Tag Archives: Life

21st Century Automotives

Posted on May 30, 2014 by | 4 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Jeanne’s ride, a 1991 Oldsmobile 98, tried to go kerplunk.  Her working two jobs and depending on it didn’t keep it from wearing out and the brakes going soft around the time I began borrowing it for physical therapy three times a week.

Well, I’m nothing if not confident when it comes to replacing master cylinders on vintage vehicles.  Hell I’ve done it over Christmas [you might recall] on an aging RV in the parking lot of an AutoZone in Big Spring, Texas while enjoying heart attacks on the side].  [ A merry little dumpster diving year-end adventure]

So I assured her I could replace that master cylinder in a New York minute.  Instead, what happened in a New York minute is the discovery I’ve got nothing in me if it’s strength or endurance you’re measuring.  So not far into the job she called her son, Michael, and I kibitzed while he changed it out.

Which is why I didn’t be the one to twist off the left front bleeder valve inside the wossname, como se llama caliper.  I was the one who did the talking at the parts houses trying to get a non-Chinese steel easy-out, buying one out of hunger that deformed and didn’t break, but also didn’t back out that bleeder valve.

So Jeanne took the Olds to the Firestorm store and got an estimate to fix it.  But they told her all manner of things else needed fixing amounting to 2000 3000 smackers.

So she went to the credit union and borrowed money hopefully enough to buy a car, an old one, but good, or better than the Olds.  Decided on a Subaru Forester or Toyota RVsomething, or Honda CRV with 150k miles or thereabouts.  Needs something high enough off the ground to go on unpaved roads sometimes.

A couple of Sikhs, offspring of Punjabi parents who migrated here in the what? 80s maybe, had one listed on Craigslist.  2002 Subaru Forester with 165000 miles that looked good and fit inside her budget with a little hammering.

Looked great.  So she had them hold it with $200 until she could have a mechanic go over it for another $100.  Mechanic says, “Subaru’s a great vehicle, but not this one.  You don’t want this one unless you want to spend $3000 trying to get it fixed.”

Hot damn.  They kept $100 of the earnest money, those Punjabi bastards, but agreed to pay for the mechanic examination.

No pain, no gain.  She told her boys to fix the damned brakes, replace the caliper on the Olds, that it didn’t look so bad after all.  What’s a bad radiator, electrical problems, rearview mirrors that flap in the wind and power windows going to hell among friends?

Maybe I could sell her the old 1978 Ford Econoline RV that has a new master cylinder and most of the damage of blown tires hidden out of sight underneath the truck.  Except I’m going to have to live in that again one day if I live so long.

Old Jules

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America

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Kansas City Star

Posted on May 29, 2014 by | 4 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

The KS Star gave Boy Scout merit badge hunters a gold star on Sunday.  Jeanne and I figured to visit the Union Cemetery, oldest one in KC, on Memorial Day just for the hell of it.  Then I saw the KC Star front page had Boy Scouts out decorating graves of veterans there.  And everyone using the words ‘Veteran’ and ‘Warrior’ interchangeably.

This isn't Union Cemetery, but you get the idea anyway.

This isn’t Union Cemetery, but you get the idea anyway.

As it happens a lot of  one-time Confederates are buried at the Union Cemetery.  Once a person gets into the spirit of putting flags on graves, might as well send the troop out with Confederate battle flags, too.  Most were one-time Confederates who died decades after the Great War of Secession, but there’s a monument over the mass grave of Confederate POWs who died in a prison camp near here.  That one got a forest of Confederate battle flags.

I say this with some authority, though we took a pass on the Memorial Day visit.  Went out there Sunday, Memorial Day Eve, instead.  Though most of the burying that’s ever going to be done there has already happened, 55,000 funerals seems plenty for most normal purposes.  And a surprising lot had flags sticking up from them courtesy of Boy Scouts.  Back in the heyday of Union Cemetery veterans had a lot bigger wars to get drafted into.

Likely as not somewhere out there the Boy Scouts put German flags on WWI Germans who fought in the Big one on the wrong side before migrating to the US.  Maybe even a few from WWII.

Because the only way past the post-WWII series of incomprehensible US military adventures in foreign lands with any hope of inspiring those Boy Scouts to enlist to buy a piece of one is to ignore the Wars and glorify the warriors.  Dead or alive.  Company clerks, regimental band trumpet players, helicopter mechanics.  All heroes, all warriors, all guilty of conspicuous courage without having to do a damned thing to demonstrate it to anyone.

