Time to Get Away

A vision quest is a native American ritual. A spiritual journey into the wilderness to find your spirit animal. It was a sacred right of passage, I think. I don’t really know all that much about it. But I believe in the value of getting away from the metal and concrete, the electric wires, the cell phone towers, the overwhelming, overpowering crush of humanity crammed into the city. All the wires and exhaust fumes electrical emissions interfere with our ability to find reason. All of the money and science put into transportation and communication and we can’t find each other or ourselves. If we do manage to stumble into someone we want to see we have nothing of value to say.

Last night I went to the hardware superstore to buy some modern electrical contraption, plastic, disposable, and filled with all sorts of little soldered circuits and bad karma. I decided to walk across the street to the grocery supermarket. It was a death race, me against the world. Cars zipped everywhere, unconcerned with the pedestrians, barely aware of other cars. It was madness. Angry horns honking, warning, “get out of my way.”

Mechanical madness, it was easy to believe the cars were in control, people were only a byproduct of the iron age, we stopped using the machines and started serving them. And the people were everywhere. The store was packed, shopping carts careening down crowded aisles, it has become impossible to escape wheeled monsters bent on collision.

In the short time I was in the store, just long enough to buy a bottle of bourbon, strictly for medicinal purposes, three cars had decided to settle their differences the old-fashioned way. They ran into each other, shattered plastic, glass and all sorts of fluids spilled all over the intersection. There were fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, lights flashing, chasing away the gloom of the evening. A light rain had begun to fall. The wet pavement reflected everything. Light echoed off everything. It looked sinister and supernatural.

Trekking back toward my car I fell in line between a young woman pushing a shopping cart. In the cart were two small children, a third walked beside the cart holding onto the cage. Walking the other way was a man and woman pushing a shopping cart with a baby strapped into a car seat which was hooked into the seat part of the cart. The baby was crying, loud, a high-pitched sustained wailing, unchanging, constant. They were going into one of the loudest places I had ever been with a noisemaker. I shuddered just thinking about it.

The lady in front of me turned and looked at the couple walking past and saw me.

“Somebody isn’t happy.” She said, smiling.

“No, somebody isn’t.” I replied, thinking ‘everybody isn’t happy.’ But, I didn’t want to show my despair.

After making my way around the accident I fell into traffic and got behind a Mercury Montego. There must have been a short in the electrical system. Every time they pressed on the brake pedal the bright red brake lights would flash several times before lighting solid. It grated on my senses, it burned into my eyes, seared onto the surface of my brain. Flash. Flash, Blink. Since it was rainy and rush-hour they tapped the brakes a lot. I thought about crashing into the back of their car to help fix the problem. But, I love my car, a Toyota Tacoma, and it seemed a little excessive.

Eventually a car pulled in between us and I thought I had it made. Since my car is a pickup I sit up a little higher and I could still see the flashing lights through the windshield of the car between us. Now, it was further compounded by the windshield wipers. It was Morse Code from the abyss, “Don’t worry, take your time, we will wait here for you.” Lights, noise, insanity, all artificial, all manmade, all grating and terrible.

 Last time we made a weekend escape we participated in an “Owl Prowl.” After dark we walked down a dark road with the naturalist. She used a smart phone to call owls. Silence is important. The chill of night teased our ears and tweaked our noses. Out of nowhere an owl answered the call, it was amazing. She called and he answered several times. In the distance a coyote called in the distance to our right and was answered by one somewhere behind us. We were aliens in their world and the sounds were beautiful.

It might be time for another weekend away. Hiking trails, fire pits, steaks sizzling over a charcoal grill. Maybe a bottle of wine and the kindness and gentleness of my wife’s smile. It is where I can recharge, refurbish, renew.  Albert Einstein said, “Look deep into nature and you will understand everything better.” I need a few minutes to look into nature.

Another Adventure,

We decided, my wife and I, to take a little trip, blow off a little steam, let our hair down, indulge in a little spring break leisure. Maybe we are just preparing for our impending retirement. Anyway, we looked around and Louisville is always fun. There are things to do, stuff to see. Plus, Louisville is only about three hours from Columbus, a real benefit. But, we have been to Louisville several times, and we are on a mission to try new things. So, we went looking. About 12 miles from Louisville is the Horseshoe Inn and Casino. Where, in the words of The Grateful Dead (from Ramble On Rose) we will “be sitting plush with a royal flush, aces back to back.”

We have started a list of places we are going to visit. Stops on the Life Explained World Tour. It is a list of destinations, goals to be achieved before we die. We may have to live forever. Or stay off the internet. Las Vegas is one of them. Maybe this is training. We are not gamblers. We won twelve dollars on a slot machine in South Dakota and four dollars from a slot machine in Michigan, and we were rolling in the dough. But, the room at the Horseshoe was cheap, and we got a fifty dollar food credit. And the food looks amazing. The way I see it we already won. Vegas here we come.

Plus, I have a new fascination with making videos. A fascination, but not much talent. If you hate my writing wait until you see my videos. One inescapable truth; it takes a lot of time to make a video. So, the first thing I did this morning, after emailing the owner of the company asking her for the days off,¹ was start making the introduction. It turned out pretty well. Unfortunately, it is not this video.

Which is just something I cobbled together last night. Sort of an adhoc preview of the real video. So enjoy this and know it only gets better. Maybe.

Plus, there will be a scintillating account of our trip.  Including obsessive description of our stops at Drake’s and The Party Barn in Louisville. You don’t want to miss that. It will be here, or on my new WordPress site (or both).With the shuttering of Google + I began to worry about Blogger so I branched out. Though, I’m not sure it is much ado about nothing, but if you know me, you know I like finding problems that don’t really exist. It makes it easier to ignore real problems. 

Anyway, we may win enough to retire in style. Or we may just have a great time. Either way we are winners. Winning isn’t hard, if you know how to keep score. See you soon, we may stop in a city by you.  Let me know where that is, we are always looking for an excuse to get away.

