Thane

Friday, February 03, 2012

2012-02-03T09:45:00.001-05:00

APNewsBreak: DA warns Kansas lawmakers to keep records as he investigates meetings with gov.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/apnewsbreak-da-warns-kan-lawmakers-to-keep-records-as-he-investigates-meetings-with-gov/2012/02/02/gIQANwEalQ_story.html

I bring this up, not because the Governor needs a critic, but because he has so many. To tell it like I see it, the critics are mostly progressives that have an interest in their own way of income; which, as one may imagine, is with a finger, if not a hand, in the government pocket.

What the DA proposes is, of course, self incrimination. That’s what records do – if one keeps them and one finds chinks with malicious intent. Everyone knows that, but to be a public person one swims with the fashion. Keep records.

Took the ‘without payee’ check over to the Renters Sons wife last evening. The donation will not buy a complete tree I found. As a matter of fact I’ll be lucky if it buys a branch, not that it was a cheap donation by my standards (although I must admit I do not generally ask others what their donation amounts).

The visit was, however, illuminating. The project is worthy, I’ll judge that so. Many times I’ve driven by and wished for tree’s in there. I was responsible for cutting more than a few out myself while working for the village and the township.

But this group has gone out to a Nursery run by the son of a village resident. He’s in business in Kansas City – which is a piece up the road. At first I was a bit put off and started to not write that check. Renters Sons wife noticed and asked what’s up with this, and I explained I wasn’t much into the idea.

She then told me the man would bring the trees in burlap, developed root systems; a crew to plant them; and the machine to dig the holes, then offer a one year replacement program for any that died if we’d water them.

That didn’t sound half bad, really. So I gave up the argument of getting the free bare root trees the State would have given us.

The group that devised the plan are a bunch of women without husbands, most over age 55 and kinda out of shape, truth to tell. (I found that out by asking after the groups men folks doing some of the work in the project) (You do know I’m a bit put out with expensive charities, don’t you?).

It sounded well taken care of, and a hundred percent of the donations would go into the trees – even if the providers of the labor and material was related to a group family.

I’m afraid, though, that my seemingly entrenched attitude was exacerbated as the conversation drifted to the KS Governors clamping down on “Child Care” money. I’ve known for some time the Renters family is progressive, well, if not progressive, liberal to an extreme. This was the first time I’ve really gotten close to a “dear to their heart” subject, and, of course, I was on the “Goodie on You, Gov” side of the argument.

Also in the Governors program was taking Charitable deductions off the tax books. Can’t do it any more. I pointed out to the lady that if you gave “charity” and then claimed on your taxes so you wouldn’t have to pay on that amount, then you were not giving charity, because charity is without expectation of return. She didn’t like that.

I left her standing so red in the face in her front yard that one would suspect, not knowing other wise, that I made an indecent proposal. She was dead set on castigating the Governor, but I wasn’t having it. Especially since I had to explain Pass Through Funding and how what the Governor was advocating was funded.

Knee jerk. Not knowing some back ground of your side can get you into trouble. Besides, knowing would evidently make one more intelligent then your trusted informer when considering opinions.

Well, I’d think so. I’m not for illegal immigration in the first place. Not liberal in the second.

Grump.

Early morning thunder bumpers. About half an inch of good rain. 54 degrees at 0330 hours and the dog loved it. He stayed out in the rain for a bit and was feisty when I tried rubbing him down before letting him in.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, February 02, 2012

2012-02-02T05:50:00.001-05:00

From Seattle comes a whistle in the wind:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/businesstechnology/2017392815_boeingwichita02.html

Romney bothers me. He reminds me of Slick Willy –

Slick Willie is a nickname, it may refer to:

Willie Sutton, a prolific bank robber
U.S. President Bill Clinton (also see List of nicknames of United States presidents#Bill Clinton)
Willie Brown (politician), former California legislator and San Francisco mayor
W.W. Herenton, former mayor of Memphis
A Texas Holdem poker hand, consisting of an ace and a jack

By the way, A J is what one might call an exploratory hand. Interesting, but not one in which to put a great deal of faith.

From the Gulf States come pictures of blossoms, nesting birds and comments of Spring. How can that be?

From my desk come indications of 30 degree temps, chill winds – which seem moisture laden, but aren’t. I know it is so, I stepped out side at 0300 hours and the dog waited inside for me to return, the doors were open. I didn’t observe too closely, nor too long.

My appliances are black. All of them, to include the stove which is one of those ceramic topped things. Once the switch is turned off the heating element disappears and a small light indicates the top is hot, until it cools to touchable temperatures.

One becomes used to it.

The other day, after years of getting used to it, I strained the wok contents through the sieve and reached over to place the empty wok on the stove, out of the way.

I also had a black handled spatula. I use it to stir the wok contents.

Being busy, I slid the wok onto the stove, sending the spatula handle onto the heated portion of the stove, never realizing the error until much, much later.

My spatula now has a handle as large as the working head width wise and is considerably thinner.

Housekeeper, surprised when she washed up the other day, raised her eyebrow and asked: “What’s this?”

I admitted I’d screwed up.

She asked if that was the same as blowing it; I was forced to say that it wasn’t.

With the thing in the White House giving a military contract to Brazil, my Renters Son has kept a low profile. He is the company civilian representative to the military for the aircraft.

He’s been keeping staying low in visibility lately. His wife is active in the village. She and an off-shoot of the Kock family (Doctor of Chiropractor, cum farmer/rancher in the area) wife are concerned with the cemetery.

Most of the Elm trees have died. Between Cottonwoods, Hackberry and Osage Orange, there isn’t much out in that area. The women have decided to plant a variety of trees and have begun a donation program to purchase them (the trees).

I threw away the post cards the ladies sent around with the treasurers address on it, so now it’s a matter of either forgetting about a donation or taking a check to the Renters Sons wife.

I’m not sure taking an un-named payee check (because I don’t remember the organizational name they’ve formed) over there and giving it to her is a good idea under the circumstances.

They only live, just over there. You can see their roof tops, see, right there, just through the trees?

Still, that isn’t what’s bothering me, is it?

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

2012-02-01T05:05:00.001-05:00

I feel that someone has sneaked an extra day into January. Or something like that. Nothing fits. One tiny snow and dry. Such is winter. This year. Has it ever occurred to anyone but me that Years start with winter and end with fall? Huh?

Probably not. Not the observation makes me wise, just late getting to the fact. And silly enough to muse over it.

Want a book report?

Probably not. Still, I found a book among that list of books which gave me pause. True. I actually have found several. New ways of looking at the same thing, you know. Depressing. How can anyone find different ways of seeing things from me.

This book is about The World (in little letters of WiFi/Genetics/Money/Power) and little people (as defined by Money/Power). A blood thirsty writing of One Man vs The World (as defined by WiFi/Genetics/Money/Power), of treason, traitorous relationships, love (real and imagined) and hate everlasting – hate everlasting because it has become possible to live forever in the virtual world and such a personality of hideous kind takes over real time bodies of virtual world users .

I couldn’t read very long at a time. That’s a fact. I had to think over what was written; though fiction, of course, the possibilities presented were in headlines of contemporary literature everyday, if one reads periodicals and newspapers and believes the internet. The foundations of the story are every where in publications, both reputable and sleazy.

Well, if one considers Climate Warming as a sleazy scientific white paper publication, then one can believe the drift of this book. A fictional mix of fact and imagination.

You see, I have this thing with books of this type (years gone by it’d probably be called a penny novel. Later on a dime novel; and even later, a SciFi, and now a Fantasy novel.). But it is a current subject matter piece. It is.

It has computers; California has begun its inevitable slide into the sea; LA is buried in water and still what it is on docks and boats, a slum. California, leaving out the rest of the States, has been divided and part is given to the Mexicans by the UN (not so titled as the UN, but implied is the World Government).

The book centers on one of the test tube/placenta/gene manipulated (one of one thousand first generation/crèche raised females from a single male person and several female egg donors).

The effect is heightened by the legal stance of the government declaring such persons, the gene spliced, as non-human, with life right slightly less than current laws for animals and pets, and a faint mixing in of a mild treatment of: “What is God,” and “What is a Soul.”

In many ways, societal, personal beliefs, contemporary events and future possibilities, it is thought provoking and, from the company it is keeping in my reading list, totally unexpected.

I have yet to finish the book; which is certainly not usual for my reading habits. But can you imagine a virginal woman at thirty with a one hundred and eighty-five IQ level? And rare enough beauty to command thousands of dollars an hour for an evening out as a hostess?

Well?

Oh. Yes, I’d about forgotten: Sisters of Glass/D.W.St. John/Baen Books Ebooks Listing

I almost hate to tell one that. I want it all to myself.

I wrote the review in a fit of amazement Tuesday morning when I set the book aside for a while. A page or two with many pauses later in the afternoon, while fighting the dog for my supper, it occurred to me, while not having finished the book, that there is only one ending.

The hero must shoot his sisters son.

Now I must read the final third of the book to see how it ends. Bummer. My heart will never stand it.

____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

2012-01-31T10:13:00.001-05:00

Thieves Strike Wichita Church Parking Lots For Second Sunday In A Row

Car burglars struck Wichita for the second weekend in a row. This time, they hit churches on the west side of town while the congregations were inside.

http://www.kake.com/news/headlines/

Sure as God makes little green apples; if it works once it’ll work again.

Personal observation: While shopping, it is distasteful for sales persons to show undue interest in your needs.

That was a personal thing. I went into the Co Op the other day and the lady didn’t have the item of my trip. Rather than simply say they didn’t have it, hadn’t ordered it to replenish the shelves or that they had discontinued the item, we danced the dance of evasion.

We have; maybe this will do; the manager (by name) might order it but hasn’t yet (I think) and may not (but) it is his to do, I don’t.

Garbage.

This is the same place wondering why I’ve kept my auto fuel bills so low. Oh, and another item – the patronage check this year is four times as large as previous years. Yeah, I have my choice between having the items of my needs or a larger check.

If you think about it, the program is somewhat like the government. I spend less there, the checks get larger; someone else is having to work either more or harder or something, because the check money certainly isn’t supported by my participation in the program.

‘Course, the manager was a government employee before taking over the Co Op.

Little Man (the near neighbor plus one East dog) was trying to come over this morning. My dog Gar went into his act. GAWD (Great Assed White Dog) happened to be lounging on the front porch and yet a strange dog wandered by.

That’s when I went out. The strange dog left, Little Man, Gar and GAWD simply stood about the yard.

It was like watching a group of local men, all knowing you were there, trusting you, with their backs to you with no sign of knowing you were there, watching the stranger in the vicinity.

The stranger left. Then the rest acknowledged me. Gar by bumping my leg; GAWD by coming over for a quick scratch and tickle; Little Man by a glance and then departing the yard.

The stranger I didn’t know. He has a patrol route. Down the defunct RR bed West, checks the druggies drop at the culvert bridge; back down the tracks to the near neighbors door; out to the main street; then he seems to make a choice: either to the West to the trucking concern or South to an undetermined house.

Yes. He has a human, a drug seller human, and No, I don’t know why the dog makes this patrol other than the human isn’t available – he’s a High School student and generally the dog makes these routes just after the bus leaves town or in the afternoon when the bus leaves town.

Read: Village in place of Town.

I’ve wondered if the kid knows how easy it is to read the him through the dog.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, January 30, 2012

2012-01-30T09:03:00.001-05:00

Lordy! And another work week starts.

Yesterday was rather interesting. Caught a punk kid wandering the back yard with his dog. Finally. Brazen little crap head thought he’d bluff his way around me. I didn’t exactly let him but did poke his juvies mores gently.

Then a whole host in two vehicles of the middle-class of recreational users choose the front drive to have a flat and change tires. Turns out to be father and his girlfriend; the daughter and her boyfriend; and the near neighbor. Neat.

The father is proud of his daughter – she’s in school and drawing a 4.0 GPA, which I must admit is pretty good, regardless of the subjects. The daughter is one of four. The father is not married.

They didn’t have a speed wrench (that tool that loosens the lug nuts holding the wheels on the hub) so I gave the father one. I had four (at one time, while running a business four trucks. Before selling out I’d cleaned out the trucks and had four lug wrenches hanging about for the last five years doing little for anyone. I carry travellers insurance for flats on the privately owned vehicle now.). I had to tell all of this to the father as he was reluctant to accept the wrench.

Tools that are truly useful seem to out last the owner, so I don’t regret putting one back into service, in this case with someone that travels a great deal. The father works on the Wind Farm crew and travels seventeen miles one way on back country roads every work day.

No. I can’t justify him not having one before gaining this one.

What else?

Oh, yes. The little dog gotten large broke one of those woven wire cables they sell to stake out animals. You know, those two piece cable units where one slides on a little pulley along the longer length to give the dog some room to roam.

My dog was eager to meet up with a free roaming dog and charged out to the length of his reach. The cable parted and sure enough he met the other dog – a very handsome Black and Tan (smooth haired) Dachshund named Little Man. The dog fits his name, like most of his kind he has a certain presence.

You’ll notice I said he. My dog may be strange, breaking a cable for a male dog.

However, it should be noted that my dog is a bachelor, without like kind friends in the house and could be just seeking company.

I’ll have to watch that.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, January 29, 2012

2012-01-29T09:55:00.001-05:00

Ornery things, obligations. Whether self imposed, actually owed, or assumed.

I drove some six hundred miles in the past two days to allay some of mine, in spite of the looks of wonderment. I feel better and slightly ashamed I should create wonder. ‘Tis over now, however.

Going through the list of Baen Books has been fun, and exhausting. Book after book (all edited for ebooking) some with gaps in the flow of the story where editing shortened a particular description or misspellings, but they were there, all those books I’ve missed over years. Some by authors un-known and some earlier works by authors known.

I’m reduced to two now; both collections of short stories. I finished one this morning:

Original edition
of edited stories
Unedited by Eric Flint

Baen Books

There were a couple of stories that pretty well tickled me. One about a woman and travails, and a ancient entity with a little green controller – and a little bit of sexual context. As a matter of fact the story ended with a he/she bent.

Go find the story. It was fun.

The other was called The Forgotten . . aw, I forget. It was a rather non-believable heroic thing with a couple of wrinkles. If you’ve ever read Witches Of Kerres, where a person was going to create trouble for the hero and his girl(s), and the trouble maker had a message delivered via a means impossible, then you’ll have fun with the technique used in the story.

The near neighbors brother, he of the mechanical genius, has hired on as the keeper of the eighteen wheelers at the local trucking business.

Now that bit of news isn’t earth shattering by any means, but it is rather funny (as opposed to the head shaking, and scratching it might elicit if one knew a great deal more of the story).

The brother, you see, worked for an oil field lease holder. One that was (the was/is difference is important in the relative scheme things) in competition with the fellows current employer.

I don’t think it was a treasonous transfer of employment by any means. The treason was with the owner of the trucking business and another fellow the business trusted. I’d rather not do the story today (even though chasing down the story was part of my absence yesterday).

Still, it’s a beautiful high thin scattered clouds, sunny, day at twenty-eight degrees and climbing.

And remember, don’t do as the near neighbors neighbor, two houses East, does. That is let the five year olds play in the busy main street in the village. I looked out yesterday evening and one was sitting in the middle of the road, picking up and throwing stones at nothing. He was sitting on his scooter (now too small for him).

Yeah. The traffic didn’t get him.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, January 28, 2012

2012-01-28T17:38:00.001-05:00

Just got in. I haven’t a Saturday story.

I have managed to keep up with blogs – there should be a voice to read to me on the phone. I can say I didn’t appear drunk while driving.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, January 27, 2012

2012-01-27T09:15:00.001-05:00

One of the reasons I’m not an obama ‘birther’ is simple; I haven’t a clue how to find the truth.

The following is an excerpt from an American Thinker article concerning a Georgia Court, which obama refused to attend when summoned. The hearing concerned his eligibility to be on a ballot of election in the State.

Most all of the testimony was given by expert witnesses, except for the foundation testimony of the citizens that brought the actions; document experts on the authenticity of Obama's Birth Certificate, the Social Security number he uses (used on tax returns) and his and his mother's passport records. A private investigator testified that his Social Security Number (SSN) was originally issued to a deceased individual born in 1890, and was issued from Connecticut a State he is never been known to inhabit.
Read more:

http://www.americanthinker.com/2012/01/georgia_ballot_challenge_obama_walks_on_by.html#ixzz1kfL94aea

Yesterday I mentioned (without naming) the religious group from the Westboro Baptist Church and their proclivity of disrupting, as best they may, the various services and military related activities around the country.

It is difficult to stop someone from demonstrating, in a general way, as the courts must enforce the various provisions of the Constitution. No matter the distaste others may experience in the message shouted.

Ideas like the below surface now and then, though however much I don’t like the idea of a ‘protected class’ of any sort, sometimes it might be the only way.

Lawmakers Push To Stop Funeral Picketers

KAKE - ‎1 hour ago‎

Wichita Representative Mario Goico introduced a bill in committee that would make military members and their families a protected class.

The spokes person for the group, in response to the Lawmakers made one itch to insert fist and twist tonsils.

I had communication with the Owner (now past owner, as it is closed, but that is my blogs name for him) on various things past and present.

His son, the firecracker lad, is doing fine. Owner named a dollar figure for the boys past years income and it was impressive – that is, not poverty level by any means. Kid is sharp.

I found that Owners Mom went to the hospital this past Wednesday. Blood clot in her lungs. The lady fell last September and broke bones. The Doctors determined her bones were not up to grafting and used nuts and bolts or screws to put the hip back together.

They’ve determined, this trip, that the blood clot is non-specific in origin and put her in the hospital. She also has kidney stones. So; because she is on blood thinners they cannot do a whole lot of anything for her.

Trying to sort out all Owner was telling me quickly bogged me down in details and I couldn’t do a great deal for him anyway. He and his mother own several buildings in the village and have been established here for several generations.

None of them are dummies, they just act rather strange – which might be incorrect of me as I’m really the stranger in the area (less than 15 years around here).

Belch.

I have to get back to him soon anyhow. I need to straighten out a few facts. He’s not, himself, in too good a shape considering he has trouble breathing after answering the door and walking back to the kitchen. Cigarettes and weight, don’t you know.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, January 26, 2012

2012-01-26T14:46:00.001-05:00

Have a habit? Need an electronic cigarette? Smoke ‘em in the arena? Hmm? Security on your case? You might have a case, in case, you know, you’re mad or something.

E-Cigarette controversy lights up in Wichita

WICHITA, Kansas - They've become the latest craze, E-cigarettes. After a smoking ban in Kansas, a controversy is firing up in Wichita.

There’s that amendment and all, but the way Romney and Newt carry-on one would think poison letters should be crimes just shy of man slaughter.

Tatter and shreds will be all that remains it appears. Can one say an easy going after dinner drink shared by them would be a relaxing affair.

Kansas was an abortion capital of sorts, then the governor went to Washington D. C. to run the obamaCare thing and a guy up and shoot the chief doctor in the public eye – that is to say, the Doctor most in the public eye was shot by some guy in the doctors church – that put a bunch of folks in arms and there was a whole lot of conversation going on.

People trying to resurrect the abortion business had troubles left and right:

Abortion-rights advocates decry Kan. proposal

By Anonymous AP Abortion rights advocates say an anti-abortion proposal pending in the Kansas House would limit women's access to birth control.

Seems we’re shipping stuff around the country from this here fly-over State. That bunch of religious folks no one particularly cares for is trying for the Super Bowl. Silly bunch. But everyone has to come from somewhere, one must admit. If the Super Bowl State this year finds them attractive, maybe they’ll just go ahead and keep them.

We’re kind hearted folks down here and, I’m sure, can find it in our hearts to allow Ind that.

Police: Thieves Targeting Cars While Victims Attend Church

A word of warning if you are heading out to Wednesday night church services or if you attend church this weekend. Wichita police are urging churchgoers to be on guard after a recent string of car break-ins at area church parking lots.

Worse part of it is, of course, you’re not still in church so the chance to forgive and forget might escape you when you realize the damages.

The oil field folks here in my village have pretty well shaken themselves out from that standing start I began with just before summer last year. I’ve been leaving it alone for that long to see where it was going.

I’ll try to make sense of it over the next few weeks. It’s full of all the neat things: deliberately arranged friendship; lies; betrayals; a little back stabbing; a little intra-family mis-behaving.

What one might consider normal in the oil business. Well, normal if one deals with snake oil salesmen and oil field people.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

2012-01-25T13:38:00.001-05:00

Over whelmed with in-put today.

Did you watch the State of the Union last night? I caught a few minutes of it. I almost chocked on a paragraph or so. But the paragraph I did hear sounded rather odd to me.

The speaker stroked himself (which happens in public with him) and he found it sorrowful the federal government was paying subsidizes to on shore businesses, and that off-shore business got away tax free. He felt, I believe he thinks, that off-shore business should be penalized with taxes of some sort and that money, flowing into the government, could then be used to subsidize on-shore business.

Sort of, I suppose, like taxing the citizens at the federal level and then sending some money to the States for education. Which has never made a great sense to me, truthfully, as I also pay a mill levy tax to my county to support the local school district. Oh, and part of the Lotto ticket cost gets into the State coffers for school also.

But this was Housekeepers morning and we were talking about whether we watched the speech or not – Housekeeper saying she hadn’t, that she’d was movie with a ten year old kid, for the third time on tape.

And that took us back into the realm of fantasy. Well, not really fantasy but into the un-real.

You remember the lady with the husband and three kids across the gully Housekeepers hubby built the bridge for? She’s the lady that was going to run off with the Wind Farm employee, which she did.

She called last night, however, and said she was coming back. She was in Ok City and would leave this morning and arrive sometime today to live with her daughters, who live with their fathers. In other words she was coming home – well, the place she left.

The lady said the employee, when he found out she was returning to her husbands house (the father and she are still married, just under agreement of some sort), the employee told her he was going to kill himself.

Lets see. Of the three daughters, the oldest was at her part time job last night and didn’t receive the call; the middle daughter was at a school basketball game and didn’t receive the call of immanent return either; the youngest, the 10 year old, received the call as the father was also at his normal night-time work.

So, the youngest went over to Housekeepers house and told her last night.

Rank speculation on my part has the youngest in school today, just before the father comes home this morning, and unless the youngest told the middle daughter after coming in from the ball game at one or one-thirty AM, all I can see is “Surprise.” when the mother walks into the house when the husband awakes this afternoon.

There was more, but it’ll wait. Maybe I forget it by tomorrow.

And then again, maybe not.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

2012-01-24T14:14:00.001-05:00

The debate yesterday revealed one thing for certain: Santorum is the younger man and even he had some weariness showing. The others really showed the year long grind, and it is getting worse as the small voting gets more and fewer free days between.

I’d get tired just thinking of saying the same thing day after day; defending the same thing day after day; and that in spite of being in a different town day after day, wondering where MY bed and MY kitchen table is located.

All of which brings up the question of How Is It Everyone Needs to be personally assured by the wannabe president, verbally, eyeball to eyeball; when you have all types of media to bring the untruths to you.

Reality TV at its finest? Truth or Consequences, Can YOU Spot the Liar (or whatever that TV program was where you were told one of the story tellers was deliberately lying and you had to finger the one. Not many could and the program didn’t last long).

Okay. I wasn’t going to get carried away today. Sorry about that. I have visions of pictures (visions, themselves) of a presidential candidate speaking without electronic enhancement from the back of a train somewhere. ‘Course, that would be before electricity and would probably be called “Good Old Days”, which would imply you’d not hear the speech direct, but from it being passed along from up front.

Which could, come to think of it, easily be ignored and one could have the just of it to take home to neighbors from the conversation around the tail gate party. Along with the consensus of your friends around.

Kansas Cuts Out Food Stamps for Many Children of Illegal Immigrants

Juvenile Justice Information Exchange - ‎2 hours ago‎

A new formula for calculating who receives food stamps in Kansas has left many US-born children of illegal immigrants without aid.

That seems a good idea now, doesn’t it? Yeah. You’re right, I’m one of those guys that thinks legal immigration is best. And, yes, if the ‘grent is hired without the computer check the employer should be fined.

If you asked about the individuals rights, I’d be forced to admit they didn’t have any legal ones. Only, if non-hostile, courtesy on the way out the door.

You might, if you hackles are raised, consider Germany ridding itself of outlander workers in the seventies; Thailand's control of visitors and students; Hong Kong’s problems with China’s forcing people over the border in a dispute in the fifties; or, if you have some thinking ability, the current problems with the Muslim influx in various countries.

For whatever reason, and with out picking a winner, I feel the Super Bowl will not be close. No idea why I should think that.

One of the neat things?

Three days ago the near neighbor threw a bunch of trash onto public lands.

Two days ago I went out and threw the trash the near neighbor had thrown on public land back in the near neighbors yard (not in a bag).

