I have been working on four other Blogs and two web sites, so I haven't had much time to work on this Blog. Here is a link to "Myrtle Beach Explorer" and here is a link to "Is This Your Money?"
My brothers and I found ways to make money at an early age. The earliest “job” I had was selling newspapers. At about 8 years old, Mom would loan me 50 cents and I would walk uptown to the Press and Standard office and buy 10 weekly newspapers. My route was the streets on the way home. There were a few people that were regular customers each week. Some didn’t have the 10 cents for the paper and they would “owe” me. I stopped by one of my Aunts every week and she would usually pay me with a coke. By the time I got home, I wouldn’t always have enough money to pay Mom the 50 cents I owed her. If I had known Don would have turned out to be good at business, I could have hired him to be my business manager.
The next “job” that I can remember was in the cotton fields next to our house. I was about 9 years old and we had moved from in town to the country where it was too far to walk to get the weekly newspaper and sell it. Anyway, I was getting burned out on that job and was ready for a career change. This new job wasn’t the kind of job where we had to get hired. There was a man with a scale and a truck that he kept parked on the dirt road that ran through the field. Anyone could just walk into the field and pick cotton and then take it to him to have him weigh it and pay for it. The first time that the field was picked, we might get about 1 cent a pound for it. Then, as the cotton thinned out from subsequent pickings, it would go up to about 4 cents a pound. I could tell fairly quickly that this new job was what people called real work. Even though it was probably costing me (or Mom) 10 cents a week for me to sell newspapers, I was beginning to doubt my decision to change careers. We soon realized it was also taking a toll on our play time. Fortunately, at this point in our careers, nobody cared if we showed up for work anyhow.
At about 11 or 12, we got jobs setting up pins in the bowling alley of a place called the Rifle Club. It was a private club and we had to have a Social Security card to work there. I don’t know why we needed a SS card. If they withheld any money, it never showed up on my SS record in later years. Back then bowling alleys were only partly automated. After each bowler threw the ball, we would have to quickly pick up the ball and put it in the return chute and then pick up the pins and load them in the pin setter. Then we pulled a cord and the pin setter would lower the pins into position and stand them up on the alley. That was the only part that was automated. We had to do this all before the ball got back to the bowler. So we had to be fast or we wouldn’t be put on the schedule to work anymore. Most of the time there would be enough “pin-boys” as we were called to set the pins in each alley. There was a small step type opening between two adjacent alleys where we would position ourselves when the bowler threw the ball. This would give us some protection against being hit by the pins when the ball knocked them into the pit at the end of the alley. How chaotic the pins acted depended on the bowler. There was one bowler that we called Superman. Whenever he bowled, we feared for our lives. He threw the ball so hard the pins would sometimes fly over the backstop of the pit or come into our protected step area. I remember being hit by pins when he bowled and having bruises the next day. Sometimes, we would be short of pin-boys and we would have to set pins in two alleys. We got double pay then, but it was hard to set pins fast enough to do both alleys. The good part about setting pins in two alleys by yourself was that you didn’t have to keep an eye on the other pin-boy. One night Ron was setting pins in one alley and another pin-boy (it may have been me, I don’t remember) was setting pins next to him. Ron and the other pin-boy attempted to put the balls in the ball return chute at the same time and Ron’s finger got caught between them. I cringe when I think about it. Stuff squirted out of Ron’s finger and he appeared to be in considerable pain for a while after that. What with child labor laws, kids just don’t seem to have those kinds of character building opportunities these days.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Shouldn't We Practice More?
There was a period of about ten years when I engaged in a lot of adventures. One Sunday I got up and headed for an airport south of Atlanta. They were giving lessons on parachuting. When I got there a group of about 6 of us started practicing jumping from a platform. We were learning how to hit the ground and roll. This is supposed to absorb some of the impact of the landing. After about 2 hours of this, to my surprise, the instructor said we were ready to parachute.
The airplane that was to take us up was relatively small. All the seats except for the pilot's seat were removed from the plane. This would be what is called a static line jump. That means one end of a line is attached to the plane and the other is attached to the parachute. When we jumped from the plane, the static line would tighten up and pull the rip cord of our parachutes to open them. We put on our parachutes with the main chute on our backs and the reserve chute in front. The right hand door of the plane was removed. Three of us got in the plane along with the pilot and the jumpmaster. There was very little room for all of us. I was the second one in which meant I would be the second one to jump.