If you’ve never done anything worth mentioning in your entire life and never will, visit your Army recruiter.  Gets you a flag on your grave after everyone’s forgotten everything else about you.

A lot of old US Veterans have to be getting a lot of secret laughs about this in the privacy of their home bathrooms before they hoist their trousers, pluck their galluses over their shoulders, and carefully place their cammy ball caps with VETERAN over the visor onto their gray pompadours.

Old Jules

 

 

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America

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The Monastery: Mr. Vid and the Nun [Russian Orthodox in Norway]

Posted on May 21, 2014 by | Leave a comment

Hi readers.  More Nun stuff.

Worlds collide, tempers flare and dreams come true when Mr. Vig, an 82-year-old Danish recluse who has never known love, and Sister Amvrosija, a headstrong nun, join forces to transform Mr. Vig’s run-down castle into a Russian Orthodox monastery.

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The heel of the loaf

Posted on May 21, 2014 by | 17 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

I mostly never forget to do my gratitude affirmation ritual as many times per day as I remember to do it.  Suffice to say, many times each day.  But I’m prone to forget my forgiveness rituals unless I catch myself being angry, or sense a seed of anger feeling around for a hold on my consciousness.

This morning I had to add forgiveness affirmations as an adjunct to the gratitudes, however.  Old memories climbing up into my head for a breath of air.

I was associated for a number of years with a family who didn’t throw away the heel of the loaf, as some families do and my own family would have never considered because it was too alien a concept.  In my childhood home you ate the heel if it arrived on pain of I can’t imagine what.

But this family I had to forgive this morning found a way around throwing the heel away, or throwing it away.  They’d each reach past it and get the next slice down, leaving the heel for someone else.  Me when I was around, because they all just passed it by.

When the loaf bag went empty except for two heels, someone would carefully place the two heels into a bag of left over heels, presumably in case anyone came along who’d prefer eating a dry heel to a piece of wasp nest fresh out of the loaf.

A lot of it got thrown away I’m sure, and a fair amount fed birds or went into stuffings.  Meatloafs got rice instead of dry breadcrumbs.

Something got me remembering that after all these years, and I felt my gorge rising.  Damned people leaving the heel for someone else.  And what it implies.

And had myself a specially scheduled on-the-spot ritual of forgiveness affirmations.

Old Jules

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Posted in 2014, America

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A love affair with Nuns-

Posted on May 20, 2014 by | 12 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

A while back I found myself thinking about the weird what? Metaphysical? Fantasy relationship? That US non-Catholics have with Nuns.  And have had during most of my life.  The television series, The Flying Nun [which I promise I never sat through a single episode of and therefore can’t testify as to how lousy it must have been] was only one example.

Of course there was Two Mules for Sister Sara.  A Clint Eastwood flick as I recall, with Shirley MacLaine as the nun.  Not a bad movie, and I do remember noting for future thought the male/female tensions throughout and wondering why.

The setting’s one not often used:  the French invasion and occupation of Mexico during the US Civil War.

Heaven Knows Mr. Allison, with Robert Mitchum as a WWII US Marine Corps corporal and Deborah Kerr, a nun.  Stranded together on an island in the South Pacific behind Japanese lines.  Mitchum, at least, comes out and tells it as it is.

Considering the potential, The Sinful Nuns of Saint Valentine is a surprisingly sorry example of the phenomenon.  Heck, they picked a time when the Inquisition was rolling along full steam, picked a passle of nuns in a convent, but they just never managed to get the male juices flowing the way Clint’s and Robert’s US Marine and Civil War veteran juices flowed when placed in close proximity with those sexy ladies.

But then, of course, there’s the expected decline you’d probably expect that comes from being in a different century.  Nude Nuns with Big Guns was probably inevitable.  If we didn’t know it we should have.

After all, we’re living in a world where Rap music has been around 35 years.  People who listen to Rap are listening to the same music their dads and granddads listened to, and liking it.

Nude Nuns with Big Guns can’t hold a candle to that piece of trivia.

Wonder how old Sally Field is faring these days.  I’d surely like to see her step into the 21st Century with a leading role in Nude Nuns with Big Guns.

Old Jules

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America

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A covey, a flock of old eagles

Posted on May 16, 2014 by | 8 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Some beat poet, maybe Ginsberg, maybe Ferlinghetti said he’s caged the world away from himself.  “I’m an old eagle smoking this fine Italian cigar.”

