“Yes, Sensei?”
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, Adventure, America, Nature, Outdoors, Photo of the Day, Spirituality
Tagged culture, environment, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, Nature, psychology, society, sociology
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
Back in the bad old days between the Korean War and the Vietnam War a person could land himself in a peck of trouble for saying he was a Communist. My granddad was a man crosswise with the world, and one day in a cafe in Dora, New Mexico, a bunch of farmers were talking about the Communists, and Papa announced he was one. Proceeded to debate the matter with the entire cafe.
Point-by-point. He didn’t have any friends around there anyway, but doing that didn’t win him any.
Wasn’t long before he had himself a visit from two FBI agents. Said they’d had a report he was an atheistic Communist. Which thoroughly pissed him off.
So Papa began studying Communism, began building all manner of reasons Communism was better than representative democracy. Which he was happy to pass on to my young crosswise-with-the-Universe mind.
Sophomore, or Junior year of high school I entered a class on government being taught by Ira Bogard. Me being the smartass trouble maker I was, and being generally an outcast, a few days into the semester I answered a question by saying I was a Communist. Mister Bogard paused and glared at me, then went on with what he’d been saying.
But at the end of class he was assigning the class an essay. Except me. He pointed to me and told me to give him five pages explaining why I was a Communist.
I turned it in on time, and a few days later he handed it back to me with questions in the margins: “How do you explain the Siberian camps?” “How do you explain Stalin?” “Why do you say Roosevelt’s New Deal was Communism in disguise?” 5 pages.
This went on the whole semester. The only essays I wrote were answers to his questions about Communism. Naturally I consulted my granddad every chance I got, but I also spent a lot of time in the library, even had to visit the ENMU library to get answers to some of his questions.
Hell of a good teacher. I still smile thinking about him.
Old Jules
Posted in 1950's, America, Government, Human Behavior, New Mexico, NM, Politics
Tagged culture, Education, Human Behavior, humor, New Mexico, philosophy, politics, society, sociology
Hi readers.
Whoopteeedoo! Something finally worked as planned.
It’s been troubling my mind for some while, that huge storage box I couldn’t access because the ladder was wokkyjaw damaged, one leg at the top swinging loose, kinks and bends, supports pulled through the RV skin. Not one thing about it caused a man to wish to climb it.
I worked most of the day crossing my fingers and knocking on wood as I went. Cut about three inches out of the section toward the top, slid an undersized piece of tubing inside and spliced it together.
That allowed the end that’s supposed to connect on the roof to come down enough to touch, anyway. There was a piece of rusted 1/8 inch steel rod, threaded, sticking out of the roof. Supposed to go inside the ladder connected somehow, I reckons.
Couldn’t think of any meaningful way to replace it, so I whittled down a piece of broom handle to fit inside the tubing, drilled a 1/16th inch hole lengthwise through it and gorilla-glued the hell out of it.
Couldn’t think of much anything to do with the tools at hand about that kink, so I just hose-clamped a step on top of it.
Now that I can get to it, that box is going to carry a sleeping bag, coleman stove, small tent, pick and shovel, gold pans and classifier, backpack and a number of other essentials I’d been gnashing my teeth wondering how to carry along.
Life wasn’t bad yesterday, but it’s better today.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, Adventure, America, Human Behavior, Outdoors, Redneck Repairs, RedneckRepairs, Senior Citizens, Transportation, Trucks, White Trash Repairs
Tagged country life, culture, Human Behavior, humor, personal, rube goldberg, rv, RV ladder, RV storage, society
Hi readers.
Last trip to Kerrville, after I had my spanking new 10 ply tires mounted, after I’d been inside the Walmart store and bought a 1/2 inch hammer drill [which ain’t going to do the intended job, will have to be returned] I was feeling uppidy something awful. I got everything tucked into places where it wouldn’t scatter hell-to-breakfast and headed out of the parking lot.
Guy was sitting on the side before the stop sign in a wheel chair. Had a sign, “Vet – Appreciate any help“. Stump of one leg sticking out. I craned my neck and squinted, drove on by, then backed up and pulled to the side, cursing myself. Hell, I don’t care whether he’s a vet. Damned guy only has one leg, for Christsake. Sheeze. Damnittohell. Probably got more money than I do, anyway. Damnittohell.
I rolled down my window and he rolled up close. “Hey man. ” He watched me thumbing through my small bill wallet trying to decide how much. “How you doing?”
“Doing okay.” At least I’ve got both my freaking legs. Ain’t stooped to begging on the street. I squeezed my eyes shut so’s to not have to look at the $20 I handed him.
“Hey, thanks man.”
