Two Ways to Die (almost)

Oh, I am sure there are way more than two ways to die -- but these creative two ways did not escape notice as they recently passed over our lintel post as an ominous black cloud that skirted on by.

Grant had finished up with his final exams at the University and kindly let us know that he thought he would be returning home on Saturday night.  Only thing is, we had already given his bed away for the night.  We had made arrangements for my brother-in-law and my nephew to spend Saturday night with us as they drove in from California to quickly move my nephew to Dallas to begin a 2 year program at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical School on the coming Monday.  Grant offered to sleep on the couch - what else could he do?

Actually, he did come up with another solution.  Finish exams and then go sleep in a bed in Chicago over the weekend as a guest of his roommate Carson.  It was a fortuitous move all around, as he worked some of his connections and thinks he has lined up an internship at the Chicago Tribune for the future.  He also got to witness yet another Cubs loss at Wrigley Field, ride the El and eat hot dogs.  All the while, we and our guests slept soundly here in Texas while others around us cleaned up from a dozen-plus tornadoes that killed 6 and caused much damage 60 miles to our southwest the previous Thursday.

Grant had a good time in Chicago and drove the 5 hours back to Columbia, Missouri.  He was going to leave the next day for the 11-hour trip to Texas, but the unstable atmosphere stretching from North Texas to Iowa and southern Illinois had brought forth concern from not only the meteorologist, but from his mother as well. 

Death No. 1: (Ooze & Oz) With 24 dead in Oklahoma from the EF-5 twister(s), and more severe storms forecast for the following day; Mom called him up and advised, wait 1 day before you drive home.  As the line of severe weather was perfectly aligned to make his route home one of continuous travel laterally right through the heart of the those violet-shaded thunderstorm cores on the Doppler radar.  No sense in traveling most of the day through all of that nastiness.  You could get blown away to Oz or Kingdom Come.  Besides, the National Weather Service has issued a Creedence Clear Water Revival Warning (their most calamitous):   DON'T GO OUT TONIGHT, THERE'S A BAD MOON ON THE RISE! (*)

Grant pulled up to the curb the next evening.  Mild weather all the way and not even a speeding ticket.

Death No.2:  (Death Unplugged)  Unfortunately, the strong winds and 2.5" of driving rain we received earlier in the week had found its way into the Verizon cable box on our exterior west wall.  The water had fritzed-out our internet service, so once Grant was safely indoors, he was not connected to internet, nor even Wi-Fi for phone.  It was a hardship well nigh unto death.  "How did you guys ever even live without the internet?  I think this is worse than death."

But a savior did arise, the cable guy arrived Friday afternoon, replaced the soggy switches and resuscitated our dowsed and drowning down-loads.  We are reconnected with the Land of the Living.

Come weather fair or foul; We Live!
We Live to log-in, tweet and blog another day!

We're Not Dead Yet!

(*) --My wife always thought the lyrics to Creedence Clearwater Reviaval's chorus for the song, Bad Moon Rising, were: "Don't poke 'round tonight, there's a bathroom on the right".   I think that is so funny.

Judgement Day

It is said: He who represents himself in court, has a fool for a client.

It is designated that April 1st is to be "April Fool's Day".



What a coincidence?
On my way to work on April 1, I had driven about 5 blocks from home when still on quiet neighborhood streets, I saw a large utility truck pulling a trailer turn onto Apollo Road in front of me.  I thought to myself; "What is that big truck doing in our neighborhood?  Somebody near here must be having some big problems."  After I turned onto Apollo, I pulled up behind this large truck and trailer which was now stopped mid-block at a bend in the street.  I waited a moment, then pulled around the truck.  Once I got up to where the truck's cab was, I could see that, of all things, there was a traffic jam of about 10 vehicles bumper-to-bumper (the likes of which I had never seen in 23+ years of traversing quiet little Apollo Road).  Once I realized the situation before me, it didn't seem right or polite to try and cut back in line, nor safe or prudent to back around the curve with cars filling in behind me.  The obvious best option was to take a left turn on Kimberly Drive, about another 150 feet ahead, and then circle around back in line.

That would have been fine - No harm. No foul.  As they say on the neighborhood basketball courts.  Except there was a police officer about 300 feet ahead who was now emphatically motioning me to not turn left on Kimberly, to proceed up to his location, where he had a blockade set up on Kingsbridge Drive.  Once I got up to his position, it was all business: "License and registration please."  "Do you still live at this address?"  Then he informed me that just because I did not want to wait in line, I could not pull around everybody else in line.