This morning near neighbor bagged the trash that was in his yard and dragged the bag a good city block to the dumpster.

I’m not really satisfied. I mean, he didn’t have to go through all that except the ‘in-your-face’ rule probably applies.

I think someone has mentioned something to him. The dopers parade has trickled away from his front door – but the six and seven year olds playing North of the property line are making a game of finding and pointing out in loud voices the druggy drop point by the RR bridge.

Maybe prospective customers will run the dealers to a new location.

Well. It was a thought.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, January 23, 2012

2012-01-23T17:14:00.001-05:00

More of the ‘fracking’ reports; progress with costs.

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) — Even as sections of Kansas struggled with drought last year, oil exploration companies pushed into the state to drill for oil and gas with horizontal hydraulic fracturing, a method that relies on water.

The burst of drilling pushed temporary water permits for oil and gas exploration in Kansas to a nearly 30-year high. Chelsea Good, spokeswoman for the Kansas Division of Water Resources, said the division received more than 600 applications for temporary water permits for oil and gas exploration in 2011 and approved all but two. Those were turned down because of a lack of water in the area, she said. [ . . ]

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/23/kansas-fracking-water-permits_n_1223445.html

Although I don’t normally read the Huff Post, the article was carried by Google Kansas News. I happen to be chomper at the bit when utilities are concerned. Especially when the local government ‘owns’ the contracts.

I had to chuckle this morning, reading the blogs. One talked about the things the government owned – to include your paid off home (his point there being the property tax and results you’d suffer if the tax wasn’t paid) and a whole series of things the government ‘owns’, to include your bank account through the issuance of the Social Security Number.

The other was an article on price fixing and capitalism.

Both asked the same question in different ways. Just how free do you think you are?

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, January 22, 2012

2012-01-22T14:58:00.001-05:00

Newt made history by becoming the third stamped primary winner. Well and good, I suppose. What’s the magic number? 1200?

We might just get a convention that’s worth watching this year.

Championship weekend – JoPa died. Seems fitting somehow.

Go to your High School year book and select a person. Write three hundred words about what you think they are doing now. Once you’ve done that, then fictionalize it.

You have to be kidding. But that was the prompt. Little did they know I don’t have a year book. I know that the same thing may be done with any magazine or whatever, but it would be more fun with the year book.

Just think of the hated ones – you know, the ones that wouldn’t let you join the group? Umm.

So what you do is, see, like create the very best you can do for one of them. Say they are the Reese’s Peanut Butter cup of good things. The chocolate of Mocha, you understand, so thick the spoon stands on its own. The free trial cup of ever lasting all that’s good – then fictionalize it.

Fun, wasn’t it?

How about that pimply faced fellow that tagged along after you and got all swelled chesty toward all the girls you got all in a sweat over. You know, the one’s you really wanted to know better, but that you knew didn’t have a girl friend that wanted, really, to be in the same room with the kid and he was pest enough to not allow you any time with this girl.

Then fictionalize it.

Couldn’t you just have fun with that? I mean, really?

But I’ll have to forget about it. Sorry. The game starts in a few minutes and I’ve just seen a face I recognize – in the mirror.

I’m handsome.

As you can tell, I’ve reached the fictionalized stage of my favorite year book picture.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, January 21, 2012

2012-01-21T18:10:00.001-05:00

I’m afraid I haven’t a story for us today. I’m having trouble with my self imposed schedule – having given myself Saturdays off by putting on the blog those previously published stories.

Having said that, I can report the consumption of books has reached a high point. Well, not necessarily a high point (but if I cannot find another source of free books it just may be). Still, the availability of ebooks and the MS Reader has been a new experience.

The ninety books read since 1 Oct 11 has been a shock to the system – like food to a starving person I ate too quickly and seem slightly ill.

As proof: The other morning I woke from one of those half dreams where one is asleep, knows he’s asleep, yet controls the content of the dream while at the same time having no control of essential portions of the dream.

It is the striving for more control of the dream that wakes the dreamer when the effort fails.

And so it was, I found myself with a metal detector going over property I’d purchased.

(Now understand, that was the dream speaking. In real life I do not own the property I was dreaming of. Fact is, I’d at one time thought heavily of owning it, but hadn’t purchased it, even though I’d cleared with my bank to bid at auction when the property came on the market. We’d agreed to a borrow maximum amount I could bid.).

In this dream then, I’d purchased the property and committed to the maximum amount of debt the bank and I’d agreed upon.

The house is rotten, the animal shelters of corrugated steel haphazard at best and wet, given their location, and unsuitable for livestock in my personal opinion. The only real structures worth saving was the barn and two chicken coops. I had, in the dream, cut all the cedar trees out; burned the rotten house; cleared all the utilities from the property except a single water line (and debated with myself about retaining that).

The debate with myself over the water line was what I was thinking about while scanning the grounds with the metal detector. That and wondering what to do with the foundations of the house I’d cause to burn.

The metal detector pinged and announced it had detected metal, the density of gold.

(At this point it is necessary to understand the house and grounds were owned, back through time, by an elderly couple. A quite a wealthy elderly couple. The man died at 86 and his wife at 97, where upon the property was auctioned – which in the dream I’d attended and indebted for the property, but which in real life I not attended the auction at all, having decided against.)

Well, the detector pinged and I dug about and located a Fifty Dollar gold piece.

(I’ve never seen a Fifty Dollar gold piece. I haven’t the foggiest notion the worth of one nor, of course, how to tell the fact from a fiction of them.)

I looked at the gold piece and many thoughts raced through my mi9nd. Worth; keep or dispose; keeping was possible, but disposing of it would like disposing of a dead body. Seek Banker assistance? (I didn’t laugh in my dream, simply rejected the idea).

No idea seemed worth while. I was sure, should I take the coin to a numismatic store I’d be ripped off mightily. What to do, what to do.

(At that mild angst in the dream I began to wake, the dog whining in my ear and my bladder demanding my attention. Not having waking dreams that often in my life, I was curious as to what I’d do, so I convinced myself in my waking sleep that I was asleep and to continue the dream.)

Having examined, in my dream the beauty of the coin and mulled disposition of the same, I concluded that market sell was not an option. I would, the dreamer me knew, seek a buyer for the coin and would avoid all taxes on that amount of money (the coins worth, which the dream suggested was in excess of fifty thousand dollars.

So that is what took place. I made contact with a buyer and made a proposal, once the buyer expressed his satisfaction with the reality of the coin.

The suggestion I made to the buyer was that he paid off the lien I’d taken for the property, insuring I received right and proper title to the property and he could have the coin.

And so it occurred.

My bank loan was zeroed out and once again I was a free man, owing no one anything and my property limits expanded. The coin disappeared into the wealthy man’s possession to be gloated over at his leisure to his envious friends.

(It was then I woke for the day and tended my business and allowed the dog his. I couldn’t understand that morning why I felt so sad and had vestiges of tears in my eyes. But I did and, as I made my morning proper by cleaning up, I questioned myself.)

(Later, as I was leaving the Post Office, I mentioned the dream to the Mistress and bragged just a bit about the avoidance of taxes and the gaining of property. She asked the value of the coin; She asked the value of the property. She then asked me: “Why’d you settle for being a loser?”)

(The question shocked me, because it wasn’t until that time I’d done the math necessary to understand the coins worth in powers of magnitude to the worth of the property.)

(The tears I’d experienced were tears on waking were tears of regret.)

(I hate losing.)

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, January 20, 2012

2012-01-20T09:59:00.001-05:00

And now, the examination of RomneyCare in view of obamaCare reveals the existence of death panels in RomneyCare, also.

And if, an examination of England and Canadian healthcare in view of RomneyCare and obamaCare would have revealed they are all socialCare system, then death panels would be seen in all – before the unread FederalCare bill was passed by the Democrats.

Why the tears? Oh! I see, should one live so long. Laughter. Advice? Sure. If you get sick, don’t seek health care, it’s like collecting auto accident insurance – most times it is cheaper to replace at retail value than it is to fix.

An oft times overlooked section of the blog: .

homilies plural of hom·i·ly (Noun)

Noun:

A religious discourse that is intended primarily for spiritual edification rather than doctrinal instruction; a sermon.
A tedious moralizing discourse.

Offered today: Three each.

If a woman cuts thick slices of bread, she will make a great stepmother.

Your animal instincts will be highly developed if you eat too much meat.

And: If you crumple your napkin while you are dining, you won’t eat there again.

I had to think about (1) and (3). I know that (2) is true. I do. Every time I look at my grocery bill I react instinctively when I compare the cost of meat to the cost of veggies.

Another section of the blog – I really need to develop an understanding of ‘tags’ one of these days – is the Ghost Towns of Kansas (my State. my State being a living place rather than a mind state, or maybe . . . well, never mind).

Today I’ve selected a place called Elgin.

I did that for a couple of reasons. The first being I’ve never been there. The second being it’s cold out side and the third being it is near (somewhat) here (that way I can stay home in the warm while I tell you):

Elgin was a cattle town. That the the present site of the Ghost Town is just West of Chautauqua – ahuh, that is in Chautauqua County Ks (I like that word, Chautauqua, and no, I don’t know what it means or where it came from and won’t look it up. That’d probably spoil the fun.).

Anyhow, I choose the town because the book I was reading mentioned: [ . . } It (Elgin) was so close to the line (Kansas/Oklahoma border) that drunken cowboys could ride along the Oklahoma side, out of the law’s reach, and shoot out the lights in the town. [ . . ]

If you go to Chautauqua (the present day town near Elgin) there’s a two lane road,, with markers, directing to the last known place of Elgin. I repeat that because Elgin actually had three locations, each nearer the river than the last.

The picture is not of Elgin’s river. The picture is from Europe.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten MIle

Thursday, January 19, 2012

2012-01-19T10:45:00.001-05:00

http://chronicle.com/article/Supreme-Court-Upholds-Law-That/130376/?sid=at&utm_source=at&utm_medium=en

In the continuing saga of the “New” copy right rules. I haven’t researched which pieces of once public domain material has been re-converted to copy right. It appears to be music.

Haven’t we heard something about musical/entertainment copy right lately? Most of this activity stems from the changes the Supreme Court made when they forced the US Laws into the international mold.

From the “Finally” column. Perry withdraws.

Note to self, someone finally wised up. He came across badly at the higher levels he encountered in this bid for higher office. Personally, I don’t think he endorsed the next presidential candidate.

Which shows how out of sync he was/is in the whole shooting match.

I noticed that Peugeot is getting out of the auto racing business. Evidently the costs have risen above their comfort level. They wish, it is reported, to concentrate on their commercial vehicles.

Dry here. Overnight temps in the teens; day time temps in the high thirties. So it surprised me when, last night around 0230 hours local, the dog made a break for freedom.

He stayed gone for nearly two hours and came back twisty whinny knowing he’d blown the program – that combined with the aspect of being glad to hear my voice calling him home.

That wasn’t his first roam, but it was the first prolonged absence. The near neighbors neighbor has different dogs just about every other week and allows them to roam during the day. They come over here to visit, sometimes. I generally show myself and the visitors scoot home.

But it makes curious my dog and last night he took the opportunity to investigate several neighboring dogs.

The “Temporary” mail person that OD’d and lives with her divorced husband, the truck driver, is thinking of quitting the job.

She’s the one I mentioned as a temporary employee working enough hours to be full time, but the department is using hard.

My favorite coffee stop on the highway is experiencing an income shock with the wind farm laying off people.

The last two visits I overheard some harsh words between some of the stops employees. We’ll see how that shakes out.

The fat check out clerk at the grocers and the motor mouth bagger were laid off. Not such a sad thing, that.

GAWD (Great Ass White Dog) is in bad shape. His weight is down to seventy-five pounds. That’s a bad thing.

This on the TV. Hawker Beechcraft, winning the fly-off with Brazil for the next generation primary training aircraft, has just seen the US Military award the production contract to Brazil.

Now, that is a very, very bad thing.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

2012-01-18T05:50:00.001-05:00

http://www.kwch.com/news/kwch-mvs-valley-center-womans-death-now-homicide-20120117,0,7203208.story

If you were a little girl, what would you think growing up? And, actually, I suppose, how would you feel as an adult investigator?

I received an email from Wordpress this morning encouraging going dark on the site – my blog. It had all the ear marks of considered reasoning, the smiling rhetoric of gentle persuasion. Going dark, it said, was the proper thing to do against the pending government legislation (half of which has now been withdrawn, and half of which is in the hands of the NV Senator who owes nothing to the American public and is a presidential supporter).

I trust the NV Senator less than I trust the local drug dealer. Both of whom are progressive to the core (which is to say, both want things their way, under their control; which is not a conservative value and far from libertarian.)

I’m trying to figure out why my blog should go dark.

Word Press has gone to extremes to encourage people to write, produce content, so the site (no matter the commercial interests involved, they still depend on everyone's content to attract customers to their enterprise).

My big stumbling block with all of this is easy – why am I suppose to go dark to protest a law that will make me go dark?

One would think the very act would be repulsive. Shut up to protest the idea of being told to shut up.

Or in the words of the back turned child; I can’t hear you. (because I cannot see you)

No. I don’t know for certain the going dark would impact someone that doesn’t read this blog, or even cares to read the blog. But, why should I shut up protesting the possibility of being shut up, by shutting up.

The impossibility of affecting the government desires, now that they have discovered the internets powers of shaping public opinions, is left to one thing – the voters desires to vote out of office the contrarian to the voters wishes.

And how’d that grab you? I mean, the money angle to buy the votes; the pressure groups (of which the lady writing for Word Press is one) on both the politician and the voter. And the inability of the public to affect the drive of government to control.

Getting rid of the politician is not the total answer because their appointees whisper in the ear of the next politician; the governmental employees whisper in the ear of any new appointee (its been this way for EVAR, and its working, don’t change anything. Build the empire.)

Okay. Enough of that anti-government stuff. It’s not really the issue is it? The issue is the complaints of entertainers and other artsy folks – to include writers – of people swiping intellectual property.

That means copy right theft. They want a law against it.

There are already laws against it.

But the web is ignoring the law.

Yep. Web users are.

An odd thing happened on the way – Web users also include the big companies that create content. Like music; publish some art, and what not; and those big companies are the ones complaining the little people are violating “their” copy rights and stealing their artists residuals. Don’t forget the big companies steal from each other and from the little guys.

Lets see. If a person writes a song, sings a song, then no one may sing that song or read that music or broadcast that music without paying the originator. The law we’re suppose to go dark over is directed to the net because the net is the easiest and can disseminate over the widest area, the most rapidly.

Let me go at this another way. You get up and go to work (those of us with jobs) and you produce the work you’re hired to do. You do that every day. Supposedly it is work you enjoy, but however, it is work you are paid to do.

You’re paid for work you now produce, not the work you produced twenty years ago. Now. You may or may not receive more pay than your neighbor, depending on experience; that’s the work you did back when.

Artists, like Shirley Temple, made a living for a life time on work before being of age enough to legally sign contracts, under those rules. I cannot gain say that, it’s the world they lived in.

But I think of all those pick-up bands singing all those songs in all those places earning some money to support their habits (eating, a place to sleep, etc) that are not paying royalties for the songs they are, in effect, selling created by others and made popular by others.

It’s the residuals, money, for doing nothing, that motivates the congress pimps. Pure and simple.

I hope they never turn their attention to the used book markets, I’d definitely be in trouble selling my used books half price.

Refuse to go dark. Speak up. Loudly. Going dark is doing nothing.

And we’re so use to doing nothing. Why, we protest not getting paid for doing nothing. Oh! And so does the European National.

Progressively.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

2012-01-17T10:37:00.001-05:00

A local non profit group is calling for the resignation of Republican Speaker of the Kansas State House Mike O'Neal over controversial comments he forwarded in an email.

On Monday, Speak Out Kansas set up at Wichita State University's Metroplex just before a Martin Luther King celebration began, handing out bright green fliers to those in attendance.

The group is angry after an email surfaced that O'Neal forwarded to his colleagues that featured a controversial Bible verse aimed at President Barack Obama. The verse reads: "Let his days be few and let another take his office. Let his children be fatherless and his wife a widow.”

“He took the verse and he took it totally out of context and with that he was essentially praying for the death of the president,” Speak Out Kansas Director Monty Shaw said.

O'Neal denies the claim but says he apologizes if he offended anyone.

"The intent was purely election type commentary looking forward to hopefully a change in administration in November," said O'Neal.

http://www.kake.com/news/headlines/137443323.html

Oh my! Not from an elected official, in office, for public edification. Well, not if survival is your intent.

I think I need to read the blogs for the TV Station personalities more often – at least sooner.

The year before obama was elected to the White House I was in my favorite road side coffee stop.

I was about third or fourth in line when three black men came in and joined the group around the cash register. I stepped back as the line quickly cleared so the three men could conduct their business – I do things like that as a matter of course, retirement allows time for most all of my activities and I’m seldom in a hurry.

But the posse leader, refusing to look at me, said: “No. Go ahead, it’s your world.”

I did. But the thought of there is still adult blacks, under forty, out there that think and act like they are down trodden and verge on slavery is shameful. The whole idea anyone person allows himself to think that way about himself is bad.

On the other hand -

Three months after obama was elected I walked into a local business and was asked out of the blue; “Have you heard that obama was shoot yet?”

My response was disbelief, and seeing the look on my face, the questioner laughed a little and said: “No, then, huh. Well, Maybe tomorrow.”

The words I set forth above apply to the latter, also.

On the other hand -

The question was asked by a black man of a white: “Would you allow your sister to marry a black man?”

The response was: “If it was her choice.”

The black man said: “I wouldn’t allow her to marry into my family; we’ve never had a whore in the family and I wouldn’t want to see one there.”

Don’t see much difference, really. Acceptance of differences doesn’t bar common effort goals.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, January 16, 2012

2012-01-16T09:11:00.001-05:00

I’ve had a question or so thrown at me – the one that introduced this article I found – and I’ve never, to my satisfaction, answered. The author of the article doesn’t do so badly.

After thinking about this question, I came to the conclusion that animals do not have rights so much as people have laws regarding animals. Every state has animal laws. People have a legal obligation to animals, including horses, as well as a moral duty and responsibility to animals. Unless you own a $1 million racehorse, show horse or rodeo horse, horses are not assets, they are liabilities -and liabilities cost money. If the day comes that you can no longer take care of your horse, try to find it another home. If it becomes old, sick or lame, it should be humanely euthanized and yes, it will cost money. That was what you signed up for when you bought this horse, brought it home and made it dependent on you. This horse is now your responsibility, not society's.

My near neighbor has regained his drug trade. I’m having trouble figuring out what the fur tanner cum farmer two South is doing. The farmer is a great deal, and here words escape me because in estimation, he is not smarter than the near neighbor, but is generally more (?) productive, commercial, less lazy, I’m not sure what the word should be.

The farmer is related to the Renter and to the guy that does my small engine repair in a town twenty miles away. Neither the Renter or his wife, nor the small engine man think much of the farmer. In fact, they are quite willing to condemn the personal habits of the man, which is a seldom seen thing within a family in this region.

I don’t know. There’s just a slimy feeling oozing from the man. I have mentioned him in prior posts. However, in this context I’ve trouble tying him to the near neighbor and drugs, though I suspect, have suspected, his involvement previously. I just cannot understand the connection though. Well, other than there is more than one way to pay the taxes than copper wire and stolen goods. The market for drugs is limited in the area (fortunately) so I’m not sure there’s room for three drug dealers.

The near neighbor and friends have gotten rid of the competition over the years by dropping the word to the cops.

Well. We’ll see, though the farmer isn’t near my place and I seldom see him. Only on certain days at the near neighbors.

So, did I think the Giants would beat Green Bay? No. No, I didn’t. As a matter of fact I thought, rather, that the score might be the same in the other direction.

Which is an excellent indicator why I haven’t the nerve to bet on sports events – well, that and the incident from more youthful times.

I was in conversation with a couple of fellows on the flight line of an air base in Germany. We were talking about the results of a base ball game in the States. I made a statement as to preference of a winner and one of the guys offered a bet of ten dollars (a great deal at the time) the other way.

I refused the bet. Just a feeling, you know.

And found later that the offer came from an aircraft crew member, who had an interest in the game also. He’d used the powerful aircraft radios to listen to the game direct from the States and had known the score when offering the bet – the news not yet reaching us via commercial terms.

Poker calls those folks Angle Shooters. You couldn’t really call him a cheater now, could you?

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, January 15, 2012

2012-01-15T13:55:00.001-05:00

I cannot say I’m surprised at NE’s win yesterday. But, for certain, I was at the score. Reflection, I suppose, should have informed me that a team of self respect would react quite violently to the much published bally-hop of an opponent the team had defeated convincingly earlier in a season.

It appears, in the first quarter at any rate, that todays lead-off game is of the same stuff. BAL is totally unforgiving. Still, there is a long way to go.

The house thumped, or got thumped, hard enough to gain my attention this morning. The dog went into his what’s up mode. We did our getting out the door act and he took off around a corner..

Peering around the corner, myself, I saw nothing although the dog insisted something was there.

I looked again and found the female gasping out the remains of her life. What there is about this place I have little idea. I’ve had other Cardinals fly into the side of the house; woodpeckers and blue jays, none survive.

It isn’t like it isn’t visible or anything like that. They just like to kill themselves running into the doors and sidewalls.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, January 14, 2011

2012-01-14T17:07:00.001-05:00

This was written several years ago. I traded on some experience with the system – not as the parolee, however. I had thought I’d published this in the blog but the search function tells me no.

Enjoy.

Don’t You Know What I’m Thinking?

File: Pure; Card: 6; Non-expensed

Don't You Know What I'm Thinking?

You are sweet, mellow, and easily satisfied.
You don't like anything too intense and dramatic.
Deep down, you're a kid at heart... and you're nostalgic for the past*

So said the probation officer, quite possibly tongue in cheek, as I left the premises after my final reporting date.

Damn Fool, you, in your dumpy middle class clothes and two week over due haircut. Have you the faintest inkling how very grating that smile is, that feeling you extrude of stabbing one in the back when you turn to write your post visit summation? Have you?

You accept the canned answers to your canned questions I reel from half my attention. You don't want to hear what I'm really thinking underneath, and full time with the other half. No!, you exercise your authority with admirable restraint, just as you have been taught. Reminding me on occasion my freedom is in your hands, you miserable little worm, when I periodically refuse to speak.

I'm finished now. Done. And I wait for it; and sure enough it comes. The obligatory "I hope I never see you again!" as I leave this final time. Done. Damn, I'm done with you. I'm satisfied. And mellow, now. I can laugh like a kid, alright, for no good reason other than for the pure joy of life. Except I've been thinking.

The thing I've been thinking about is that job you assigned me, got for me? Found for me. At any rate, that job is what I've been thinking about. Well, not the job so much as the owner of the place. That is not even correct. I've been thinking about the business, the paper end of the business more correctly. You see, there's something there that just might make you cringe.

That Boy isn't a hundred percent honest; and all that fine charitable, give the sinner a chance, front covers up something else and you don't even see it. Or if you do, your part of it. Which wouldn't surprise me, considering how many of us you've run through there.

Have you ever asked yourself what happened to all those bodies? Have you? Ever? Or do you know?

I suppose that's enough putting you down.

Admittedly, you're probably as honest as someone in your job can be. You've asked many times why I'm haggard and grubby on reporting days. I've never told you. You did give the curfew exemption when I explained the night classes, for which I thank you. But you never knew I'd finished others on-line, did you? I never told. I don't want them on the record.

You also don't know I finished my degree work, but there will never be a graduation. Not on the straight record there won't, unless I think the man comes knocking and then I have the real answers waiting.

You know, education is a funny thing. Too much of it in any one area makes you dumber. That's probably a bad way to look at it. Lets say, a very good foundation in a subject is a good thing, but as you continue to study it, it takes more and more effort to obtain less and less knowledge from it. It stifles you, and you can't reason outside that area.

So a good foundation in many subjects allows you to cross reference areas of knowledge and develop answers to questions. What you might call a specialized Liberal Arts education. And that is what I've been doing, without telling you. I didn't want to confide to you, the keeper of the little records. I certainly didn't want the records to know. Some say that ability to draw from experience is the highest level of learning.

There are many things I didn't tell you. As an instance: I am many people. Most of them I've made up and lied about. There's a lot of cash to be had in grants and student loans from the government, and there is just as much from the gullible in the schools themselves. The Liberals like the down trodden and degenerate restoration projects. And I've skimmed a great many of them. For which I thank them. Which answers your question of how I managed to look haggard and grubby in good clothes that couple of times I was too tired to remember my role with you.