¹ She said it was ok.

Vacation off the beaten path.

When we travel we like to venture off the beaten path, sometimes so far off it might not be a path anymore. It may turn into a wild game trail. West Virginia makes it easy.  It is a state with a scattered population living in small towns that seemed to spring up in the few flat places available. Rugged mountains, flowing rivers, and small outposts of humanity. Sometimes it isn’t really a town at all, just three or four houses built in a place more hospitable. 

Most of the towns in southern West Virginia are small, there is not a lot of room for anything larger. And most of the people give directions in a sort of comparative, relational altitude shorthand. “Take that road, and when you get to the bottom of the mountain, turn right.” “Go across the bridge, turn left, in one block turn right, about halfway down the hill there is a one way street, take that and it will get you there.” 

Following directions is hard for me, it takes me a while to figure out right and left; north, south, east and west are just words to me. Now these people are adding a new dimension and it was hopeless. In a town of less than 10,000 people I couldn’t find Kroger. Well, I could find Kroger, but only by driving on almost every street in town. I was playing checkers and everybody else was playing three dimensional chess. 

But, it is difficult to criticize people who are so polite, and assume you can follow simple instructions. They even look at you with a little sympathy, as if they can’t believe you would have to ask directions in a place so small. And they didn’t realize they were they were third group of people I asked. I wanted to scream at them “don’t streets have names, or numbers, or some sort of designation?” Down the hill, across the bridge, at the bottom of the mountain. If you drive into the lake you’ve gone too far.

We did find Kroger, and places to eat and places to kayak and small towns too numerous and unique to believe. Everywhere we went, though, we ran into wonderful people. 

Sometimes, in places that had nothing, no stores, no cafes, nothing, people would look at us as we drove through, uncomfortable with our intrusion. In some of these places trailer houses, and small shacks lined the road.  The only road into town, a one lane road, overgrown on both sides, and often we didn’t even know why we were there. It was a road running by the river, and we just followed it. 

A town would blossom, hugging the road. People on their porches, trying to find a little relief forms the heat. Porches filled with totems, icons, artifacts of a world they cherished.  Love of God and country well represented, and other things, personal things, a life on display for all the world to see. At least anybody with enough time to drive off the beaten path a way. Some porches were so crowded with colorful little trinkets it was almost impossible to see the people watching us roll past. We were outsiders, it was obvious.

.

But, as I looked at them, looking at me I realized we were not that different. Certainly we had taken different paths. These people had a history, a past, roots in the mountains, streams and rivers. I never had that heritage, we moved a lot when I was young and my traditions are mostly transient or imagined. But, we are both struggling to face a changing world. We are together in our feeling of being excluded from modern society, they have retreated into the valleys of the Appalachians, and I hide in plain sight in the middle of the city.

A Unique Opportunity.

Since reaching the ripe old age of, you know, it doesn't really matter how old I am, age is a variable, defined by many factors, too numerous, and complex, to explain in such a short post, let alone an introductory paragraph.  Besides, the actual number is not germane to the point.  And I have been told I look pretty good for a man my age.  It was said by a person who thought I was much older, but that has nothing to do with what we are here to discuss.

What I have come to talk about it is the terrible decision facing most men at this age.  A decision that can not be made casually, without the proper consideration.   Options and paths and the terrible, crushing weight of choice mocks us at every turn.  There is no escape for a man my age.  It is time to decide.  Should I go through a second childhood, or a mid life crisis.



Both are appealing, with many benefits.  Either would make for fantastic vacation photos to plaster on Facebook, (where you can follow our vacations and other things, here is the newest travel video intro) and provide many, countless opportunities to waste time with wonderful new gadgets, and toys.  But, both carry risks, and, much like keeping a wild animal for a pet, could potentially eat an aging person alive, and that would be bad.

I asked my wife which choice was better.  She said, "you are already in your second childhood, or maybe it might still be your first.  How about this, why don't you try going through your first adulthood?  How about that?"  She is such a kidder.  But, not much help.

It is time for an analytical approach to this age old, middle age, male pattern behavior problem. But, not today, it is time for my nap. So, I will continue this discussion soon. If you have an opinion, please leave it in the comments, and if you are interested please join the LifeExplained Facebook page. We are always grateful you stopped by.

Next Weekend, All Planned Out.

“Kindled by the dying embers 

Of another working day,

Go upstairs take off your makeup,

Fold your clothes neatly away, 

Me, I’ll set and write this lovesong 

As I all too seldom do,

Build a little fire at midnight

It’s good to be back home with you.” *

Goal, Relaxation

One week from today, actually one week from last Thursday, we will be at Shawnee State Park in southern Ohio. It might be a little premature for a kayaking trip but we can always light a fire, open a bottle of wine and relax. Sometimes it is good to just stop and take a breath. Life can seem like the episode of Star Trek with the tribbles, everything piles up too quickly, and you are buried under small, insignificant tasks. Life can be strange sometimes.

It is a small cabin, which, from the pictures on Instagram and Trip Advisor, is almost exactly like the cabins at Lake Hope. Small, comfortable, and wonderfully adequate for a couple of days of leisure. Ohio Department of Natural Resources really did a great job with these small treasures scattered around the state. When you look at the world from those windows you see the world, our country in a whole new way. The sense of isolation is palpable, just the two of us, in the wealth and glory of Nature’s splendor, and there is less than 100 feet to the next cabin.

Preparation

To make sure we have all the information we need I put the Shawnee State Park in Entune on our Tacoma. I installed Portsmouth, the nearest real town, on the weather app on my phone, and check it often. Thursday is predicted to be 58 with a chance of rain, Friday cloudy and 53, Saturday sunny and 49 and Sunday cloudy and 60 degrees. It has changed several times in the last week. But, any of those days might work for a quick paddle around either lake. Or, they might stay in the back of the truck. We will be prepared though. 