As the plane took off, my head was spinning with all the things the instructor had told us that morning. It was a list of "what if this happens" sort of things. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the parachute lines get twisted, what if we landed on the runway or in the trees. The one I was worried about was "what if I can't find the emergency rip cord handle if the main chute doesn't open?" I recited these "what ifs" over and over in my mind and then we had arrived at the jumping spot.
I thought to myself that at least I'll get to see the guy in front of me jump first. Then I heard him yelling over the sound of the air rushing by because there was no door on the plane. He was telling the jumpmaster that he wasn't going to jump. The jumpmaster pulled him over out of my way and told me to slide forward. We were all sitting on the floor so I slid to the open door spot. There was a foot step on the strut that supported the right wing. The jumpmaster attached the static line to my chute and told me to put my right foot on the step on the wing strut. As I moved to do that I was now outside the plane facing forward and holding on to the wing strut. The jumpmaster gave me the signal to jump and I let go of the plane. For the few seconds before the parachute opened, my only thought was that of terror. Then my fall was interrupted with a jerk as the chute opened. I immediately felt myself twisting and I looked up to see the parachute lines wrapped. Fortunately I could see it was unwinding itself and I didn't have to do anything to correct that problem.
This was the fun part of parachuting for me. I looked around at the fields and all the earth below me. It was eerily quiet as I floated down. Then I realized I needed to be guiding the parachute to the bullseye on the ground. By pulling cords on the right or left side I could direct the glide of the chute in the right direction. I was approaching the ground much faster than I expected and then suddenly I hit hard. I had landed on the hard runway. This was one of the "what if list items". If I land on the runway, get off of it immediately to keep from getting hit by a plane that may be landing. I was in pain. My right ankle felt as if it were sprained. I got up and began hopping and gathering up my parachute. When I was clear of the runway, I stood on one leg and finished getting my chute contained. Then I hobbled back to the shed where the instructors were. It was about a quarter of a mile away.
When I got to the shed, I took off my boot and my ankle was badly swollen. One of the instructors put an air splint on my left leg. I left my car at the airport and caught a ride to the hospital back in Atlanta. When I got to the hospital, the xrays indicated that I had broken my right ankle and lower leg. I still have a screw in my ankle from that adventure. That was my first and last time to parachute.
I am adding this paragraph after I reread the blog. I would have just corrected it, but it reminded me of what happened later in the hospital. If you noticed, I said that I hurt my right ankle and leg. Then I said that an instructor put an air splint on my left leg. I did break my right ankle and leg and that's the leg the air splint was on. When I got to the hospital they put a plaster of paris cast on my right leg. To put the cast on, they attached my toes to a frame above the bed with something that looked like Chinese finger cuffs. That was when I finally asked for some pain killers. Later, when I was laying on a gurney outside the operating room with the cast on my right leg, a nurse came up and asked me which leg was supposed to be operated on. Wouldn't that have been obvious?
The airplane that was to take us up was relatively small. All the seats except for the pilot's seat were removed from the plane. This would be what is called a static line jump. That means one end of a line is attached to the plane and the other is attached to the parachute. When we jumped from the plane, the static line would tighten up and pull the rip cord of our parachutes to open them. We put on our parachutes with the main chute on our backs and the reserve chute in front. The right hand door of the plane was removed. Three of us got in the plane along with the pilot and the jumpmaster. There was very little room for all of us. I was the second one in which meant I would be the second one to jump.
As the plane took off, my head was spinning with all the things the instructor had told us that morning. It was a list of "what if this happens" sort of things. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the parachute lines get twisted, what if we landed on the runway or in the trees. The one I was worried about was "what if I can't find the emergency rip cord handle if the main chute doesn't open?" I recited these "what ifs" over and over in my mind and then we had arrived at the jumping spot.