Of course, I hope you don't remember or have made a note in your visit summary. But then, that's what an education will do for you. You accepted my explanations for where I got the clothes. I didn't tell you I had studied rhetoric and debate. I am quite good, actually, in those areas.

As I said, though, I have been thinking about the business at the job. Money comes from some place, and it goes some where without stopping for taxes and un-employment deductions. I know where in one case.

But I want to know both, and I will, because I want part of that action. But I don't want the owner to know, either that I know about the money, or that I'm getting part of it. It would be foolish to take a risk as part of the organization hierarchy when there's a way for the little guy to feed from the bottom, especially when there are University's to draw more from scattered all across this great land of ours.

* a non-attributable source

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, January 13, 2012

2012-01-13T14:16:00.001-05:00

WICHITA, Kansas -- Wichita now has what Dallas and Kansas City have been testing for three years. The next generation QuikTrip store. It opened Thursday at Hillside and Kellogg.

"We call it a Generation III store," says Steve Wilson with QuikTrip of Wichita. "We are very, very excited about this concept. We've listened to consumers and this is what they want."

So what is Generation III? For one, it has drink servers making lattes for the customers.

"Pretty exciting isn't it?" asked Wilson. "If you want a specialty coffee we make it for you. We can even serve you ice cream from the soft serv machine."

In addition to the latte bar, the company is getting more into the fresh food business with fruits and vegetables.

http://www.ksn.com/mostpopular/story/QuikTrip-opens-Generation-III-store-in-Wichita/6L8bbsqNm0y8uWpdSGextQ.cspx

It was the “Pretty exciting isn’t it?” that attracted my attention – Well, not totally. The Generation III got me interested.

I’ve been stricken by the enthusiasm of people before . Mostly by their outward enthusiasm over something that would leave me cold. Having dwelt upon the concept, I judge that it is necessary. Further, I envy that person in some respects. They’ve made what they do the very center of their projections.

On the other hand, and never having asked that type person, I’ve questioned what that person really thinks about the job when away from the job or the product they are selling, or are they selling themselves and the product is only the vehicle.

You know, like the Progressive Insurance lady or the fellow that OD’d selling I’ve forgotten what he was selling but remember him.

As you can tell, it is a winter day, however mild, and I haven’t a great deal to do. Since settling in for the winter I’ve read twenty-six books, have thirteen more on the list an expect to complete those in the next two months or less.

I’m tired of reading. A situation I’d not expected in the forefront of my brain. Still I’ll plug along because I set that program up for myself. Why? Well, because I’d been ignoring the list for some time and chose this time to complete – one of those self imposed “Honey-Dew” things.

No book reports will be forth coming. Truth to tell the books, with few exceptions, blur one into the other. It’s the exceptions I’ll go through next fall in between closing down for next winter.

It’s odd watching the winding down of a life or lives. A couple living down the road a way were pristine and prim. Now, years down the time stream, the gates hang open; trucks park out side the sheds; branches dot the lawn; the places aspects are weary, and the rows of the garden are crooked.

I stopped and observed today, playing the mind borne MP3 of friendship and don’t really know how I feel.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, January 12, 2012

2012-01-12T13:21:00.001-05:00

gerrymandering present participle of ger·ry·man·der (Verb)

Verb:

Manipulate the boundaries of (an electoral constituency) so as to favor one party or class.

Its been on my mind for a tiny while. Now the School Boards are trying to re-draw the district lines.

I’ve often wondered how much/many politics we could take out of politics by taking the method out of, well, politics. One person, one vote seems as impossible in a large community as socialism.

Housekeepers concern for the weather and mine, after consulting various charts and maps, were dealt some freezing rain and light snows. The weatherman said winds to 40 –45 mph. According to the icon in the corner of the screen, twenty-three degrees is a good number at noon today.

Cool.

I appreciate the moisture more if it goes into the ground rather than evaporating into the atmosphere and being moved over a State or so.

The dog went very funny when I removed his collar for the first time in over a year. I wanted to groom the area beneath the normal wear pattern. He recognized the collar as part of himself, I suppose, and it freaked him out.

Of course, after the grooming I had a devils own time getting it back on him. I’ve often wondered how I could get the household animal to respond like a military dog does to the various collar changes.

I finally Duh’d my thought process to a rightful conclusion of you can’t unless one takes all collars off while the animal is in the house and a collar on for outdoor wear. Yep. Duh.

It startles me that the press is already conceding Carolina to Romney and already working on Florida. I’m ready to concede politics and the press, even the pundit's on the net are in the business of shaping opinions.

Which shouldn’t surprise anyone. I mean, if your paid job goes South one still has an interest in ones former life. Right? Right.

I notice that the Retired Military folks had thirteen paychecks this past year. Which means that they each will be bumped up two tax levels, possibly three, when they file taxes this year. I wonder how many will have saved the extra money it will take to bail the tax shortfalls.

Interesting.

On top of that, for sure, is the Cola raise. It’ll put them in a higher tax bracket next year also, especially the ones that fail to realize retired pay services has lowered the automatic with holding. When they do that it usually means a trip to finance to change ones with holding classification.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

2012-01-11T13:06:00.001-05:00

“Your dogs mother is staying at my house now.”

“Can’t be. You keep fat dogs, not ugly dogs.”

“She’s sleeping in my bed now. She sleeps with all four paws on me, like pushing me across the bed, like this:” placing her hands against my back and pressing. “I get up and go around the bed to the other side and the dog rolls over in the center of the bed and puts all four paws on me again.”

“Uhm, Housekeeper, if you’ll just move your hands a little left and up . . . Yeah, there.”

She realized then what she was doing and smacked me with the dust cloth she was holding.

Hateful woman.

“I’d fold your check and put it in your shirt pocket, but you’d probably think I was getting too familiar.” as I handed her check over, waiting while she set down the items she was holding to accept.

She said nothing, and didn’t slow her moves taking and making the check disappear. But, I did catch a sly, crooked, upward twist to the corner of her lips.

Then she left.

But while she was here she asked me if I’d heard about the high speed car chase down her way.

I hadn’t.

She told me she had a scanner, but her and hubby were down at Danny’s place (a repair garage), him being the Fire Chief for the whole of the county down there, and he has an official radio and all.

“Mm. Understand.” I say.

Well, it seems she gave me a blow by blow of the chase over gravel roads of a Deputy chasing a young fellow from Housekeepers home town over the back roads for twenty-three miles to a town now developing the reputation my little village use to revel in – The Meth Capital.

Anyhow, Housekeeper says, it was fun to listen to. Seems at one point the chasing Deputy, coordinating with another for assistance, used an F-Bomb about the spike strips getting in place and another when the assisting Deputy asked his location and his reply was he had no idea, the street signs had gone by too fast to read.

I had to wonder when she told me she laughed when the Deputy reported, with wonder in his voice, the quarry car had made it around a road grader at over a hundred miles per hour on those gravel roads.

I asked her if they’d finally gotten the car, and she said they had. The spike strips had taken out all four tires and the car was now in the impound lot.

Well. What’d started the chase?

The Deputy, said Housekeeper was going home (our enforcement people take their vehicles home) after a shift and had see a car with no tags, so he’d lit him up. The car ran. And the chase was on.

When it was over the car was un-licensed, non-insured and didn’t have a valid registration for the driver. The driver didn’t have a license; his being revoked for trafficking.

The country is a pretty good place to live. Seldom many new things and the seasons have a sameness to them.

Wish it’d snow. Maybe even rain.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

2012-01-10T11:36:00.001-05:00

A third of the month – gone. I wonder if Alaska will have enough snow to host the Anchorage to Nome race this year. (Giggle)

Governor Expected To Announce Bombardier Incentive Package

Comments are posted from viewers like you and do not always reflect the views of this station. by interested on Jan 9, 2012 at 09:57 PM And this is what America has come to, buying, I mean bribery.

http://www.kake.com/news/headlines/Governor_Expected_To_Announce_Bombardier_Incentive_Package_136973748.html?storySection=comments

An area of interest throughout the Governors political career. The problem with the Bribery charge is the exodus of aircraft plants, a long time mainstay of the Wichita economy, is losing those jobs the plants represent. Besides, government has long offered “bribes” to business to settle in their areas of responsibility.

As a matter of interest, my village acquired a small gage railway lands and used tax payer monies to erect HUD housing which they intended to rent to the profit of the village. That project slowed rather dramatically when it took two years to rent one side of a duplex and four to fill the place. In that case Peter didn’t necessarily pay Paul. They’re not in a hurry to build another and still have all that land people are beginning to squat on.

They’d probably be further along to cede the land to the adjacent land owners and then tax them.

Congress lifts ban on horse slaughter, to outrage of many

Updated: January 09, 2012 - 8:08 pm

A while back I wrote a sentence or so about the various folks in this are storing horses. I paid more attention to the money paid per head to the local ranchers than to the effects.

The horses are free range along the Rockies and gathered by the government. Once taken from the free range, where they are considered pests and destroyers of the environment, what can the government do with them. The capture is conducted rather than the shooting of them.

So the excess horses are stored by the government and maintenance paid.

The idea here is for the PETA folks to take their choice. The poor horses are subjected to natures culling or human culling. Horses are destructive critters in confined areas and they hatefully have a will to survive and procreate.

For some of the bird lovers that wish to feed in the winter and find the costs a bit much in this day and age, buying those packaged bird foods, try a Co-Op in your area.

My Co-Op will sell me a fifty pound bag of Corn, either whole or cracked, for seven dollars (a bushel of corn is about fifty-six pounds); and/or a fifty pound sack of Milo for around seven dollars; and/or a fifty pound sack of another grain for seven dollars -

and/or a single fifty pound bag of commercial bird seed for twenty – one dollars.

Some how that all makes sense. What I do is buy the single grains, bring them home and dump them into garbage cans. I sue the smaller cans that hold about a bushel. They have fairly good lids and a small weight place on top is fine if outdoors. A scoop (a small bread pan) of this and this and that and the birds have their mixed feeds.

My first squirrel stew this year needed a Bay Leaf. I forgot to add one.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, January 09, 2012

2012-01-09T11:03:00.001-05:00

Good Day.

A weekend full of football, hamburgers, chopped onions, tomato, indigestion and little sleep –on the floor without padding (I forgot to take my pad. I guess that’s what you get when you only visit once a three year).

Denver was cold. I’m not use to altitude, being a flat-lander; and I appreciate a hot shower (and clean clothes).

My keeper, other than my self, keeps cats. I’m not use to cats, though I get along with such. More they than my personality, I think.

I’m tired. Driving like that isn’t something I do anymore. I’m hungry. The floor was hospitality enough, but I do miss mashed potato and veggies other than onion and tomato.

I had an enjoyable time. Mine host insured that. Poor sod. I did thank them. I do thank them. Like pregnancy, I suppose, the pain will fade over time. However, I think it will take more than three years until the next time – it’s simply that some things evidently exceed youthful Alzheimer's.

Tebow may have done it again, but I’m more inclined to believe he is just a symbol to the Broncos Team mind set. That guy running those over center plays and running scared after the catch is more indicative of the will than the public image of Tebow’s bowed head and taking of a knee.

There is something there, in that team, that requires respect. Lots of it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, January 06, 2011

2012-01-06T08:51:00.001-05:00

Wichita mail thefts may be more widespread; police make arrest

KWCH - ‎13 hours ago‎

By Brian Heap KWCH 12 Eyewitness News A Wichita teenager is arrested on suspicion of stealing mail. Police say a 17 year-old was seen peeking into mailboxes near Harry and Woodlawn Thursday morning.

Which has also happened here in the rural area. Incidents of wiring theft and so forth are increasing also. The largest theft lately was the disappearance of a motorcycle, an ATV and a Kawasaki Mule – all from the same farm all at the same time.

Observation: The Christmas decorations put up by the village remain installed. Green plastic across the intersection, sprinkled across the strands. The village has two hired maintenance personal.

Changed out two hydraulic lines on the tractor. Those factory installed lines are plastic and have a poor shelf life when allowed prolonged exposure to sunlight. I have a choice of putting the tractor in the machine lean-to or the equipment. I’ve opted for the equipment – helps keep the smaller pieces out of public view, which allows me to sleep more easily.

Still dry. Really need some moisture. The house water pressure has dropped, which generally means there is a break in the main somewhere. Usually that means a break along the intersections where the weight and vibration of the moving traffic does it thing. Hate that.

I forgot to mention that Housekeeper got rid of her fifth stray dog – the one she called a mastodon. One of the farm wives wanted it. Housekeeper said the dog was a good dog, but she couldn’t afford to feed the thing. It went through sixty pounds of dog food a month.

I glad she got rid of it. Her rates are high enough the way it is. Chuckle.

I wonder if Ms Anthony realizes how much like her mother she looks in that video she released? As much hate and vile that the young mother spewed on her mother during that trial certainly shows now on her. Laughter.

So you see, there’s humor in the world after all. I only say that after watching the politics going on. Deity knows we need a laugh or two watching those folks.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, January 05, 2011

2012-01-05T15:40:00.001-05:00

After a couple of feel good posts about jobs for SE Kansas I wake to the march of history.

I knew, have known, that Boeing would probably leave Wichita for any number of years – after all, Cessna saw it coming and Lear Jet left, Beechcraft went Corporate rather than family owned and the aircraft specialists went elsewhere (or home with rocking chair money).

So finally, the bad stuff hits the papers.

Boeing Betrays Wichita After City Helped Win Tanker, Mayor Says

San Francisco Chronicle - ‎4 hours ago‎

Jan. 5 (Bloomberg) -- Boeing Co.'s decision to shut down its Wichita, Kansas, plant after more than 80 years betrayed public officials who helped the planemaker win a US Air Force contract for midair refueling tankers, the city's mayor said.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2012/01/05/bloomberg_articlesLXAZQI0UQVI9.DTL

That’s over two thousand jobs. Still, with the current emphasis on smaller military the signs have been coming for a long time. The movement away from the union in this area was obvious when the East Coast offices opened and worse when the recently completed plant was completed.

And, NO, the company told the truth when they said the Seattle plant would not lose jobs. It was just this small place in Kansas, you see.

I couldn’t figure out what the Lady three doors up was doing driving around a six year old Chevy. She’s a Ford driver.

I caught her down the Post Office today. Seems, she said, she has a friend that sells used cars and he gave her this truck to drive and sell, if she could.

I’ve heard of that type action before. Met a fellow on the street one day. Nice sort of fellow. I was looking for a washer/dryer and he said he could find me one. Any place on the street would be happy to do that for him, he said. He knew the owners.

I asked the Lady how much the truck was going for and she told. Quick as a striking snake, however, she allowed the fellow would give a substantial discount to that price.

I had to admit that I had a pre-government government motors truck that was right nice and I was satisfied.

She tilted one shoulder and went on in to check her mail.

It’s a sunny day and warm.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, January 04, 2012

2012-01-04T15:40:00.001-05:00

An establishment Republican endorsed Romney today. McCain gave a little speech and one part of it contained a smidgen of introspection.

He said that Congresses approval rating was nine percent. McCain explained that an approval rating that low was indicative of: “paid staffers and blood relatives.”

Mr. McCain, Sir. What does a nine percent approval rating have to do with paid staffers? Or I suppose, blood relatives?

Seldom seen. True happiness. Saw a gainfully employed Lady interacting with her husband yesterday. Don’t get to see that in public with that couple often. Wonderful to see. Truly wonderful.

I need to practice pumping gas. Well, not pumping gas so much. Need to practice reading the ruddy instruction on the gas pumps. That dark gray font on that gray screen is difficult to read in the sunlight.

This Windows Live Writer font is 9.6 as I’m writing on white board. The font is about the same size as the gas pump font.

I bring that up by way of explanation for having pissed off the Co-Op manager yesterday. He wanted to know why, when I was paying my account, the amount was so little.

I told him I no longer purchased fuel from the Co-Op as I couldn’t see the instructions and had no way of monitoring the expenses other than my account totals he kept at the home site.

I was treated to fifteen minutes of hardware and software the Co-Op used; and the fact that he’d had several conversations with the dispensing units owners and software developers.

Which means, of course, I’m not the only one having problems with the units if such conversations have taken place. It’s just that a fellow would like to have some running idea of his expenditures each month, prior to the statement arriving.

Played some PLO8 last night after the ball game. No fun. It isn’t I lost anything (which is difficult to do with play money), but it is that the game wasn’t any fun nor even interesting.

One time I told a fellow that the flight instruction business I was doing had three months without turning a prop before the doors had to close. I added that thirty days was about the limit however. Flight, being an unnatural act, needed a habitual program for most people to continue.

Which meant that after thirty days you would probably lose students if they hadn’t flown.

Poker is about the same way. The Feds doing dirt to the on-line game sites have pretty well forced most students over the thirty day choke point and it’ll take an effort for the various states to gen up the on-line games – should they get themselves sorted out and start to offer it along side of their Lottery games. If.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, January 03, 2011

2012-01-03T12:58:00.001-05:00

From all the weather reports Iowa should have a pretty good turn out for the voting today. FOX Channel’s tame governor predicted Ron Paul would win if the weather was bad, so then, what now.

Santorum is surging. I’m not sure if that means he is a cork to float once on top or simply an up swelling of water over a submerged obstacle. Whichever, I hope the turn out is large (even with the Democrats ability to vote in a Republican primary).

I had a number of items written down to discuss today but the dog eat the home work – no joke. I dropped the list and it’s pieces. Not the first time, and given me, probably won’t be the last. Just wish Bachmann would hid her face. Enough is enough.

Football. Unique observation (tongue in cheek): If it weren’t for the fourth quarter the outcome’s of many game would be different.

Thought I’d mention that. But the games (I only got to see bits and pieces of three) were excellent games. It’s just that fourth quarter, where conditioning, heart and a teensy bit of luck separate those scores. Makes for a fun time though.

I’ve taken to spreading all the bird seeds on the ground. This morning I had Dove (regular, not ring neck. I don’t know where those have gone but the disappeared last fall and haven’t returned), Cardinals (both sex), Tits, Pileated Wood Peckers, and two or three other types I haven’t identified because they spook more easily than I open the door.

I need to move that feeding area.

Then there’s the tree rats. Damn things would rather the sunflower seeds than the corn. I had hoped, that this year at least, to feed them the cheap corn. But no, has to be the sunflowers.

The group of squirrels feeding come from the tree line North. Three hundred feet the things travel to get those seeds. I dug up the air gun and will get it cleaned up this afternoon sometime.

I’d thought I’d gotten rid of the North group last winter from observing the feeding patterns this summer. Evidently I was incorrect. Still, I do have the crock-pot, and squirrel stew is tasty.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, January 02, 2011

2012-01-02T09:09:00.001-05:00

Kansas town will hold state's first election that requires IDs at polls

Springfield News-Leader - ‎4 hours ago‎

AP The law that took effect Sunday lists eight forms of photo ID that will be valid at the polls, including a driver's license, a state identification card, a military ID or a state permit to carry a concealed handgun.

Embolden mine. I think that’s pretty neat, even if I’d never considered a concealed carry handgun permit as a State ID card. ‘Tis, however, isn’t it.

And just to prove to myself the government is both persistent and whatever else one can call it, the idea of Green is almost as silly (except for the idea it curtails the frivolous spending by individuals) climate warming and carbon debt, there is this:

Transportation officials explore possible passenger rail expansion in Kan ...

Washington Post - ‎15 hours ago‎

KANSAS CITY, Mo. - Expanding passenger rail service through Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas would cost the federal and state governments hundreds of millions of dollars, according to a recently released study that looked at several proposals for ...

which is probably an extension of the high speed rail concept the current White House holder is spouting.

Rails lose – as long as the government spends money on roads trucks will be used over rail, except for gross point to gross point.

Interstate trucking will cease when milk trains come back, which will be when the economy shrinks to rural environments again and the super highways shrink to two lanes. That is one of the reasons the super ways evolved, besides the military needs.

We don’t have the manufacturing base once required to justify all the rails, although the PAX hauling the airlines now do might justify the creation of high speed rail if the population continues to centralize.

Bah. Beyond this feeble mind. Just feel, somehow, high speed rail is as good an idea as subways in a high threat earthquake area.

And today I get to watch Bowl games – having watched the Pros yesterday. This past season has been a strange one as far as lop-sided scoring goes. It seems all the games on my TV have been seventy to zero (in a manner of speaking). Few close games.

It’s often bothered me, mildly to be sure, watching all the college games to consider the numbers of players fielded and the numbers of players that will actually make the Pro circuits.

The thought of all those college players (who may or may not be) on scholarships not necessarily getting an education and the money the schools are receiving. What bothers me there is the calls I hear for paying the college players, and thinking that if one gives the players money, then they should be able to pay for their schooling – i.e. no scholarships.

Just a thought. Because it seems to me their scholarships IS a payment – in the larger scheme of things other students do pay (Well, if they repay the government subsidy).

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, January 01, 2012

2012-01-01T10:36:00.001-05:00

Good Morning.

How’s your head? And why, if I may ask, does alcohol have anything to do with a good beginning of a New Year? Blurry eyed? Poor you.

By the way, don’t make loud noises and leave the curtains alone. I’m fine.

http://www.kansascity.com/2011/12/31/3346826/kansas-sheriff-arrested-accused.html

Selling meth is better than civil service pay. Gotta be.

Remarkably few gun shots last night. Fewer fireworks. Both a relief and a bother. A relief because that means the local kids didn’t have the wherewithal and the local kid that runs the business of fireworks is getting older and more sensible.

Yes, he is a kid. Sixteen and, yes, he does, run the business. Because of the laws he works through his father, but the kid makes all the decisions of pricing, locations, buying, etc.. Not only that he’s been doing it since he was nine years old.

Wanta guess who buys his school clothes and, now that he’s of driving age, who bought the truck, pays the insurance and gas?

Somewhere in the blog, if you have the interest, use the left sidebar search for Greasy Owner and you’ll find mention of the kid.

Watched College Football until it came out my ears yesterday. Today is some kind of Bowl Day also. Not sure if I’ll watch all of the offerings (the parade get in the way most of the time, and wears one out).

Bonus time. One of the younger dopers, 14 years old, walked into the way of a moving vehicle. He’ll live. But it was kind of funny the effort the kid made when a medic took his knit cap off his head examine a laceration on the side of his head.

Outside of mild abrasions and contusions the kid was basically sound. Well, physically.

I hold empathy for him and his watch cap however. It’s a real pain to roll them correctly and have them stay that way. It requires real skill. And wearing them? Forget it. The trick is get the roll wide enough and at least three layers thick, then they’ll wear skull cap tight through most any thing.

The kid should really wash the cap before wearing it again, however. Blood stinks.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, December 31, 2011

2011-12-31T09:06:00.001-05:00

Way back when, like the first years of Ten Mile, I would have to spend Sundays apologizing for the errors involved in the blog during the previous week. That was courtesy of a reader that really read the blog and knew or questioned the stories I published.

Of course, I got tired of it. Silly you. However, it was good practice. Things have gone fairly well since the reader has moved along – although his absence has deprived me of a friend. Well, that’s a questionable statement as events unfolded.

Saturdays were the day I’d receive the email detailing the errors of my ways and I’d dread the appearance of the same; re-hashing the events scribed on Sunday and then creating the Sunday corrections post.

This Saturday I woke, when opening the past file folder, to the fact I’ve lost track of the previously published story series. Having started without a system, just posting without rhyme (the reason is obvious, I needed a day away from home and a post), I would grab a story, stick it in the white board and key the post and carry-on my life.

It is Saturday. I haven’t a clue as to which stories I’ve published here and I haven’t bothered to write a new one especially for the Saturday offering. Therefore, I find myself offering a Saturday Apology.

Not to be gain said, I will, rather than write a story, begin the New Year – next week – with a Saturday offering. No more previously published stories.

Having said that, I’m now contemplating a very bad year. You realize do you not, that forces me into a commitment for fifty stories next year. Even Mark Twain didn’t do that. Even most writers won’t do that.

In case your wondering since when has the year devolved to fifty weeks from fifty two. Well, simple. The promise of Saturday stories constitutes a New Years resolution.

And those, for sure, are made to be broken.

See you all next year. Have a good transition.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, December 30, 2011

2011-12-30T16:31:00.001-05:00

I’ve been contemplating the deer meat Housekeeper graced me with. I’ve thought this meal and that meal, and a couple of days ago started dreaming of Moose Burger.

Once thought it became all consuming and nothing would do but to have a ? Not a Moose Burger for certain, but still, a burger with game. More thinking; a small trip to the ALCO Store and I had a meat grinder.

A day to thaw the deer, and the hamburger, and a little creative spices; mushrooms (not those, my kind), and I had my burger.

It wasn’t a Moose Burger, no. But it was a nice finish to the effort. I actually had enough for three. Winter stretches. I can wait.