Plus, I know exactly where the Kroger is in Portsmouth. My wife loves Kroger. She says they have the best deals and the most polite employees. She is a coupon clipping machine, and shops the sales with a keen eye for detail. I always check for a Kroger, anywhere we go. If the pictures are any indication the Portsmouth Kroger is much nicer than either the Athens or Nelsonville Kroger. It might even be as nice as the Kroger Marketplace in Gahanna, but I am not holding my breath. 

We will do some hiking, too, on the trails running through the ancient forests, with all of their secrets, and smells, sounds and natural mystery. But we will also walk along the river front and hike through downtown Portsmouth. Every town and city we have walked through had a story to tell, and it was always a good story. A tale of survival, struggling through difficult times, enjoying the wealth and warmth of economic growth. America lives and breathes on those streets, America will walk with you as you walk down those streets.  History at a relaxed stroll.

One of our favorite ways to find out about a place is to try appetizers at small local restaurants, local delicacies, born from legend or need, growing with the times, evolving from simple origins. You are what you eat, and you are definitely what you serve to people who happen in and ask what is good.

Taking a Detour

On the way home we are going to swing by Cincinnati and stop in at Jungle Jim’s (also installed on the navigation app in the pickup). It is a place we have to stop by whenever we can. It can be crowded, the help can be a little testy at times, but the place is spectacular. If it is food, and it isn’t at Jungle Jim’s it probably isn’t really food. They have miles of rows of shelves. We find things we can’t find anywhere else. Plus, it is just fun, wandering the aisles, looking at the selection, and thinking this is a crazy grocery store. It is a destination, we can kill several hours just looking, and we always find something we want.

Sometimes, I think we spend too much time walking through grocery stores. Maybe it is our way of reaching into our long lost past, hunter gatherers, making our way through life, harvesting our food, preparing to meet the challenges of the tumultuous week ahead. Work, alarms clocks, traffic jams, lunch in the break room, coffee in a mug you found in the the cupboard, it might be anybodies, the tension of the potential, “Hey, that is my coffee cup,” ringing through the building, everybody looking. So much tension, so much stress. Preparing for the awful requires dedication and calm. Zen and the art of grocery store browsing. I’m a subscriber.

* Fire at Midnight by Jethro Tull.

The Final Bracketologist Post of the Year, (maybe)

I would like to take a minute to clear the air. We, here at Life Explained Department of Bracketology, don’t want anybody to lose. We would like everyone to win, go home happy, be greeted by celebrations, parades, adoring crowds, and unbridled adulation. But, we are realistic enough to understand that is not going to happen. So, as long as someone is going to lose it might as well be the teams we had picked to lose. Only one team is going to win the championship, that is a given, but, who wins is a matter of circumstance, luck, unkind fate, uncalculable variables.  

As long as that is the case we feel we would be remiss to just let nature take it’s toll on these hardworking young men. With that in mind we have a foolproof plan for next year’s tournament. We are going to fill out our bracket and email it to every school participating in the “big dance.” It will act as a script. They will know when to lose, and avoid all the heartbreak, all of the crushing pain of loss, and the inescapable cloud of uncertainty. 

Now they can plan their spring breaks, know when to plan their homecoming parade, the coaches could schedule vacations, golf trips, and time with the family. Fans will know exactly how many tickets to buy and would be able to book rooms and arrange travel. It would be a boon for so many people. Plus, we would do so much better in the pools.

It is probably going to work so much better than our previous attempt. We asked each team how many games they intended to win. Oddly enough they all said they were going to win all the games, and intended to be champions. That plan, relying as it did on the ability to understand ego and reality was riddled with flaws. We feel this plan has some real potential, some real possibilities. We should have thought of this years ago. 

I would like to mention my friend Mike Raven, over at the Blog Of Thog, has something cooking up for next weekend. Mike may not be much of a cook, but he knows a little bit about having a drink, and writing a blog post.  Go check it out, and see if you are interested. 

Don’t forget about my coming trip to Shawnee State Park. Save some time to read all about it, and watch the blockbuster movie, made with my newest app, LumaFusion if I decide to spring for the twenty samoleons. It looks like an app I need to have. But, twenty bucks, I don’t know.  If you have a vote let me know in the comments.

A Trip from A Different Time, last week

It has been a week since we came back from Lake Hope. One week ago today we were exploring the Moonville Tunnel. Walking the dark, brick lined passage through the hill. Looking for a ghost. I am almost glad we didn't find one, imagine that conversation. I thought about getting an app for my phone to locate spirits, but decided against it. Probably just as well, since there was no service, no phone, no data, nothing, it probably wouldn't have done any good. 

The cabin we stayed in didn't have an alarm clock, and my wife needs to know what time it is when she wakes up in the night. An odd personality quirk, but considering who she is married to it seems almost like a virtue. So, I downloaded an App on my phone while we were enjoying tacos and potato oles at Taco John's (free wifi, potato oles and a spicy green sauce so tasty exporting it to Mexico was the driving force behind NAFTA). Unfortunately, there wasn't enough connection at the cabin to make the app work. So she had to guess, and we had to look for ghosts the old fashioned way, with our senses. It didn't work, the Moonville Ghost eluded us this time, but we will be back, armed with apps (if they don't require data, or phone connection), nets, and a renewed dedication. 

We also went looking for Moonville, but came up empty. We did find a string of poles, like the one on the left. Silent, decaying guides to the heart of Moonville. Many so close to the path you could almost touch them, but almost hidden in the dense green of the southern Ohio forest. We followed them, each one calling us, "follow me, I know the way." A haunted, lonely relic of a time long ago, I don't know if they carried electric lines, telegraph signals, telephone, but I do know they stood, most of them (a few had fallen), proud, solitary, and defiant. Daring time and decay to topple them. 

