Oregon Trail - Empty Nest Roadsters in Fern Canyon

Sunday morning we awoke to continuing rain showers in Eugene.   The deal was that we would take Inga out to breakfast at one of the coffee shops and then bid farewell to our sophomore.  We drove in search of our morning meal passing abundant flowering and colorful residential gardens still in gaudy bloom.  Chai tea, pastries, quiche and orange juice hit the spot.  We returned to the apartment, finished loading and hugged Inga and off we each went on our separate adventures.  Inga planned to reconnect as friends were returning to town the week ahead of classes and we had reservations in Mendocino, on the California North Coast.  With Inga planted in her new University environment and Grant left at home to dine of prestocked frozen pizza and a pile of mac & cheese - we were the Empty Nest Roadsters (at least until we returned to Texas to cook Grant some decent food and sign his high school forms, etc.).

Our evening destination was a return to the Little River Inn, one of the stops on our honeymoon back in 1986.  The streaking sunlight across the fresh, rain washed landscape made for a quick and pleasant journey south on I-5.  It was too early in the morning to stop at Rice Hill for the ice cream (is it really ever too early for ice cream?) recommended by former Eugene denizens, Tom and Esther Cook.  We broke westward out of Grants Pass, Oregon and passed the junction that would go toward Oregon Caves National Monument - fabled in Suneson Family lore: 

     In 1967 the Suneson station wagon was enroute to visit the Oregon Caves.  I was reading the Mobil Travel Guide in the backseat when I ran across the Oregon Caves description - No one under 6 years old will be admitted.  Yikes!  What a mid-journey crisis! Sister Sheri was only 5 years old!  It was then that my parents decided we would not "stop and turn the car around", but embark on a program of deception and deceit.  Sheri, how old are you? Five.  No, honey, if any one asks at the Oregon Caves, you must say that you are 6.  Sheri, How old are you? Six.  Good!  Sheri was repeatedly drilled in the lie, so much so that she began to believe it herself.  No one else was to even think of mentioning ages so as not to arouse suspicion of the Cave's guardians.

     At the entrance to the Oregon Caves, no one asked for ID or proof of age and each child got our own ticket to join the tour.  However, once inside an older girl (age 9, maybe) began freaking out, screaming about "I feel the worms falling on me!"   The freaked out girl was escorted out a secret exit, while 5 year old Sheri stayed composed all along the tour.

I savored the memory, but did not repeat the tour.

Arriving in California we had to stop for the mandatory Agriculture Inspection at the border.  As I approached the inspector, I jumped to the point, "We are carrying no fruits, plants or vegetable's, only chocolate."
She did not wave us through, but inquired, "Did you just say chocolate?"

"Why, yes I did.  Would you like some?"  I pulled out our partially empty supply bag of Dove Dark Chocolate travelling essentials and poured some into her hand.  "How about sharing some with your coworkers?" asked Sue, and doled out a fist-full of additional treats.  I figure these state employees are paid to confiscate peoples lunches, but today we willingly surrendered dessert.  Random acts of kindness.

In Crescent City we linked up with the Redwood Highway and wound amonst the giant trees cloaked in mist and fog.  One of my absolute favorite locations is Gold Bluff Beach and Fern Canyon.  A place of elk herds, where redwoods creep to the edge of sea cliffs that are bisected by straight walled canyons carpeted in lush ferns, a place I wanted to share with my wife. With but a brief bit of indecision, I turned off the highway and drove over the single lane dirt road to Gold Bluff Beach where we would take a short hike to wade up into Fern Canyon. 



Elk herd at Gold Bluff Beach State Park




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Sue wades upstream into Fern Canyon



Denizen of the Canyon

Sue in the upper reaches of Fern Canyon

Wall of Five-Finger Ferns

We were smart and wore hiking sandals into the canyon whose gravel floor was a shallow streambed at this time of season.  Upon returning to the vehicle I set the floor heated to blow on our frozen tootsies with the ultimate remedy to be an early dinner at Lazzio's Seafood Restaurant, at the foot of C Street in Eureka; another old Suneson Family tradition.  Alas, C Street still exists, but Eureka has been transformed since my last meal there in 1975.  We found another dining establishment near the harbor and tucked into calimarri, some clam showder and scallops.

Darkness had descended as I left Highway 101 for the storied  Coastal Highway 1.  It was a severly sinuous pass from Leggett over the mountains to the edge of the Pacific.  Sorry to miss the setting Sun over the ocean horizon, but our dally in Fern Canyon was a delight not to be missed.  Tomorrow, we will watch the Sun set.