More Holiday troubles for the country side. It’s been some what dry, grass fires are still a problem. Fortunately, given the year, most of the live stock is off the grasses (except those that sold early last year and have the money to buy cheap because of the hay situation on the saturated beef market). They only lost one head. Fool thing did what cattle don’t do often in the face of fire – it ran and hung up in the fencing.

I’ve seen the darn things feeding within twenty feet of range fires. Doesn’t seem to overly spook them.

Anyhow the complaining fat clerk at the grocer’s appeared set to unload on me today, but I’d seen the Lane Closed sign. Dude is enough of a pain (twice now) I’ll probably take action if he runs his face. Won’t take much.

Couple of days ago the blogs seemed full of jokes. One of them I couldn’t get out of my head, so I told it down the Co-Op. The Secretaries were listening and when they heard the punch line they ran me out.

I mean, how’d I know it was demeaning to married women? I mean, really.

Laughing.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, December 29, 2011

2011-12-29T07:45:00.001-05:00

Two more days until – well, until the calendar switches year dates. Which reminds me, I have to go to the Insurance Office and pick up a couple of calendars. The one in the kitchen from this year is still showing March.

I haven’t had cause to change the month yet. It wouldn’t really be March if it hadn’t been Housekeeper and I were having a discussion about something. Can’t really remember about what, my being screwed up about Easter or somewhat. I believe I won the discussion however.

Thank God for the internet and all that electronic stuff. Housekeeper bought a new cell phone soon after (which she has since replaced. She had to, she dropped it in the lake fishing. Said the phone worked, but the picture screen didn’t. Don’t ask, I didn’t, and I still don’t know how she fished the phone out of the water. She said she’d been in the canoe. So I assumed deep water.)

Anyhow, the Insurance Company calendar and then I’ll hang it over the one currently showing March. I have a whole stack of old calendars I’ll file away one of these days for someone to ooh and ahh over in years to come.

Why, I have calendars from ten, fifteen years ago from business that have burnt down. They’re the good one’s by the way. They have cowboy jokes on them, not like some of the Insurance one’s with the cutise barns and cottages – although I will admit the two calendars I have where the Insurance Lady surfed the web and had the calendars made are pretty nice and tasteful. Just I didn’t use those much either. Probably one of those ‘nothing’ happened years, those years.

Speaking of burning; the siren the other night, the day before Christmas? Yeah. It was a fire. The guys showed up and put it out – well, they thought they had. After they’d left the fire started up again and finished the private dwelling off.

The owners said they’d been in the house, sleeping, when the fire occurred. Most of the Christmas presents were in the car at the time, or at other places hiding them from the getters before Christmas.

Asking them if there was anything they needed yielded the negative answer. It seems they had another house in another village. They’d just been sleeping at the burned out one because they were doing some maintenance work and decided to stay to finish the work next day.

FOX News is busy spreading the breast feeding tweet of Kasey Kahne. Poor sod. Even tweets aren’t private anymore – if ever.

Personally speaking, breast feeding isn’t all that bothersome. Actually, I’m retarded, I suppose. It’s kind of enjoyable, umm, at first. But I do admit that burping stuff is smelly work and un-pleasant watching the goo slide down the back of someone’s shoulder, or splat on the floor if the kid is laid across the knees.

Especially when I’m eating in Sub Way at Wally world or something.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

2011-12-28T16:11:00.001-05:00

“Get down, dog. Stop that!” exclaimed Housekeeper as she tried to divest herself from the dogs attention.

“Gee, Housekeeper, if I jump all over you, will I get my ears scratched?” I asked.

“I’ll kick your ass.” she said.

Well, what can I say. She’d just arrived and at seven thirty in the AM I suppose an over joyful dog that slobbers isn’t the best thing to greet one.

We did discuss this, that and the other thing over the course of her work however. I brought up Christmas and asked how hers was and she admitted she’d had a lousy one.

So why lousy? and how lousy.

It appeared in one direct complaint – that being she’d not gotten her ‘Green’ frying pan. That, not having heard of it tickled my fancy.

It seems there’s a line of cookware with green ceramic as liners. She’d ordered three pans, two with the TV advertisement pricing and one she’d purchased apart from the special. She said she wanted to go “Green.”

After looking up the basic description of Teflon and Ceramic, I started ribbing her about being foolish “Green” and she got all defensive, claiming she’d simply wanted the pans for the coating.

Well. Okay.

The talk drifted to the neighbors down her way – they’re the one’s with the mistreated goat. She indicated the three girls were all over during the weekend and would probably would spend some time with her this week as the kids were out of school the entire week.

Now, in case you don’t remember, the girls are part of a family living directly behind Housekeeper and her husband. Housekeeper's husband built a bridge across a gully so the three girls could come and visit as they would. The family’s visit and are close – except over the past year.

The wife across the gully started forming a relationship with one of the Wind Farmer employees and moved in with the guy.

The kids knew about the affair before the husband, because the wife invited the paramour over during the day while hubby was at work ninety miles away. The kids weren’t too happy with the going-ons but didn’t tell their father.

The local bartender told the father, suggesting to him he might look around because his wife was rubbing upon that dude in public in the bar.

Well, sir. Sure enough, the wife moved out and in with the employee and the husband has the kids and no wife, just that goat.

So being still married and the youngest of the three girls is a product of the husband and the wife, there just had to be a “Family” dinner for Christmas. The wife brought the paramour, of course.

The husband went over to Housekeepers place and got to drinking with Housekeepers husband. The guy said he’d had to get away from the Wind Farm guy before he killed him.

Housekeeper grinned at me just a little, and said the girls, one at a time, had made an excuse to leave the mother wife and had come over to Housekeepers home. Housekeeper isn’t a forgiving type person in these kinds of events Malicious even.

She did mention, also, that there is at least two preggers girls from the Wind Farm bunch. One around seventeen and one in her early twenties. Housekeeper says they’ll not leave the area with the fathers, and the fathers will not be staying. Pisses her off, she says, those girls will probably be having those babies and us (the tax payers) paying for the raising of them.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

2011-12-27T15:34:00.001-05:00

“Get down! Get off me, damnit dog.”

So he does. Then he goes into the living room and chases his tail for five minutes. I haven’t a clue. Except, perhaps, I’d just finished a hamburger and a candy bar in front of him.

Just watched Megan Kelly’s segment as the Judge. It has struck me before, as it did this time, that lawyers are always more concerned with which lawyer (defense, offense) scored the most points than they are with the crime or the victims – that is when they are talking about a case with nothing involved but chatter.

Having grumped and grumbled about plants I’d had for twelve or more years dying, I stopped today at the placed called Joanna’s Designs.

The place has been there for years and years (about twenty miles South of me) and has owners going through like misery. Two old maids left for retirement; a new owner got married (6 months owner); another owner moved out State. The present lady is a Farm Wife and has owned it for about a year.

The place sells things to the funeral home users.

This present owner is trying to change the program bit by bit, still holding on to her funeral cut flower business (although most of the folks around her prefer growing flowers for services now, and take them home, after.).

She’s putting in more effort into the nursery side of it.

However, I showed interest in a plant and the lady indicated it was a Crown of Thorns, showing me the thorns I’d not seen in the dim light. She said she didn’t know the Latin Name of the plant.

I needed some new plants, the survivors of whatever killed my others are looking skimpy. So I bought the Crown of Thorns, among others and several new glazed pots of bright colors other than Terra Cotta Red.

Getting the things home I decided to look up the Latin Name of the Crown of Thorns and information on the care of it.

I did. Then started laughing. I called Joanna and had her write down the Latin name. Then I asked if she knew that the plant grew to six feet.

She expressed surprise, saying she thought . . . and petered out. Small and bushy? Yes, she said.

Anyhow. It ain’t small and bushy: and for further information I read a couple of sites. One lady wrote in her plant is thirty years old; and another twenty-seven.

All of which means I can shut up about my sorrow of my twelve year dying and the thinking my fourteen year old plants are worth the brag.

Life’s hard.

I have first dirt planted a cutting from one of the old plants. It’s been in a glass of water for a while. And another, the hanging plant, is being re-potted. It’s a cutting also from a deader.

While I’m on the plants kick. The Christmas cactus bloomed very well this year, holding blooms even yet today from a standing start around Thanks giving. It gave a few, took a day or so off, gave a few, and then went positively crazy the day before Christmas.

I’d put a letter of appreciation in its personnel file but I don’t know where they’re kept.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, December 26, 2011

2011-12-26T15:43:00.001-05:00

Hateful of me, I know, but unexplained visitors during a football game are unwelcome – especially with the game starting so late. Besides, at that time of night I’m in my sweats and without patience.

Humph.

Kansas had a nice trip to HI. Wonder who paid for that. (We won, in case you don’t follow the game.).

College goer? Looking to lose 68 pounds?

1254-mile Appalachian Trail hike taught Wichita college student a lot

Kansas.com - ‎6 hours ago‎

By MATT RIEDL Last summer, Wichita native David Severson's bed was the cool ground of the Appalachian Trail, down among the bugs and mice.

Police: Wichita man fatally shoots himself at range

Kansas.com - ‎11 minutes ago‎

By Tim Potter WICHITA - A 51-year-old Wichita man apparently committed suicide by shooting himself in the head today at an indoor shooting range near 13th and Oliver, police said.

And like the Pipit, I had a bland Christmas. Well, unless one considers the fact I didn’t get one of THOSE sweaters.

Although I suppose having received a gift certificate for a defunct book store counts for something along those lines.

I told the giver, when I observed the stores name that there slip was noted. They disclaimed, with all due humility, that they hadn’t made a mistake – and then realized what they’d said and under what conditions.

That was fun.

The whole idea of re-gifting is dangerous territory.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, December 25, 2011

2011-12-25T04:42:00.001-05:00

I’m never certain, when motivated to search, where I’m going. I do know that many times I shake my head and find other things to occupy my time.

I’m reading along in this book, you see, and turn the page – click the tiny wheel in the mouse, more like – and a new chapter starts. Each Chapter is headed by a quote of some sort the author feels pertinent to the following words he writes (In this book he sometimes misses the mark or I miss the point).

However, like I say, I’m happily turning the wheel when the new Chapter appears and the heading has the reference to the Book of Luke. I’m not much into religion, not having been raised in religion, you see, but I have read much of this and that, so such a reference isn’t a scary thing.

The reference was to Luke 11. The Chapter the author was writing would, I found after re-reading Luke, be concerning the parable of Martha (which has confused me from the first day I read it to this day). My mind being a convoluted thing, I read the whole of Luke 11 and ran into some troublesome things. I did.

I had forgotten, if I ever did know, that the manner of praying is contained in there:

One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.”

² He said to them, “When you pray, say:

“‘Father,^[a]
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come.^[b]
³ Give us each day our daily bread.
⁴ Forgive us our sins,
for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.^[c]
And lead us not into temptation.^[d]

In among the mentally fussing with Mary and Martha, trying to remember the specific meaning of the words in the book I was reading, coming across a thing I’ve prattled hundreds of times in the times I’ve attended church with friends and families, in all kinds of Christian Churches, I was a bit blind sided.

Other than the fact the above quote is from a totally unfamiliar version of the Bible, I was casually scanning, remember, simply for the information to support and enhance my enjoyment of the book I was reading (fiction); when I paused and re-read:

“Lord, teach us to pray, [. . .]

Then the next words to jump out at me: “When you pray, say: [ . . .]

Then I read the Lords Prayer. And had a strange and exciting thought – new to me, having not, as I remember, really been exposed to the preamble of the prayer before. I’d repeated the words how so many times in the context of prayer as a prayer, but that is not the intent, is it?

It is instruction, pure and simple. It is NOT a prayer. The instruction tells one to:

Address the message to the Lord (in his name, in your words)

Bless his house (as you envision it, whether you want it on earth or not is immaterial)

Acknowledge a return to earth (Hey. You’ve surely heard of that)

Make a request (that is a desired thing. After all, the whole point of the book is to acknowledge the power of requesting something. Ask for what you want. It says little of what you need, though most people ask for needs, not desires and so are trained in a life time to ask for intangibles. Experience tells differently. Many ask for and receive earthly things. Look at all my wives and girlfriends, you just thought it was money and good looks.) Be specific in what you ask for.

And then one is encouraged to un-load all the self induced baggage one has collected. Sins. Dump them. Once sins are spoken, like any story told it sinks away from the conscience and won’t slow one down evermore.

The deadly stigmata of revenge. Let the sinner to you be, ask to forget the sucker.

That last line about Temptations isn’t a blanket type thing. One needs to say what they think is a temptation. Once that is identified and specified, one’s thinking is clear. If it is a temptation get rid of it.

Well. You can see I got in a whole lot of trouble satisfying a convoluted brain with a stray thought and a quote from a book of fiction. The real problem is the never ending (seemingly never ending) business of chasing down other stray thoughts like: Just what does the word Catholic mean? (Which I am not, by the way)

cath·o·lic/ˈkaTH(ə)lik/

Adjective:

(esp. of a person's tastes) Including a wide variety of things; all-embracing.

Noun:

A member of the Roman Catholic Church.

Synonyms:

universal – general

That led to the Apostles Creed . . . , and on and on.

Christmas to you and yours.

If you’re going to pray, use the guidelines given and ask; it is the recognized day of receiving, isn’t it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, December 24, 2011

2011-12-24T01:04:00.001-05:00

A previously published story.

It contains several elements of the truth, as in actual events, not necessarily my own. There is an added element to this story which took place a great number of years (in the focus’ life) later, and I’ve inadvertently written of those events else where in this blog.

I’m constantly awed by the way life and experience teaches lessons, gently at times and many times over a period not contemplated by the object of those lessons. More correctly, I suppose, the subject of those lessons. One day I hope to learn all that life has to teach me, but where’s the magic in finally achieving that?

Draft One

A truth that holds for all does not exist, not in the world, nor in the stars, nor on the surface of the land, nor beneath the waves of the ocean. That which is exists, but those who search for truth that applies to all seek what never was and never will be. That is because truth is an image of what is, and that image is painted in the colors of the seeker's beliefs. [ . . ]
From the Basis of Order

Begin:

It started, for me, on the Christmas Eve Night. And certainly it started before I came on duty; but it was not known to me, all of those beginnings. I became aware of this beginning "in the middle of the movie" one might say.

We worked rather odd rotations at that time and on this particular day. I was on duty from three-thirty through the mid-night hour as the cantonment area mobile patrol. As the various clubs on the military base were having Christmas Party's it was no great surprise I was very busy that evening being a designated driver. Though we didn't have that distinction in those days - and carried a number of tipsy folks, of both sexes, to billets. So, it was not an alarming experience when I received a trouble radio call to the NCO Club. Just one more turn at the game.

I had become very tired of party goers and all they stood for, and was looking forward to getting off duty. Tired also, having been held over because the on duty married personnel had been released for the remaining hours of this holiday. The singles had been promised the next holiday off duty - New Years Eve. Both schedule changes equaling short man power and extra activity for those of us on duty. Because of the unexpected release of the married I was being held an additional four hours on this duty day. Anyway, the call came and I responded.

It was sufficiently past the witching hour when I made contact with the NCO Club manager. He stated he was trying to close the club so that he and his men could go home. He appeared a bit up-tight. Then he showed me a single customer; a blonde female. For all the world prim and pristine, hands lightly locked atop her purse; which was placed crosswise her lap, and no hair out of place. Dead drunk and passed out.

The manager seemed to know her, though not her name, which he could not or would not give me, but added that no one would claim her. So, he said, all his patrons were gone and he didn't want her either. The manager refused to assist me in physically removing the woman from the club. And also refused to allow any employees to do so. I suppose I could have invoked authority, but of what use? So I loaded her into the back of the WWII Jeep, my patrol vehicle.

Drunks are a pain in the ass for the most part. But a dead drunk human is a short way to a hernia if you must carry one any distance by yourself, and the closest I could park was thirty yards or so. The task was eventually accomplished, with me dropping her once on the rough grasses. Because of the limber nature of the body I had difficulty getting her over the side of the vehicle and dumped her on her head in the rear seat area. From there it was a simple matter to grab her ankles and twist her around until her legs and feet extended over the back of the rear seat outside the tail end. That meant that her skirt was hiked above her panties, which fact I was in no mood to be concerned about. The panties were white and I was vaguely surprised she was wearing any.

I stuck her in the single holding cell at HQ and the desk told me to take off. My duty day was done.

Middle.

Because of the nature of authority and the nature of folks subject to authority, I found myself working the modified mid-night shift over the New Years holiday, previous promises not withstanding. Worse, I was coming to work early on the eve before and scheduled to work twelve hours, carrying into nine or ten o'clock the morning of New Years Day.

I was scheduled to work the installations Main Gate. The man I was to relieve was one of the men on the desk the night I brought in the drunk blonde. As the gate was not far from HQ, I walked to my duty post.

The night was clear, crispy, calm, and as most of the parties were far from the gate, quiet. So it wasn't surprising that I could hear voices from the gate. Among them a female voice. Peeking into the gate house when I arrived, I saw the blonde from the Christmas incident. It was obvious that she was not entirely sober this time either.

The blonde recognized me, called me by name and offered her hand to shake. Reflex caused me to take the handshake and her off hand wrapped itself around my wrist, her head lowered to kiss the back of my hand.

I did not know this woman. Hell, I didn't even know her name. But the feel of her warm soft lips moving on my flesh was a delightful surprise. I was slow in attempting to withdraw my hand from her grasp though and as I tried the off hand grip on my wrist tightened. The fingers of her other hand slide smoothly around palm to palm and began to withdraw, the pads of her fingers moving slowly and caressingly across my palm. Then the nails lightly, ever so lightly teasing the palm; together, then singly; her hand moved upward, finger nails, finger pads, palm; downward, palm, finger pads, finger nails...

With head still lowered over my hand she rocked her body forward a bit; lips questing, her tongue began tracing patterns on the back of my hand. Her lips teasing the flesh there and tongue gliding over the knuckles there, circling, back across, pausing occasionally while the tongue crept between my fingers following so lightly the arc of the webs. All the while the warm moisture left by the tongue cooled in the winter air, providing rich contrast to the experience.

She rolled her hand under and twisted a bit so that my hand was palm to her palm, my fingers resting on her inner wrist and her lips described a line to my finger tips - which she nibbled a bit. Then the lips and tongue moved ever so wet and softly, gently up the fore finger, the tongue tracing the large web and then down the thumb.

The lips searching, the tongue tracing, her off hand fingers grazing my inner wrist, until her lips found the tip of my thumb; and slowly ingested it. First a nibble and lip on the extreme tip. A movement, a nibble and circle of the nail by her tongue, a pressure, an inhalation, a sucking of muscle; repeated, repeated. Repeated.
And the thumb was possessed. And the nerves tightened in my belly. Lower, the tingle and burn spread; my thighs; my knees...

And the man I was to relieve of duty called her name; and again; and again reminded her that he and she had a party to go to and he was now off duty. He refused to look at us.

She sighed, released me, and they were gone.

End.

Soon after the turn of the month following I was told they had married.

Postscript:

[ . . ] Each seeks a different truth, and each claims that his is the only truth. In that the seeker is surely correct...
The Basis of Order

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, December 23, 2011

2011-12-23T10:44:00.001-05:00

Rubbermaid plans to invest $26 million in its Winfield plant in south-central Kansas, moving 200 jobs from Texas.

http://www.businessweek.com/ap/financialnews/D9RPNN9G0.htm

Pity Mr. Perry. Still, it is good news for Kansas. Less earth shattering, perhaps, is the move of an Eastern Company bringing 17 jobs to this State.

For early visitors, Kansas Star Casino looks like a winner

Kansas.com - ‎1 hour ago‎

By Annie Calovich Ron Simmons of Hutchinson, left, plays on the slot machines at the new Kansas Star Casino in Mulvane, Thursday, Dec. 22, 2011.

As a follow-up to the blurb on the blog a week or so ago. I didn’t try to make the early opening for a look around, figuring there’d be articles. There were.

TOPEKA, Kan. — A sampling of Kansas lakes and streams is suggesting that 2012 will be a good year for anglers as the size and number of fish improve.

http://www.therepublic.com/view/story/10748ac13fd74462b62b060c2e78fef5/KS--Kansas-Fish-Forecast/

Aw, yes. Ks fishing. Come one, come all. Bring money, eat great food, stay in neat places, enjoy the State.

Just stay the hell off MY lawn.

Odds and Ends:

Ambulance run at 0430 hours. Bad news for someone. Couldn’t return to justified sleep.
A farmer lost a shed. Doesn’t seem much, except he raised quail for the hunter farm. The extra money helped keep him in business, not to mention the loss of equipment required by the rules to raise the things.
Taxes paid, 100%. Almost hate to do the property taxes that way, much as I dislike them. Still they aren’t paid in advance, but in arrears so there is little need to make them wait another six months except pure spite.
Wondering if Pauly was caught up in the SF fire last night. Saw a post this morning from him. Very short indeed, but no mention of the fire so probably not.
Received a CC email this morning. Not sure it was a meaningful missive or not. Surprised the hell out of me if it was. I’ll honor it, lacking any other directions.
The snow was light. Less than half an inch. Temps remain cold (21 degrees). Dog still chooses his own time for being out. Smart dog.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, December 22, 2011

2011-12-22T12:53:00.001-05:00

It started innocently enough – falling temps, very light drizzle, the sun turning the sky gray. Then it drizzled harder, the drizzle became light rain, the temps fell lower, it sneeded (snow and sleet, whichever mixed with the other), the dog took his morning constitutional, ate, insisted he wanted out, took a look, changed his mind, came in, ate the remainder of his chow, wanted out, licked the ice and snow, sniffed the wind, demanded in and now? Sleeps, drying from the wet of the outdoor weather, in my bed, on my pillow, and refuses to move.

Damn dog.

The link is for the 19 year old girl that called her friend and then disappeared.

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/12/22/kansas-student-1-reported-missing-found-safe/

I’ve finished the book I was so enthused over; and a couple of more. The enthused over book will be saved for my shelves. I’ll need to find my copies of The Witches Of Karres and a copy of the enthused over. That way I’ll have something to re-read for light entertainment.

But the books finished are The Honor Of The Queen (a Honor Harrington SciFi series) and Harald (a SciFantasy that reads very well).

In case you”re wondering, retired means choosing how cold you butt gets in working outdoors; and I don’t really care to upset constant temperatures.

And so, Iraq slips back to the internal feudalism from which a Dictator yanked it. I’m afraid I have the same attitude toward that as I had to the intervention Clinton made in Kosovo. They’ve been doing it for hundreds of years, let ‘em do it.

Granted, it probably is not a good idea now. They’re too sophisticated and can escape the prison too easily what with aircraft and other countries offering asylum.

I wonder when the government of this country will understand the citizens having to train these imports without choice are getting very tired of the burden.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

2011-12-21T08:33:00.001-05:00

Well, I made it.

It was one of those good illnesses. Truly. Short, sharp, messy and intensely painful. Self induced by ingesting a burrito from a previously know source. Not a pleasant incident.

Why a good illness? Simple. It’s been years since I’ve been that ill, it’s good to be reminded one is not bullet proof. The hardest part was the seventy mile drive home.

While out and about yesterday I ran into the grocer for additional bread and milk, and, of course, picked up some other odds and ends I didn’t really need.

Made the “Paper or Plastic” place without undue problems. Few. Very few folks were in the store. Employees out numbered the customers. Not a good thing.

The call went out for “Joe! Check out. Joe to check out.” and Joe showed up – one of those young fellows this grocer specializes in and he was on a “every thing is going up, and costs to much, and there aren’t any customers and I suppose you’ll have to start raising your own to make it . . . .”.

The theme was picked-up by the checker, Joe the bagger becoming the bobble-head doll, after all the checker was thirty years older than Joe.

So, on the way to the truck I listened to Joe rattle on how bad the prices were and what not and asked him: “Would you vote for him again?”

His response was; “Wha?”

“Would you vote for obama again?”

“I’m not even eighteen yet!”

“Doesn’t matter. Would you vote for him again?”

“Uh. I don’t do politics. Mumble, mumble.”

And Joe hurries across the parking lot chasing basket cart. Yeah. He was looking over his shoulder at me and, securing the cart he was after, keeping me in the corner of his eye as he hurried back to the store.

I’m not sure about occupy xx, but I hope I put a thought in the young fellows head about knowledge and voicing parrots.

I caught the white house thing about social security. The white house thing told the congress to get on with it. They are talking about giving back money to the paying citizens. The money is the social security with holdings they gave “a vacation”.

I question Congress and the white house thing. I do. If social security is broke, but has enough reserve for the vacation, but the vacation means less money in the pot, while the Boomer Generation dips more and more deeply; Well, then.

I suppose if one majors in Poli Sci, then math doesn’t matter.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

2011-12-20T15:27:00.001-05:00

Ill.