Unfortunately, we ran into a stream, it wasn't deep, it wasn't rapid, but we were not dressed for an amphibious landing. We turned back. Next time we will find the abandoned town, what is left of it. And the cemetary, and we will offer our respect and sorrow. We will take a few bags with us to pick up the trash left by the careless or the indifferent. Knowing full well it will only make a small difference. Saddened by the fact that we have to do it at all. 

We also went to the Hope Furnace. It is an abandoned icon of the distant past. A time when industry ruled the area. Now it is a tourist attraction. A remnant of a forgotten era. A giant, indecipherable rune that once transformed iron into bullets. Testifying to the hearty people who toiled here. I hope it will stand forever.

It was an amazing building. The stones were cut with such precision. Huge boulders, chipped away, and made to fit into place by hand, it had to be intensive, tortuous labor performed by hand. I salute the men who built it. 

If you are lucky enough to visit the Hope Furnace do everybody a favor and throw a few dollars in the steel pole that serves as an offering plate.

On the way home we stopped at the Nelsonville Brick Factory. Just three buildings losing their battle with the inexorable grip of Mother Nature. Nelsonville somehow survived the collapse of its Industrial Age, unlike Moonville and Hope, but the melancholy may be more profound because of the continued existence. No real effort is being made to preserve the odd, inconsistent beauty of the rough, slightly irregular buildings that had been the lifeblood of so many. Eventually the plants will tear the buildings to pieces, the bricks will crumble and nobody will even notice. "For you are dust and to dust ye shall return."

In one last insult to the forgotten labor and pride of the people who had made their living here someone had hung laundry to dry in one of the buildings. Two lines of rope spread from one wall the other covered with underwear. It was the oddest sight of the whole trip. I found it slightly unsettling, disturbing.

It was a great trip, and we had a wonderful time. It has been a long post and I haven't even talked about the kayaking around the lake. Oh, that lake, the primitive beauty of that lake. The way the shore shoots almost straight up out of the lake. Tree covered hills climbing from the lillypads and fallen logs that cling to the edges. The inky black water reflecting the clouds, sun in a stark, supernatural way, if you believe in God you will see his artistry here. If you don't this might convert you. If you are not moved to a sense of greater purpose of some kind by the vistas of this lake you are made of sterner stuff than I. But, that is another post. 

 

Time, the Enemy of Reason.

Tomorrow is the Day. Today is the day before the Day. Yesterday, of course was the day before today, but that doesn't really matter for the sake of this post. One thing that should be pointed out, though, is yesterday was Tuesday. Since Monday was Labor Day (Labour Day if you live in New Zealand, thanks for the information, Trina) Tuesday seemed an awful lot like Monday. Which makes today, which is Wednesday, have the general texture of Tuesday. Having Monday as a holiday is fine, great in fact, Monday as a blessing, but having Tuesday turn into Monday and throw the rest of the week into chaos is just not acceptable.

To make matters worse, if that is at all possible, I am leaving at 11:00 AM sharp tomorrow for Lake Hope, just my wife, our kayaks, and me, and a bottle of Pinot Noir, and possibly a bottle of Malbec. Not because of any great attraction to these two wines, but we happen to have a bottle of each on hand. Not that the wine really has anything to do with this post.

Let's recap, since we seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Monday was a holiday, which forced an atmosphere of Monday onto Tuesday. This, of course, pressed hard into Wednesday, making it feel frighteningly similar to Tuesday. I am taking a day off on Friday, making Thursday my de-facto Friday, and since it has to serve as Wednesday, and try to pull off some semblance of Thursday as well, and it will have to do it in 4 hours, since I am only working half of a day.

You can see my problem. I am dealing with a week shortened on both ends, and the chaos of trying to cram a weeks worth of obsessing about the passage of time in 2 1/2 days. The pressure is almost unbearable. I don't want you worrying about this, though, it is my job. Just go about business as normal, and I will get this straightened out.

Have a nice Wednesday, or Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever the hell day it is. It should be a nice day, the weather in Fairbanks AK is mid sixties with a slight chance of rain. If you don't live in Fairbanks let me know, I always thought you looked like a person from Fairbanks. It's a small world.

Since we are going kayaking and I could not find any good kayaking poetry here is a nautical poem, short, sweet and full of imagery.

Sea Fever

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Good Times Ahead if I live that long.

Today I have good news. And I have bad news.

The good news.

I am only 6 days away from a three day weekend. A three day weekend complete with our annual trip to the Swapper's Day extravaganza in Johnstown, OH. Home of the Johnstown Johnnies.

Unless you are from Johnstown you probably don't care too much about the Johnnies, that is the mascot and namesake of the high school sports teams. I just think it is a great name for a team. So, I gave them a mention. If you read this blog send an email to the school saying "Go Johnnies!" and reference my blog. They won't have any idea what you are going on about, but they will appreciate the sentiment and they might read my blog. It is what sales people call a "win-win scenario." Everybody loves a winner, right.

Swapper's Day is fantastic, it is a huge sale, almost a yard sale in a yard the size of pasture, with hundreds of different "yard sale vendors" (if that is the right term). There is something for everybody. Fishermen, hunters, collectors, people who are obsessed with knives, oh there are knives, bayonets, machetes, swords. Crafts and arts, clothing, and crowds.

Not from Swapper's Day, Just a picture to add
texture and visual appeal.

Popup covers run down long lanes radiating from a central point. Spokes of a giant wheel, and on the edge, where the business part of the wheel would be, runs the biggest tents of all, the booths of the gun sales people. It is serious out there. RVs sit behind tables and racks loaded with guns. People talk about guns, bicker over the price of guns, discuss the distance at which a certain gun is no longer accurate, occasionally they will bicker about that, too. Displays of guns by kits to clean guns next to books about guns. There are boxes of straps and handles and accessories to carry guns. One trip to Swapper's Day and you will never worry about the well being of the second amendment again.