I began to say that was not my intention at all...
He interrupted me and said, "Tell it to the judge - maybe he'll believe your story."  He circled the number for Municipal Court on the citation for 'Driving on the wrong side of the road', and told me "give them a call, they can help you out with this.  Drive Safely."

I inquire about the reason for so much traffic on Apollo this morning, and I am told by the officer, that there is an accident investigation being conducted by the police the next block up, and they are rerouting all the vehicles off of the 6 lane road through my neighborhood.

I went into the my office and recorded the conversation, verbatim that I had just had, and sent my ticket into the court with the 'Not Guilty' box checked.  A few days later I am notified that I am to appear in Municipal Court (just 2 miles from work, so not a huge inconvenience for me). 

My (first) Day-in-Court arrives.  The judge asks for a plea.  I say "not guilty".  He asks if I want a trial by jury or just before the judge?  I say "Jury trial your Honor".  The judge tells me that I will be at a disadvantage as a pro se (self representing) defendant up against the State's lawyer and legal office.  But I think, from what I have seen in court that day, there are a whole lot of people out there that believe they have been unfairly stopped and given a citation by the cops.  I just need a couple fellow citizens with an experience like mine empaneled on the jury, and they will acquit.  The judge then sets a "pre-Trial Hearing" for May 1 (International Workers Day - Power to the Proletariat! Storm the Bastille! Down with authority!).  I am informed that if I wish to make any kind of motion, it will need to be in writing and presented to the bench at the pre-trial hearing.  I ask about what types of motions are presented, and I get the standard, "I can not offer you legal advice" -- in other words, we know all the rules and tricks, you will just have to find out when you show up.  Like I was told earlier, "You will be at a disadvantage as a pro se defendant."

I wait for a few hours in court for my pre-trial hearing.  I am last to go.  I present four Motions to Compel Discovery and give cause.  The judge reads through them and grants all four.  He and his clerk are able to provide two of the documents I seek for my defense, and I am told to come back after lunch to meet with the prosecutor to discuss obtaining the others.  I come back after lunch (now 3 court appearences) and I am told I will get what I requested. I never do get those last two documents, despite an order from the judge.  I call the prosecutor's office and leave a message reminding them that they are compelled to provide these documents so I can mount a credible defense.

I research the specific Texas Transportation Code violation.  I print and enlarge to 24" x 24" several Google Map images of the intersection where the alleged violation appeared and I plot them on my large format plotter normally used for geologic maps and exhibits.  I stay up at night arguing and refining my case before the jury of my peers - rather than getting any sleep until 2:48 AM.  I must say, from my bed I am a fantastic lawyer with air-tight convincing arguments.  I write and polish my 43 cross examination questions for the officer and in my mind I see him wither in the witness stand.  He doesn't say it, but he is sorry he showed up to testify and even sorrier that he ever wrote that citation. I roll over on my pillow case and tell the judge "I rest my case."

One unexpected ace I was dealt at the pre-trial hearing, I received the sworn affidavit of the case against me, and I notice that the officer has sworn that the alleged violation occurred at Apollo and Kingsley Road (incorrectly confusing Kingsbridge with Kingsley some 5 miles away - Apollo never intersects Kingsley).  I expect if I get this far, I can motion for dismissal in my trial once I get the officer to admit he made a mistake in the facts of his sworn affidavit.  If not, I have a good line of cross examination questions that call into question whether the state has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that I was illegally driving on the wrong side of the road.

As May 20 dawns, it is Judgement Day.  I am dressed the part as a slick Philadelphia lawyer - suit and tie, brief case in hand and several large maps and diagrams mounted on foam board to illustrate the circumstances and cast serious doubt on the testimony of the officer.  I have slept well the previous night.  I am prepared.

I arrive a half-hour early for my 09:00 appearance.  I check out the waiting room where the prospective jurors should be gathering.  There is only one woman there, and I suspect she did not get the memo that all jurors were excused this morning.  I read this as a good sign that the State does not intend to conduct a jury trial this morning.  I enter the court room gallery and check in with the Marshall.

I see one patrol officer approach the Marshall and inform her that he and Officer Obie are here.  Officer Obie is the one who issued me the citation.  I was half expecting he would not put in the time to appear in court and my case would be dismissed.  But, now that I know he is waiting in the ante-room, I feel my jaw tighten, blood rise in my neck and my loins girded for battle.  I will will win. I am prepared.