Want sleep.

See you tomorrow.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, December 19, 2011

2011-12-19T11:05:00.001-05:00

I’ve been, as noted in other posts, catching up on light reading – lots and lots of reading.

Oddly, I’d reached a point of forcing myself to devour the various books. Some of those books were broccoli and some chocolate cream pie. But I carried on. I’d figured Christmas would see me through the list and available titles.

And then I struck a series of titles which tickled my taste buds and among them one got hung up between my teeth. I’ve been worrying that book for evah – or so it seems.

At first I didn’t pay much attention to the Chapters quote headings. Didn’t. That changed. For the past few chapters I’ve been paying attention and I’m having a world of fun with the book. I don’t agree with all the premise set forth by the author, though the basic “Free Man” theory is appealing.

So, I thought I’d post a few of the quotes and let them stand on their own.

Oh. And I give the book information at the end of this post.

“Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant."
—Quintus Horatius Flaccus

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."
—Anatole France

“I would like to see government reduced to no more than internal police and courts, external armed forces—with the other matters handled otherwise. I'm sick of the way the government sticks its nose into everything, now."
—Robert A. Heinlein, as quoted by J.
Neil Schulman in The Robert Heinlein
Interview and Other Heinleiniana

“Government cannot make man richer, but it can make him poorer."
—Ludwig Von Mises

“Prostitution involves sex and free enterprise. Which of these are you opposed to?"
—Joseph A. Hauptman

Those are from the first few chapters. Many of the quotes the author wrote to are much more interesting. However, I’ve lost my auto-marker holding my most recently read page and I’d rather read the book than mess with the time it is going to take getting squared away again.

The book is

Freehold
Michael Z. Williamson

A Baen Books original

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, December 18, 2011

2011-12-18T12:12:00.001-05:00

If you don’t, you should: http://www.daybydaycartoon.com/2011/12/18/#006360 and by rights, bookmark it or put it on your reader. And browse the archive. Fun, whether you’re into mixed marriage, politics or which side of the aisle you’re on.

Brownback doesn't plan to address new gambling vote in legislative session

http://www.kansas.com/2011/12/17/2144827/brownback-doesnt-plan-to-address.html

Both links go to the same story. I’m trying to train myself to acknowledge the source. The story deals with some of the politically pressing issues in my State, like abortion and re-districting.

Re-districting is a real concern in the present political climate (slight pun intended).

Oil companies leasing in Kansas for fracking exploration
Read more: http://www.kansascity.com/2011/12/17/3325064/oil-comanies-leasing-in-kansas.html#ixzz1guCXLVgz

Down about three thousand feet there is a layer of very hard continental plate. Most of the Kansas oil wells are/were in the target area. As a matter of interest, the current fuss over the Canadian Pipeline crossing over the Ogallala aquifer will, or may, raise its head again here as the aquifer supports the majority of the wheat production in the Western and South Central portion of the State.

Saturated thickness of the Ogallala Aquifer in 1997 after several decades of intensive withdrawals: The breadth and depth of the aquifer generally decrease from north to south.

Regions where the water level has declined in the period 1980-1995 are shown in yellow and red; regions where it has increased are shown in shades of blue. Data from the USGS

Maps courtesy of Ask.Com

Strange goings on last night at the near neighbors house. Early in the evening (just before dark) he came home carrying a pistol openly – which is fine, well and good. It was open carry when I saw him, he’d been carrying in his waist band and was wearing a car coat (long tailed).

Still nothing against that, plenty of folks carry concealed without license and it bother me not, just that he’s prone to killing dogs for thinking of attacking him. He has a thing about dogs.

Shot his cousins wife’s dog for following him to the oil lease, killed a couple shooting them from moving vehicles and clubbing a couple to death with golf clubs.

Anyhow, after dark a couple of farm hands (four actually) were around with flashlight and acting fools. Yes, I do believe they read this blog.

Great Ass White Dog (GAWD) is shedding his old winter undergarments, the new coat pushing the old out. He chose my yard to do some heavy duty rolling to get rid of the excess.

Too bad he can’t hold a rake, I’d give him a job.

And, yes, I know. The above white animal is not GAWD.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, December 17, 2011

2011-12-17T08:46:00.001-05:00

I know it is eight days until Christmas and Saturday. The Saturday business is my story day, previously published, in another place, and all that. Today’s story is a Christmas story and by rights should have waited until next Saturday.

But I’m gracious. I am. I’ll publish (again) a week or so before that expected day. That’ll let the reader forget this story and enjoy the spirit of the scheduled day. I wrote the story in response to a request for two stories to cover the November and December issues for the editor – I mean, who wants to work during those months.

I Remember Christmas

Ever read the arguments about how folks die at a higher rate during the last quarter of the year as compared to the rest of it?

Oh, I don't mean how they die, because as far as I know there is only one way to do it, and that's to stop living. I suppose I'm really talking about the rate at which they die. And why would I bring up people dying when I'm trying to tell a Christmas story? I think I'll say this to make you understand why I might bring up dying around Christmas time--have you ever heard "Jingle Bells," or maybe "Jingle Bell Rock," or "I Saw Mama Kissing Santa," or . . . well, you get the point.

You either die, or live it down, one of which you'll surely do. As long as you don't think about next year, then you'll surely expire. Though this new thing called "the web" has us not listening to the radio as much as in the past. Or maybe technology, what with the "subscribe now" radio channels from space and all. But it's hard to escape the mind-numbing repetition.

What brought all this on?

The season somewhat. Yep. I was sitting in the cafe the other day, listening to some of that junk cheer the piped-in radio was producing while people-watching. It occurred to me to take a good look around the place--a thing I'd never really done before. Remarkable.

I'd gotten to the point of puking about the life choices that had brought me to sitting in a place with walls sticky enough to hold a glass if you pressed one against it, paint the yellow brown of tobacco smoke and no tile on the floors. God, what would Momma say, seeing this?

Still, the coffee was fair, the price was right, and it was warm. Even so, you needed to wear your coat and hat to keep them from disappearing. Then an old boy came in. I'd seen him around, now and then, never in company, just having coffee, listening and watching the activities going on. He didn't seem to be a nut or anything, just an old man. I've often wondered about that; that being an old man thing. How'd you go about that? I mean, how'd you go about ending up in a run-down cafe and all?

I'd raised a finger the waitress's way for a refill just before the old man stumped his way in and was getting it when the old man looked my way and lifted an eyebrow. So I told the waitress to bring the old man a cup and, looking his way, waved toward an empty chair. He accepted and sat.

After a nod of greeting and some wiggling to get his coat unbuttoned and his hat pushed to the back of his head, he wrapped his hands around that handle-less cup, alternating one over the other. He had not been wearing gloves. After about the third switch of his hands and in time for a refill, we got to talking about football, the silly stuff going on at City Hall, and pot holes in the street when he asked if I'd noticed that it was a whole lot easier to hide in a city than out in a small town.

To say the conversation paused would be putting a point on it. I just looked at him staring at the salt shaker. Finally, he became aware, shook his head and said that it is very easy to exist without neighbor friends in a large town than it would be elsewhere, you know?

I nodded.

It seemed to make some sense that a man would be able to hide in plain view in a city. With my nod, he asked where I was from and other mildly personal stuff. Me? I did much the same. Bonding sort of questions, I guess you'd say; though how you stay impersonal while trading personal information is an art. I don't suppose I'll forget the old man now.

We went back and forth some, when the old man asked about my Christmases, or some of them anyway. That was pushing my boundaries, so to speak, and the old man seemed to recognize that and started to speak of his family from long ago - to me, very long ago.

"One of the first Christmases I can remember," he said, "was way back. My grand-dad was a barber. At the time it wasn't frowned on for someone to live in the same building as their work place. So, grand-dad lived along side of and behind the shop."

The old man chuckled. "It was some time later I figured out that the whole place was a house with one room enlarged and converted to the barber shop. It only made sense, really. How much space do you need for a one-man barber shop anyway?"

I nodded some to indicate I was listening, and the old man picked it up again.

"I remember," he continued, "that this was the day before Christmas, or maybe a couple of days before-- I've never been really sure, being so young like. Though I am sure that the old man was sick from something. That particular day, Mother hauled me and my brother over to his place and told us to stay outdoors.

Now, don't get the wrong idea. It was somewhere in California and it was warm, even though we wore light coats. So we stayed out. Mom had left the back door open though, so I could see inside. Could see the bedroom, leastwise, the bed where grand-dad was laying, the dining and kitchen area and off there to my right, the door to the bathroom.

Mom went in and seemed to be talking to grand-dad, then her voice went up a bit and she commenced ranting on him for making a mess of himself and his bed clothes and how much a pain he was in her life. I couldn't make out the words grand-dad answered.

I don't rightly remember the words she was using, other than they were some hurtful to me and I didn't know what she was talking about. Still, I saw her reach and jerk down grand-dads underpants, telling him how filthy he was. After a bit more jawing, she scooped him up and started carrying him toward the kitchen area, me thinking she was bringing him out, but she didn't. She turned toward the bathroom, him all scrawny and pasty white looking.

I knew looking at him with his head flopped across her shoulder (he stood over six foot four) and his dirty boxers dangling around his right ankle that he was bad sick. Well, anyway, she managed to get the bathroom door open and plopped him on the crapper. He was all limp and limber like spaghetti, drooling on a dirty T-Shirt. She told him she was leaving him there, so he'd have to make it back to bed himself. I ran away from the door as she turned out of the bathroom.

I didn't run so much as just turn my back, hiding behind a tree next to the door where I could still see.

I peeked around and watched Mama go back into the bedroom and pick up grand-dad's pants. I remember the belt hanging down like it was coming loose, but Momma rifled through the pockets, putting change and stuff into her pocket. Then she found his wallet, took a bunch of stuff from it, and put that into her purse, replacing the wallet. She threw the pants in the corner and started going through his personals box-- the cuff links and rings and things-- putting all that stuff in her pockets as well.

Pretty soon she came to the yard and called us boys to come. We were leaving.

I don't remember where we spent Christmas that year, but in the next day or so, Momma told us that grand-dad had died and that we'd be attending his funeral next week. She did take me with her to the hospital when she identified the body down in the morgue and signed the papers.

Well, you can imagine my reaction to this story from the old man. I sat silent, watching as he stood and buttoned up his coat and set his hat straight.

He nodded, turned and left the cafe. I watched as he stopped outside the door, shrugged himself deeper into his coat, shoved his hands into coat pockets, looked up and down the sidewalk both ways, heaved a deep breath and started off to his right.

I looked down at my cup, lifted a hand to the waitress for another coffee and started looking around the joint, noting the yellow brown walls a glass could stick to, if you placed a glass on it, and listened to the Christmas music being piped in.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, December 16, 2011

2011-12-16T10:31:00.001-05:00

Friday Payday – that is if you have a job – spend it if you have it. Not at Starbucks, I don’t suppose. I tried that once just to see the attraction. The kid behind the counter went through his list of “What’ll you have’s” and I waited the thirty minutes required for him to drone to the end and then asked a cup of straight coffee, black, no anything added.

He asked me if I was sure. Yes, I answered, I was sure.

Now he was young. Like maybe twenty. But he wasn’t a fool. He looked at me, glanced around the book store (now closed) and said, “You’ll miss the whole point AND the experience.”.

Which is all well and good, I know, but what I had really done was get the “What’ll you have” experience without the cost – the taste of mocha had already been experienced elsewhere.

Now that brings me around to Newt, Baby. Not really Newt so much as his detractors. The detractors that beat him over the head with “Lobbyist” junk or his debt or his liking of women (which is a whole ‘nother thing to the alternative gay).

Looking at Newt on TV his suits aren’t two thousand dollar things, he’s kind of scruffy, truth to tell, so that means he probably didn’t do as well as the typical politician in Congress while he was in office.

Then he lost his job in that office (as did many Republicans) and found himself on the street having to earn a living (all those diamonds add up, not to mention the old joke: The old, fat, once was rich, Cowboy explaining his life. I spent almost all my money on wine and women. The rest of it I wasted.). Which means he played to his experience and knowledge and opened Lobbyist business.

One of the things about a business like consulting is pre-paid. If you take their money, you have a fiduciary loyalty to the customer and you do your level best to meet his goals – whatever those goals maybe.

So, Newt Baby being whapped about the head and shoulders for being a Lobbyist is really so much horse hockey. The man had personal obligations and played to his strengths and expertise. Get off that already.

That doesn’t mean he’s totally clean, no. But it does mean he’s not trying to fool anyone, like his opponents.

I very happy to see the current swing toward the judiciary back lash. Ever since my experience as a juror and the dunning received by the Democratic formed group attempting to dis-lodge the area Republican Judge (a successful thing, by the way), I’ve pretty well supported some form of push-back to the way the Courts “interrupt” the Constitution.

Ruddy bunch of Church Inquisition dressed, smug, self-satisfied, I’m here for life, untouchables.

Just a private thought, thank you.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

_____

Thursday, December 15, 2011

2011-12-15T09:39:00.001-05:00

After vandalism, Wichita police step up patrols in Kirstie Alley’s neighborhood
Read more: http://www.kansas.com/2011/12/14/2140492/after-vandalism-wichita-police.html#ixzz1gbzKZTRZ

For the third time no less. The major lesson from the article, at least superficially, is not to tell reporters where your home is located – they’ll give specific details for the world to see.

The hallucinations begin, typically, after Forrest Nelson has been in the open water for nearly 24 hours, after he has been swimming for about 20 miles.
Read more: http://www.kansas.com/2011/12/15/2140853/wichita-natives-passion-is-water.html#ixzz1gc19e19W

There seems to be several things one could avoid, like movies. I’m told long distance runners have similar disassociations.

While Housekeeper and I were chewing over other peoples reputations Wednesday, she came up with a neat little “Damn it all to hell, anyway.” story of her own.

She and her hubby go through vehicles like most folks go through T-shirts. They’d gotten yet another vehicle and she took the plates and paper work of the sold vehicle to the court house in the town. They rebate the cost of the road tax, given sufficient months remain on the tags. She wanted her rebate.

When she got to the Court House she found the door was locked – requiring a button be pushed and an alarm to sound somewhere in the police station, located a distance from the Court House. The alarm notified the police dispatcher/911 operator/Jail Turn Key to activate the Court House door lock.

It took, Housekeeper said, fifteen minutes for the dispatcher to push the button over there to grant her access to the building. It was, she continued, cold enough to frost a brass monkey.

I laughed.

But I was curious as to why the Court House had cold water flat security, and so asked.

She explained that two or three years ago a Druggy woman lost her child in a hearing before the local Magistrate and had told the court that she’d kill her (the Magistrate (the local Doctors wife)).

Taking the woman seriously, the Court House was locked down in the manner using Homeland Security Funds and the woman that so inconveniently burdened Court House users was placed in a mental ward.

The woman remains there to this day.

With no real expectation of leaving soon as far as Housekeeper knows.

The dust bin of judicial uncertainty.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

2011-12-14T14:08:00.001-05:00

Good afternoon. Today was a Housekeepers day and I started this late. Housekeeper was into her babble mode today. The only time she was really ‘off’ was waiting for me to control the dog when she arrived.

We exchanged Christmas gifts. She received liquor and I received a totally welcome two packages – deer meat. I was so thrilled to receive those bits of dead meat I got carried away. I did.

I had Housekeeper help me go through the trash and I resurrected a gift from one of the guys at the Co-Op that I’d gifted with the seldom purchased hooch I wrote about early this month. His wife had, he said, forced him to bring me a huge bag of peanut brittle (which I never eat) and another gift – a mottled glass brick stuffed with Christmas tree lights.

I re-gifted the re-gifted gift to Housekeeper. She took it. I suggested that if she found it ‘how pretty’ maybe she could get a buck or so for it at the flea market, that way I’d not have to throw it away and I could honestly say, if asked, I made use of it. Maybe.

The conversation wandered about as it normally does when Housekeeper and I get to going.

One of the things I’ve been wanting to know is the status of the wives in her town now the wind farm workers are bailing.

She indicated she’d not paid much attention, but one wife has disappeared and her paramour had been moved to TX. The other, she said, was still in town and hadn’t returned to her husband and her paramour was still in the project working.

Well. Lordy. That leaves three I said to Housekeeper, you need to track them down. She kinda agreed.

Then Housekeeper was off on another track, asking if I remember her saying the area South of her house (County Property) might have a plant farm or a meth lab down there. I admitted I remembered that she’d said that, yes (about several times, as a matter of fact).

Well, she said, the other night the city police went down that way and a bit of time later a small black car went down that way also.

We (Housekeeper and husband) were waiting for a bust to go down but nothing happened and we saw a friend come up and he stopped and said he couldn’t walk his dog down there as normal because a cop and a teen-age girl were screwing.

I asked Housekeeper how teen-aged and she said sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Okay, but were they using the girls car or the cop car (not that it would make a difference I don’t guess).

But Housekeeper pointed out she didn’t know for sure, but surmised it was the cop car – the back seat would be larger.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

2011-12-13T15:36:00.001-05:00

A Tea Party group in Kansas is coming under fire for comparing America's first multiracial president to a smelly, black-and-white pest.

This week, the Hutchinson-based Patriot Freedom Alliance posted a photo of a skunk next to President Obama, arguing the animal has replaced the eagle as the symbol for the commander in chief.

"It is half black, half white, and almost everything it does stinks," the group wrote.

Which is pretty straight forward language by any measure. But language the president himself seems to pride himself of. I haven’t seen much of it in the way of National media.

After a small period of self doubt, I poked about Wordpress and Lo and Behold, the 15th of last December was the last date of missing a post – which means three more days of posting will meet the Wordpress One Year of Post A Day Challenge. How strange that seems.

I’ve read it. I’ve tried to understand it. Last night I observed it. Three of the weak ones raided and carried off some of the near neighbors external property, throwing the near neighbor into a hissy fit of profanity and strangeness, in his lawn, in the street and presumably in his house.

He hasn’t asked yet, but I’m debating telling him even if he does, that they were some of his toking buddies.

An interesting thing. Truly. Especially the howling into the rain laden skies. Not normal behavior. Then of course, he’s normally the one stealing.

The wind farm is pulling their heavy equipment now. All the bases are up, all the generator’s and wings are installed. One high reach crane remains. The personnel are quickly reducing to permanent party and tech people. One hundred and ten is the number I was quoted this morning of the new units. The construction people are going to WA, OR, TX, CA and a small group to CO.

Topeka man pleads guilty to wire fraud

(Office of U.S. Attorney Barry Grissom) - A Topeka man has pleaded guilty to a wire fraud charge in connection with an arson at a convenience store, U.S. Attorney Barry Grissom said Tuesday.

44-year-old Choudhry Zafar Iqbal pleaded guilty to one count of wire fraud. Prosecutors said the facts of the case show that Iqbal operated the Kwik Stop at 738 S.W. Gage Boulevard in Topeka. The store was destroyed by arson on March 11, 2007. On March 12, 2007, Iqbal made a false and fraudulent insurance claim on the fire while he was speaking by telephone with a claims representative for Continental Western Insurance Company in Nebraska.

Sentencing is set for Feb. 13. He faces a maximum penalty of 30 years in federal prison and a fine up to $1 million.

http://www.ksnt.com/news/local/story/Topeka-man-pleads-guilty-to-wire-fraud/cd3RCpkE-kulHnFb9dR9Dg.cspx

Wire fraud yet. I wonder at the penalty for simple arson, non-life threatening.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, December 12, 2011

2011-12-12T09:01:00.001-05:00

Results—The number of births declined to 4,130,665 in 2009, 3 percent less than in 2008. The general fertility rate declined 3 percent to 66.7 per 1,000 women 15 to 44 years. The teenage birth rate fell 6 percent to 39.1 per 1,000. Birth rates for women in each 5-year age group 20 to 39 years declined, but the rate for women 40-44 years continued to rise. The total fertility rate (estimated number of births over a woman’s lifetime) was down 4 percent to 2,007.0 per 1,000 women. The number and rate of births to unmarried women declined, whereas the percentage of non-marital births increased slightly to 41.0. The cesarean delivery rate rose again, to 32.9 percent. The preterm birth rate declined to 12.18 percent; the low birth weight rate was stable at 8.16 percent. The twin birth rate increased to 33.2 per 1,000; the triplet and higher-order multiple birth rate rose 4 percent to 153.5 per 100,000.

Well, what do you expect from a nosey dude?

The stats are for Kansas, are from 2009 and have absolutely nothing to do with what I was looking for in either search engine, but is what finally caught my eye. I blame the US Government for the fubar. I do.

They are the one’s that published it, after all. If they hadn’t (all those people, women mostly from the names, with PhD and other shinola letters after their names in the title bar) I’d probably not have run across it on a government site.

Sigh.

Have you any idea, I mean, any at all? I mean, you understand, have you any idea at all how I got to the site of the “Results – ?”.

No?

You wanna know. I mean, just how I got there?

Alright. I was reading blogs.

Specifically, I was reading a blog get together report, and my life intruded. I mean, umm; events in my life paralleling the events depicted in . . ., umm; that’s not true either. Just that the blog had pictures of beer, talked about beer and good and bad food and – well, just struck a cord.

So I thought about beer, then I thought about alcoholism and thinking about alcoholism I remembered a couple of things from my teen years and then I decided, what with the net and all it’d not be a problem, I’d look up the State’s by highest percentage of alcoholism. I did.

I mean, I thought I’d look it up. Never did find such a list. Well, on Google anyway. I didn’t go over to Bing – Bing’s a neat site, but it never shows MY site at the top of the page. Ruddy thing.

Anyway. So I found a Government site with a big map and the explicit directions said either click on the map picture of the State you’re interested in or click on the name of the State in letters (it did. Just like that. Trust the government for explicit directions) and I looked at the letters and they were all there all fifty-seven of them.

Got you didn’t they? I counted them twice. 57! At least.

Then I realized they had listed possessions. Puerto Rico, American Samoa, Florida. Typical government, overkill. By the way, I’m not sure what they were thinking; maybe the next birthday? The last one: was the last one 57 or the next? Oh, well.

Ultimately I found my State. Not my state – I already know that one. My State. But no list of where we are on the alcoholism list for the greater United States. None. I couldn’t, after all that effort, just put up nothing. I mean, how ridiculous would that be.

So you get the results of my efforts (all five minutes of effort) separated not by race, religion or sex (think about that a minute).

But by age. True. Go read it. Youth (young), middle-age, and elderly – provided 44 or older is elderly.

Age discrimination by the government that brings you laws against age discrimination. Truly. And have you read about ‘reducing’ government by allowing the ‘older’ Americans to attrite themselves and by buying out those approaching retirement age?

Well – never mind.

The Renters Son brought my quarter of processed beef Saturday. Yup.

The day after I’d been to the grocer and filled the freezer after having waited the extra month for the promised rent.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, December 11, 2011

2011-12-11T15:16:00.001-05:00

loy·al

adjective

1. faithful to one's sovereign, government, or state: a loyal subject.

2. faithful to one's oath, commitments, or obligations: to be loyal to a vow.

3 .faithful to any leader, party, or cause, or to any person or thing conceived as deserving fidelity: a loyal friend.

4. characterized by or showing faithfulness to commitments, vows, allegiance, obligations, etc.: loyal conduct.

What can I say? I got a hair caught sideways. Having been away last night and not sleeping well, rising early (like around 0300 hours) I was catching up on the blogs. One of them, by an author noted for his short posts, had chosen to remark on the fact the Casinos in Las Vegas were awarding their poker players. His remarks indicated the casinos have changed their thinking about compensations to poker players.

A bit of time ago casinos compensated their “Whales”, the high dollar players, and actively competed among themselves to attract the well heeled players to their rooms, and to keep these whales coming back on their periodic visits to Las Vegas.

During the recent boom in poker (the on-line feeding frenzy period) the casual players of poker began to receive comps and found them rather addictive, and demanded them. They didn’t get them to the degree they wished and only enough to smooth the turbulence the clamor.

The consequence of the brick and mortar casinos competing with on-line poker rooms however virtually forced the casinos into more comp offers – because the on-line sites offered many things the land based didn’t. Another half of the land based casinos is dealer costs, which the on-line doesn’t need, of course, and the price of poker in land based casinos went up; the rake became greater, the toks (tips) from the winning hand were asked for by dealers, the floor people of the casino began to receive income from the dealers tips and the dealers became even more aggressive.

Now the on-line poker sites are, for the greater part, closed to US Domestic traffic – for a great many reasons – and the land based casinos are beginning to award comps to hold their players. Here I’m talking about the small dollar players with less emphasis on the whale. Well, less public emphasis on the whales.

Which explains my interest in the “Loyalty” word.