And at the hub of the wheel is one of my favorite parts, the food vendors. Most of the time we dine on the cuisine of a local organization for youth. Sometimes the PTA will have a booth, or the 4H selling chicken and noodles or pulled pork, maybe street tacos. Volunteers sweating in the cramped, hot shacks hawking the value of their work and the taste of their food. Often they will have several children employed cleaning tables, handing out napkins, or just smiling and saying hello. Who could refuse?

As long as we started with good news;* In two weeks I will spend three and a half days at Lake Lifestyles of the lower middle class and unpopular airs again. This time the cabin is a little more appropriately sized for two, not as luxurious, or well equipped. And the lake is smaller, farther away and probably pretty forgiving when compared to Gitche Gumee. It probably has very few deaths, and will gladly give them back. Just a bit of boating, grilling, a little wine, a little relaxing and enjoying life. It is the stuff of paradise. Just my wife, our  kayaks and me.

Lake Hope lies in the middle of Southeastern Ohio. An area that was once a thriving hub of iron mining, iron smelting and munitions manufacturing for the civil war. Bricks, tiles were made by the thousands, trains steamed across the region. Now, it is mostly just forested hills cut through by lonely highways going places mostly forgotten. Two lane roads that wind through dark, dense woods eventually taking you to Washington Courthouse, or Nelsonville where you can jump on a real road. Multi lane, controlled access expressway, with bypasses so you don't have to waste your time watching the small parts of America dry up and die. You can hurry to the coast, or the mountains or, in my case, the lake.

And that's the good news, in a depressing way.

Now for the bad news. I have to get through today, tomorrow and all of next week. Somehow I have to find a way to claw, fight and will my way through the next six, or so, days. Then a long weekend After three days off it will be the desperate struggle to get through two and a half days to reach three and half days off. Give me strength.

*Please note the semicolon, I was told never to use one, and then in a class I took on self editing (a practice I am still learning) the teacher said it was alright; the semicolon is back.

Kayaks, Mexican Food and a Ghost, or Two.

My wife tried kayaking on Lake Superior. She did very well. She did so well we are thinking about getting her a kayak. Her kayaking success didn't really surprise me, she is very talented, and thoroughly stubborn. I have told her, several times, "just because it was your idea doesn't mean it will work." But, it almost always does. It is the maniacal optimism, and fanatical attention to detail that makes things work. I have never known anyone who can see things so clearly, but I have never known anyone who can look at something with such power and precision, such laser focus, sometimes it scares me.

Anyway, our trip, our date week, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was such a smashing success we have decided to recreate it. On a much smaller scale of course. Nobody can catch lightning in a bottle twice. But, a long weekend before the slog of the school year and the agony of holiday shopping madness is preventative medicine at its finest. Dr. Clark, and his All Star Medical Chorus.

We are going to try to take a long weekend in September and rent a cabin on Lake Hope in southeastern Ohio. My wife, two kayaks, a small, comfortable place to stay, and a three day weekend kayaking around a beautiful lake. Could it get any better?

Oddly enough, yes, it could. Lake Hope is less than a half hour from Athens, OH, home to the only Taco John's in Ohio. As far as I know the only Taco John's east of Iowa. Taco John's is the home of Potato Oles. Small, deep fried pillows of shredded potato covered in some sort of spicy seasoned salt. They are delicious. Burritos and tacos and taco bravos, and some of the spiciest green sauce in the fast food universe. A staple of our wasted youth in Colorado and Nebraska. Only a half hour away, could it possibly be any better?

Interestingly enough, yes it could. Turns out Lake Hope is only three and a half miles from the Moonville Tunnel. Wherein lives the Moonville Tunnel Ghost.  You might think the Moonville Ghost would live in what remains of Moonville, a ghost town. Just a few foundations sticking up from the ground, a scattering of forgotten artifacts of hurried construction and patient decay. He doesn't. Or in the Moonville Cemetery, a small patch of land just south and west of the tunnel, where the few remaining headstones mark the mostly forgotten passing of some resident and whose failing conditions mark the passing of time. He doesn't. Not according to legend, anyway

The Moonville Ghost lives in the railroad tunnel. It is said he (or she, depending on the legend, and I have always been an equal opportunity coward) was killed in a terrible accident in the tunnel. Or a malicious act of anger and jealousy. Once again, it depends on the rumor. Either way, it is the tunnel that is haunted, though some people have claimed to see odd things in the abandoned cemetery as well. So who knows, maybe more than one ghost, or just one ghost who likes to get out and boogie around a little, and that is ok with me.

Kayaks, tacos, ghosts, and my little maniacally stubborn, stubbornly optimistic angel. It should be a good time. Don't worry, I will tell you all about it. With pictures, and possibly a movie.

Trying to put it into words

One week ago we started the drive back from the Upper Peninsula. It had been a week of relaxation and pleasant diversion. Michigan's Upper Peninsula is a place of primitive beauty, dark forests, thick swamp, sparsely populated, dense with trees, wild ferns and low brush. A sky so blue it looks artificial. There is nothing, and everything, and everywhere you are there is so much to see. I have spent the last week trying to digest everything, to make sense of the place, to put it it words.

And, I am surprised to admit, I am at a loss, to quote Bob Dylan "All my powers of expression and thoughts so sublime, could never do you justice in reason or rhyme." Not that I am comparing myself to Bob Dylan, whose "powers of expression" won him a Nobel Prize. But, anybody who knows me, or has spent anytime reading my blog, knows I can go on and on about very little. 

It is a magic place of power, myth, stark beauty, and ancient legend. The lake can be calm, still as glass, so clear you would swear you could touch the bottom only to find out the water is so deep a fully submerged kayak paddle is not long enough. You cruise over rocks that you know are just below the surface. It is the same lake that has recorded a 51 foot wave near Whitefish Point, not far from the Graveyard of the Shipwrecks and the Shipwreck Museum. Which is only 15 miles from where the Edmund Fitzgerald lies, all hands still manning their station. 