“No problem. Hang in there.” I rolled up the window and backed the RV enough to get back on the road, clinching my teeth, cursing myself for being such a dumbass. Knowing he’s probably got all kinds of support from a lot of directions. Searching my mind for rationalizations for having done it.
Finally settled on thinking of Jeanne’s brother, Carl. Guy’s got MS, crippled up something awful. Made a lot of lousy decisions in life and got old, in and out of hospitals. Can’t do squat, doesn’t know from one day to the next whether he and his wife will have a place to live. Mostly his own fault for not doing everything he could for himself, applying for help from sources it might have been available.
Hell, I decided, if I saw Carl beside the road with a sign I’d give him a $20. Even if a lot of his problem is his own fault. The MS ain’t, and we human beings are dumber than cluckshit. None of us worth shooting.
Screw it. The cats and I are generally healthy and at least the stupid we carry around ain’t as heavy on the shoulders at that guy. Or Carl. Cripes. A month from now I’ll never even miss that $20.
Screw it. But next time I ain’t going to do it. I hope.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, America, Human Behavior, Senior Citizens
Tagged beggars, culture, economy, Education, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, personal, philosophy, senior citizens, society, sociology
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
Last night I found myself with my two wallets out, the one where I keep $100s and $50s, counting them carefully, and the one where I keep $20s, $10s, $5s and $1s, adding them all up. [I keep them in two different wallets so’s I can’t accidentally hand a store clerk a large bill thinking it’s a small one, can’t lose the big bill wallet and hit rock bottom between two breaths].
After carefully counting it all out, got the map, the calculator, re-figured the gas mileage averages per gallon I’ve been getting on the RV, the distances between places I might drive to, and the cost in fuel if nothing else goes wrong.
After I’d figured and re-figured all that a few times I went in to the cabin and began unloading boxes of books I’d packed to carry into town to donate to thrift stores, opening each one and fanning the pages. Just to make sure. [A few weeks ago I’d found a $100 in one I must have stashed in there sometime when I had an extra and wanted to put it aside for a rainy day.]
Found a couple of books I want to read again before disposing of them, but not one $100 bill. So I went around looking at things and other hidey holes where I might have stashed bills so’s I wouldn’t spend them, then forgot. Checking the pockets of blue jeans, coats and jackets, taking the lids off button jars and pill bottles looking inside, moving the buttons pills etc, in case I’d shoved a bill down inside out of sight.
Got me thinking how damned sick this whole money thing is. I remembered for the first time in 40-50 years a book, My Brother’s Keeper, I read as a youngster and was impressed enough to have it stamped on my memory. About some old guy must have been a lot like me. And remembering all the fictional misers stereotyped in books I’ve read over the decades.
Guys who died and people disposing of their belongings coming across pillows, mattresses, loose floor boards, with gobs of money. While the guy half-starved. Hell, maybe they forgot they had it.
Got me wondering if maybe I’ve got a stash around here full of $100s and ain’t remembering I’ve got it.
Maybe it’s time I went out into the meadow and dug some holes, crawled down underneath the cabin to check out the floor joists, the piers and beams for money I hid. I doubt I’d have done that, though. After the packrats shredded all my retirement money I had hidden under a floor joist in the Y2K cabin, I like to think I learned a lesson.
So where the hell DID I put all the money I must have stashed around here over the past few years and forgot?
Sicksicksick.
Old Jules
Afterthought: It’s no damned wonder so many people who are actually rich are so preoccupied with getting richer. They’re probably forgotting they’re already rich. Or can’t remember where their money is.
Posted in 2013, America, Country Life, Human Behavior, Senior Citizens
Tagged country life, culture, economy, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, musings, personal, psychology, senior citizens, society, sociology
Hydrox: Don’t even think about this Edgewood, New Dawn crap.
Me: What? You cat-people don’t like the mountains?
Hydrox: We cat-people don’t like anachronisms. We don’t trust them. They let their dogs run loose. They lie around smoking dope waiting for the uniforms to show up and confiscate everything, haul everyone off to the slammer.
Me: We’re talking about the EAST mountains, Hydrox. If they’re paying off the right people it doesn’t matter what they’re doing out there. Besides, they’re looking for people willing to work.
Hydrox: Yeah, but work doing what? Breaking Ephedrin caps out of packages? Stirring up the mix to dissolve it? Watching the acetone mist boil over the sides? Watching the crystal iodine vapor turn your whiskers purple?
Me: No, Hydrox. You’ve got it all wrong. These people are into sweetness and light. Harmonizing with nature. Working to build a new world. A community.
Hydrox: I’m betting pit bulls checking the fenceline and a National Guard Armory in the barn.
Me: I don’t know how you got so cynical.
Hydrox: I was living with you 2002, 2003, 2004. So was Niaid. Those East Mountainers made an impression old cats aren’t likely to forget.