If you ever watch a casino poker card room some things won’t make sense. You buy chips, sit in a game and have to pay: either a rake ( a percentage of the pot in question), or time (one pays a flat dollar fee for the chair one is sitting in, regardless of the skill or quickness of the dealer), and sometimes some rooms charge both rake and time. On top of those costs most dealers expect tips (toke) from the winning pot ( from a dollar up. A tournament “Toke” is actually a percentage of the winning players earnings – taken before his winners check is written.)

I’m not into cheating tips, because I’m a pure-dee rube when it comes to that; although I have observed a straight rake game being demanded of time and the time cost of five dollars from ten men went into the dealers toke box with nary a whimper from any player.

Under conditions then, Loyalty to a particular casino might be difficult and the only worthy recipient of loyalty might be to the game itself, and as most players know that is a fickle thing indeed to receive a return greeting.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, December 10, 2011

2011-12-10T01:03:00.001-05:00

Hello again. Another Saturday. They seem to arrive quickly and disappear just the same. Another previously published story, from long ago. Like many a dank and dark tour of the mind. Enjoy it or hate it, I had fun writing it – But not too much, just enough.

Title

As quietly as that the story began to take shape and blossomed in the mind's eye. The author motionless for many minutes on end, never committing to paper the swirl of thoughts. Never articulating the pain he saw in that mind's eye, nor attempting to describe for an innocent reader the involuntary quiver, the trickle of blood from the incision, warm to the fear cold body. Still. That was the word for the author. On the outside.

On the inside boiled and roiled the heathenish and brutal trail of mangled flesh, from every direction, tokens of small bottles of human - and sometimes, from the early days, animals - blood. The bottles chronicling the diminution of desires. Some bearing only dark matter, some reddish brown rusty liquid; some showing the separation of stillness, of others displaying clearly combined contents. But never reaching the shelves end. Always another empty bottle. Always the need to fill that bottle. And the shelves in the mind's eye were neither difficult nor tiring to construct. Never.

The observer, standing behind the author, would observe a form, save for the regularly spaced torso expansion and contractions, immobile as a statue. Seated was the form, in a kitchen chair, at a kitchen table, in a cold water flat - some where. Where didn't seem to matter, never to an observer, not to the author. The circumstances of the mildew musty smelling walls with peeling paper, stained sink, the un-made bed with tattered linens; none of it mattered.

The important matters were of the mind and the mind was busy fondling the bottles, and the manner of collecting contents. The mind was busy dissecting the body, the hands deep within the cavity beneath the ribs. Touching the heart, crowding the lungs. The mind could see the hands forcing fingers beneath and around the bowels, gripping the fat slimy glistening blue and white tubular sections, pulling, twisting; the mind hearing the velvety tearing, ripping of thin membrane as one section was loosened from another. Foot after foot dragged hissing and slithering across the bloody flaps of the abdomen walls, laid to each side, still attached to the back.

If the observer rendered powers sufficient, he would dip into the mind and tell us about the author. Tell us of another time, of lazy summer days; of the wonder filling the mind; of the reaching, the grasping, of never obtaining that perfect hold, of the perfect sequence of letters and spaces; of never achieving the goal. And as the youth matured, the quest continued; searching, seeking, never finding. Not all the Gods in Heaven; not all the Devils in Hell; not all the friends combined that praised, would the observer find that pleased the author.

That observer would tell us of the girls in adolescence; of the Christmases of youth and the joy and the gifts received. He would tell us of pleasures of the learning, the pleasures of skipping the learning - for the delightful pleasures of truancy are pleasures as great as the knowledge gained through diligences. Still the observer, with his powers, cannot find a grain of satisfaction in the author. Nor he search himself to exhaustion, none would he find, nor will find, not yet.

In the mind of the author; the hands gently pried and separated the coils and loops; moving smoothly down, smoothly down, savoring each twitch and jerk of the body, until the fingers identified shapes. The ovaries, the womb - and the hands pause, they stroke. The birth place, the center of creation. The authors mind caresses the thought, imagining the process of creation. The passion, the touching, the blood racing, the questing, the ascension; both kinds. The release. Ah, the mind bending, blessed, release of tensions. The joy of the aftermath.

The hands rip, tear, and cast aside, the object which thumps to the floor. Tough, disgusting, it thumps. The body on the table heaves. In the author's minds eye rise giggles and simpers, and the hands pause as the mind turns over every action thus far performed.

Were the observer to move deeper into that miserable room, close-in behind the author and peer over his shoulder, the observer would detect a certain tension in the hands. A certain rigidity to the neck, a faint but perceptible quiver to the head. The observer would also discover the envelope. The envelope: clutched, wadded, smoothed across the knee; held gently, clutched again, wadded, smoothed, held. But never torn, never destroyed, never discarded. Never opened - yet.

Having reviewed the actions taken, the mind of the author skips forward; considering, mulling. The eye of the mind sees the cavity, free now of intestines; wet and glistening. And the mind commands, so the hands obey and one reaches out, picking, from the utensils neatly arrayed nearby, a sieve. A small screened sieve, yet in entire, large enough to contain a bottle.

And the mind chooses; commanding again, and a hand drifts forward, closing on the bottle. The bottle identical to all other bottles on the identical shelves. Shelves hidden in the dark corner of a cluttered warehouse, yet light enough for the author's mind's eye to see and identify each, and if so chosen, any would yield a story to the mind. A warehouse hidden in gulleys and shadows behind the glittering façade of the questing intellect. And the mind hesitates, so the hand stops.

The eye observes the fluids seeping into the sieve, the sieve keeping the coagulating fluids and viscera away; creating a small pool of pure and lovely hearts bloods. But there is an Act to be performed. And Act as yet undone. If not performed, all Acts to this point are moot, worthless.

Now the observer, peering over the shoulder of the author, sees the hands lose tension and the fingers, ever so gently, ever so smoothly, ever so tenderly, turn the envelope back side to and will watch them trace the flap seal ridge - over and over; and over.

After a period the hand stills and gently presses the envelope to the knee while the off-hand raises smoothly to the table top and grasps the handle of a knife.
And just as smoothly, returns with the knife and the tip slips under the flap seal - and stops.

Should the observer use his extraordinary power at this point to enter the mind he would find a mind at this point at peace. All the preparation is finished in the mind's eye, everything to be done has been done. The bottle is ready, all that remains is the envelope.

And the knife moves, not quickly, slowly. Slowly and carefully, to avoid the missive inside the caressed envelope, the knife move with no hesitation. And it is done. The cut. Finished. The fingers holding the knife adjust position, dip into the envelope, and draw the single sheet free.

The mind's eye sees the bottle, sees the hands it commands, further instructs the hands to loose the seal and remove the container's lid. And the tensions in the mind raise. The heart rate supporting the mind doubles. The hands seem to tense beyond the task appointed, but remain firmly under the command of the mind's eye.

The observer will watch ever so closely as the hands return the knife neatly to the table, arrange the ruined envelope with precision and ever so gently open the full sheet to expose the message from the publisher to whom the manuscript was sent.
Silently the head dips over the document and the eyes of the author scan the five lines. A single word, the searched for word is not found; but the expected word, the bottled hopes of a word, is there, defining the shelves. The word is 'Reject.'

In the noisy mind's eye, the command is given and the hands act. The bottle is lowered, ever so gently, within the sieve, submerging itself. The fluids drain in smoothly and the mind chuckles, watching. The last small space is filled when the air bubbles and the bubble breaks. The mind communicates with the hands and the bottle is lifted, the lid replaced, the seal set. The hands flow smoothly to the sink where the bottle is gently washed clean and dried.

The mind's eye holds the bottle aloft against the available light and the mind, the creative mind nods in satisfaction, turning, reaches to place the bottle of ruby life's blood on the shadowed shelves, in line, in turn.

The observer watches the seated figure rise, stand momentarily, then turn and place the missive gently beside the envelope. The observer watches and the author slowly settles his knuckles to either side of the articles touched.

And listens to the first words uttered; as with head bowed, the author articulates: "It's time. It's time to hunt once more."

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, December 09, 2011

2011-12-09T15:57:00.001-05:00

MULVANE, Kansas -- In just a couple weeks, the doors will open at the Kansas Star Casino. Today, casino officials invited KSN to get a sneak peek inside.

The slot machines and other games are just about ready for visitors. A trial run next week will be the first major test.

Peninsula Gaming won the right to build the casino almost exactly one year ago today.

Officials hope to have the casino open to gamblers Dec. 26, the day after Christmas.

The current casino is a temporary facility. It features a 60,000 foot gaming floor, 1,300 slot machines and 32 table games.

The permanent casino is under construction. It's scheduled to open in about a year. Here

Which, while not the first casino in Kansas, over came great opposition from several power groups in Wichita and the State; horse racing, dog racing and entertainment power structures. It was, and is still, a long effort to establish the site. Some of the opposition came from Oklahoma, whose Indian Nation groups have established gaming sites in strategic sites in efforts to service Southern Kansas gaming cravings.

The village remains quiet. The near neighbor has had his lawn tractor taken away from him and is seldom seen walking about near as much as he previously drove about. He still takes at least two meals a day with his married sister.

Big Fat Rooney is well, if not totally hale, having received several minor cuts about the head and shoulders. His boss has agreed to absorb the loss of the truck, though he eye’s Rooney with a severely jaundiced attitude.

A person with an enormous extended family passed. Age 94. Perhaps four hundred people attended the services. Blessed she was, and by those whose respect was demonstrated.

I noticed the Pentagon reporter for FOX News conceded that a State of clandestine war has started with Iran – more, she pointed out several overt acts of aggressive behavior have been taken against them by the US over the past several years, or at least maybe by the US as examples for her concession to the promptings of the anchor reporter questioning her.

It strikes me, we’re pulling out of Iraq and will soon have staged in Kuwait, not far from an amphibian distance; with air support. Southern Afghan is relative clear, or at least the Western side is. Other Arabic nations are otherwise occupied. Now might be the time.

Budget cuts for the military will not take effect for another year or so.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, December 08, 2011

2011-12-08T15:25:00.001-05:00

Odd how events sometimes align to single subject.

Went for the monthly grocery run. I found that my normal store does not carry Miracle Grow or similar things. That was a bummer. But the lady clerk I asked fell down in diabetic shock directly after I asked my question. Fortunately the store manager was around to rally the troops.

When the lady passed out she had been dealing with a Food Stamp customer and was arranging the stamps to the various drawers in the register.

When I got home from that trip, I checked the on-line news and the lead story was the sentencing of two of several people for Food Stamp fraud. A lady got the lighter sentence, 14 months (of a possible 41 to 50 months) followed by 6 months house arrest. Her husband got a couple of years.

The couple would take turns in jail.

First the woman. Then the man when the wife’s in jail term was completed. The reason the the judge did it that way was for the children. The children would have a parent to care for them while the other was away. The judge apparently felt the wife was more culpable then the man but both were guilty. A single incident. Part of the reason for doing the deed was the grocery business was failing and they needed the money.

The “victim” of the shortage, the one selling the food stamps for 0.60 cents on the dollar, received a short sentence, a fine and a $2,000 restitution order.

Yeah. Food stamps and got a fine. Food stamps and has to pay restitution.

It makes as much sense, I guess, as getting put in jail and paying a fine – got that Blago? Big fine, usable life in the slammer and receive 0.16 cents an hour.

Granted the crime was committed. Granted some means of deterrent is necessary. But Food Stamps are money vouchers, or money. Given to the recipients, for food. However, money still. Charity in another form in governmental regulation of crime and punishment.

Welfare.

Knock off the crap and, if your going to do it make them either come to a central distribution point or give them money and let them starve their habits away. And while you’re at it, do something with those stupid overbearing laws that will be broken as often as not and only serve to codify a family’s life – poor with benefits.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

2011-12-07T14:26:00.001-05:00

Yes. A Yankee day. I remember.

We have several days to remember, it’s just that some are better than others.

Still no debt payment. I’ll now shift expectations to none. Pity. I’d a great deal of respect for the family.

It erodes.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Kansas Governor Sam Brownback says he welcomes any presidential visit but says President Barack Obama's stop in Osawatomie on Tuesday wasn't the visit for which he and other local leaders have been asking. They say the president should have stopped in Wichita.

Here

I hate to say it Governor, but if you think the critter in the White House is going to play anything but pittter-patter with a Republican you aren’t worth your position. It’ll show its contempt in any manner possible – Well, it’ll show its contempt to anyone in any manner possible.

It has shown you your place. You happy now?

The snow is mostly gone now. The temp is thirty-six degrees; it was thirteen around 0900 hours. Things improve.

It’s a bit strange to walk around outside in twenty degree weather thinking it is warm for the time of day. Love it.

Caught the owner of the liquor store at the village Co-Op buying bags of dog biscuits.

A simple story, with a strange twist. When buying the Christmas hand-outs the other day the guy carried out the box of liquor I’d purchased. He saw the bag of dog biscuits I’d purchased for my dog and he told me his customers had been complaining about the size of the dog biscuits he’d been handing out as gifts to his customers.

He wanted to know where I’d gotten the one he was viewing. I explained and he thanked me. Twasn’t a problem.

He did have a bit of an verbal set-to with a customer while I was there. He and I were talking about hunting and another customer (younger, wearing the standard knit hat with tassels to go along with his station) imposed himself in our conversation.

The liquor store owner told the young man he seen the Nam. After the spaced out young fellow left I asked the owner where’d he been – thinking, of course, that he, himself, was a tweener. A tweener being too old for something at one point and too young at the other.

He told me he’d never been to Viet Nam. He’d only been in green and never left the States.

I didn’t ask a time frame, a service MOS, a unit or anything.

It’s not illegal to make a claim, I’m told; and I’d rather not know for sure. Suspicion is enough.

Especially considering the owner mumbled that “those people” think they’re worth more than the cost of a bottle.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

2011-12-06T15:02:00.001-05:00

Snow last night. Twenty-four degrees this morning around 0700 hours. Cold enough for the dog to refuse gratuitous opportunities to go outside. I ended eating my breakfast in front of him (two pop-tarts and coffee). He appreciated that. He just stayed at the kitchen door and tried to break my heart.

I’ve thought, from time to time, to try eating his food from his bowl at my breakfast time and see what happens. My imagination won’t allow me, however. The precedent set might have me frying eggs for him and getting a fresh bowl of his food for myself.

The lady at the Co-Op told me she had her son’s over for Thanksgiving. I was surprised. I’ve met who I thought were her daughters, but she laughed when I evidenced surprise. She said the girls were here Grand-Daughters and that she only had the two sons.

Surprised me, she did. I asked her if her mother or grand-mother, either one, were like her and wore flip-flops year round without socks and she said not – but, she reminded me, most women that wear women’s dress shoes in winter were wearing not much more than flip-flops when you get right down to it.

I had to concede that point.

Two vehicle accidents on the near-by highways over night. One drinking and the other ice on the roads. The snows weren’t really that bad, the traffic however was heavier than normal for some reason. No one killed. Lucky us.

Three businesses in Wichita are hiring, Coleman is laying off 90. Some of Coleman’s overhead is moving to Denver, and one of the three businesses hiring is a brand new brand name business in the area. Those are good things, really, and healthy.

The city has turned down certain government interventions in the Hotel trade in Wichita. I’m not totally familiar with the concerns in that one. The citizens don’t want the city pouring more money into the city center.

The center of the city about imploded some number of years ago because of contamination of almost all the grounds in the center. The businesses bailed and left the city to solve the problems, which have taken years and years to solve (partially) and all those empty buildings taking up space with paying taxes.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, December 05, 2011

2011-12-05T16:46:00.001-05:00

Someone once spoke of listening to silence as being creative (or words to that effect).

Someone else, using the thought, suggested that one listen to the silence for two minutes and then write about the thought they had while listening to the silence for the two minutes.

The very thought of writing about a thought thought during two minutes of silence did my thinking little good as the period started with the thought of “That’s no good!”. It was no good for many reasons.

Without putting numbers to them, among the first thoughts was “It’d take an idiot to think a single thought in two minutes, people aren’t that slow.”

I mean, really. Only one thought in two minutes?

Having tried it, I suppose I can say this: I’ve had many ‘two minutes’ of silence. There have been many times in my life some one has asked for two minutes of silence. More times in youth than now, I believe. They ask for a minute of silence now. Generally, of course, when they are asking for a public showing of respect at some function or other.

Which brings me to ask, how many thoughts do you think during the specified time frame asked? One?

I can fairly say I have more that one to the silence. Sure do. But then one of the thoughts coming around during each of these silences is always the same – what am I suppose to think about during the silences?

If the request for silence is made as a memorable prayer, ‘what am I to pray for?’ is generally another. I mean, usually the time of initial thought for such things is long gone and standing around in group silence is no where near the initial reaction thought.

I’ve been thinking, now the two minutes are well and truly gone twenty minutes ago, that if the quote was an indicator of meditation it fails me.

Meditation is a fruge state for me, along with the thousand yard stare and mental out of gear, timeless coasting; not the thinking state.

So, yeah. Try it. The two minutes of silence thing and then write about it. The quote didn’t say you didn’t have to think, but then it implied or suggested what?

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, December 04, 2011

2011-12-04T14:48:00.001-05:00

The officer was not seriously hurt, and the man was arrested on suspicion of battery of a law enforcement officer.

http://www.ksn.com/news/local/story/Wichita-police-officer-assaulted-man-arrested/hC5SR8BP4k-ghm2Nkmr1eQ.cspx

Yes. I know. But surely an officer being whapped in the face requiring treatment is somewhat more than suspicion?

Most of my needs are minor things as my operations suit my life situation, which is retired. But I purchase a power washer the other day. I’ve gotten tired of getting my head wet getting the underside of various things I think need cleaning. Getting a brush over ones head will teach anyone that, regardless of the length of the handle attached.

I read the directions, followed the instructions (after having double checked the weather because of morning lows in the thirties) and determined mid-afternoon would be a good time to exercise strength of water over dirt and grime.

Twenty minutes of positioning the equip – both to operate and to be operated upon; equipment started and business end pointed the safe direction and the hose parted ways.

Getting wet getting the underside of various things is one thing, getting wet before getting the underside of various things is another.

A favorite, hard working, and elderly lady at the Highway coffee shop is gone. She follows her husband. I guess there is a great deal to be said for her, but we were never more than customer and shop keeper. Still, one wishes lights didn’t go dark .

Have finished two more books from the Baen ebooks page. Skipped/deleted a couple that didn’t grab me soonest.

I’ve been hitting the books pretty hard, trying, I think, to make up for lost time with some of the authors with last names coming after M – Modesitt, Jr and McCaffrey on the new book shelves.

There are quite a few I’ve skipped over looking for my “Favorite” authors.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, December 03, 2011

2011-12-03T15:02:00.001-05:00

The Night 911 Failed to Ring

NOTE: After receiving notification that my last piece was published I reply returned the eNotification with a note attached. In that note to the editor, I indicated that I would probably skip the next months issue. However, as I am noted for being concerned of other people - at best in my own mind; I added to the note that if the publisher felt anxiety, to eMail me and challenge me with a subject, and I would respond with a story (or at least that is what I led them to believe).

After the eMail disappeared into never, never, wherever, it occurred to me that the editor/publisher might, as seems to be their wont, panic and cease publication for the month with inferior materials to fill the edition. Inferior not in quality of penmanship, but quantity from uninterested persons, unspecified; and in their panic fail to realize that true genius awaited their very beckoning of distress.

The very concept of conceiving a plot, while simple, may suffer the malaise of creative genius. That malaise is easily explained as the active mind tends to sink into a morass of creativity with subjects, plots, beginnings and endings tumbling atop one another.

Selecting the best from the superior can, at times, prove difficult. To assist the editor/publisher therefore; I felt compelled to create a subject line well before the expected melt down date and save myself having to satisfy another's itch. I determined the included small, un-important, event to be sufficient to forestall a panicked notification to myself at some unspecified, ill timed, future date.

The thought of the possible necessity of "Pulling Another's Chestnuts From The Fire" is rather unappealing in view of the impending graduation of ones off spring from both the highly selective private school he has been attending for the past ten years, and from the advanced courses he, himself, selected many months past.

I confess the impending graduation is a bright event in what could be construed a dullards life. My off spring has displayed little spark and sparkle in his pursuits, and has proven somewhat of a disappointment, if one considers the careful planning embedded in the union of my spouse and myself. I carefully examined the intellectual properties of his extended family, to include their relative social position before consenting to the union, believing resulting progeny would demonstrate the superiority of selective breeding. To some that rings cold and calculating; however, in actuality, it is simply fact that from the best stock come the finest. One must never lose that thread, because we each bear responsibility to improve the human race; as well as our own, immediate, condition.

The selection of elective courses by the off spring, which I consider far beneath his life's station and my expectations, did please me somewhat. I was elated when informed by him of his desire as it was among the first self created acceptable endeavors he had under taken. Except for improper pursuits most young men appear to enjoy, of course; and even then undertaken in groups, one feeding from another. Miserable lot, the male, at the best of times. However, this initiative by the off spring seemed to originate from an individual curiosity. It was only after extensive questioning and probing for logical reasoning did I indulged him.

His particular interest in communications fascinated me; though his seeming narrow focus on telephony was disturbing, in so far as it impinged on a “trade.” His station is well above standing in a mud soaked ditch or sitting on a bucket beside the road eliminating the troubles for that sort of persons, who wish nothing more of life than to share their immediate miserable lives with other ne'er do wells; or to purchase the latest mass produced, mass marketed disposable rag of pirated style.

However, the off spring countered each point introduced in the discussion with logical assumptions and clearly enunciated counter-points. A major telling point in his discourse involved the belief that knowledge of the basic of the craft would extend far in the proper management and supervision of individuals actually performing the labors, as he would have some sympathy to the extent of their short comings and tribulations. Which is always a factor with the trades.

Following that discourse, I ensured the credentials of the several courses of instruction the off spring presented me and satisfied myself his real desire to imbibe the knowledge. And supported the project.

All of which, I'm afraid, is outside the realm of the story I have undertaken to satisfy an angst attack from an editor.

That story assumes from an article in the local print media. The article reports indicate a home manufactured explosive device had been discovered in the confines of the local civic structure; housing the confinement facilities, the Sheriff's Office, the County Court House and all the other required physical properties necessary to the administration of local government.

This report, far from inciting the local populace as it well should, appeared to seep through the ether without touching minds anywhere. It is, in the realm of publishing engrained, and of more than passing interest. And as such items occur, excellent fodder for submission for publication; even if said publication were at a distance from the occurrence. Therefore, I planned follow-up; but I needed details.

The logical individual to approach would be the Sheriff. This individual, however, is a first water Bigot and an out right Chauvinist who has been in a position of some little authority far too long. I have encountered his mealy mouth and evasive character while attempting to protect my property and liberty some few times previous. I was forced to invoke my spouses status in the community a number of times to achieve my peace. But, then, there is little point of having it if one does not use it to achieve ones desires.

I determined, therefore, that a certain Sergeant of the State Department of Investigation would be the source I required for honest and forth-right answers to my inquires. I contacted him. His condensed explanation follows. I was forced to condense the conversation because I am, after all, somewhat attractive and a personality among those who know me. The Sergeant, thinking of it, is rather attractive also, and some portions of the conversation were intensely personal.

Never the less: The Sergeant reported that, indeed, a large (his emphasis) devise had been discovered in the complex and that the explosive had been placed in such a manner and was of such size, that with detonation, the cells of the confinement facility, the Sheriff dispatcher, the office of the County Attorney and several other administrative offices, including the offices of the Sheriff himself, would have been destroyed, not just damaged.
Suspecting the Sergeant was withholding some information, I pressed and he reluctantly admitted that certain information was being withheld from the public. I pressed more.

He then informed me that the means of triggering the explosion were unique in design and demonstrated a very creative mind. It appeared that the outside, street corner, telephone tower for the 911 lines had been outfitted with a small FM transmission device. The device, when the number rang in the Dispatch office, would close, sending a signal. The investigating officials had discovered two other receiving/transmitting units after finding the explosives container was to be triggered by radio frequencies.

The Sergeant said that there appeared to be three fortunate gaps in an otherwise clever endeavor. The more minor gap was that the distances involved between the small transmitter and the repeater units helped in the Non-explosion. Then he stated; the placement of the units helped in the fact they were behind the metal rain guttering of the building and the explosive receiving unit itself was behind a metal door. The first he said must have been Divine Intervention; in that for the first time since the inception of the 911 system in that area there were no, repeat none, 911 calls initiated in the probable time frame considered.

Which was what prompted the Sheriff, when this happening was reported to him, to call the telephone company technician locally, who for some reason did not try the number but drove to the exchange house. On his way he happened to check the pillar box and discovered the signaling device, which he disconnected from the terminals.
The investigation followed.

