Hey Kids,
In light of our travels today, this quote seems appropriate:
“Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug.”– Jon Lithgow
Post 3-125
Useless Observations
So Far, So Fast
Hey Kids,
The lake calleth anew.
The weekend has come that we are about to head down to Lake Powell and get our boat training. At one point, this day seemed so far away and despite our numerous trips, I thought it would never come.
And now, the night before we leave, what have I packed? Nearly nothing.
By tomorrow morning, I’ll be rushing around trying to get ready, pushing the clock, and panicking that I’ll forget something.
But I’ll never wish I had more time to get ready.
Post 3-124
Computer CTRL
Hey Kids,
Remember when you found out that CTRL+X was the “cut” command? CTRL-C copied it instead? Or that CTRL+V pasted those things back onto wherever you needed it?
Or the little window button returned you to the windows menu? It was like being told of a secret code, let in on a little known fact.
Function+F is an invaluable find function on any page or document. How did I ever not know that, and how did I ever function?
I find it incredible that so many hidden commands hide within the keyboard of the computer. How many functions hide within the program commands in some of the programs I use every day?
Just exactly how dumb am I?
Post 3-123
My Crew
Hey Kids,
I have a staff. We are all just people with jobs. We trade our time and talents and get paid for it.
I like to think I’m one of the crew, another employee with my own specific duties. I start the day and end the day, just like everyone else. I’m just one of the “guys”.
Ordinary Average Guy
Except I’m not.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing special about me. I’d be the first to doubt my abilities, my importance, and my book smarts. I’m pretty run of the mill.
But I am the leader of my small staff. They look to me to make sure their time gets turned into money. They look to me to watch for those things that are best for them. While they do their jobs, they expect me to do mine- make their jobs easier, valuable, and safe.
They come to me when they are troubled, mad, or disappointed. They tell me of their victories, their families, and their desires. They share their goals, their dreams, and occasionally their deepest secrets.
I console when family members struggle, get sick, and pass away. I offer advice when life delivers hard blows. I encourage when life puts up hurdles.
I’ve laughed with them. I’ve sat through tears with them. I’ve spoken at funerals of a couple of them, and hugged their grieving mothers.
None of these things make me anything great or special.
Except what an honor it is to be someone who is trusted to be part of so many people’s special moments.
What an honor it is to be given a second chance to be a dad once again.
Post 3-121
Brake Light Broke
Hey Kids,
I got pulled over today by the highway patrol. Apparently I had a brake light out.
Although I appreciate the notice, as it’s a good thing to have your brake lights work, I find it odd that it constitutes a full lights pull-over, a need to see my license, a return to the patrol car, a print out of a warning, and then act like it’s all in the name of doing me a favor.
A simple, loud speaker broadcast of, “Your brake light is out, bro,” would suffice.
Either way, it’s fixed now.
Post 3-118
Flip Flopper
Hey Kids,
I used to always consider myself a cold weather person. The times I’ve been knee deep in a cold river, flicking ice from the rod line guides, and brushing snow off of my hat has happened more than once. In fact, I always considered the start of fishing season to be Labor Day, the unofficial last weekend of summer and the beginning of the fall and winter seasons. It ended on Memorial day in May.
I’ve noticed that others also wear that Cold Weather Outdoors Person medal with equal pride. If the mercury drops below freezing, a silver star is deserved. Below zero and a gold star is in order. And only a few people will be out there to earn it.
I wonder why no one else is here??
Cold weather always means less people. And the colder it gets, the less people there would be and that’s always a good thing. Just last December, I fished in and around the ice sheets on a high elevation lake. Why? Because open water is kayak-able water. I spent the day alone on the water and couldn’t have been happier. Cold, but happy.
Even riding the bike, I’ve declared with pride that there is no “too cold”. I’ve proved it, at least down to 8°F. My saying has been, “So long as there’s no ice, I’m riding.” And I still stand by that.
However this summer, having already experienced the warm weather to our south, I think I might be more prone to embrace the warm weather this year. The motor runs better. The tires grip better. The kayak glides better. The fish bite and fight better.The sun feels better. Shorts and t-shirt fit better. And the flips flop better.
Yes I’m a warm weather guy this season. The red rock desert will see more of me. And I just might stay like this for a while.
At least until Labor Day.
Post 3-117
A Slow 110
Hey Kids,
In the previously blog-mentioned movie of “Smokey and the Bandit” there’s a scene where Frog (Sally Fields) looks at the dashboard of the 1977 Trans Am and in a surprised voice asks, “Are we really going 110? We’re going 110!”
The camera shows the speedometer and the needle is on 110, but it’s 110km/h.
