Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning. I’d thought that moth might survive a while because the cats were intimidated by it, but I was wrong. Tabby made a meal of it before sunset.
The phone line’s being a communist this morning, so I don’t know whether I’ll be able to finish a post and get it up. If I save frequently enough I can progress two steps forward and one back, losing the connection but only losing the unsaved part of the immortal prose.
The fire ants came out of hiding yesterday, so I’m back in business food-sanitation-wise. It will be a considerable relief getting their help on the dishwashing around here. Fire Ants, Dishwashing and Drought
Good news from Kay on the phone yesterday about the Invader Cat. Seems it’s doing the Texas Two-Step. A neighbor a couple of miles the other side of them asked recently if they ‘had’ a black cat, or had seen one. Turns out the Invader Cat migrates over there a couple of days at a time, also, and has done for a considerable while.
That puts to rest any concerns I had about it joining the household.
I had a considerable bit of immortal prose I was going to do this morning, but the distraction of this dial-up is killing my muse. I think I’m going to have to save it for sometime else.
Old Jules
Today on Ask Old Jules: Old Jules, I love one girl very much, but she is not responding, what should I do?
While you earthlings are fretting over whether your next king is going to be friendly to your preferred nuances of greed, waste, envy, scorn and target identification, you might want to squeeze in a few minutes to find those moth balls. The days for protecting your brass monkeys might not be completely over for the year, but keeping the emphasis on the right syllable is as important now as it ever was.
Even though those Pendleton blankets might seem anachronistic today, and knowing there are plenty of sheep still out there grazing, there’s going to be another October and November eventually. Betting on the come, figuring you can just toss the holey blankets and buy something Chinese to replace them might problematic by then.
There’s a rumor going around the Chinese plan to devote the entire planetary wool production to their world-wide-near-monopoly on steel. Chinese statisticians and accountants have discovered crescent wrenches and pliers made of wool will do the job as well as the ones made of steel they’re selling now. And they’ll be worth as much as the dollars US consumers use to pay for them.
Save some of those moth balls for your toolbox. Next year that might be where you’ll find your Pendleton blankets.
In some ways we’re a lot like the US Government out here. Particularly when it’s manifested in the ‘May-your-flock-increase’ syndrome.
It couldn’t have been more than three, maybe four years ago I was building Battlestar Gallinica, letting those silky hens crank out chicks and doing it on autopilot. Never stopping to consider that I already had a flock of chickens more numerous than my needs. Never stopping to wonder just how big a flock of chickens needed to be.
Oblivious to the fact that forces of history were at work, driving up the future cost of chicken feed, unravelling the warp and weave of whatever blanket I must have thought was wrapped around the coming years.
I suppose my habits of thinking were just too pleasurable to allow seemingly obvious factors to slow me down. Somewhat like the US Super-Power habit of thinking and all the militarism of the Cold War when the Rooskies packed up their tents, went home and the Berlin Wall went down.
The obvious thing to do was let things settle a bit to make sure it wasn’t an illusion, then bring all that military and equipment home, mothball it, and reduce, downsize, try to let the nightmare of the 20th Century fade into history where it belonged.
But I had a growing flock to keep me occupied, and the US Super-Power had a huge military lying around needed something to occupy it. The only alternative the US Government had was to indulge in an endless series of military adventures to justify continuing bankrupting itself keeping on keeping on.
Whereas, I had silky hens brightening my day every time I turned around, hatching out chicks to watch survive and mature, beginning and ending on this piece of land.
What I needed was some heavy thinking in my agenda, taking into account that nothing lasts forever and that a flock of chickens is as much a responsibility in my reality as the health, jobs, production and manufacturing, and generally peaceful well-being of the country was to the people in it when the Cold War ended.
So here I am with a lot of chickens dear to me I’ve got to figure out how to deal with, Battlestar Gallinica sitting out there idle, and a half-built woodshed that’s nothing more than a reminder of my own unclear vision of reality.
And here’s the country I live in, sacrificed everything, a leading edge Space Program, a thriving economy of employed people, industry, innovation, hope, in favor of bankrupting itself for cheap and easy coincident with the pride of remaining the strongest military power on earth.