I thought to myself that at least I'll get to see the guy in front of me jump first. Then I heard him yelling over the sound of the air rushing by because there was no door on the plane. He was telling the jumpmaster that he wasn't going to jump. The jumpmaster pulled him over out of my way and told me to slide forward. We were all sitting on the floor so I slid to the open door spot. There was a foot step on the strut that supported the right wing. The jumpmaster attached the static line to my chute and told me to put my right foot on the step on the wing strut. As I moved to do that I was now outside the plane facing forward and holding on to the wing strut. The jumpmaster gave me the signal to jump and I let go of the plane. For the few seconds before the parachute opened, my only thought was that of terror. Then my fall was interrupted with a jerk as the chute opened. I immediately felt myself twisting and I looked up to see the parachute lines wrapped. Fortunately I could see it was unwinding itself and I didn't have to do anything to correct that problem.
This was the fun part of parachuting for me. I looked around at the fields and all the earth below me. It was eerily quiet as I floated down. Then I realized I needed to be guiding the parachute to the bullseye on the ground. By pulling cords on the right or left side I could direct the glide of the chute in the right direction. I was approaching the ground much faster than I expected and then suddenly I hit hard. I had landed on the hard runway. This was one of the "what if list items". If I land on the runway, get off of it immediately to keep from getting hit by a plane that may be landing. I was in pain. My right ankle felt as if it were sprained. I got up and began hopping and gathering up my parachute. When I was clear of the runway, I stood on one leg and finished getting my chute contained. Then I hobbled back to the shed where the instructors were. It was about a quarter of a mile away.
When I got to the shed, I took off my boot and my ankle was badly swollen. One of the instructors put an air splint on my left leg. I left my car at the airport and caught a ride to the hospital back in Atlanta. When I got to the hospital, the xrays indicated that I had broken my right ankle and lower leg. I still have a screw in my ankle from that adventure. That was my first and last time to parachute.
I am adding this paragraph after I reread the blog. I would have just corrected it, but it reminded me of what happened later in the hospital. If you noticed, I said that I hurt my right ankle and leg. Then I said that an instructor put an air splint on my left leg. I did break my right ankle and leg and that's the leg the air splint was on. When I got to the hospital they put a plaster of paris cast on my right leg. To put the cast on, they attached my toes to a frame above the bed with something that looked like Chinese finger cuffs. That was when I finally asked for some pain killers. Later, when I was laying on a gurney outside the operating room with the cast on my right leg, a nurse came up and asked me which leg was supposed to be operated on. Wouldn't that have been obvious?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
What do you mean you're REALLY going to Viet Nam?
This is the last post about my trip to El Paso. For some reason, my memory of this part of the trip is very fuzzy. So I called Ron to see if he had a better recollection of the events than I did. When he started talking about the migraine headache I got when the car broke down, I knew his memory was faulty, too. When I told him that the way I remembered the trip just didn't make sense, he said "well, that's the way we did things back then."
Rather than take that nice air conditioned Greyhound bus back to Georgia, Don, Ron and I hooked up his 57 Chevy to his 59 Chevy convertible and towed it back to Georgia. As Ron explained it, the 57 Chevy was to provide parts for the 59 Chevy to make the trip. That turned out to be exactly what happened.
I was driving and it was dark. We were in the middle of the Texas desert and I could see the lights of a town way off in the distance. Ron and Don were asleep and I noticed that the headlights were getting dimmer. Ron is the mechanic, so I woke him up and told him what was happening. By this time, the lights were almost out and if I shut the car off, the battery would not be strong enough to restart it. But we didn't have a choice. Ron said the generator was bad and we had to take the one off the "parts" car and put it on the one we were driving. So that's what we did. During all this time, only one or two cars had passed us. Now with the generator installed, we tried to flag down a car to jump start the 59 Chevy. We had a few near misses when cars veered around us as we stood in the road trying to flag them down. I suppose they thought we were banditos trying to rob them. We eventually got a car to stop and got our car running again.