While in Marquette, the largest city on the Upper Peninsula we stopped at a lake side park, at just the right moment to watch a freighter dock and take on a load of iron ore. It was the Kaye E Barker. It was roughly the same size as the Edmund Fitzgerald, 730 feet long, 67 feet wide. Looking at it, how it dwarfed the train cars that brought the iron pellets, how the men walking across the deck looked so small, and you think how could a storm, on a lake, sink a ship so huge? But it does, and that fact fills you with awe. 

I was going to turn this into a picture post, short on words, long on images, and it turned out too wordy, so often the case. 

I am going to leave you with the following words. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is a true hidden gem. Most of the cars we saw were from Michigan, a few from Wisconsin, and Ohio, and a rare license plate from some place else. Of all our vacations it was the brightest, most delightful, and relaxing. True, it was the first that my wife and I had alone. It is a place to visit, to love, and to share. So, I am sharing. If you don't visit, don't blame me, I told you.

A New Day, A New Adventure, Right?

Today, when I left home, my wife told me to try to lighten up a little. Things have been kind of dark lately. She is, often, the best gauge of my mental condition. Driving to work I thought about what she said, and knew she was right. Life has been too morbid lately. Headlines have consumed substance, reality has been replaced by superficial concerns, and it has really put a zap on my spirit. With that in mind I was going to write a list of my five favorite apps.

After a lot of thought it was impossible to narrow it down to five. I do love apps, little bitty gifts from the gods of technology. And you know something, I can never scroll past a post or article about apps. If it has the headline "15 great free apps," or anything similar I am hooked. Normally I end up getting one or two of them, and they aren't always so great. But, If you want to know which app is best for any particular task just send me a question at TweetTweetJohn@yahoo.com and I will be glad to give you my opinion, even if I have to make it up.*

I decided to go with sports., Unfortunately, right now the whole world is obsessed with Super Bowl commercials, and long ago I made the decision to boycott the commercials. It might give me something to discuss with my coworkers. Monday, I was at the dentist getting some small procedure done, really small, it didn't even require Novocaine, and in the middle there was a feature on the national morning news show previewing the super bowl commercials. My dentist, and his assistant had to stop, despite having all four hands and several sharp, sadistic, pointed things in my mouth, and watch, in rapt attention. It has become obscenely spiritual for the world. Despite all of our differences everyone can agree the Doritos commercial was fantastic. I don't even care who wins the football game, though oddly enough I do care who loses. Sports was out.

And it is too early for the Life Explained Lawn Care and Gardening Extravaganza, and too late for the 100 Best Christmas Gifts to Give to a Life Explained Staff Writer. But, Valentines Day is coming, and by an odd coincidence, I have actually been to Valentine, NE. So I decided to go with that.

Last time we were in South Dakota, and we had to go to Nebraska I told my wife, "don't worry, I
know how to get to there," Unfortunately, I did, but not the way we were supposed to go. We ended up 75 miles, or about 75 miles east, of Valentine, in Ainsworth, Of course, from what little I could tell, there is not a lot of difference between Ainsworth and Valentine (they are both lovely, little Nebraska towns) except for geographical placement. And the only real tragedy was we were heading for Valentine, and points south. So, my wife sighed, turned west and rolled her eyes up in her head so far it looked painful, and asked what we should do for lunch. She has become accustomed to my navigational adventures.

To my wife; Happy Valentines Day! Where do you want to go for dinner, I will get directions.



* Not really, I will probably at least look into it, and read something about great apps for whatever you asked about, before I make something up.

vacation mornings, magic in action

There is a magic in vacation mornings. I like to get up early, 5:30 this morning. I don't want a minute to sneak past. Waking up, taking my coffee onto the deck. Maybe even enjoying a dip in the hot tub before breakfast.  

Of course it does make for a long day, and night comes early and with a crashing suddenness, but that is OK. It is the morning that brings me the most pleasure. Life is easier in the morning, coffee, and sunrise, and simplicity. A powerful combination of life's greatest gifts.

They call an hour after sunrise, and an hour before sunset the "magic hour" for photography, and it is true, it is true, pictures turn out better. But it is not only for photography, the enchantment of life is more obvious in those fleeting moments.

Dreams are more fluid, thoughts are more peaceful, and reality is just better. Maybe it is not clear, but I love vacation mornings. I love looking at the mountains, the ocean, whatever background provides the scenery for our moments.

So, I will leave you for now, with this picture, and this thought,  "Nothing is worth more than this day." Goethe.

Life Explained Explains Management for Dummies, and Idiots.

Last week was very busy. I had barely survived my encounter with a vacation on the Atlantic Ocean, and I came back to work hoping to recover. Put my feet up, enjoy a pleasant cup of coffee and a few glasses of iced water. Maybe starting planning my escape from next years "vacation." Ah, to be home again.

But, some fool went and put one of our products on the magic box. And all hell broke loose. Here I was hobbled from my vacation, and work blows up, right in my face. Here I am, still recovering from my harrowing escape, and  buried under a mountain of commercial success so terrible it almost makes me hope for the Christmas rush. Somehow, we survive, must have been my superior people skills.

Saturday comes, and goes, the weekend fades into a happy memory, and a Monday commute filled with the promise of an easy week. A chance to recover from vacation, and the post vacation madness. Coffee, feet up, and time to catch up on all the things missing from my life.

But, a phone call snaps me from my pleasant stupor.

"Hello Tim, this is (insert employee name here). I fell walking out of the bank on Saturday, I missed the curb and fell to the ground. I broke my arm."

"What? What! You did what!?!?! Don't you people ever think of me?"