Correct me if I’m wrong but that’s just shy of 70 mph. Not really that fast but maybe when compared to the then national speed limit of 55 MPH and on a two-lane back road somewhere between Texarkana, Texas and Atlanta, GA.; it seems fast.
Still, if you weren’t paying as close attention or able to watch the movie over and over (a feat not normally possible in 1977), you would assume she meant 110 MPH. Despite efforts to the contrary, the metric system didn’t exist to anyone stateside back then. Or even now.
Sometime around 1976, or in my fourth grade, I remember doing conversion worksheets in school. We were taught that the US had to get in line with the rest of the world if we were to stay relevant and competitive. Not too far in the future, pounds, gallons, and miles would be but a faint memory. I recall the worry and perceived immediacy of this new-fangled measuring system. We needed to learn it now!
That was the last instruction and work sheets I would ever receive.
Road signs for a short time listed both kilometers and miles, and the speedometers in the cars were required to list both as well. I don’t recall anyone resisting but it never took. There didn’t exist a real daily reason to change. People had bigger worries and eventually all effort to get people to switch went away.
I know that it might sound sick, misguided, or even ridiculous; but I’m kind of proud that we rejected it as a country. It’s OK to be different, to do it our own way. We Americans are funny that way.
The metric system is superior and easier to use. I admit it. But for whatever reason the 16 ounces to the pound, the 128 ounces to the gallon, and the 5280 feet per mile systems work for us.
Just like declaring that trucking Coors beer east of Texas is bootlegging.
Post 3-116
Equal but Bigger
Hey Kids,
When we returned to town last Sunday evening, a new bike had been purchased over the weekend. Parked under the carport, its paper plates still smelled of the sharpie used to write the expiration date of the temporary registration.
Finally today, I got the occasion to walk over to check out this new playmate to the motorcycle sandlot. A white 2000 Yamaha Road Star 1600 hard-cased bagger.
I stood admiring the look and the lines of the bike when its owner wandered out of his apartment. I’m sure he needed to see why I was out there creeping on his bike.
I let him know that I liked the bike, asked some questions, and complimented him on his fine purchase. All this set him a little at ease.
“Those are my bikes over there,” I told him, thumbing at the pair of bikes resting in their own spot under the aluminum roof, a few sections down. This seemed to change everything and suddenly I had street cred.
We spoke a little longer and it seemed to get his juices flowing for a ride. He looked up to the dark clouded skies. Standing in my riding jacket and seeing my helmet resting on the back seat of the bike on which I had just rolled in, he trusted me when I suggested he should go. It could be hours before the next rain session.
He agreed and rolled out for a country scoot.
We had nothing in common but the name on the apartment complex and a love for the two-wheeled people movers. That usually is enough to be buds in the parking lot and equals in the eyes of the motorcycle gods.
Well, almost equals. I have TWO bikes and an extra 300cc on MY Yamaha.
Post 3-115
5 Minutes
Hey Kids,
This past week was Inspection Week. In my line of work, we have a few of them throughout the year. But they really don’t last a week.
First there’s the walk-thru. Then the check lists, the punch lists, the follow-ups, the do-overs, the forgots, and the “how did we miss that” on the morning of.
Everything gets cleaned, polished, re-cleaned, and re-polished.
The paperwork is looked over, corrected, and forged; just to make sure all is correct.
The people are drilled, grilled, and pressed cleaned.
The rust is sought, fought, and painted over.
The water spots are rubbed down to the support structure underneath.
The answers to possible questions are practiced and recited; all to be forgotten if asked.
The morning comes. The inspectors show. The preparations stand ready.
The inspectors wander around, nod their head, and glance up to the ceiling often to avoid eye-contact. They ask no questions, they don’t look into the dark corners (where nothing is hidden of course), and take no notes.
The week-long inspection is over in 5 minutes. At least for our part of the facility.
Now if only the work week lasted 5 minutes.
Post 3-111
Unexpected Company
Hey Kids,
A sock here, a shirt there. A couple of jackets thrown over the back of the dinner room chair.
Most of the time the dishes are washed, but a few have found themselves abandoned in the bottom reaches of the sink.
Laundry was done but not folded and the cat had left a few of his toys where they belonged.
All in all, not everything was perfect; the apartment bore a “lived-in” look, but not bad.
Then we came home greeted by a note attached to the front door. An inspection by management loomed for the next day.
With the expectation of company, as glamorous as it is, the clutter of the daily grind seemed to increase tenfold in an instant.
So the evening has been spent straightening, sorting, and folding; all in anticipation of these mystery maintenance people who will enter our little home and test the water faucets, the drains, the appliances, and the windows.
I hope they’re impressed with how good the apartment looks.
Post 3-109
Mike M Jensen 