Later I recognize Officer Obie as he approached the Marshall with a piece of paper and speaks to her in very low tones so as not to be overheard by me.  I then hear the Marshall say, "OK, see you later then."  I think he has seen me looking well prepared and decided it would be best not to testify.  The Marshall slips the paper to the prosecutor.

The prosecutor calls my name, and he extends his hand.  "I am sorry that I did not get back to you after your call to my office last week... It has been such a week!  But good news!" he tells me*.  The accident investigation that caused all of the traffic on April 1, resulting in my citation, has resulted in felony charges being filed.  And as the prosecutor put it, the State has opted not to jeopardize that felony case by providing evidence in my traffic violation case.  "Your case is dismissed."  [* I like to believe that was just legal mumbo jumbo for "I see you showed up well prepared for your defense, we are not going to mess with you now since we could not intimidate you and get you to pay the $168.10 fine earlier - case dismissed"]

I express some disappointment to him that after all of my preparation, I will not get my chance to have my day in court; but then again, all-in-all, this looks like a good point for me to retire from my 6 week legal career. 

Just as I walked in a free man, so I walk out a free man.  Back on the streets of Garland.  FREEDOM!

Did you know Perry Mason actually lost two court cases?
And I am undefeated! I WIN.

I would've been damn good.

No Class to Upper Class

You have "No class." - An insult or welcomed news?

If you are a university student and it has moved deep into finals week; the welcome news is, "I have no class".

Thus, Grant has finished his economics final, the last exam of his sophomore year and is now an Upper Classman.  No Class to Upper Class.

He had given his two weeks notice to his manager at Mr. Goodcents Sandwich Deli Shop (Grant noted she did not seem too broken up over the news), since he was down to about 9 hours/week in between class schedule, finals and planned prolong absence, it seemed like the right move.  Mr. Goodcents had served its primary purpose and provided the requisite amount of local earned income to qualify Grant for in-state tuition, saving the old man thousands.

After final exams, a day of recuperation and then he joins roommate Sean for a drive to Chicago to hang with other roommate Carson in Carson's hometown.  The plan is to watch the Cubs play the Mets at Wriggley Field (Carson's team v. Sean's team) and then enjoying a few days in the City with Broad Shoulders with Carson as their expert local guide and host. Carson will be subletting his Columbia, MO apartment and staying in Chi-town.  After a few days, Sean will return to Colombia for work and a shot a getting in-state residency for tuition purposes.  Grant will return to Dallas from Chicago via Colombia, and then Grant and Parents will travel to Eugene, Oregon for big sister Inga's graduation in mid-June.  Sue flies [don't bother me!] to Portland, while the guys indulge in Father-Son road trip to Eugene via Grand Canyon, Disneyland and Dodger Stadium.

Grant returns to Colombia in late June for an internship with the Missourian, the local paper where he will be covering the sports beat as cub sports reporter, receiving Journalism School credit.

The three have decided to relocate out of the massive multi-unit apartment complex to a decent 3 BR place 5 blocks east of campus next fall at a savings and greater convenience.  I am pleased to see they are indeed getting smarter after a year or two of college.

In the mean time Inga is feverishly writing drafts for her Honor's College thesis; a study on the effects of the University of Oregon's recently implemented "tobacco free campus" policy.  As with most thesis and dissertation writers throughout history, she is sucking wind; but we are confident that she is resolute and very capable and will have it all done in time.  From my own grad school experience, those behind the writing end of the proverbial pen (in my day we did not have 'word processing') the thesis task before hand coupled with deadline inevitably seems more than daunting.  But, as one of my committee members, Dr. Scott, once put it in regards to students fearing said deadlines, drafts, edits and rewrites, "We don't drown puppies here."  Meaning, the committee does not want to see students fail (maybe sweat and squirm and polish their proses - but not fail). 

Swim puppies swim!
Sue Fly, Sue!
I'm going to Disneyland!

The Enlightened Tortoise

You got your cat videos of kitties playing with string.
You got your dog videos of clever dogs doing clever things.

My pet Desert Tortoise is from California.
He is a vegetarian.
He is cool.
He is a yoga master.



This is Chomper, Yoga Master
Showing the correct form for a Yoga pose he calls
the Turtle Hurdle



Vermin Equinoxious

Ah, the long awaited Vernal Equinox.  The first day of Spring.  The hours of daylight matches that of the night's.  The weather warms, the flowers are in bloom.  Good stuff for the romantics amongst us.

Ah, but for the practicals amongst us, the long awaited Vermin Equinoxious.  The beginning of the active season of pest and pestilence. 