Even though the story will write itself, I must place it aside for the nonce.
My off spring has begun badgering me for funds to vacation in Mexico recently. After reading what I have before hand written, I believe cancellation of his credit cards is the next step since I've already closed his bank accounts and notified the Federal State Department to terminate his passport. One must remember to caution ones off spring that graduation is a highly public demonstration of milestones everyone looks forward, both to achieve and be seen achieving. I must also impress upon him that achieving graduation in Telephony is not necessarily something he would wish the public to know, as a trades item, you understand.

Control and utilization of an undiscovered talent is very important. A more noble use is required. But, first, control necessary.

The above story was written and published in 2007. I influenced by contemporary world events and enjoyed a flight of fancy in creating a situation.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, December 02, 2011

2011-12-02T16:04:00.001-05:00

Westar (the energy supplier for the greater part of Kansas) is requesting a $90.8 million rate increase. That's a hike of about 5.85 percent, amounting to a monthly increase of $6.44 for the average usage of 900 kilowatt - hours.

That doesn’t seem much and probably isn’t in the larger scheme of things – But . . . but, my last bill was 3.1 times the monthly last month. I’d damn them to hell except for two things: I use the product and there is little to be done except bitch.

The rate hike will go through, I’m sure.

My tobacco products come into a local liquor store each month. That is, I place the order and pick up the requirement each 1st week. Today I went in and told the man I’d decided to order the Christmas booze for the various vendors that help me through out the year.

The man asked me if I wanted them now, and I stuttered. I’d told him I’d let him know this week if I wanted the stuff and he’d gone ahead and ordered the items we’d talked about. He had them all boxed up in a suitable carton for me.

So I did that.

The weird part was I then backed tracked to every place I’d gone to this morning to deliver the booze to the people I’d just finished dealing with on the out-bound leg.

Pits, that is.

While I was pulling up at the liquor store a fellow came out all dressed in black. Black Levi’s, boots, belt, shirt, and a big black cowboy hat. He was wearing a gold belt buckle.

Looked a million dollars, he did. He climbed into a mini-truck and I parked next to him. Getting out of my truck, I could smell that little truck. Rank. The back was full of junk bottles, wicker bushel baskets of small pieces of cloth and mushed up papers; the passenger seat was full of trash and more small bits of cloth.

The dude was sitting there playing games on an iphone.

I had to chuckle, really. If you’d seen the guy away from the trucks he’d appear the cowman and a fairly prosperous one at that. But seeing him in that truck and smelling the musk gave a totally different picture.

Which reminded me I’d do well to shave more than twice a week and get a haircut more than once an eighth month.

Out of Iraq. Not bad. The whole idea feels strange. Weird.

Big Fat Rooney came out of the bottle long enough to find employment. He was driving the company pick-up along above the hydroplaning speed on a gravel road and the front tire blew.

He ended in the pasture, having torn the fence down, beating up the front end and torqueing the frame a bit.

They went looking for the truck when Big Fat Rooney didn’t show for the afternoon, as someone remembered him having an assignment.

They found the truck. They’re still looking for Rooney. There wasn’t any blood or signs he’d been injured. Just no Rooney. They figured they’d go down to the bar after work and see if he’d gotten a ride to town.

I haven’t heard yet today if they found him or not. Maybe soon. He’d left the keys in the truck.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, December 01, 2011

2011-12-01T13:35:00.001-05:00

Todays picture is dedicated to those hard core hunters sitting in blinds, sneaking along the game tracks, hiding in their best imitation of acorns in trees; enduring through over-dressing in sixty degree weather, shivering in freezing rain, cursing driven snow and other minor effects to return to base camp tired and skunked.

What you’re looking for is easy to find, folks, when you’re not looking for it in particular:

Just thought I’d remind you.

I should also mention I suppose, there’s a bark skinned tree along the road down Southwest. The bark was torn up by a hunters overshoot. I wasn’t hunting, mind. I was stopped for a pee break and the bark disappeared from the tree about two feet over my head and continued across the back country road.

That was this morning.

I don’t usually go out during deer season. I’m not sure why.

From todays WTF file: Men use ax and shovel as weapons during fight

http://www.kwch.com/news/crimewatch/kwch-men-use-ax-and-shovel-as-weapons-during-fight-20111201,0,7501781.story

I’m currently reading: Mother of Demons

A rather strange book, but after about six chapters or so it started to make some sense. One must simply wade through Earth history to get to it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

2011-11-30T13:30:00.001-05:00

“I’ve got a story to tell.” Housekeeper started off.

“Well. Okay.” I say. “Tell it.”

“My hunters are in town.”

“Okay. Is that why you’re all dressed and looking good. You’re hunters being here, I mean?”

“Oh. No. I was in my bath robe when I saw them off.”

“Um. In your bath robe? Um.”

“You’re impossible.”

“The story.”

“Oh. Well, you know I talk about (and here I insert a blank because she named one of her customers who I have no name for) and he’s out on the farm?”

“Chess. I remember him.”

“Well, he was in town and told me he had a problem with a young man trespasser hunter. Seems the young fellow was up a tree when the farmer got to him and the farmer couldn’t talk him down.

So the farmer went home and called the sheriff and then went back out and told the man to come down and the man still refused. The farmer then showed the man the chain saw he’d brought with him when he’d called the law and tried to get the man from the tree.

The man still refused and the farmer fired up the chain saw and laid it against the tree and the young man claimed surrender and came down.”

“Well, Housekeeper,” I asked, “is that the whole story?”

‘Well, no.” she says, “the law showed up and arrested the young man for trespass.”

“Good,” I say, “did they put him in jail and confiscate his weapon?”

She didn’t know. But did know that the young man isn’t hunting on the property – because the farmer had given Housekeepers husband permission and had come by the house to pick him up.

Whether the story is true or not I won’t question Housekeeper. Simply note that this is the first time in nine years Housekeepers husband has gone hunting – and the first time in almost as long Housekeeper has worn Levi’s and shirt while she is working around my place. Usually she is in sweats. Totally a different look.

She’s also gained another dog. Someone had dropped off a Mastodon (I know – still I don’t know what kind of dog she really adopted never having seen it. Just assume she was describing a very large dog type animal). She doesn’t think she can keep it however as it has gone through forty pounds of feed in less than two weeks.

We get the animal drop-offs quite regularly around here. It’s never good. The weird part, sometimes, is to contemplate few people will address these strays and they die or are shot, and at the same time we have a great many of the locals raising animals in the puppy mills for sale.

Nope. It’s money for both examples, I suppose. I know I don’t attempt to either kill or adopt the strays. I feed mine in doors and their territorial instincts keep the fleas down.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

2011-11-29T08:46:00.001-05:00

Given promises made, I fully expected to have a full freezer by this time of the year. Not so, cried the voice. No so, says reality.

I’d really not believed the Renter would have reneged and still refuse to think it. But he is two weeks late on payment and not even a phone call.

It isn’t that I think badly of him, but it puts me in the quandary. Do I fill the freezer by other means or wait, not having room to store the goods if he does show up with the beef.

Decisions, decisions.

Yesterday I filled the blog with links to a story of the Governor and a HS girl. The story bothered me at a level deeper than the seemingly obvious one of a little person refusing to bow to pressures from a more powerful person.

My angst went slightly deeper of HOW the pressure was applied and HOW the Governor chose to do it, and HOW the ID of the kid was obtained in the first place.

My thinking was how’d the Tweet writer get ID’d. Did Twitter give the information of one of their users to the Governor? Did the kid put personal information on the net voluntarily: Was there a link to another site, like Facebook or other social media?

Then there’s the idea of the Governor using political clout through the educational system to bring embarrassment to an impressionable teen; to say very little of the current emphasis on bullying in schools and here’s a BIG bully doing his thing – for far more than lunch money at that.

So far, it sounds like the obama using the office to ruin Joe the Plumber as he did.

Well, the game is as old as protective politics anyway, but after posting I received a subscribed email from Bob Rankin, Track a Cell Phone, which was a real treat, I must say.

It dealt with tracking a cell phone with down loadable programs. Not new – maybe. Read the article and find out it may be done without permissions. Then speculate with the idea of all those site that “find” folks.

It’s a pity a thing like the computer with all it’s benefits is first subverted to single enforcement of desires. About like a government that wishes to bring money to the under privileged first thinks to bulking up the law enforcement areas – even before bulking up the fire or medical sides of the equation.

/rant

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, November 28, 2011

2011-11-28T14:27:00.001-05:00

The Governor of Kansas gives a speech, open to the public. A listening member tweets a snark about part of the speech, from the forum and the Governor’s snooper programs skim the tweet with the Governor’s name.

Pressure is applied for the student to apologize to the governor by the school and the student refuses.

A couple of days later the Governor apologizes to the student for applying the pressure.

Kansas Governor Apologizes for Trying to Discipline Student Over Rude Tweet

Fox News - ‎16 minutes ago‎

TOPEKA, Kan. - Kansas Gov. Sam Brownback issued an apology on Monday, saying his office overreacted to a disparaging tweet from a high school senior who used a crude hashtag in her post.

Related Sam Brownback » Emma Sullivan »

Tweeting Kansas Teen Gets Apology from Gov. Brownback, Her Following SoarsABC News (blog)

Kansas teen won't apologize for her tweet about Gov. Sam BrownbackChristian Science Monitor

Opinion:The girl who dared to tweet about Gov. BrownbackCNN

What the hell is wrong with that picture?

Way to go, Kid.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, November 27, 2011

2011-11-27T15:49:00.001-05:00

Watching football.

Finally seeing a game worth calling a contest – the BUF/JETS game on CBS. Most of the games have been so darn lop- sided after the first quarter it’s disappointing.

An early morning musical chairs type of thing with the near neighbors neighbor. I only have three out buildings, but they are enough the kid could hide behind one side while I went the other. The last I saw of him in the dark was his back disappearing into the tall grasses across the road.

I caught him just as he was turning loose of the door he’d opened in back and the dog hit the inner door pretty hard. The kid booked, and I’ve never been the fastest runner around.

Definitely a strip of meat I’d like to marinate. Before one says: “Call the police.” remember, I have before. The item is “proof”. Knowing one thing, being without physical evidence is another.

I have ordered two new cameras. Both will be without visible light flash. Thanks to the Year in Hoo Wood for the model number he published. I’ve looked at a lot of American stuff in the past year and hadn’t really a clue as to what was really available.

The game cameras that operated on the visible spectrum and the infra red were all too apparent when one was looking or knew a camera was around. The new ones will be different.

There are some other out there I’d recently discovered, but the generation numbers to satisfy my needs were too high in price for an overall consideration.

At least at this time.

Played some Seven Card Stud for a while. First time in months and months. Rather fun. Played someone that fell for my Helpless in Poker act twice, which was enough to trap them into a couple of serious mistakes.

I left before they did – it was almost too easy. Which is what they say when I’m the mark. Which is often.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, November 26, 2011

2011-11-26T06:55:00.001-05:00

This story was written in 2008. That date has no significance to anything. Just an indicator of how far back I’m reaching.

It is a factual based thing and I remember events quite well – mostly for things not done, than those done. It is indicative of a period “I wish I’d . . .”.

Summer Story

An evenings interview with non-entity life styles. File: Background. Expense: Research. Quality: 2HC; Dubious.

***

Friends are a difficult thing. As a matter of fact they are almost impossible. Difficult to find for the first thing and just as difficult to keep - especially in a mobile society.

Massachusetts and Boston, in a summer of youth. The summer of separation from hearth and kin. Many events to educate, to celebrate and to carry into age for polishing and fondling and re-creating youth. And this is such a tale. A simple thing, yet worthy of the energy expense bearing it to advanced age? I'm not entirely sure. Yet it is one that I know will travel with me to that destination.

The beginnings of the friendship are obscured. I'm not aware of an event, could not even attach a place to the incident of my meeting and subsequent friendship of these two men. I do know that one owned a car; which in itself was an attraction, my family being without one. As I remember, my friend owned a black and yellow Ford Crown Victoria convertible with an automatic shift. I also remember that somewhere in that long summer of never ending enjoyment I had occasion to drive that car some distance with a willing female, destination Keg Party. I also remember I took that car over the one hundred and ten mile per hour mark on a back country paved road.

It began to rock and roll pretty badly just after passing the one hundred mile per hour mark.

Looking back on it, it could have been just me realizing that I had very limited driving experience - like none at all; it was only the second time I had ever driven anything, and perhaps, that I did not have a drivers license. The license stuff had to wait for some period of time.

There were a lot of things about that summer that were firsts. I was introduced to alcohol that summer. And discovered what the Screwdriver and Purple Jesus were made with, and what the phrase "It is all good" really meant, at least as it pertained to drink. That other stuff had to wait for the professional ladies of Europe. I was a late bloomer. Strange that, considering I was always near college towns. But my friends were pretty well-heeled, with good connections, to use the vernacular of the day. Most of my other men friends wore slacks and quality shirts, not jeans and Tees; the women were proper, meaning they wore shoes without bobby socks and the quality of their clothes was such that my monthly pay was less than a week's pocket money. It was also the first time I ran into the real life definition of "Snobbery," and learned how unspoken guidance can save personal bruises as well as social tranquility.

But I was young and these were my friends and all was good.

There came a day, in the middle of some week or other, that we discovered the following weekend was a Blue Moon Event. That meant that we were all receiving the weekend off, together.

It was during that planning session that I learned "it is only ninety miles to Boston" meant that it was only ninety miles if one owned a car. We planned and the Friday afternoon came. We left. Our Summer Day of beautiful weather lasted. We arrived in their home town of Boston with daylight left and I was treated to a wonderfully blue, green, and grey view of the harbor and town. Well, parts of the town. All trimmed and separated with mud flats, rock and raw soil cliffs. That night was given to youthful debauchery and pub crawling. Youth reared its head the next morning.

No hang over. We did, however, sleep our fill.

There were only two events planned for the day. Swim. And a most curious visit. The visit was to occur prior to the swim. I was briefed twice that morning about that impending visit. The first by the owner of the car, who was the leader of the group. I had noticed a certain agitation in his behavior for a time before he briefed me, and there were un-explained absences in the hour prior. Be that as it may, the briefing was explicit and succinct. We are going to see a woman and a kid. Don't say anything. Don't react to anything. Don't say anything. My other friend said the same thing. He did add that when I saw, I would understand. Still, I was unprepared for what eventually faced us.

We piled into the car in front of their house and were off. Quiet streets, busy streets. Around a tree lined street corner and up an alley. And we parked. We parked, I discovered, about two houses down from our destination. We walked up behind a tool shed and an incomplete fence. I saw a quadruple clothes line, partially filled with sheets and personal items. There was a woman hanging clothes there. When my friend scuffed his foot on the alleys gravel she looked toward us and started to step out in greeting. She stopped when she glanced toward the house and called someone instead.

I had followed her glance and noticed a man arriving around the corner of the house - not from the back door, as one might expect from an owner. But from the side along the service walk. He stopped at the corner of the house and examined our group, and when he noticed that my other friend and I had seen him, he became interested in the fascia of the houses upper levels. He remained in that posture for the duration of our visit.

The woman's soft call had caught the attention of a child playing near the rear door, and brought him to her. She gently turned him and nodded our way. The kids face brightened and he walked toward us. That is when shock set in. The kid was the image of my friend. No "looked like", no "what he might look like later"crap. Absolute. The only thing different is the kid didn't get bigger the closer he came.

As the kid was enfolded in my friend's arms and as the two hugged, I glanced toward the strange man and observed that he had gone rigid. It was very difficult to refrain from exclaiming my astonishment. The visit was brief. And, I think, totally unsatisfactory for all concerned, as the woman visibly restrained herself from joining the kid in the greeting embrace.

We resumed our planned day. The swim, which my friend the car owner did not join being engaged with the beaches beer bar, was a comedy of youthful stupidity. My other friend and I set out to swim from the beach to the Boston Light House. Some seven miles. The life guard refused to let us go much beyond the three hundred yard mark, outside his mental confines of "The Beach." So, we relaxed on the sands. The sparkle had gone from the day though. I honestly don't remember much of the rest of the day, or the evening.

On the Sunday I was waken and told that they had a thing to show me, so we eased our way through breakfast, taking the time between breakfast until after normal church finish to wind our way to a different area of the shore. As we approached the yacht club area, I experienced my first close up sight of small sailing craft. They were wonderful things. All the colors, and the quiet voices of on-lookers, the lack of noise from the craft. The sun glinting from the waves. A world away.

What happened there, that day is another summer story. One which I regret losing, as I found a girl, and a level of people I sincerely enjoyed; not to mention a host of other possibilities.

Authors Note: Cat: two (2). I detest professionally half trained pre-functionary foreplay. HC equates to Hollar Caller

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, November 25, 2011

2011-11-25T15:58:00.001-05:00

THE SHADOW OF SAGANAMI David Drake, 2004, Baen Books

[ . . ]

"and I didn't understand it. According to other parts of the package, the Kornatians are fiercely devoted to individual civil rights. How does a nation with that sort of attitude justify not providing an adequate safety net for its people? I realize there's a difference between having the right to have the government leave you alone and depending on the government to take care of you, but it still strikes me as reflecting contradictory attitudes."

"Because it does, in a way," Van Dort agreed. "As you say, their civil rights tradition is that the citizen has the right to be free of undue government interference, not to be taken care of by the government. When that tradition first evolved, about a hundred and fifty T-years ago, the economy was far less stratified than it is now, the middle class was much larger, relatively speaking, and the electorate in general was far more involved in politics.

"But over the last seventy or eighty T-years, that's changed. The economy's stagnated, compared to other systems in the area, even as the population's increased steeply. The poor and the very poor—the underclass, if you will—has grown enormously relative to the total population, and the middle class has been severely pinched. And there's a growing attitude on the part of some Kornatian political leaders that the civil rights of voting citizens are important, but that those of citizens who don't vote are more . . . negotiable. Especially when the citizens involved pose a threat to public safety and stability."

[ . . ]

Which is an excerpt from my present read. It’s only seven years in print, but worth mentioning as it is a novel with the feel of a ponderous thesis book and, I’ll admit, on the free list and on the computer.

But reading the thing puts me in mind of a heavy tome of study and book must and dark libraries.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, November 24, 2011

2011-11-24T13:11:00.001-05:00

Turkey Day to you.

The games are starting. For the first time in a great many years I’m looking forward to watching the Lions – no matter who they’re playing. I hope the reality is as good as the anticipation.

A full day of games also. Joy.

Clear. Fifty-three degrees and last night the coyote’s hunted in yipping packs. I haven’t a clue as to what that means, other than to point out the last house to the South of the village shot a coyote crossing the road West to East. The den is located somewhere near the North bank of the creek and due South of the house.

The yipper’s were among the cattle on the section to the West. There appeared to be at least three. So given the location of the den, and the location of the cattle (and calves) and the short distance, about three quarters of a mile, one must surmise the coyote’s were mother and sibs from this year.

I’ve seen the mother and one young waiting for me to cross the fields so they can cross that section of the road into the pastures East.

A few years ago I read an article saying the Coyote was upping it’s position in the food chain and, rather than being a scavenger, becoming the wolf in behavior. I’ve watched closely for some sign of it and tend to agree in some cases they’ve begun to hunt in units and attack live game.

My Renter, before giving up, kept dogs to guard his sheep (which he kept some few head for the religious markets). Since he rid himself of the sheep the coyotes have been using his acres to access three or four cattle operations around. The Great Ass White Dog (GAWD) hasn’t really had anything to guard and is quickly getting old.

We do have three Coyote Hunters in the area but they don’t really like to operate so close to the village (for down range reasons with long guns) as it tends to upset their dogs with the local house dogs.

We’ve (meaning myself) been having problems with dogs grouped in two’s and three’s going under the fences recently. I have cattle panel in certain areas and the creatures dig under it for access.

If it isn’t them (and I haven’t seen any digging, but have watched them use the paths) then I’ve another problem un=resolved. The game camera’s go out again soon.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

2011-11-23T16:39:00.001-05:00

A perfectly wonderful day and the weather guessers forecast another tomorrow. Good things happen to the heating bill under those conditions.

Near neighbor arrived home a short while ago and tried to , basically, hide the package he was carrying. A goose.

Have you ever tried to make a snow goose inconspicuous by shielding it with your body while carrying it by the neck just under the head? I mean, an undressed twenty pounder. It’s almost like the man needs lessons in inconspicuous(-ity ). Big critter, however.

Since the change my ISP made in their services, going as they did to Google, Google has gotten more and more snail like. Severely disappointing.

We have all these wonderful free App’s from Google (which I’d already signed in for and seldom use in iGoogle) available through our ISP and I rejected the ISP/Google offer.

Now it takes seventy seconds for google to appear and settle down as my home page in search, and almost another thirty seconds for Google Reader to load from there, to say little of what happens when the reader appears and none of the entries load along with it.

Almost makes a fellow regret paying for high speed internet.

I do not care for the illegals crossing the border and setting up housekeeping. However, Newt had a point in the debates last night.

I have been some what puzzled with the way FOX has handled it. Generally speaking they report the comment – without their normal comments, pro or con, about the statement. I do believe they’ve run into a fact they hadn’t seriously considered in real life terms.

Still, it was refreshing to see them report something in exact terms with no editorial remarks and felt rather sorry for them. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds and how can one fill twenty-four hours of news that way.

ROTFL

Refreshing. News without the program.

I had more, but tomorrow is soon enough. And for the Americans – have a good one. I’m having pork and chicken; pumpkin pie and ice cream. There’ll be two of us: Me and the dog.

He started early. He ate the celery stuffed with creamed cheese. And half the black olives I was working with.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

2011-11-22T08:50:00.001-05:00

Did you know that The Onion (www.theonion.com/) is number three on the googled humor page?

And did you know I don’t subscribe to The Onion? I wonder what I’m missing.

And since the Dem’s like to play the racist card on conservatives I’d like to point out that makes politics black and white; and while I’m at it Red States use to mean Democrats and blue Republicans, which has changed at the Democrat’s insistence through their lap-dogs the press, while socialists (progressives) are red all over.

I was going to post a rather interesting picture, but I’ll keep it simple.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, November 21, 2011

2011-11-21T13:35:00.001-05:00

Weird.

Truly. Usually I have to give up either some foot ball or some NASCAR (usually a complete one or the other) to follow all the goodies I enjoy on the days both occur.

Yesterday I got to suffer the Red Skins OT defeat and, because of the rain delays more football and the last two-thirds of NASCAR and the evening football.

Weird.

It was a toss up as to which NASCAR Driver I was supporting. I’d been happy with the AFLAC car and was happy with the Fourteen driver. The first with a first win and the second with multiple wins of championship.

But for a driver to pass over a hundred and eighteen cars going flat out in four hundred miles – Well, congrats, Smoke. A feat and earned twice over.

Had aces beaten in poker. Play money poker. Lost to seven, nine, unsuited. Pity me.

Have figured out a way to prey upon the card game Spider. I’ve managed to raise the win percentage rate without the undo function to twenty-five percent. Although I will admit it is hard – that’s with the medium difficulty setting (Two Suits).

I don’t think I’m smart enough to tackle the three suit game. I have hopes for the future, little for gaining much more of a percentage than I now have with this level.

I did some research into the game. It seems many have tried to figure out what makes the thing popular and difficult. The conclusions some of those looking into the software haven’t been amiable to making the game easier. Not at all.

I sometimes think the designers were each high on a different pleasure and would only work on the program while on the the stuff. That’s what it seems like.

I haven’t found any thing written by the developers that explain a different theory or how to beat the game – consistently.

I wonder how many people really thought the Super Committee would really succeed. The Dems are living the socialists American dream. They want no military, the money there going to social programs.

Guns only at the government level. Regulated everything. No will cards, loose cannons, socially inept, sophisticated frosting on all social trappings and they alone with the right to praise or condemn another’s actions.

Which reminds me. It is not Romney’s “Turn”.

On the other hand: Who?

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, November 20, 2011

2011-11-20T13:56:00.001-05:00

Watching the Red Skins/Dallas game. I’m a Skins supporter.

I’m in trouble.

I was curious as to the general out come of several blogs I subscribed to dealing with poker after the government crack down of on-line poker. Now it has been just over six months and the answer appears to have come in.

A great many of the blogs have died. If not died, gone dark. Many recent posts are date April or May and little since.

There were four or five I miss. They were well written. Given, even, the writing, one would have hoped the writers imagination extended beyond simply poker. Or even the writers life for that matter.

Two blogs this morning hit points of truth that ‘felt’ true. One an illustrated commentary strip and one a several times a day Tweet like affair in blog format. One commented on the Occupy xxx and one listed obama muck.

I’m on my second Lackey book this past eight day. I’m no further into liking her work now than the first I read several years ago. Still, I plug along with it – comparing it as I do as I go along with Turtledove, the last finished before beginning this.