We drove the rest of the night and we were getting close to Georgia the next day when the rearend of the 59 Chevy started making a noise. We stopped and Ron got the tools out and he and Don started taking the rearend out of the 57 Chevy. This is when he claims I had a sudden migraine headache. If I did, that was the time to have one. This was a big job. Eventually we were on the road again and we made it to Moultrie. What a trip! Then Ron took all the scavenged parts off the 59 Chevy and put them back on the 57 Chevy and drove it back to Texas. Or did he drive the 59 Chevy back to Texas. I don't remember, but when he got there, he learned that he was going to Viet Nam for sure. Apparently, he wasn't sure he was going before then. So he drove his car back to Georgia, left it with us and took the bus back to Texas. Then he went to Viet Nam. We made an unnecessary trip to Texas, wrecked a car, had a miserable trip back to Georgia, and had a falling out the Ford dealer and never did get that new Mustang. On the other hand, we had an adventure, bought some priceless art in Mexico and got to see Ron before he went to Viet Nam. Well, that's the way we did things back then.
Rather than take that nice air conditioned Greyhound bus back to Georgia, Don, Ron and I hooked up his 57 Chevy to his 59 Chevy convertible and towed it back to Georgia. As Ron explained it, the 57 Chevy was to provide parts for the 59 Chevy to make the trip. That turned out to be exactly what happened.
I was driving and it was dark. We were in the middle of the Texas desert and I could see the lights of a town way off in the distance. Ron and Don were asleep and I noticed that the headlights were getting dimmer. Ron is the mechanic, so I woke him up and told him what was happening. By this time, the lights were almost out and if I shut the car off, the battery would not be strong enough to restart it. But we didn't have a choice. Ron said the generator was bad and we had to take the one off the "parts" car and put it on the one we were driving. So that's what we did. During all this time, only one or two cars had passed us. Now with the generator installed, we tried to flag down a car to jump start the 59 Chevy. We had a few near misses when cars veered around us as we stood in the road trying to flag them down. I suppose they thought we were banditos trying to rob them. We eventually got a car to stop and got our car running again.
We drove the rest of the night and we were getting close to Georgia the next day when the rearend of the 59 Chevy started making a noise. We stopped and Ron got the tools out and he and Don started taking the rearend out of the 57 Chevy. This is when he claims I had a sudden migraine headache. If I did, that was the time to have one. This was a big job. Eventually we were on the road again and we made it to Moultrie. What a trip! Then Ron took all the scavenged parts off the 59 Chevy and put them back on the 57 Chevy and drove it back to Texas. Or did he drive the 59 Chevy back to Texas. I don't remember, but when he got there, he learned that he was going to Viet Nam for sure. Apparently, he wasn't sure he was going before then. So he drove his car back to Georgia, left it with us and took the bus back to Texas. Then he went to Viet Nam. We made an unnecessary trip to Texas, wrecked a car, had a miserable trip back to Georgia, and had a falling out the Ford dealer and never did get that new Mustang. On the other hand, we had an adventure, bought some priceless art in Mexico and got to see Ron before he went to Viet Nam. Well, that's the way we did things back then.
Friday, May 14, 2010
South of the Border
Picking up where I left off in the last post...Don and I were kicked back in an air conditioned Greyhound bus on our way to El Paso. The last time I saw that Chevy and busted cooler was that day when we left Houston. Looking back on it now, I think we were lucky to get out of Houston at all. I don't remember the police being too concerned about the wreck, but the tow truck operators were promising us trips to the Bahamas if we let them tow the car. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but they were unusually interested in towing the wrecked car for us.
When we got to El Paso, Ron took us on a grand tour and showed us all the places the tourists go. All those places seemed to be popular with the MPs, too. The next day Ron took us to Juarez. He was a really good tour guide. We got to see some of the cultural spots and even went to a rodeo. When we parked the car, a kid approached us and said he would watch the car for us for a dollar so nobody would mess with it. He was kinda like a roving parking meter. We strolled up and down the streets looking for bargains. Don showed us his negotiating skills and got a really good price on some art that would be hard to find these days. Artists that paint on velvet are rare nowadays. I'll bet a painting like that that Elvis personally posed for would be worth a lot now. How we got back across the border with all that treasure still amazes me. More later.