Battlestar Gallinica can be manufactured a lot more easily and cheaply in China if it’s needed. So long as we can keep those boys and girls wearing Nazi helmets and cammy occupying foreign soil somewhere, we’re still good.
Maybe it still isn’t too late to take a second look at the ‘may your flock increase’ habit of thinking.
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this fine day.
I know a lot of you are submerged in issues of who wants to be king and whatnot, and I appreciate you tearing yourself away from reading all that to come over here to read this, which isn’t.
But I’ll ask a favor of you insofar as what you contribute here commenting. The blog’s a fortress against the intrusion of party politics. I prefer not to delete any comment by readers here, but it is not and will not be a place for inserting cheers for people who want to be king. It also won’t be used to assassinate the characters of politicos, except in bipartisan, general terms.
Meanwhile. We’ve been blessed here with three days in a row of cold and wet. I was premature a few days ago telling you it was time to switch from felt to straw. Likely you’ll want to chalk that up to me being no better at predicting the future and the weather than you are.
Switch back to felt and count yourself lucky you didn’t put them in mothballs yet if you didn’t. If you’re like me you were probably folding up your Pendleton blankets and everything else the moths might feast on, wondering where you put those moth balls last year, when this last gasp of winter hit.
I’ve been spending the time when there were no embedded thunderstorms stalking the sky trying to narrow down what’s not happening. I finally just decided to use TYC 6835 143 for the galactic center. And Eltanin, in the constellation Draco, for the solar system vector. Those, combined with what I’ve mentioned in recent, previous posts appear to take care of a lot of what’s needed to get a firm fix on what isn’t happening.
In the pic they’re patrolling in Placitas, New Mexico. But it’s the same here.
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
There’s a rich-people kind of house up the hill, a quarter-mile south of me. It sits on 90-odd acres of land, has a barn worthy of the name, and it’s been sitting vacant during all the years I’ve been here. Vacant, but for sale.
But a couple of weeks ago a couple of strangers pulled up in front of the cabin on a four-wheeler with side-by-side seats. It’s the first time I’ve ever had an unexpected visitor here except Gale or Gale and Kay. Naturally I scrambled out to find out what they wanted.
Turned out he’d just bought the place and wanted to introduce himself to his nearest neighbor. That done, he left saying they’d be moving in soon. Friendly exchange.
Then yesterday I went up to Gale’s and he was there. They’d just done their moving into their new home. He and Gale were discussing things and I sat down for a quick cup of coffee before going on about my business.
“I’m hoping you won’t shoot my dog.”
“Is it a chicken killer?” Thinking whatever danger there was to his dog probably came in the form of dead chickens.
“It’s never been around chickens. It’s a mutt, a rescued dog, part lab, part herder, part pit-bull. What killing it’s done was cats. I had a lot of feral cats on the last place I lived.” He paused. “I know you have cats down there.”
That gave me pause for thought. While I was thinking, he added, “If you see him, he’s gun shy. Just fire into the air and he’ll run away.”
I’m a man who has a huge respect for how badly neighbor problems can intrude and make life a hell for both neighbors. But I’m also aware that animals can cause neighbor problems lightning-fast. Quicker than almost anything else. For instance, there’s almost nothing that will piss a man off worse than killing his dog, no matter what the dog was doing at the time of demise.
“Tell you what. I’ll make sure my cats don’t come up here killing your dog if you’ll make sure your dog doesn’t come down here killing my cats.” Seemed a fair enough proposition to me. I pretty much figure if my cats go up there attacking his dog, anything on his place, he’s welcome to shoot them, but it would be more fitting if he came down here and put a bullet between my eyes.
He expressed a concern that his dog might mistake me for a cat, saying that since I’m around them I’d have their scent on me, but I assured him that wasn’t a concern. I’ve never met a dog I couldn’t stand off. And I shouldn’t have any reason to be around this one. During my years here I’ve only set foot on that place a couple of times. Once because of cows, and once challenging some people who were up there loading things into a truck. I just politely asked if they had permission, and noted the license number of the vehicle.
The man’s 74 years old, seems a nice guy. Ex-pilot. And if we need to talk we probably will enjoy most things we might discuss.
I surely hope my cats don’t go up there attacking his dog, though, because I’d expect him to shoot them.