The fire ants are building their mounds, by the literal thousands.  I usually reserve Earth Day for a good poisoning of these hell-dwellers. 

Arriving en mass in early April with a thud are the hordes of June bugs, first heard as they dash their minuscule brains against brick wall and window pane with indiscriminate, furiously loud thumps.  They are the stupidest of the Lord's handiwork, with bulbous bodies flying head-long into all things solid, only to fall stunned onto their backs where they kick their six tiny legs in futility until they expire in heaps of crunchy carcasses by morning light.  How do they even reproduce at this rate? 

Then, while eating her yogurt at the dining room table on an early Spring morning, Sue can hear up above, the sound of pestilence:

Nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk-nuk.

This is no joke.
Nuk-nuk?
Who's there?
Rodent.
Rodent who?
I'll put a big ro-DENT in your attic woodwork and wiring.  That's who!

Squirrels!  Big squirrels - the other rat.
I'd rather have poltergeists than these guys.

How and where are they getting into our attic?  I inspect the exterior and find that there is a gap between the wood exterior paneling and the brick facade on the north end of the house on the second floor level.  The gap was once filled with mortar, but that has either fallen or been picked away allowing ambitious furry woodland creatures to slip in between the brick and the wood and begin to chew on the rafters and wires above the dining room.

So, you know all of that scrap lumber and stuff I have been keeping on the side of the garage walls since 1997?  Well, I have been saving it for this day of pestilence.  From a long ago bathroom repair project, I pull out a 5-foot piece of cement board.  With my reciprocating saw, I slice off two strips of 5' X 1.5" cement board and carry them up to the tippy top of my ladder, extended to the max and balanced on the pentultimate rung, I slip the strips into the squirrel gap. 
With a few satisfactory whacks, I nail them in place. 
Man, that feels good. 
Master of my Castle.

Nuk-nuk?
Who's there?
Nobody - At least that is my hope. 

It had to be done, but we really were hoping that we did not end up with trapped, dead, stinking squirrel meat above the dining room. 
So far, no noise, no nose.

I still want a breeding pair of Squirrel Snakes for Father's Day [see "It's on My List Again This Year; Archive Blog 12/18/2010].

A Good Day for War

In 1861, with the shelling of Federal troops at Ft. Sumter in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, there came a call for the Federal army to quickly march on Richmond to put down the rebellion.  As the untested army marched from Washington City toward Manassas, Virginia on July 21st, many civilians turned out in carriages with picnic lunches to follow the soldiers and watch the battle at Bull Run.  An afternoon counter attack by the rebel forces sent the Federal Army into a rout as they scrambled past the panicked picnickers in a disorderly retreat back to Washington.  The Federals sustained 2,800 casualties; killed, wounded, captured or missing.  It was apparent by sundown in Manassas that it was going to be a longer, bloodier conflict than most had imagined.

And so, with the Battle of Bull Run in mind, armed with an invitation by our good friend Kirby McCord* to come out to watch his artillery unit in action at a Civil War Re-enactment, we penciled in a fine Saturday in mid-April to pack some picnic chairs and go watch the Civil War.  We headed an hour-and-a-half's drive south of Dallas to Mexia (pronounced Mah-HAY-uh) where the forces were bivouacked at the Historic Confederate Reunion Ground.  The area was originally a composition of lots purchased by Confederate veterans in the 1890's as a place to build family cabins and camp next to other veterans and their families and share old war stories on the banks of the Navarro River.  The reunions grounds hosted several thousand people in the earliest decade of the 20th Century, but as the old veterans answered the bugle call and retired to Valhalla, the place fell into disuse and was eventually turned into a State Park.

Kirby's unit is normally the Confederate Valverde Battery, using the actual historical howitzer that was fired in the Mexican-American War and again in the Civil War. 

Valverde Battery encamped on the banks of the Navarro River
Confederate Reunion Grounds, Mexia, Texas



But, since Valverde Battery was host for this event, they were obliged to "go blue" - nobody in Texas wants to be the Yankees (like I said, down south it is still a longer conflict than most would have imagined).  When Valverde Battery dons Federal uniforms, they become the Chicago Mercantile Battery, using authentic guns Valverde Battery captured from the Union during battle. 

The other Union troops are usually Boy Scouts that get paid to be Yankees, while the Confederate re-enacters are mostly men in their 40's & 50's.  Besides, folding canvas chairs, I also packed by old infantry uniform from the 140th New York Regulars from my Civil War Re-enacting days back in the late 1970's. 