When we got to El Paso, Ron took us on a grand tour and showed us all the places the tourists go. All those places seemed to be popular with the MPs, too. The next day Ron took us to Juarez. He was a really good tour guide. We got to see some of the cultural spots and even went to a rodeo. When we parked the car, a kid approached us and said he would watch the car for us for a dollar so nobody would mess with it. He was kinda like a roving parking meter. We strolled up and down the streets looking for bargains. Don showed us his negotiating skills and got a really good price on some art that would be hard to find these days. Artists that paint on velvet are rare nowadays. I'll bet a painting like that that Elvis personally posed for would be worth a lot now. How we got back across the border with all that treasure still amazes me. More later.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
El Paso or bust
I was trying to remember when this story took place and I found out that the first Ford Mustang was introduced on April 17, 1964, one of my brother Don's birthdays. The Mustang plays a minor role in the story. I had a 1964 Ford Galaxie at the time. When the Mustang came out, I decided to trade it in on a new Mustang. The dealer ordered the Mustang and took my car so it could be sold before the Mustang came in. I needed a car so I bought an old 1959 Chevrolet.
Shortly after I made these trades, my brother, Ron, called. He was at Fort Hood in El Paso, Texas. He said he was being shipped out to Viet Nam and if we wanted to see him before he left, we better come to El Paso. So, being the loving brothers that we are, Don and I packed up the old Chevrolet and left for El Paso. We were working in Moultrie, GA at the time. So it was about 1500 miles to El Paso. A cooler full of sandwiches could probably get us there. Well, it actually got us to Houston where the cooler exploded. The reason the cooler exploded was because it didn't stop when the Chevy hit that other car. We arrived in Houston in an $800 Chevy and left Houston in a $60,000 Greyhound bus. Before we upgraded to the bus, we exhausted all of our alternatives for continuing our trip. I think this was one of the first times I saw Don's talent for wheeling and dealing. He suggested we call the Ford dealer in Moultrie and get them to let me take delivery of the Mustang that I ordered in Houston. After that call to the Ford dealer in Moultrie, I decided not to do anymore business with them. In fact, they may have been the ones that suggested it would be better for all concerned if we took the bus to El Paso. More later.
Shortly after I made these trades, my brother, Ron, called. He was at Fort Hood in El Paso, Texas. He said he was being shipped out to Viet Nam and if we wanted to see him before he left, we better come to El Paso. So, being the loving brothers that we are, Don and I packed up the old Chevrolet and left for El Paso. We were working in Moultrie, GA at the time. So it was about 1500 miles to El Paso. A cooler full of sandwiches could probably get us there. Well, it actually got us to Houston where the cooler exploded. The reason the cooler exploded was because it didn't stop when the Chevy hit that other car. We arrived in Houston in an $800 Chevy and left Houston in a $60,000 Greyhound bus. Before we upgraded to the bus, we exhausted all of our alternatives for continuing our trip. I think this was one of the first times I saw Don's talent for wheeling and dealing. He suggested we call the Ford dealer in Moultrie and get them to let me take delivery of the Mustang that I ordered in Houston. After that call to the Ford dealer in Moultrie, I decided not to do anymore business with them. In fact, they may have been the ones that suggested it would be better for all concerned if we took the bus to El Paso. More later.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mom's Day
This is Mom and two of her sons, Don and Ron, in the old days.
This is Mom and three of her sons, Rob, Ron and Don, in the REALLY old days. I don't know if it was the sun in our eyes or if we were all having a bad day, but I don't see any teeth. Ron must have done something wrong. I'll bet it was because Mom had us all dressed the same and Ron insisted on being different by getting a bow and arrow. Sorry for all the gray hairs we gave you. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Dreamcatcher
Do you remember your dreams? Generally, I don't remember my dreams. There are a couple of times in my life when the dreams were so vivid that I remember them. I've had dreams that I have remembered for a couple of days and then forgot. Dreams always seem to mix up a lot of different things. Like a baby driving a car or someone being in a dream about something they were never connected to.
The first dreams that I had for a period of time was when I was about 5 or 6. I had a nightmare over and over for a while. It was scary and I woke everyone up with my screaming and crying. That nightmare faded away over a few weeks, but I've never forgotten it. What I needed back then was a Dreamcatcher. It was first made by the Ojibwa Indians to hang over a child's bed and catch the nightmares. I guess Indians knew about psychology before we did.