Red Grain Truck Blues – Jerry Sires circa 1975-1980
The yellow corn sure looks good up ahead
inside the red grain truck.
It’s piled high to testify
that some farmer had a little luck.
I sure like to drive these country roads
even though they’re changing every day
but I always was kind of slow
and sometimes I just feel in the way.
In the city there’s people getting by
taking in each other’s dirty clothes.
Where the big cars and fine homes all come from
I guess nobody knows.
I wonder how long it can last
When the teeming billions watch and want theirs too.
it all has to come from the earth
and she’s about done all she can do.
You can almost hear her cry
You can almost hear her moan
as another garage door opener
is carved right from her bones,
but daddy needs a new golf cart
and mama needs a new suntan machine.
Oh Bobby wants a race car
and Sally wants a full sized movie screen.
You can almost hear her cry
You can almost hear her moan
when Singapore and Shanghai
want to refrigerate their homes.
Still, daddy needs a new golf cart
and mama needs a new suntan machine
Oh Bobby wants a race car
and Sally wants a full sized movie screen.
The yellow corn sure looks good up ahead
inside the red grain truck.
The yellow corn sure looks good up ahead
inside the red grain truck.
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
I trekked up to Gale’s yesterday for a while to talk wind and see whether his face had gotten over the baboon butt similarity it had the previous week. He had a good photo of it during the worst stage I begged him to allow me to post for you, but his refusal didn’t appear to leave it open for discussion.
But he told me about a project I’m feeling uppidy about working on during the year. This place has been overgrazed, probably since the invention of barbed wire, and it shows. I’ve thought from the time I arrived here I’d like to do some cheap but time consuming erosion control, but it never had a priority.
Seems to keep his agricultural tax exemption on the land, though, Gale could go back to having three cows fighting over every blade of grass in the traditional Texas fashion, or he could switch to wildlife management. He had a lady from Texas Parks and Wildlife out here going over the place with him the other day helping devise a plan to submit to the County.
Assuming it gets accepted, I’m figuring something I learned in one of my professions, at least, will finally get put to some worthy use. Between now and my departure from here I’ll have rock and brush dams collecting water and soil into every channel on the place.
I truly love erosion control, but it had slipped my mind how much. I hate to admit the urge to dance naked in the meadow celebrating.
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
A nice little coronal mass ejection hit the earth magnetic field last night. I might have heard it hit the roof, but it was probably just a big tree limb, or one of the sheet-metal roof panels blowing off. The high wind during the night had more going on around here than I could keep track of and I decided to wait for daybreak to go out and make sense of it.
CME IMPACT: A coronal mass ejection (CME) hit Earth’s magnetic field on March 7th at approximately 0400 UT. The impact was not a strong one, but it could stir up polar geomagnetic storms anyway
I let my curiosity carry away my good sense just now and went out there with a flashlight. Turns out it was nothing amiss. Just a big tree limb. No big chunks of shattered magnetism lying around messing up my waning-anyway-and-somewhat-neglected magnetic field experiments. Most of that’s located out east of the cabin where there are no trees to fall on it, but one piece of it’s strung out across the meadow. I was needing to guy up the post over there and hadn’t. That might be on the ground.
But it’s time I was winding down on all that anyway because I’m figuring it’s part of what I won’t be following through.
Lots of noise from the Rooster Containment Center, though, when I went out. They’re probably remembering and regretting what a nuisance they made of themselves last night when I was trying to get them and the Commie Americauna penned up before dark.
I’m thinking today might be a busy one. That wind was doing a lot of bragging in the dark. But you can’t tell about winds, that way. They’ll stomp around, boast, make little things sound big and big things sound bigger, then you find it was all just a lot of bluster.
Maybe more later if there’s anything worth mentioning.
First off, The Invader Cat’s not becoming a fixture around here. It’s just hanging around getting meals and paying the fare by being bullied by chickens and the other cats. It has a home somewhere. I’m certain of it because sometimes it vanishes for a couple of days.
But it’s not a fixture and it’s not becoming a fixture. Even though when I was putting the piece of the can of feed I’d saved for it down last night, it came within a couple of feet of me scratching it behind the ears.