Down at physical therapy we’re a flock or covey of old eagles who’ve forsworn too late those fine cigars running in place as we’ve done all our lives without noticing, caged the world away from ourselves.  But still able to gaze out the window for an eagle-view of the parking lots roads and city around us.

33 degrees F last week one day and it snowed in western Kansas.  Today it’s bundling up in jackets time all the old eagles will be walking walking walking to Missouri in sweatsuits and warmups.

Because we’re probably mostly man-made climate change deniers.  We’re able to adapt the way modern women have adapted to the wants and needs of modern men by having bigger breasts than their peasant and aboriginal ancestors.

And we men have been able to adapt by having smaller brains, a lot smaller brains, than our Heidelberg Man ancestors 250 – 650 thousand years ago.  Brains as big  or bigger then Daniel Webster, Albert wossname, Einstein, and Mangus Colorado.  Brains so big that during their 400,000 years of  time hanging around they didn’t need Heidelberg Man-made climate change, nor breast enhancements, nor Mexican food.

Maybe we old eagles can figure out why by walking, walking walking to Missouri today.

Old Jules

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America

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Do not plug in this USB connector

Posted on May 14, 2014 by | 13 comments
Seems to me that's asking for it. I did manage to resist the temptation, but it was difficult.

Seems to me that’s asking for it. I did manage to resist the temptation, but it was difficult.

Hi Readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.

When FEDEX delivered this package I examined it with considerable awe.  Here’s a device with no instructions, nothing to indicate what it is, nor why the VA had St. Judes send it to me.

It's evidently intended to be plugged into an electric Coleman camp stove. The camp stove wasn't included in the package.

It’s evidently intended to be plugged into an electric Coleman camp stove. The camp stove wasn’t included in the package.

However, I eventually got replies from my enquiries to the KCVA about why it was sent.  Seems the camp stove should be arriving sometime soon, and that on May 27 I should take it along with me to an appointment with a VA cardiologist specialist and all will be explained.

Until then I’m still doing all my cooking on Jeanne’s electric range.

Old Jules

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America

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Physical therapy

Posted on May 5, 2014 by | 15 comments
This thing's going to need some repairs before anyone can use it again. Trying to get it airtight enough to do any good in outer space ought to be a full time job for someone.

This thing’s going to need some repairs before anyone can use it again. Trying to get it airtight enough to do any good in outer space ought to be a full time job for someone.

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

This area abounds with covered wagons, plows, cultivators, the occasional intercontinental missiles and a few of the people who used them, coveted them, wore them down to a small frazzle, or just sneaked around admiring them when they were shiny and new.  The automobiles get pretty fair physical therapy, but a lot of it just sits rusting in decorative positions in parks, front yards and displayed in unlikely places.

VA Medical Center surprised me by deciding I ought to get some physical therapy they’re too far away to provide.  They’re paying for a few weeks of me going to the Olathe Medical Center for it.  Had my first run at it last week on the day I wasn’t having something done to my goozle.  It was a surprising display of a lot of really old bastards walking around panting and generally being a lot more friendly to one another than they’d probably spent their lives being to other people.

Most appeared to be the sort I smile and speak to when I  meet their eyes in a grocery store or on the street, and they turn their heads away as an alternative to acknowledging I exist.  I sometimes carry the conversation further with, “Don’t you dare say hi to me!  No telling what I’d do back.”

But down there at physical therapy you’re more likely to meet again soon, him on the electric walking machine next to my stationary bicycle.  Snobbing a person off who’s there for a stay in close proximity could lead to all manner of long time discomfort.

So I smiles perlightly and says hi, [first to do it mostly] and while we each try to make something inside us perform better, we discuss weighty matters involving.  That’s right.  Involving.

Involving things our opinions don’t have anymore influence on than they ever did on anything else.  Mostly the weather.

Old Jules

 

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, Animals

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Ferry tales

Posted on May 4, 2014 by | 16 comments

All but two of these guys were 2 year draftees or single enlistment 3 year recruits. Those would have all come home before the end of 1964, ETS [expiration term of service]. Just in time to miss the Vietnam debacle. Those returning to the US for reassignment went to 11th Air Assault Group, Fort Gordon, GA, training to jump out of helicopters. Then the Army moved the 1st Cavalry Division to Vietnam, dissolved the 11th Air Assault Group, and sent everyone in it to Vietnam. I'm betting these guys had better sense than to reinlist.

