Monthly Archives: November 2013

Big Spring Buggaboo Karma on the Half-shell

Hi readers.

1967, I’m going to say, though it might have been 1968, my somewhat newlywed wife and I headed from Houston to my home town of Portales, NM, for reasons I no longer fathom.  Driving a 10 year-old Fairlane 500.  Crossed the easy Texas parts without incident, but around midnight pulled over 12 miles outside Big Spring, TX to piss and kiss, most likely.

Shut down the engine and when I went to start it again the battery was dead.  Soooo, we bundled up and tried to sleep, but pre-dawn I was on the shoulder of the road trying to flag down someone with booster cables.  Watching the light emerge and a mesa-like hill across the highway a few miles.

Nice guy in a pickup stopped and boosted us off.  When I thanked him he commented he just couldn’t leave anyone stranded 12 miles outside Big Spring, Texas.  Fixed that hill to the west and the distance in my mind forever.

So last week when I was headed here, saw the sign south of Big Spring, BIG SPRING 13 miles and remembered, began watching for that hill.  There it was, just as obvious as that morning so long ago.

BOOM WHACK CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKBANGCLUNK!

Blew out the inside rear tire on the driver side.

But no way I was  pulling over and shutting down my engine.  So I drove on into Big Spring, eased west toward Andrews.  Didn’t blow the second tire until 15 miles from here.

Some things in this life a person doesn’t need to learn twice.  Even if he’s me.  That place 12 miles south of Big Springs is one of them.

Jack

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The strength of our convictions

Hi readers. I’m going to soften the blow to my own resilient ego by using the word, ‘our’, as opposed to the word ‘my’. But you’ll know the truth.

I’ve said for many years I’d never go to a doctor again, said it because I believed it was true at more levels than are required for a quorum by the Universe. But I’m going to blame it on the cats. I’ve got to know what-the-hell this series of ‘attacks’ Jeanne mentioned in a commentary limerick are all about. Got the cats I’m trying to, sworn to try to outlive, provide sustenance and shelter for.

And something sneaked in to rob my macho and erode my confidence that’s going to happen if I don’t let a sawbones have a looksee. I’d figured the entire thing was just a single-incident, but that doesn’t turn out to be the case. In fact, a person looking at the way the incidents run who didn’t know I’m the luckiest man on the planet, and that symptoms mean nothing in my Universe would come away with the biased view that I’ve got something called pulmonary edema.

Which, if I’ve got, I might need to have some input from opinionated physicians concerning how best to proceed.

I don’t believe the VA owes me a damned thing, don’t believe there’s any moral nor any ethical reason health care for any non-service connected condition ought to be available to me that isn’t available to any other citizen, and that it would be irresponsible for me to avail myself of it. But here in the real world of cats and asphyxiation I’m not about to let little matters such as morals, ethics and social responsibility stand in the way. I’m going down to Odessa to the Social Security office, get a Medicare card, then take that and my DD 214 over to the VA hospital in Big Spring and tell the lady at the desk, “Tell me thank you for your service.”

Not because there’s anything anyone ought to be thanking me for, but because hells bells, I’m as qualified to take advantage of any opportunity to rob money out of the poor-box as any of the rest of these veterans. Maybe afterward I’ll get me a cap with VETERAN – First Cavalry Division. Maybe join the American Legion, VFW. Maybe get me a flag and posture around pretending to have a streak of wisdom somewhat unique picked up by trying to get a dose of clap in Asia half a century ago.

But failing all those other things, I’m going to have the VA medicos look me over, offer to pay for a freaking oxygen bottle and plastic hose. That’s the main thing.

I’m paying the price, even though I never killed any Communists to protect our freedom the way we’re enjoying the bejesus out of celebrating it today. I’ve given up all my vices, with the possible exception of coffee. Got lots of coffee already bought which I might give away or mightn’t. But other than that I’m dangerously, disgustingly clean living.

At the moment I’m in Andrews, Texas. Blew two tires getting here, and when the tires disintegrated they took out all my plumbing on the rear of the RV.

Life, however is good, and I’m grinning into it wondering just how many more delightful surprises I can survive before the whole thing gets humdrum and boring.

If you’re searching around looking for the luckiest man on the planet: as some guy playing Doc Holiday in a movie asserted, “I’m your huckleberry.” Don’t try being me if you’re not a professional at it.

Old Jules

Buffalo Bill’s Defunct – The Communist Toyota 4-Runner

That old 4-Runner had a quarter-million miles on it when my lady-friend sold it to me about a decade ago.  Until then it lived on the Zuni Rez.  Somewhere around there are pics of the 1998 Lost Adams Diggings Search, Amy met Gale, Dana and me on Fox Mountain driving it.  One more bug on the windshield of life.

That old 4-Runner had a quarter-million miles on it when my lady-friend sold it to me about a decade ago. Until then it lived on the Zuni Rez. Somewhere around there are pics of the 1998 Lost Adams Diggings Search, Amy met Gale, Dana and me on Fox Mountain driving it. One more bug on the windshield of life.

Toyota RV out by the same car dolly later in the day.  At 71 a person can’t be sentimental.

Buffalo Bill ‘s
defunct
who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

by E. E. Cummings

Second best is fairly uppidy

A person can sit right at home indoors and use these.  Doesn't have go to into the woods, nothing.

A person can sit right at home indoors and use these. Doesn’t have go to into the woods, nothing.

A couple of days ago when I opened the package Jeanne sent I thought at first it was the best birthday present I ever got my entire life.  But as I thought on it I remembered the Victorinox Swiss Army Lensatic Compass my ex-wife gave me on my 45th birthday.  [Pictured under ‘Compass’ section of the Survival Book link above]

Okay.  There can only be one absolute no-questions-asked-no-prisoners-taken best birthday present a person ever got.  The compass ain’t giving up its position of prominence.

She sent a box of the metal 'Zebras' too.  They get lost worse than one sock of a pair.  I like the ones you see in the background, black, which I've had a longish while, but they're a bit thickset and rounded on the edges.  Plus they break.

She sent a box of the metal ‘Zebras’ too. They get lost worse than one sock of a pair. I like the ones you see in the background, black, which I’ve had a longish while, but they’re a bit thickset and rounded on the edges. Plus they break.

But how about them damned spoons?  Out there the other side of three-score-and-ten spoons step in and declare themselves.

Old Jules

Pension Pioneers – Living the Social Security adventure

Some of you might find this brand spanking new Facebook group interesting, amusing, edifying, or boring as hell with no mitigating and no otherwise redeeming qualities.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/416502788479344/

Jack Purcell

WWI in terms a drunk can understand

Suddenly, finally I understand WWI. Jack

The Cotton Boll Conspiracy

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Traveling the Turquoise Trail

If I were 20-30 and the year was 1965-1975 I might figure out a way to spend a lot of time in that area doing things that no longer could be done by the ’90s. Jack

Jeanne Kasten Studio

IMG_1476

I’m still thinking about November as a month to remember the dead, and that reminded me that I wanted to post about a place that has a really fascinating cemetery.  Jumping from a Kansas City, Missouri Day of the Dead exhibit to a Madrid (pronounced “MAD-rid”) New Mexico cemetery is but the work of a second for my brain, so zip along with me, and I’ll show you the best cemetery I’ve ever seen in my life.
No, wait.
The problem I face with blogging is that I have so many places I’d like to show you, and  they all seem to need a bit of background information. Putting all this information plus the cemetery in one post seems excessive,  so today I will give you a general overview of the town, and save the cemetery pictures for next time.
In a nutshell, Madrid  is an old coal mining town…

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