So, this week is going to be marginally better, maybe. I am once again off to feed the machine. Fuel the economy, and toil tirelessly to keep people stocked with delightful, thoughtful decorative yet useful household designer items.

Keep me in your thoughts, and hope for the best. If I am not back in three days send out a search party, with bourbon.  And, remember, always think of your coworkers and superiors before scheduling bone fractures. We are all in this together. Though you couldn't tell it by my life.

Life Explained Explains Management for Dummies, and Idiots.

Last week was very busy. I had barely survived my encounter with a vacation on the Atlantic Ocean, and I came back to work hoping to recover. Put my feet up, enjoy a pleasant cup of coffee and a few glasses of iced water. Maybe starting planning my escape from next years "vacation." Ah, to be home again.

But, some fool went and put one of our products on the magic box. And all hell broke loose. Here I was hobbled from my vacation, and work blows up, right in my face. Here I am, still recovering from my harrowing escape, and  buried under a mountain of commercial success so terrible it almost makes me hope for the Christmas rush. Somehow, we survive, must have been my superior people skills.

Saturday comes, and goes, the weekend fades into a happy memory, and a Monday commute filled with the promise of an easy week. A chance to recover from vacation, and the post vacation madness. Coffee, feet up, and time to catch up on all the things missing from my life.

But, a phone call snaps me from my pleasant stupor.

"Hello Tim, this is (insert employee name here). I fell walking out of the bank on Saturday, I missed the curb and fell to the ground. I broke my arm."

"What? What! You did what!?!?! Don't you people ever think of me?"

So, this week is going to be marginally better, maybe. I am once again off to feed the machine. Fuel the economy, and toil tirelessly to keep people stocked with delightful, thoughtful decorative yet useful household designer items.

Keep me in your thoughts, and hope for the best. If I am not back in three days send out a search party, with bourbon.  And, remember, always think of your coworkers and superiors before scheduling bone fractures. We are all in this together. Though you couldn't tell it by my life.

The Coming of Vacation

Soon we are going to vacation in North Carolina. My wife wants to spend time on the beach. I am terrified of water. I am not that excited. Also, I am not a big fan of being bitten by a shark. Which is a concern when you are splashing around in the ocean.

Appealing to her logic I pointed out that people could drown. She was unimpressed. Explaining that being bitten by a shark would increase the likelihood of drowning quite a bit, she was even less impressed. She is clearly made of pretty stern material.

And it is clear I am going to end up in North Carolina (suggested motto; Hurry, the sharks are hungry and we don't want them to eat us).* But, I am not going in blind.

I found a website that tracks shark bites. They plot these occurrences on a map. To the right is the portion of the map that represents North Carolina. I added the blood red vignette. It seemed to drive home the point.

Further, I did a little research on how to avoid being bitten by a shark.

Rule 1. Don't act like food when in the water.

While researching ways to avoid a shark bite I came across a story about a shark caught off the coast of Louisiana that had a Nebraska license plate in it's stomach. This tells us two things;

A. The license plate is the hardest part of the car to digest.

B. Sharks will eat anything. Everything looks like food to a shark.**

With that in mind I revised Avoid Being Bitten by a Shark Rule 1.

It now reads;

Rule 1. Don't get in the ocean.

So if the shark is coming to get me he will need to be lurking in the shower, or maybe the hot tub.

If you are interested in keeping track of shark bites, (and who isn't?) they have a fine Facebook Page, and a great website.

And if you are interested in my vacation stay tuned. I will be providing updates, and fielding questions about staying safe in a hospitable environment.

* To anybody from North Carolina who might be reading this I am very excited to visit your fine state, and not worried about sharks at all. Or at least not very much. In fact I may have accidentally visited your beautiful state once when we took a wrong turn coming out of Gatlinburg TN. But, I am not sure where we ended up. It wasn't Pigeon Forge, though. It was beautiful, though. Thank you for your time, I will see you soon.

** And a Labrador, go figure.

Life Explained, on Vacation.

After his little accident yesterday Doctor Dawg has decided to take a brief vacation. Since we are kind of slow right now anyway it seemed like a good time for all of us to take a little break. Everybody has been laboring under disastrously tight, almost impossible deadlines. Tempers were short, and small differences of opinion were exploding into disastrous conflicts.

Last week the executive spokesperson actually pulled a box cutter out of her Versace scarf and threatened to "peel the flesh off your worthless corpse" when she found out the treasurer's assistant had taken the last cheese danish. Sensing the potential peril the treasurers assistant picked up a chair and used it as a shield while she poured a coffee. Since it was the last cup she made a fresh pot, still holding the chair in a defensive position, The two started circling the kitchen slowly, sipping fresh hot coffee, and staring hatefully at each other.

Security was summoned and took the box cutter, the chair and several cups of coffee, and some blueberry bagels with several small tubs of cream cheese. Both employees received disciplinary notes in their files, and we added a new paragraph to the employee manual involving the consumption of cheese danish and threatening to flay your coworkers. Oddly enough this had never come up before, and nobody really had the foresight to anticipate the exchange.

But, the executive council decided to give everybody a weeks paid leave, a fresh cheese danish, hot coffee, and a CD on patience, harmony, and peaceful coexistence.

But, Doctor Dawg is having a blast in the Mediterranean, He is learning to scuba dive, and ride a motor scooter. So, if things seem a little less productive in the US, things not getting done, computers running a little slow, cable television fading in and out a little bit, lines at gas stations, and grocery stores, utility bills climbing, traffic tie ups getting worse, we are sorry. Next week we will be back to take care of things. Maybe you should take a week off too.

A big adventure.

Today we are off the outlet mall. Most people don't view this as a big adventure, but I do. Mostly because it is a lot more fun that way.

We stop for breakfast, and take snacks, and pop on ice, and make a whole day or it. Which spells big trouble for the Life Explained Nation. Because you will have to live through it tomorrow. Sorry.