All but two of these guys were 2 year draftees or single enlistment 3 year recruits. Those would have all come home before the end of 1964, ETS [expiration term of service]. Just in time to miss the Vietnam debacle. Those returning to the US for reassignment went to 11th Air Assault Group, Fort Gordon, GA, training to jump out of helicopters. Then the Army moved the 1st Cavalry Division to Vietnam, dissolved the 11th Air Assault Group, and sent everyone in it to Vietnam. I’m betting these guys had better sense than to reenlist.

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Camp Howze, Korea, 1963, 1964.  I was standing in a chow line almost certainly with one of the guys in this picture waiting for breakfast.  A twelve-year-old Korean lad came down the line selling Stars and Stripes newspapers, yelling, “Lots of Japs killed!  Hurrah!  Lots of Japs killed!”

Koreans still savored a deep hatred for Japanese in those days.  Having your mamas and grandmamas raped more-or-less whenever the mood hit for a few decades probably does that.  At least when the rapers are of a particular nationality.  [I’ve wondered whether East Germans don’t feel some of that toward the Rooskies because of their grannies during the retreat from the Eastern Front].

Anyway, it was a ferry disaster of some sort carrying Japanese passengers.  The first time I recall ever paying any mind to ferries and the associated dangers.

But over the decades I’ve certainly heard about a lot of them.  I suspect a risk assessment involving frequent use of ferries would reveal it to be more dangerous than airliners, trains or busses.  Not to say I haven’t ridden on a lot of them.

But on a ferry going between [I think] Newport News, RI, and Long Island, a nuclear attack submarine surfaced next to our ferry almost close enough to touch.  We assumed at the time the submarine commander was perfectly aware of the ferry.  By hindsight, though, I’m brought to wonder whether he had to go change his shorts when our presence and proximity came to his attention.

A person used to be able to pay once to get on the Statin Island Ferry and ride it back and forth all night, which I did a good many times.  Near misses with smaller craft were relatively common and a source of amusement for the ferry passengers.

I was on a ferry to one of the outer banks islands of Georgia, or North Carolina once when it hit something hard enough to jangle the eye-teeth of everyone aboard.  Never heard what it was, but none of the passengers were laughing.

Which is to say, life’s full of surprises and ferries have the potential for providing new ones.

I don’t recall when I began carrying a couple of hundred feet of small diameter 200 pound test rope with me in my luggage when I travelled.  But I do recall it was a decision I made watching people diving out of the windows of burning multi-story buildings on the news.  A bit of rope, I observed, would have saved a lot of them by allowing them to get off the upper floors and beneath the fires.

If I had to ride a ferry every day I’d probably decide an inflatable camp pillow would provide a nice place to sit on those hard ferry benches.  One person aboard protected by one inflatable pillow would remove the temptation those vessels wave around in front of the Coincidence Coordinators inviting disaster.

Old Jules

 

 

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Posted in 1960's, 1970's, 1980's, 2014, Adventure, America, History, Human Behavior

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The White Man’s Burden: Sharing US Culture

Posted on May 3, 2014 by | 4 comments

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Hell they just want to be like us.  You can’t blame them.  Who in the world doesn’t want a piece of the best sociology, culture, society, music, attitude, behavior, the US has to offer.  The centerpiece for the cultural best has to be exported for the advancement of humanity.

But there’s not room for two.

People in conquered lands always want to imitate the conquerers.  That’s why British all try so hard to behave as though they’re Normans.  And [East] Indians try so hard to be good Christians.

Same as the whatchallem, Native Americans who aren’t whites, Mexicans, Blacks, Asians, and such.  Aboriginals, they’ll likely want to be called sometime. Tribal Americans, some other time.

The Rooskies have always been good at gangsta, but they always felt something was missing over there in the KGB, GRU, and up in the Gulag.

We haven’t gotten around to conquering Pakistan yet, but maybe dropping a few cruise missiles and drones down their smokestacks was enough.  Bound to be an explanation and drones might be it.

Africans adapt surprisingly well to modern US culture.

New York Jewish gangsta rap would be difficult to top by Israeli gangsta rap I’m betting.

Australian aboriginals get into the swing about as well as a person can wish.  Hard to find fault with that.

All in all I’d say this fits the 21st Century better than Christianity fit the earlier ones.

Old Jules

 

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Posted in 2014, Adventure, America, Human Behavior

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