Federal Chicago Mercantile Battery with 3-Inch ordinance rife
[Normally this unit portrays the Confederate Valverde Battery]

We paid the $5 entry fee (a bill with Lincoln's portrait - not Confederate script) to enter the Confederate Reunion Grounds.  After we parked I then put on my Federal blue wool sack coat and kepi.  As we walked past the guy who had just taken my parking money, he shouted at me, "Hey! Billy Yank, if I had known you were..." (I suspect he was only half-kidding). 
I replied, "You Rebs can't have a war unless you have two sides."  He grinned, but to this day many folks still feel there are two sides in the "War of Northern Aggression".  I, for one, have never warmed up to the confederate cause, but can appreciate the historical aspect, especially since my own ancestors fought for the Army of Northern Virgina; but I can not condone firing on the American flag and those serving under it.  It seems like high treason to me.

The Confederate band played a number of Civil War era tunes as the crowd gathered prior to the 2:00 PM battle. 

The Rebel Band
Strikes up Dixie before the
Artillery signal the start of battle

One gentleman talked of Dixie in a loud voice behind where I was seated, and then appended his comments with, "Excepting this fella here in blue [meaning me]".  I then turned toward him and told him, "Dixie, it's great tune.  I admire it."  He knew I was quoting Lincoln, and went on to tell me Lincoln's priority was not the abolition of slavery but preserving the Union; then acknowledged that I already probably knew that.  The band played Dixie as the final tune in there set before the anticipated report of the Confederate artillery across the grassy opening, some 80 yards distance.

With a muzzle flash, reverberating thunder shattering the afternoon calm, followed by a wafting cloud of gray smoke from the black powder charge now obscuring the battery, the dismounted cavalry then advanced. 

Confederate dismounted cavalry reload and prepare to advance
after artillery barrage

Confederate line - Fire at will!

The mounted cavalry charged before the line of spectators with the Texas flag flying.  Union troops advanced, knelt and fired at the rebel ranks.  The rebels retreated and gathered with reinforcements, then mounted a counter attacked with cavalry support.  The artillery continued to fire in the distance.  The Confederates kept advancing with orders to volley fire; they reloaded, stood and advanced and then were ordered to fired in quick succession from the left of the formation.  Reload and advance.  The command was issued, "Fire at will!" and with a rebel yell they drove the Union army from the field and over ran Kirby's Chicago Mercantile battery.  The battle lasted for about 30 minutes.  However, unlike the Battle of Bull Run, for us spectators the results were never in doubt - The South always wins these battles down here in Texas.

Texas boys!  Follow your colors!

Texas Flag flying leads the
Confederate forces into battle

Following the battle, all the soldiers then form up and fall in behind their colors and march in review past the spectators, led by the victorious Confederates.  As the Stars and Stripes marched past, I give three loud shouts of Huzzah! Huzzah for the Stars and Stripes! Huzzah! The Union captain in command looks at me with surprise and a quizzical grin, as the Yankees never get a cheer.  The captain tries to get his troops to return a cheer, but the effort falls flat from apparent lack of experience.


Kirby McCord
Union Artilleryman (for this day only)



Two very unpopular old (Yankee) soldiers
Kirby and Mark
Confederate Reunion Grounds, Mexia, Texas



We linger in the pleasant sunshine and fill our nostrils with the acrid scent of black powder drifting through the oaks.  We spend some time talking history and our families with Kirby before we drive North to Dallas. 

The whole weekend was devoted to "Living History Days", and the camp area had sutlers selling old fashioned root beer, barbecue and Civil War trinkets as well as fancy hoop-skirts for the ladies.  The history aspect also featured a camel from the Camel Corps, an army unit conceived of by then Secretary of the Army, Jefferson Davis, as way of patrolling the American Southwest in the 1850's.

Secretary of the Army, Jefferson Davis'
Camel Corps

On the way home, we follow a tradition held since the Civil War and stop at the famous Collins Street Bakery in Corsicana to choose one of their specialty fruit cakes to take home to our 40 acres along with our mule, rifle.  We select the pecan and apricot variety of fruit cake.

Sue makes the acquaintance of a
6-day old calf at
Living History Days
Confederate Reunion Grounds

* Kirby McCord has written and had published a fine work of historical fiction, Cemetery Ridge.  In Chapter 33, I am given a footnote in fictional history as a reserve cavalry commander.  I therefore recommend you buy and read Kirby's book.