The next series of dreams that sticks in my mind took place over a period of time about 6 or 7 years ago. I frequently dreamed I was flying. I wasn't in an airplane. I could just stretch out my arms and fly. It felt very real. A friend of mine told me she had the same kind of dream.
After those flying dreams, I began to do some research and found that there are quite a few websites that tell you what dreams mean. It doesn't appear to be an exact science because I've found that different websites interpret the flying dreams in different ways. The most common interpretation is that when you have flying dreams, you feel like you are in control of your waking life or at least some part of it. If you have a dream you want to interpret, here's a link to a website.
The first dreams that I had for a period of time was when I was about 5 or 6. I had a nightmare over and over for a while. It was scary and I woke everyone up with my screaming and crying. That nightmare faded away over a few weeks, but I've never forgotten it. What I needed back then was a Dreamcatcher. It was first made by the Ojibwa Indians to hang over a child's bed and catch the nightmares. I guess Indians knew about psychology before we did.
The next series of dreams that sticks in my mind took place over a period of time about 6 or 7 years ago. I frequently dreamed I was flying. I wasn't in an airplane. I could just stretch out my arms and fly. It felt very real. A friend of mine told me she had the same kind of dream.
After those flying dreams, I began to do some research and found that there are quite a few websites that tell you what dreams mean. It doesn't appear to be an exact science because I've found that different websites interpret the flying dreams in different ways. The most common interpretation is that when you have flying dreams, you feel like you are in control of your waking life or at least some part of it. If you have a dream you want to interpret, here's a link to a website.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Through the eyes of a kid
When I was a kid, I liked to look at the ads in Popular Mechanics Magazines. There were a lot of fun looking things they were trying to sell.
One of the ads showed a picture of a big muscular guy kicking sand on a skinny fellow at the beach. In the background, there were a couple of girls in bikinis laughing at the skinny guy. In the caption, it said "are you tired of being a 90 pound weakling?" I was thinking, "yeh, I am, but I'm only six".
Then there was this small package that turned into a kayak looking boat. That must have been fun. I think it was called a Folbot. They still make them. They look even better now.
Another ad I liked was the sawmill. You could take logs and cut them up into boards. It reminded me of the saw my Uncle used to have. It was a huge circular saw blade mounted on some posts. He would go out to the woods and cut down some trees and load them on his logging truck. Then he would bring them back to the field beside my grandmother's house and cut them up with the big saw. After he unloaded the logs off the truck, he would jack it up and take the wheels off one side of the rear axle. He then put a long belt around a wheel with no tire on it and around a drum on the shaft with the saw blade. Then he started the truck and turned the blade with the truck axle. This was long before OSHA.
Maybe it was because Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen were popular at the time, but I really wanted to learn how to be a ventriloquist. The ads said it was easy and anybody could learn. I just never got up the nerve to ask Mom if she would buy me the lessons. It may have been because I knew she would say "if you want to play with dummies, go find your brothers." Sorry Bros.
One of the ads showed a picture of a big muscular guy kicking sand on a skinny fellow at the beach. In the background, there were a couple of girls in bikinis laughing at the skinny guy. In the caption, it said "are you tired of being a 90 pound weakling?" I was thinking, "yeh, I am, but I'm only six".
Then there was this small package that turned into a kayak looking boat. That must have been fun. I think it was called a Folbot. They still make them. They look even better now.
Another ad I liked was the sawmill. You could take logs and cut them up into boards. It reminded me of the saw my Uncle used to have. It was a huge circular saw blade mounted on some posts. He would go out to the woods and cut down some trees and load them on his logging truck. Then he would bring them back to the field beside my grandmother's house and cut them up with the big saw. After he unloaded the logs off the truck, he would jack it up and take the wheels off one side of the rear axle. He then put a long belt around a wheel with no tire on it and around a drum on the shaft with the saw blade. Then he started the truck and turned the blade with the truck axle. This was long before OSHA.