Secondly, if you’re among those trying to figure out what’s not happening by tracking Ganymede, you’re a day late and a dollar short. Ganymede looks great at first, but the further you hone things down the more you’ll conclude something’s missing. I’d suggest doing some dizzying calculations correlating Ganymede positions with with the position of Mercury. Which, if you run through enough ways of measuring where they are, will give you a lot clearer view of what’s not happening.
Thirdly, I worked a lot on the brush dams in the ruts on the road coming down here yesterday in hopes of further rainfall runoff forcing the hill to give up more of the dirt it’s been bringing down from above. Over the years it’s gradually been filling the worst blow-out-a-tire, high-centering ruts. Now if we can keep getting a few of these male rains I think this will finish it off.
Which is to say, spectacular erosion won’t be happening and past erosion will have reversed itself somewhat.
Lastly, despite your hardheadedness on the issue if you’ve got any, cold weather isn’t happening.
If you’re going to be a part of what’s happening you’re going to have to switch from felt to straw. If you try to hang on to your outdated good-times idea about felt you’re going to have sweat running down around your eyelids and getting into your ears next time you go to town. And you won’t be happening.
Just saying.
Old Jules
Edit 8:37 am: I neglected to mention earlier while talking about Mercury and Ganymede that Saturn seems to be happening a little bit. Even though it’s way to hell and gone off the other side of things where you’d expect it to have to be.
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
That adobe was built sometime in the 1930s as a turkey barn, then later converted to a dairy barn until the 1950s. The walls were 18 inches thick, the floor a couple of inches of poured concrete, flat roof that held several thousand gallons of water when snow accumulated on the roof and the canales intended to drain the melt became solid ice.
No heat, rotten iron pipes for plumbing, and a back wall ready to collapse next snowfall. The vigas holding up the roof, cracked timbers sagging with the weight of 75 winters. Roof leaking into the adobe walls, eroding them beneath the vigas enough to cause me to arrange the couch I slept on in such a way there’d be something between me and it if the whole thing collapsed.
The rent was so high I couldn’t afford to pay it, eat, feed the cats and pay the utilities, even with the intermittent jobs I could pick up. So they’d cut off the utilities every few months until I could raise the money to have them turned back on.
Maybe the best place I’ve ever lived. Certainly the hardest.
That last winter living there I was shovelling snow off the roof, slipped and fell into the snow on the ground below and lay there unconscious some undetermined time before I awakened and struggled indoors. Stove up something awful the rest of the winter.
But the cats loved the place and so did I, even as I watched the walls dissolve and the crack between the back room wall and ceiling widen. The near-certainty the house wouldn’t last another winter gradually had me wondering whether I could find a bridge to live under without giving up the felines.
Gale had been suggesting for several years that I move here and live in this cabin on his place. Another winter in Placitas, the cat necessities, and the vice grips of no-obvious-alternatives gradually persuaded me.
Gale and his brother drove up from Texas with a trailer, packed me up and hauled me, the cats, and all my worldly goods down here in one fell swoop. A person can count himself lucky if he can have one friend in a lifetime like Gale’s been to me.
For several years here it’s been easy to not think about what comes next, to just savor being here and the absolute luxury of not being in the joy of Placitas, the adobe, the proximity of some bridge to live underneath. We seemed a lot younger, that short time ago, Gale and me. The cats, too, for that matter.
But aging comes more quickly these days and it’s creeped into the picture until it fills it. The Coincidence Coordinators are nagging at me with increasing urgency and insistence to look for the next bridge not to live under.
So far I believe I’ve been the luckiest man ever to walk the face of this planet, possibly among the happiest. I’ve discovered I’m nowhere near as tough as I once thought myself to be and Placitas taught me I’m also not the pioneer my ancestors were. I wouldn’t change a minute of those years after I gave myself a Y2K, but I sincerely won’t regret not doing it again if I don’t have to.
But maybe now I’ve toughened up enough to make the next step as much a blessing as this one’s been.
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/
I’m sharing it with you because there’s almost no likelihood you’ll believe it. This lunatic asylum I call my life has so many unexpected twists and turns I won’t even try to guess where it’s going. I’d suggest you try to find some laughs here. You won’t find wisdom. Good luck.
So Far From Heaven 