having such clear memories of those kids as toddlers was too much. We spent some time talking afterward, and then came home.
I was busy poking around the house, doing laundry, trying to reconnect to everything here after coming home. I've been away from work for nearly a month, and I have a doctor's appointment Wednesday, when he'll clear me to return to full duty. I've been thinking about that a lot, and most of it's not good. After 17 + years of police work, as B.B. King might say, the thrill is gone. I wouldn't say I was bummed out this afternoon, just a little out of sorts.
Miz Bubs, girl genius, went out and ran some errands. She came home with plants (tomato and rosemary) soil amendments (manure, pearlite and peat) and recycled wood to build a frame for a 4x4 garden bed. We'd been talking about it before vacation, but I was fuzzy about the actual when and where. I got off my ass and went outside, and helped put the frame together. Then I worked the amendments into the soil (she still won't let me lift the manure bags or use the wheelbarrow) and helped plant the tomatoes. We planted lettuce seed also. Then we went and weeded the herb garden, and planted the rosemary, along with parsley and basil seeds. We already have chive, garlic chive, mint and sage. Finally, we transplanted some wild geranium. My final bit of gardening was cutting some fresh mint for mint juleps. Miz Bubs, lady dynamo, stayed out in the yard working on the pond and breaking rocks with a sledgehammer. I think she also killed a badger while I cooked dinner.
Back in the early to mid 1990's we had an amazing vegetable garden. It took up a 12x30 foot area in our backyard, and was fenced with chicken wire and posts, with a wonderful gate. We had a triple compost bin made of old wooden grocery pallets. I mention this because, we stopped gardening in 1998--the last time we visited my cousins in Florida. We returned home from vacation that year, and the garden was overgrown, and we just never got it back in shape. I spent what was, for me, a crazy amount of time on the job back then--there was one stretch where I went a little over three months with only 9 days off. Looking back, those were the most hectic and probably least happy years in my adult life.
Now, 8 years later, after returning from a vacation to Florida, we're planting a new garden. We've gone back to using the methods advocated by Mel Bartholomew; Square Foot Gardening is simple, efficient and organic, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out this summer. Gardening makes you feel connected, it puts you in touch instead of making you feel like you're watching time pass, apart from all the changes you see. It feels really, really good. And it's all thanks to my wife.
We'd managed to make it to church, which was good and needed. The first two Sundays this month I was moping around contemplating my incision and didn't feel like leaving the house much, and last Sunday we were on vacation. We found out earlier this month that our pastor is going to another congregation, and I've been coming to terms with how badly I've taken him (and his wife, also a minister) for granted. Our church is wonderful, and I can't say enough about how much comfort I've gained from it over the years. I've been struggling over the past year to attend services more often. Anyway, Rev. Lynn was doing the children's time during the service, and I was looking at all of the young people standing up there, and I was nearly overwhelmed with the awareness of the passage of time. Seeing 15 year olds standing up there while simultaneously having such clear memories of those kids as toddlers was too much. We spent some time talking afterward, and then came home.
I was busy poking around the house, doing laundry, trying to reconnect to everything here after coming home. I've been away from work for nearly a month, and I have a doctor's appointment Wednesday, when he'll clear me to return to full duty. I've been thinking about that a lot, and most of it's not good. After 17 + years of police work, as B.B. King might say, the thrill is gone. I wouldn't say I was bummed out this afternoon, just a little out of sorts.
Miz Bubs, girl genius, went out and ran some errands. She came home with plants (tomato and rosemary) soil amendments (manure, pearlite and peat) and recycled wood to build a frame for a 4x4 garden bed. We'd been talking about it before vacation, but I was fuzzy about the actual when and where. I got off my ass and went outside, and helped put the frame together. Then I worked the amendments into the soil (she still won't let me lift the manure bags or use the wheelbarrow) and helped plant the tomatoes. We planted lettuce seed also. Then we went and weeded the herb garden, and planted the rosemary, along with parsley and basil seeds. We already have chive, garlic chive, mint and sage. Finally, we transplanted some wild geranium. My final bit of gardening was cutting some fresh mint for mint juleps. Miz Bubs, lady dynamo, stayed out in the yard working on the pond and breaking rocks with a sledgehammer. I think she also killed a badger while I cooked dinner.
Back in the early to mid 1990's we had an amazing vegetable garden. It took up a 12x30 foot area in our backyard, and was fenced with chicken wire and posts, with a wonderful gate. We had a triple compost bin made of old wooden grocery pallets. I mention this because, we stopped gardening in 1998--the last time we visited my cousins in Florida. We returned home from vacation that year, and the garden was overgrown, and we just never got it back in shape. I spent what was, for me, a crazy amount of time on the job back then--there was one stretch where I went a little over three months with only 9 days off. Looking back, those were the most hectic and probably least happy years in my adult life.
Now, 8 years later, after returning from a vacation to Florida, we're planting a new garden. We've gone back to using the methods advocated by Mel Bartholomew; Square Foot Gardening is simple, efficient and organic, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out this summer. Gardening makes you feel connected, it puts you in touch instead of making you feel like you're watching time pass, apart from all the changes you see. It feels really, really good. And it's all thanks to my wife.
Why can't my front yard look like this?
This is the view from our room in Marathon Florida last week. The ocean is off to the left. If you follow the water to the right you go back into the mangrove swamps.
Pagan Island
Mentally I'm still in the Keys. Last night, to unwind, I made us a couple of Eastern Sours:
Juice of 1/2 orange
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 oz orgeat
1/2 oz bar syrup
2 oz bourbon
Shake and serve in a double highball glass over crushed ice. I garnished ours with a cherry and an orange slice. The experience would have been perfect if I'd had this movie to watch.
Juice of 1/2 orange
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 oz orgeat
1/2 oz bar syrup
2 oz bourbon
Shake and serve in a double highball glass over crushed ice. I garnished ours with a cherry and an orange slice. The experience would have been perfect if I'd had this movie to watch.
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