Me: You’re too suspicious. Free place to park the RV, mountains, pinons and pines. Idealistic young people.
Hydrox: If your good sense about the rest didn’t raise your hackles enough to tell you it’s a snakepit, the idealistic young people ought to do the job.
Me: Hmmmm. Yeah, idealistic young people’s where you make your strongest point. Actually they probably do have a meth lab out there. Or will have. How the hell could they not?
Hydrox: Pit bulls running around loose looking for a free lunch.
Me: So you’re thinking Gila? Mimbres?
Hydrox: I’m thinking anywhere but the East Mountains. Mosquero if it comes to it. Albuquerque’s a nice place to visit. Wouldn’t mind seeing Amy again, see how those two Chinese girls she adopted are growing up. But you’re too old and we cats are too old to be getting involved with East Mountain people.
Me: I hate to see you generalizing, stereotyping.
Hydrox: I hate to see you not using that big brain you’re stuck with. Hell, if it weren’t for us cats you’d probably be living under a bridge.
Me: [Sigh] I’ve got you, babe.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, America, Animals, Human Behavior, Nature, New Mexico, NM, Outdoors, Police
Tagged animals, cats, country life, culture, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, Nature, psychology, society, sociology
New stanzas for the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
EDGEWOOD, New Mexico WELCOME HOME!!!
REQUESTING YOU!
If
If you identify with any of these identities, you may be a good fit with our community:
Contractors/skilled labor
Homesteaders
Hippies willing to work
Yuppies willing to get dirty
“I’ve got to get out of the city”
Currently without a home/work, but want both
Adventurer/Learner
Rainbow Family
Have lived in co-mmunity before
Artist/Musician . . . . . . . . .Other?
Building Community
FROM THE GROUND UP!
New Dawn Project has existed for about a year as an intentional community. We are in the formative stage our development – like a child eager, excited, and ready to learn, with lots of energy to expend and fun to be had! On the other hand, we are operated (parented by) folks who have put many years of time and effort into community planning, who have structures in place to ensure our good growth, and who are committed to New Dawn’s total nurturing. Join us in this adventure!
As a guest of New Dawn Project, you will need to be able to feed yourself, clean up after yourself, and contribute to the community. There is no rent. We are open to whatever combination of couples/ individuals/ families, etc. who want to live together here. Most ideally we are seeking 6 – 12 people who can work independently and cooperatively, leave each other alone when needed, hang out and appreciate one another when wanted. Community-minded and oriented folks are welcome to check us out. Temporary guests welcome also. Your questions are welcome. We are open. . . . . !
We welcome Family to rest or visit – a day, a month, or to become a member of New Dawn.
Let us CELEBRATE TOGETHER!PLEASE NOTE: New Dawn can and will provide rides as we are able to and from the Edgewood and/or Moriarty exits of I-40 to the property. However, we cannot guarantee rides from other locations, such as Albuquerque. If in doubt, CALL and ask ahead. 🙂
Posted in Adventure
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
When I got out of the Army, summer 1964, I had a lot of ideas about my bright future. Shopped around the Portales area for a while and found a quarter-section cotton farm I thought briefly I’d buy and become a starving-to-death farmer, which fell through. Worked meanwhile, for Abe Ribble at his cement operation, and applied for the Peace Corps, knowing I wouldn’t hear from them for several months.
I was hanging out with a number of other young guys who were at loose ends, drinking coffee and walking around town, sitting on benches around the courthouse trying to figure out the meaning of life. Going out with a waitress out at the truckstop when she got off work at midnight. A young woman with goals, and confidence that no matter what a man might want for himself, she could mold him into something more to her liking. Once she got him nailed down on all the corners.
The World Fair was going on in New York that year. I could feel the walls of Portales trying to close in on me, and the guys I’d been spending spare time with were mostly thinking of themselves as beatniks, to the extend a person could be a beatnik in Portales. A slight beard and a beret went a long way in that direction. Sketchpad and a piece of charcoal, or a lot of free-verse poems jotted on cafe napkins were the tools.
So another aspiring beatnik, Stan Sexton, and I, decided to hitch to beatnik heaven. Check out the World Fair. Visit a couple of New Yorker weekend beatniks who went to Eastern New Mexico University, but were home in Westchester that summer.
I’ve told elsewhere on this blog about that summer, about sleeping on the Brooklyn Bridge, about catching the freight-train out late-August, jail in Rochester, and eventually hitching, driving the school bus to California, etc. About all those would-be beatnik women and the “Eh? YOU don’t believe in free love?” pickup line that always worked.