Here is a spoiler, look for something completely fictional, and without any relation to reality, with a small amount of real life. And some pictures of food, I love food.

Forecast high of 82, low humidity, and atmospheric conditions just short of heavenly.
Sorry, but it is kind of a tradition.

This is like a little vacation if you do it right.

Wednesday, It Isn't Weekend, But It Isn't Monday, Either.

Today is Wednesday, and that means something here at Life Explained. It means the week is half over, and we have put the bad days (Monday and Tuesday) behind us. Monday stinks, positively reeks, you are faced with the prospect of 5 grueling days of toil, and labor, with no hope of escape. Tuesday is Monday without all of the pleasant afterglow of the weekend, so Tuesday is pretty smelly as well. But, Wednesday, that is a different beast.

Wednesday, the antechamber to the weekend. On Wednesday the coffee is a little crisper, and the air is a little cleaner. If you look hard enough you can see the weekend "ship of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free"* steaming in to your rescue. We love Wednesday. Too bad it only comes once a week, and we have to suffer through the hardships of the early week to get there.

One fine day, as we were drinking the tasteless, tepid coffee of a Monday, and trying to choke down the bagels of an oppressive work week, Bob, from R and D burst into the kitchen. Shaking with an excitement not normally seen until at least noon on Thursday, he said "I have solved our early week issues!"

"I have taken the digital clock from the rec room, wired it to the reactor core in the sub basement, and ran the whole thing through the time clock. Every Monday when the clock hits 9:00 AM, the whole company will shift to Wednesday, at 11:00."

"Why Wednesday, and why 11:00 AM?" Someone asked. The question was sincere, but the happiness at the prospect of skipping Monday and Tuesday was noticeable in the voice.

"I chose Wednesday, so we could have time to plan for the weekend, and 11:00 so we would have time to plan for lunch." That made perfect sense.

Everybody started scurrying around to account for the important things, like cancelling any vacation requests they had for Monday or Tuesday. No point in wasting them. And the coffee was tasting smooth.

Time travel, even in short, repetitive bursts, is tricky. Have you ever recorded a macro in Excel and thought it was beautiful. Taking the contents of several scattered cells, summing them and placing the total in a separate sheet, adding a touch of formatting for flair, and then printing it out. Life would be so much easier. Only you forgot to click the little "relative cell reference" box. Every time you ran the macro it added the same numbers from the same cells, making you and your computer look like complete morons. Time Travel can be like that.

So Monday, at 9:00 we moved to Wednesday at 11:00 and feasted. Using all of the lunch money we had saved from Monday and Tuesday to really make pigs of ourselves.  Then on Thursday, at 9;00 we ended on Wednesday, (the day before, not the next week, we think) at 11:00! This really screwed up a lot of vacation plans.

So, we disabled the digital clock, and the time clock, and our big plans, and suffer through the painful, dreadful days of the start of the work week. We gave Bob a little bonus for trying, but revoked his rec room privileges, he cost us a digital clock, after al;t
.

*From "Caribbean Wind" by Bob Dylan, Dr, Dawg says give it a listen.

Patty Smyth tried to kill me.

After two weeks of vacation, endless hours sitting in the car, not eating as well as I should have, and not exercising at all it was back to the gym last night.  Since it was kind of introductory, I decided to forgo the podcasts, and "kick out the jams, brothers, and sisters."*

Hitting the treadmill, starting slowly, Van Morrison singing "Jackie Wilson Said (I"m in Heaven when you smile).  A nice tempo to start, cruising along, me and Van, and when he sang "honey child, you make my day" we were hitting our stride.  Breathing and moving, blood flowing, heart beating, sing it Van!

"True Love" by the Del Lords was next, it was a great way to start the high intensity part of the interval training, and we were cruising.  Turn up the speed, turn up the volume, and go.

"Found a parking spot, all right,
Tonight's gonna be my night."

Man, those guys are great, and when the song ended and the speed was reduced, the heartbeat was up where it should be, and things were great.  It is a song with a driving beat, and a happy, positive message, a song that can make a person smile. It is about a guy who goes to work, comes home, and goes out to find the love of his life. He can "feel it any minute, gonna look up and find a true love." Call me naive, but that kind of hope flying in the face of desperate odds is powerful magic.

The Del Lords write from a variety of places, anger, sadness, desperation, and joy equally well, and they can drive a song with hammering drums, and blazing guitars, and I love those guys.  They are the ultimate in cool.

But, it was time to cool down with the mellow sounds of "One more cup of coffee" from Bob Dylan.  A song about, well who knows what it is about, but the message is universal, undeniable, and customizable.  To this day that song gives me the chills.

Not really my gym, and not really Patty Smyth.

This cycle repeated for twenty minutes, and it seemed wise to finish big.  My last high intensity burst was set to "Goodbye to You" from Patty Smyth and Scandal.  A song written by Zach Smith.  A scathing diatribe against the vanity of mankind, and the excesses of modern relationships.  Yes, it was written and performed in the eighties, but mankind and relationships don't really change much.  And in evolutionary terms, the eighties were only minutes ago, so neither has changed at all.

It is not a long song, less than 4 minutes, so the speed was cranked up on the treadmill, and we were off. Four minutes, at that pace, that far into my first workout back from vacation was like an eternity, and when she sang, "Goodbye to you, so long darling," she could have been talking to me, my life was slipping away, one gasping, painful breath at a time.  The room was getting darker, but that may have been the motion activated lights, since I was the only one there, and I was set to expire.  Maybe the sensors can tell, but that is another blog post.


And, then it hit me, Patty Smyth and Scandal tried to kill me.  It is not clear why, but I forgive them.  Tolerance, acceptance and forgiveness is what makes life worth living.  So, Patty, we are still friends, and you are still one of the greatest voices in music, and I will see you Wednesday, at the gym, earlier in the workout.

*Thank you, Blue Oyster Cult.