Maybe it was because Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen were popular at the time, but I really wanted to learn how to be a ventriloquist. The ads said it was easy and anybody could learn. I just never got up the nerve to ask Mom if she would buy me the lessons. It may have been because I knew she would say "if you want to play with dummies, go find your brothers." Sorry Bros.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Beautiful Snow
Almost everyone I know thinks I'm crazy because I love snow and cold weather. The few years I lived in Michigan were enjoyable because of the snow. I guess when people get too old to shovel snow, they move to Myrtle Beach. The picture was taken from my condo in Myrtle Beach in February of this year. I have seen it snow in SC several times, but it's rare.
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Walden Pond
The year I spent there was peaceful and quiet. Sometimes with the noise of Myrtle Beach, I wish I was back there. Thanks Don and Judy.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
A Charlie Hall Moment
This post was written on Friday. I got up a little earlier than usual this morning. The sun had not risen yet and the sky on the horizon was red. That brought to mind the saying "Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning and red sky at night, sailor's delight". When I've been on sailing trips, I have often looked for that weather predictor. I can't remember if it was an accurate weather predictor or not.
I was curious about the reasoning behind this saying and I found this explanation on Wikipedia. "Weather systems typically move from west to east, and red clouds result when the sun shines on their undersides at either sunrise or sunset.[6][7] At these two times of day, the sun's light is passing at a very low angle through a great thickness of atmosphere, the result of which is the scattering out of most of the shorter wavelengths — the greens, blues, and violets — of the visible spectrum, and so sunlight is heavy at the red end of the spectrum. If the morning skies are red, it is because clear skies to the east permit the sun to light the undersides of moisture-bearing clouds coming in from the west. Conversely, in order to see red clouds in the evening, sunlight must have a clear path from the west in order to illuminate moisture-bearing clouds moving off to the east. There are many variations on this piece of lore, but they all carry the same message."
Even though there were red skies this morning, the weather forecast for today is sunny skies. The next time I go on a sailing trip, I'll get up early and have coffee while I read the sky for it's weather prediction. Then I'll listen to the weather forecast and decide what I'll do that day based on the forecast. Where's cousin Larry, the meteorologist, when you need him?
I was curious about the reasoning behind this saying and I found this explanation on Wikipedia. "Weather systems typically move from west to east, and red clouds result when the sun shines on their undersides at either sunrise or sunset.[6][7] At these two times of day, the sun's light is passing at a very low angle through a great thickness of atmosphere, the result of which is the scattering out of most of the shorter wavelengths — the greens, blues, and violets — of the visible spectrum, and so sunlight is heavy at the red end of the spectrum. If the morning skies are red, it is because clear skies to the east permit the sun to light the undersides of moisture-bearing clouds coming in from the west. Conversely, in order to see red clouds in the evening, sunlight must have a clear path from the west in order to illuminate moisture-bearing clouds moving off to the east. There are many variations on this piece of lore, but they all carry the same message."
Even though there were red skies this morning, the weather forecast for today is sunny skies. The next time I go on a sailing trip, I'll get up early and have coffee while I read the sky for it's weather prediction. Then I'll listen to the weather forecast and decide what I'll do that day based on the forecast. Where's cousin Larry, the meteorologist, when you need him?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
What did I forget?
Did you forget to read my Blog? I think you did. Did you forget to check out the ads? I think you did. Did you forget to take your medicine? Apparently as we get older, we forget to do all kinds of things. I was just kidding about the Blog and the ads, but forgetting your medicine, if you take any, is obviously not a good thing. I take medicine every day and I use an organizer to make sure I take the right ones at the right time. I have one brother who takes a truck load of medicine every day. He doesn't use an organizer, but somehow he remembers how many, which ones and when to take them all. That's amazing to me.
I have written before that I get a daily email from "Real Age". They provide a lot of useful information. Friday's email gives some tips on how to remember to take your medicine. I suppose it would work for other things that you do or forget to do regularly. Here's the link to the page where you can find the tips that help you remember things. It's a little "quirky" and I don't know how it works, but it's worth a try.
I have written before that I get a daily email from "Real Age". They provide a lot of useful information. Friday's email gives some tips on how to remember to take your medicine. I suppose it would work for other things that you do or forget to do regularly. Here's the link to the page where you can find the tips that help you remember things. It's a little "quirky" and I don't know how it works, but it's worth a try.
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