When I was accepted for Peace Corps Training and headed out of New York I had no idea I was seeing the dying gasp of the Beatnik phase everywhere. That a year later everyone who was anyone would be Hippy. That Greenwich Village would be replaced by San Francisco as the center of ‘what’s happening in America’. Kids would be burning their draft-cards and taking acid trips. Doing ‘Love-ins’ in the park.
By the time I got back to Portales to spend my time waiting for the Peace Corps India X training to begin in Hawaii the world had begun a sea-change, though it didn’t know it.
But at least some of the pressure was off in Portales. The waitress had found someone else with better prospects for a bright future. Cotton farmer, he turned out to be, if I remember correctly.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, America, History, hitch hiking, Human Behavior, New Mexico, NM, Peace Corps, Portales, Senior Citizens, Solitude, Spirituality, Trains, Transportation
Tagged Beatniks, culture, environment, Events, Free Love, Greenwich Village, Hippies, History, Human Behavior, Life, lifestyle, miscellaneous, musings, New Mexico, New York, Peace Corps, personal, Portales, random, Reflections, Relationships, San Francisco, society, thoughts, World's Fair
When I first encountered this book during the 1960s I suppose Jews and Judaism were as much a mystery to me as they are today. I’d had a couple of Jewish landlords during the 18 months I’d lived in Boston, whom the other tenants assured me were the awful human beings they were because they were Jews, but I didn’t put much stock in it. I’d come across enough nastiness in Baptists, Church of Christers, Catholics and a Mennonite to convince me you could find that anywhere.
What a person did on Sunday, Saturday, whatever, I concluded, didn’t have much to do with what he did the rest of the time. Nobody to my knowledge has a monopoly on A-hole-ism.
I recall during basic training a guy named Wenick, from Baltimore who was ahead of me on a night march at Fort Jackson, SC, and let the barrel of his M1 sag, stopped suddenly and caught me under the chin with it was unapologetic. Clacked my teeth together on my tongue so’s it bled. Blamed me for not seeing it in the dark.
But until the other GIs told me it was because he was a Jew I didn’t know he was one. Just a careless, skinny nerd, seemed to me, who kept to himself. By hindsight I suppose he was denying his mistake because if he admitted it he’d have been blamed and it would have been attributed to his Jewishness. He was in a no-win situation.
However, other than those experiences I mostly just went around not knowing and not caring whether people were Jews unless they made an issue of it. Same with other religions.
So, when I came across The Chosen, by Chaim Potok, during the 1960s I didn’t come in with much baggage. I doubt I’d even ever wondered what it would be like to be a Jew. Particularly not a young Jewish man in New york City during WWII. The Chosen hooked me on Chaim Pokok and I read all his other books I could lay my hands on.
Lately when I was packing books I came across this one, thought I’d probably put it aside without another read this lifetime. But after I managed to offend one person living in Israel whom I admired and got a savage attack for my troubles from the other guy whom [I believe] is a piece of work and a story in his own right, I decided to refresh my memory with a quick read.
There’s a fair amount of European Jewish history in the tome described through the perspective of a Jew. There’s an explanation most non-Jewish readers won’t have known about acrimony between various sects of orthodox Jews. An inside look at operations inside the houses of worship and study.
And a fairly nice plot, character development, everything it takes to create a worthy novel.
Any of you folks out there who aren’t of the Jewish faith, who only know what’s said about them by the northeastern Jew haters, who’d like to learn more without deep studying of non-fiction might find it worth your while.
Along with other books by Chaim Potok:
My Name is Asher Lev
The Book of Lights
I Am The Clay
In The Beginning
The Promise
There might be others as well – These were listed in the front of The Chosen and I have vivid recollections of the first, vague rememberings of the others
Old Jules
Posted in Adventure
The recent thing about Israel here got me remembering this book I read back in the early 1970s. I thought I remembered it being authored by Fritz Leiber or Philip Jose Farmer, but I was remembering wrongly.
In any case, it was a heck of a good read. I’m going to keep a watch for it in thrift stores.
In a lot of ways Texas and Israel share some traits. Texas cows are the kineliest anywhere. Etc, etc, etc.
Old Jules
The Texas–Israeli War: 1999 is a 1974 science-fiction novel by Jake Saunders and Howard Waldrop
The Texas–Israeli War: 1999 – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Texas–Israeli_War:_1999
Reviews:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/847218.The_Texas_Israeli_War
Posted in Adventure
74 years old, a resident of Leavenworth, KS, in an apartment located on the VA campus. Partnered with a black shorthaired cat named Mister Midnight. (1943-2020)
Since April, 2020, this blog is maintained by Jeanne Kasten (See "About" page for further information).
https://sofarfromheaven.com/2020/04/21/au-revoir-old-jules-jack-purcell/
So Far From Heaven 