The weather was forecast to be rain. It hasn’t. It is cold enough that it does rain it is likely to be ice. Which isn’t a good thing. Prefer the cold without the rain, thank you.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, November 19, 2011

2011-11-19T15:23:00.001-05:00

Another Saturday, again. Another of those previously published elsewhere stories, again.

This one was inspired by a couple of news reports and one or two glimpses of reality TV programing; and truthfully, the observation of a local overweight dude photographing 12 – 16 year old girls in the buff.

The girls liked it, the guy liked it (so did the guys he showed the pictures to) but a lady running for public office didn’t care for it when her daughter told her about the invitation she’d received.

It’s Not Like I’m Dishonest: Honest

The guy I was following parked his fat butt on a bench and started feeding himself, and the pigeons gathered around, from the Popcorn Bag he carried.

One piece for the thirty pigeons, six pieces for himself. Cupping his handful for himself, seemingly not minding the occasional choke on kernels.

I wasn't happy with this slob. And I was even less happy with his current activity - watching the kids across the path and down away.

But it was a public park. And the guy only watched the kids. Too bad about that.
I slid into a bench fifty yards or so up the path to keep him in sight, and reviewed what I knew about the clown.

Fifty-nine years, High School plus some. Had a decent job and had been in it for twenty years. Churchgoer on occasions. Most friends seemed through his wife, and it appeared that all visitors to their home were her friends, or at least people met through her. No co-workers visited. No kids of their own. Never any kids. Whether his choice, her choice, or their choice, or simply impossible, unknown. It was reported that he liked kids and the visitors with kids didn't report problems.

He did indulge in alcohol to a mild extent, seldom going out with colleagues after work and then only on special occasions and office parties. A movie a year, and then at his wife's urging. No sports; no bowling, no golf, no nothing. Except some yard work around his place, a home he had purchased fifteen years prior.

He did have TV, internet and subscriptions to several magazines (not considering his wife's, which were knit this, care for the house that), Only one of the magazines interested me, that was a computer gaming monthly. I figured this guy for a war gamer or gambler, though I didn't know for sure about anything along those lines, except he wasn't a Nerd. His job wasn't in those areas.

About the only positive thing about this guy was he asked for a raise every year. Like clockwork, I'm told. Always for the amount of the previous year's reported inflation rate. Never more. His boss indicated that he never asked for a promotion, either, nor volunteered for extra time on the clock or more responsibility. A real wuss, this one.

Look at him: sitting over there in the cheap suit, carefully whipping his salted, butter-smeared hand on that over-large handkerchief in the breast pocket next to the pseudo silk tie. Christ. Who would think looking at him that he had been carrying a million and a half accidental life insurance on his wife all these years. Who? I ask you.

On the other hand, who would think he would ever legally file the claim? Which brings me around to me.

I'm a private investigator. A damn good private investigator. I have a wife, a very expensive wife. She likes the good things in life. We're matched. I like good things too. I've got two kids, a nice house and the kids are looking forward to their second year at the good college upstate. No need to talk about the four cars, two trucks and three dogs. To say little about the cats hanging around. I like the night life.

Really need a party or so a week to make a man feel alive. I like showing off the wife, too. She's a looker, that one. That is all beside the point. What matters is I was hired to investigate this clown's claim. All the usual questions, all the usual suspicions. Here, outta the blue, a no-nothing asks for a mil and a half. The company isn't really happy with this. Nowhere near happy. So, I'm assigned the case to see if... What...

I've been after determining this for eight months now. The creep's lawyer is starting to yap some. Me? Let him yap, the longer the better for me. But he is making noises about the State regulatory body and so forth. So the company is going to move soon - fact is, they've been after me here lately. And what do I have to report?

Slop's wife died in a traffic accident. She was driving one car and got rammed by another. At least it was quick. I tried her to be at fault, that didn't work well. I tried the "Hand of God" thing, but we couldn't find a flaming thing wrong with either car not explainable by the battle damage. She wasn't on the cell, they didn't own one. She wasn't -- anything. Just a Vanilla Jane. No lumps, no handles anywhere I could see. Until the autopsy.

I really thought I had something there. The Biddy was juiced up on downers and other stuff. Not that I can fault her for that, what with their lifestyle. Be enough to drive anyone to hypertension. The biggest problem was they were all prescription stuff, within easy tolerances. I tried to hang on a bit with that train of thought but there wasn't enough to satisfy the company and there wasn't a written prohibition included in her prescription bottle to prohibit driving.

So, I tried the other car. That was a fifty-fifty thing. Problem was the fifty percent of the four in the other car were straight, and it just so happened that they were the right fifty percent. They were both straight and in charge of the vehicle on impact. At least that we could prove. None of the four made it, so we only know what we surmise.

And I can't find anything to hang this on. Sitting here watching this duffer and reading these notes reminds me that the guy's car was carrying full coverage insurance on a three month old car. Yeah. He would buy a new car every two years and keep them fully covered. So he'll be getting a new car on top of everything else.

My newest is eight years old. I got it the year my youngest kid got out of secondary school. And this guy I'm following.

Yeah, him. Gets a mil and a half, and a new car. No house payment, no wife, no kids, no pets. And a million and a half with a new car.

Well. The report is due in an hour, I guess this one is settled. Except for the check. Some guys just have all the luck.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, November 18, 2011

2011-11-18T17:32:00.001-05:00

I read, for the first time in I’ve forgotten how long ago, the entirety of my truck insurance. Full coverage.

Remarkable.

The reading thereof, not the policy itself. I found I could have gotten the tire that was shredded seven and a half hours earlier than I did, and I could have done it with two simple phone calls.

Remarkable.

I asked Housekeeper if she wanted the roasts, as I’d said I was going to. She informed me she was not planning any Thanksgiving or Christmas diners this year.

She gotten, she said, fed up with cooking for people and is even planning on making her brother take his holiday meals at the State run home he is in. Not to put too fine a point on it, she indicated her husband would be taking her to a commercial meal somewhere of her choice for both days.

Housekeeper, for shame earned me only a sniff and a head toss. She did say she’d probably cook for “her deer hunters” however.

The deer hunter come along one or two weekends a year (they own the oil lease her hubby works for, and the cattle her hubby cares for down South of her village). The hunters also give her a whole deer each year as the hunters wives, while liking to hunt, don’t cook.

Which leaves me with the idea Housekeeper is getting older, and is winding her labor to keep taunt lines. Of course, the roasts will probably end feeding the hunters as she cooks one meal a day for them and packs a lunch for each to take to the field.

The grass is dry, the woods brown, the leaves gone.

The idiot ward of the village councilor was out doing his irritating thing around the house and hiding in the woods along the border of the property – wearing white pants, a pale shirt and a red checked jacket.

It reminded me of the night they (the girl is now married, then there were three) of the dopers were hiding in the weeds and one of their cell phones rang.

Terrible taste in ring tones. Simply terrible.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, November 17, 2011

2011-11-17T15:45:00.001-05:00

Well, who knows.

Went into the Post Office this afternoon and found the Post Mistress gone for the day. The part-timer was there.

The part-timer is a nice person, I’ve written a piece about her before but I’ll not point to it for other reasons. We fell into a mild conversation and she informed me she was thinking of finding another job.

Okay. But why?

It seems she is a part-time employee of the service. For the past three years she has been working full time hours at a distance from this station filling in for the post mistress of that distant station. That Mistress is working full time at a station sixty miles from her home.

The part-timer indicates that she had closed the distance station to work at our station because our Post Mistress had taken off this afternoon to clean her house because she would be having guest over tomorrow, so the part-timer would be working tomorrow and Saturday here.

I asked what happens to the distant station if you’re here. The part-timer said that stations Post Mistress who is now working away, would care for the distant station on Friday. The station, she said, would be closing in the near future. The village it is in is smaller than our tiny place.

I also asked when the part-timer had last had a day off other than Sundays and she said the Federal holiday last Friday.

I think I love three day week-ends. The part-timer is normally charged with holidays and Saturdays or when the regular Post Mistresses are busy with vacations, route checks and meetings. I asked the part-timer if she had re-married (she got divorced six or seven months after she started working for the postal department; her Ex still lives in the house. He’s a truck driver)., she said she hadn’t – but she was still thinking of getting another job.

But doesn’t know where.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

2011-11-16T14:52:00.001-05:00

Snow.

‘Tis true. Forty-five degrees and snowing. Looks good coming down.

Housekeeper was telling me Vince, the fellow picking up stuff along the Highway(?), also owns a farm out along the main road North bound. The point she was trying to make, I’m sure, is Vince has a bit of depth to him she felt I didn’t know while telling her about being rude to him the other day.

It’s difficult sometimes to tell Housekeeper you know something before being told. But Vince being dressed in patchy bib overalls and a holey shirt has never disguised his moderate wealth – especially when I’ve dropped off whole tree trunks at the farm for him to chunk up and split for heat – I had to explain that one to her, her even knowing I use to log the local timber.

I’d not thought of the behavior, but Housekeeper was also telling me the Wind Farm construction folks are starting to thin out. What with the weather changing and all. She said, however, when I remarked on the weather having that effect on construction that she thinks they’re about done with the dirt and concrete work out there and almost finished erecting the base towers.

Which makes sense, releasing the construction workers and leaving the installation crews to wire them up.

Then she tickled me. She said she thought half the town was going to up and leave. I asked what she was talking about and she said there was five women filed for divorce and were leaving town with their paramour's when they left.

She said: “Those guys only make ten bucks and hour, what’re those women thinking?”

I had to laugh on more than one level, but she couldn’t get over it. Evidently one of the departing women had given Housekeeper what she estimated was two thousand dollars worth of clothes. Housekeeper said the woman had been married for almost thirty years and she’d told her she wanted to leave with only one car full of her stuff.

Housekeeper started counting on her fingers (by name) all the women she knew that were leaving town with the departing construction workers and she got up to seven and a funny look came over her face; she exclaimed “I’ll bet there’s more than ten women getting divorces and leaving!”

“Fickle critters aren’t you.” I said.

You’ll pardon me, kind reader, I know, for the laughing at Housekeeper. I didn’t try to explain to her the winds of strange and exotic struck her town and money flowed and drunken sailors staggered to their ships, sweeping along the country bumpkins.

Pity the grass growing elsewhere than the mired in rural ex-husbands. Considering Housekeepers life, I’m amazed she is amazed.

Truly.

I figure reality will set in for most of the departee's within a month to six months and forgiveness will be or not be seen then.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

2011-11-15T17:48:00.001-05:00

Producers in many areas of central and eastern Kansas received beneficial moisture last week, slowing harvesting of remaining row crops slightly while western areas of the state received only light amounts of rain. Eight stations received over 3 inches of rain and an additional 23 stations received between 1 and 3 inches. Howard led the state with 3.94 inches of rain, followed by Winfield -Arkansas City with 3.59 inches and Manhattan with 3.54 inches. Temperatures were mostly above normal with highs ranging from the mid-60s to the mid-70s while lows ranged from 18 degrees at Oberlin to the low 30s.

Kansas farmers averaged 4.1 days suitable for field work last week with the Northwest and West Central Districts having 5.9 days suitable, while the Northeast District had only 2.1 days suitable. Topsoil moisture supplies improved considerably to 18 percent very short, 23 percent short, 55 percent adequate, and 4 percent surplus. This is the first week since the end of June that topsoil moisture has been greater than 50 percent adequate. Subsoil moisture supplies were rated 33 percent very short, 31 percent short, 35 percent adequate, and 1 percent surplus. Farmers continued to make progress with harvesting remaining fall crops, as well as applying fall chemicals and fertilizers

http://www.midwestproducer.com/news/regional/usda-crop-and-weather-reports-for-kansas-and-nebraska-from/article_ff7b16ec-0fd0-11e1-b1aa-001cc4c03286.html

All of which explains what I’ve been hinting about concerning the lack of rains. The days have been busy. I’ve been informed the promised payment for the care of the feeder calves will be forth coming next week – it isn’t a case of: “yeah, sure.”

I actually helped load the slaughter calves myself. I’ve asked for a large roast. I’ll throw that into the Christmas bonus for Housekeeper. She’ll have at least four adults and probably four of the neighbor kids over, either for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Last year she had twelve folks to care for over the holidays (each of the days) and I don’t see any change this year.

She collects people like she collects dogs (she’s back up to five of the dogs).

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, November 14, 2011

2011-11-14T14:15:00.001-05:00

“Howdy, Vince!”

“Hey. How’s your day being done?”

“Pretty well, Vince. Yours?”

“Good.”

(Vince lives on the South end of a neighboring town. He’s had trouble with his town fathers about the livability of his property down there. They made him get rid of a trailer and other old things he’d accumulated, you understand.

He’s also the owner of the small goat in pictures I posted about two years ago. Pretty thing, that goat. I mean while it was small and all.)

“Good to hear.” Waving a hand at the cluttered bed of his pickup truck, I asked: “You been picking up stuff along the Highway again?”

(While waiting I looked again at the truck bed and its cargo of tires, small table (about eight inches tall), used oil containers, well pipe welded up in rectangular form, T-Pole driver (home made from well pipe, and re-bar handles), new T-poles and other stuff.)

A pause.

“Well,” he says, “the tires came off my trailer; the small table thing there is the stool my wife used to get in and out of the old pick-up truck before I got rid of it; that heater over there I got for Leroy (died several years ago now) but he passed on before I could give it to him.”

“And this,” he said, waving a hand at the drill pipe rectangle with cross bars, and looking slightly embarrassed, “was just laying along side the road yesterday.”

Vince is one of the “want not” fellows that grow as much as they can, fix what they need from refrigerators to half sick lawn tractors dragging the free range chicken coops around the lawn. Their priorities not always yours or mine, but looked at closely, many times, neither is their genius.

He wasn’t embarrassed for having admitted he had been picking up stuff along the Highway, he was embarrassed over not being able to give a reason for having done so. Then he doesn’t know me well enough to understand he doesn’t need to have a reason as far as I’m concerned. I know he’ll find a use for it, or parts of it, some time in the future.

Then I’m not on the city board that mandated his getting rid of the trailer house and all those old cars – or his next door neighbor, either.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, November 13, 2011

2011-11-13T10:11:00.001-05:00

Accident with cattle truck shuts down HWY 54 near Eureka

I’m happy to say I wasn’t around during that. That is a headline from KWCH News.

Many years ago, like yesterday, when I was young one of my companions made the statement, while we were watching and discussing Arabs, that they had two hands.

Not totally understanding another asked clarification and the man said that the Arabs use one hand for most chores and speaking gestures and eating. The other he said was the “Bad” hand, used for personal body functions and that hand was seldom if ever used for social displays.

Down through the remainder of my adult life I’ve watched the news clips and think I’ve observed that the higher up the food chain an Arab is placed the fewer gestures made – It should be noted that I’ve never shared a meal with one.

But generally speaking, the two handed theory seems to be holding correct. A social hand and a bad hand.

In case you’re wondering what brought all that on, I was watching a film news film clip.

Have you watched the US Political leaders hand gestures? And snicker if you wish if you watch Nancy Pelosi – famous for her masculine gestures, and if you follow her through several of her recent years, you’ll discover she’s almost given up using her left hand in gestures.

Just thought I’d point out what I believe I’ve seen.

Plenty of football this weekend. Plenty of lop-sided scores. One team losing was bad – Boise. And one team winning was good – The Purple Panthers, KSU.

I’d really like to see JoePa’s contract. Really would. I’d like to see what kind of muzzle clause is in it. I wonder if he had, contractually, any out’s in his reporting of the incident to “authority.”

Military speaking only certain people may speak “for” the organization and I don’t suppose the College is any different.

The fact law enforcement hasn’t gone after JoePa seems to indicate he did the things he was suppose too, trusting in his superiors (which is the essence of contracts, written or implied) to do the right thing for the school.

That he was let down along with the faithful isn’t really his fault. And I don’t think the Governor that didn’t like him and seized the moment to eliminate JoePa has much credit for the act of firing other than spite.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, November 12, 2011

2011-11-12T12:11:00.001-04:00

Another of the previously published. This one (from three or four years ago) I’m not sure of the motivation. I believe it stemmed from the ever present “Can I Do Anything With This Idea.”

The plot is all in the observers mind – as well as the writers. If one cannot turn loose of reality the story fails.

The Reason Why . . .

The place had a less than classy name, The Roamin Gardens, to say little of the fact the only garden about it were two fake, potted palm trees at the front door. A typical sleazy pick-up joint. One in which you feel like everything you touch you can pick-up most anything. And it was crowded; crowded with most every sex imaginable.

I was there chasing a rumor, not the hunk name or the twitter fluff name, floating the streets this week; but the two person guest show I'd heard about Up-Town. I'd heard they perform once a night wherever they book into, and take no encore. Never heard of performers short stopping themselves like that before, never. So I tracked them down and there I was, bucking the make-up, the made-up and the delusional to find a secure corner near the pitifully pretentious stage; fighting the smell of spilled drinks, seldom-washed bodies sweating in the press, sex and drugs, when the lights dimmed, way down with no announcement other than the insistent, slow beat of a faintly heard drum.

I wasn't aware of the length of time I had been hearing that drum beat, being very faint. However, it was long enough that it began to demand my attention, the beat never changing, never flagging. Persistent. And it continued as the noise and hubbub of the club dwindled, and faded, until finally, after an undetermined length, the mass of humanity stilled. And the drum dominated, never a word spoken as the beat doubled, swelled louder. That single drum beat was joined by another, deeper, though less than base drum. The newer drum was compelling as it picked up the beat and the first drum began to play with the beat, weaving the occasional pattern around it.

A third drum joined the others. That third was a softly speaking thing, joyful and just a bit playful among the deeper voices. It slithered and wove its way through the beat; now faint, now boldly. It, too, faded, though never leaving the senses.

It was sometime in there that a dim figure appeared on the stage. Petite, it was. Clothed, it was revealed as the stage lights brightened, in silk from head to toe, bare foot, progressing to the center of the stage; each step in time with the drum, no movement, like a stick, except for the short stepping feet. Almost an exaggerated mincing, however graceful; however seemingly artless.

As the figure reached stage center and turned toward the watchers an arrhythmic clacking of ivory castanets demanded the attention of the drums, which double stepped and picked up the beat laid by the figure. That figure began to move. First just the feet, and the bells attached to the ankle bracelets joined the drums and the castanets, then the hands raising toward the waist, then higher and the arms began to moving, boneless for all intent, weaving in counter point to the beat maintained by the feet, the drums and the castanets.

The entire performance was quiet and understated for the instruments involved. Harmony: in the body that began to undulate, causing the silks to flow and swirl about the shapely body. The arms slowly spread aside, then moving slowly down the imaginary back to cup the non-visible buttocks and back up the spine hiding the willingly receptive hips, swaying to the beat, softly, slowly. And the bells strewn about the shoulders of the figure joined the rhythm as the hands and arms twined their way to stretch luxuriously above the heads in perfect contentment until it would seem the joints would pop, still in time and beat with the drums.

Drums which quickened their beat, heightening the tensions, bringing down the arms so gracefully to hide the chest of the figure, slowing the hips, dampening the bells of the ankles as the drums rose and rose to crescendo and the figure, hips flung foreword, fingers clawed in front of the belly, froze.

Two drums halted; the third went staccato. The bells whimpered from ankle, from shoulders; the castanets faltered.

The drum, that faint head drum changed its beat, to be joined by the missing partners in the aftermath play and faded into and out of quiet stretching the senses, the castanets and bells joining, then dying to silence. The figure slowly straightening to arms at the sides, not moving the body, turning, the only moving things are the feet as the figure recedes off stage and the lights slowly brighten and the drums fade to silence.

I am left in shock, standing there in the unreal world of a stained pick-up joint. I'm numb. And more yet, the humanity around me is still silent as I head to the door. I need to escape, to leave. I need to be alone.

I need.

I paused as I achieved the street. All of that. All of it.

And they hadn't missed a beat

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, November 11, 2011

2011-11-11T18:03:00.001-04:00

And another Vet salutes Veterans on Poppy Day. Two.

Yet another book read; one deleted as too much of what it was.

Gun shots on the public road last night near home, well after dark. No stains on the road these day light hours.

My favorite Con Store and Coffee Shop is not longer a favorite – too damn busy.

Amazing how the White House critter has crawled to military functions the last half of this year – disregarding his photo shoot at a non-photo event.

Main Stream Media spins money policy explanations from the same air the Fed spins money.

One of the blogs mentioned the selling of Taiwan China to the Main Land Chinese for the US National debt forgiveness. A truly horrendous thought I could see this administration doing, mores the pity.

Looking at it, once I’d gotten over the shock of the idea, I seem to remember the debt to China is six percent of the debt only (which is excessive, to be sure) and the debt is 15Trillion or so now.

Still, one point whatever is not worth honor.

The article does show however, the trade of one people to another could be done not overtly, but through the neglect of renewals of trade agreements and military withdrawal rather than public displays.

God keep us from ideas like this.

Forgot the post office would be closed today, so I spent the time out buying my assured opportunity for the Power Ball money.

I lie a lot – but never to myself.

The dog has not reset his clock. Food is to be served one hour before the current clock speaks to me.

It’s going to be a hard winter if he continues this. Pity the milking farmers with herds. Two hundred head telling the farmer what the time is for milking just might upset my nerves.

Some soft ware developer ran Cain’s denial talks through the software and then the public statements of vocal woman accuser. The software developer gave Cain a pass and the woman a fail.

Another blogger claimed bullshit on the whole idea of software's abilities to do the judgment required.

News for the Blogs Author. Interviewers and investigators have been using that kind of software for years. It hasn’t a legal base, true. But some very large units do use part of the findings in determinations.

‘Course, its been a contention for a number of years and neither side should swear by it nor at it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thane

Friday, February 03, 2012

Thursday, February 02, 2012

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Monday, January 30, 2012

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Friday, January 27, 2012

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Monday, January 23, 2012

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Friday, January 20, 2012

homilies plural of hom·i·ly (Noun)

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Monday, January 16, 2012

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Saturday, January 14, 2011

Friday, January 13, 2012

Thursday, January 12, 2012

gerrymandering present participle of ger·ry·man·der (Verb)

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Monday, January 09, 2012

Friday, January 06, 2011

Thursday, January 05, 2011

Wednesday, January 04, 2012

Tuesday, January 03, 2011

Monday, January 02, 2011

Sunday, January 01, 2012

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Friday, December 30, 2011

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Monday, December 26, 2011

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Draft One

Friday, December 23, 2011

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Monday, December 19, 2011

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Friday, December 16, 2011

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Topeka man pleads guilty to wire fraud

Monday, December 12, 2011

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Title

The hands rip, tear, and cast aside, the object which thumps to the floor. Tough, disgusting, it thumps. The body on the table heaves. In the author's minds eye rise giggles and simpers, and the hands pause as the mind turns over every action thus far performed.

The eye observes the fluids seeping into the sieve, the sieve keeping the coagulating fluids and viscera away; creating a small pool of pure and lovely hearts bloods. But there is an Act to be performed. And Act as yet undone. If not performed, all Acts to this point are moot, worthless.

Now the observer, peering over the shoulder of the author, sees the hands lose tension and the fingers, ever so gently, ever so smoothly, ever so tenderly, turn the envelope back side to and will watch them trace the flap seal ridge - over and over; and over.

After a period the hand stills and gently presses the envelope to the knee while the off-hand raises smoothly to the table top and grasps the handle of a knife. And just as smoothly, returns with the knife and the tip slips under the flap seal - and stops.

Should the observer use his extraordinary power at this point to enter the mind he would find a mind at this point at peace. All the preparation is finished in the mind's eye, everything to be done has been done. The bottle is ready, all that remains is the envelope.

And the knife moves, not quickly, slowly. Slowly and carefully, to avoid the missive inside the caressed envelope, the knife move with no hesitation. And it is done. The cut. Finished. The fingers holding the knife adjust position, dip into the envelope, and draw the single sheet free.

The mind's eye holds the bottle aloft against the available light and the mind, the creative mind nods in satisfaction, turning, reaches to place the bottle of ruby life's blood on the shadowed shelves, in line, in turn.

The observer watches the seated figure rise, stand momentarily, then turn and place the missive gently beside the envelope. The observer watches and the author slowly settles his knuckles to either side of the articles touched.

And listens to the first words uttered; as with head bowed, the author articulates: "It's time. It's time to hunt once more."

Friday, December 09, 2011

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

Monday, December 05, 2011

Sunday, December 04, 2011

Saturday, December 03, 2011

Friday, December 02, 2011

Thursday, December 01, 2011

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

After a period the hand stills and gently presses the envelope to the knee while the off-hand raises smoothly to the table top and grasps the handle of a knife.
And just as smoothly, returns with the knife and the tip slips under the flap seal - and stops.