Oregon Trail - Stage 4 Edge of the Continent

Saturday arrives - as expected.  We and Inga take care of moving-in matters, tour Eugene on foot and buy brunch from the vendors at the Public Market.  With the necessities finished in town, Inga had planned that Saturday afternoon was going to be a Beach Day.

We take 11th Avenue West and after 60 miles, we run out of land (this day it is not accurate to refer to the Oregon Coast as "dry land") and come to the Pacific.  Showers and cloudbursts followed us all the way out of town, but it was declared a Beach Day and so it was going to be a Beach Day.  Once in Florence we followed the signs to the public beach, all the while I am thinking it is about to clear up.



Dripping Good Fun!



At the beach we pull on what passes for our rain gear, and walk over the dunes and across the sand to dip our toes in the surf.  We share the salt water with a couple of seals and enjoy the liquid sunshine - as long as we can stand it. 

Having made it all the way to the edge of the continent and splashed in the Pacific, it was time to begin to return. 

Back In Eugene, we pulled on some dry dress clothes and walked the eight blocks to an excellent Italian restaurant of Inga's choosing.  A glass of wine and piping hot pasta covered in flavorful sauce warmed our belly and bones, filled us with contentment and brought to a close the end an enjoyable day.



"Ladies in wading"



Lonely Beach



Inga feels the brace of the Pacific waters while wading



Florence Beach All to Ourselves Today



Over the Dunes and Back to the Warm Car



After Experiencing "Duck Weather"
We Return to UofO Campus
Home of "On the Rocks"  A Capella Group



Oregon Trail 2010 - Stage 4

Stage 4.  We bid Sheri, Tony and Daniel farewell  and fire up the engine for the final leg of the westward journey. After 3 1/2 day on the Oregon Trail, we will arrive in Eugene.

Roommate Katie has already moved in and Laura is in town but has Oregon Duck's Marching Band Practice all day and is living with the other members of the band in a designated dorm until the quarter begins on the 27th of September.  We get into town in early evening, but the apartment office has already closed for the day and will reopen at noon tomorrow.  Meanwhile, we use Katie's key and we all have plenty to do. 

First order is to unload The Q to free up cargo space so we can begin to haul the clothing, computer peripherals and other items the girls have stored over the summer in a rented storage across town.  Sue and I will sleep on the floor of Laura's room that night (since she is staying with the band and not using her room currently), so we stack our gear there.  We make 2 of the 3 needed trips to the storage locker that evening and let Inga and Katie begin to set up house.  Afterwards, we all go out to Track Town Pizza.  The ladies think Track Town chicken pizza is something special, but I just don't think chicken on pizza is morally right; so I order a basic sausage, garlic and artichoke pizza.  We all enjoy our choices.

Some items, including a shower curtain need to be purchased for the apartment.  I am guided to the Target store and the spree begins.  Actually, Inga and Katie turned out to be quite frugal shoppers, eyeing several bath and kitchen accessories, but passing on them in the end - too expensive for the benefit.  We all turned down the aisle with the needed shower curtain, first choice was a cute yellow duck curtain ($21.95), after all The University of Oregon "Loves their Ducks".  After moving over another 2 aisles, they found a basic shower curtain for $9.  They asked Sue to return the Duck curtain and selected the thriftier choice. I am impressed - favorably.  Sue would on occasion suggest other household items, but was consistently and repeatedly rebuffed, "Where would I put that?" and "No, I do not need that."

Back at the place, Inga insisted she need no help in organizing her new room.  So our job was done.

The next morning, Saturday, we made the last haul from storage and Katie closed out the rental agreement.  Inga then walked us across town to visit the Farmers Market, to see the vendors with fresh produce, peddling prepared meals and handicrafts.  Sue and Inga found some tastey treats for breakfast, while I slipped into a brick-and-mortar taquiarilla for a breakfast burrito.  The quintessential Eugene breakfast consumed, we marched back to finalize the paper work for Inga's move-in with the office. 

The office door was locked, despite listing business hours as 12 - 5 Sat. (it was 12:20).  We knocked, and a raven-haired harpy open the door and insisted we use the other door and the closed the lock door on us again.  We walked around the building and into the office, only to notice that the inside of the locked office door had the sign "This Door to Remain UNLOCKED During Business Hours".  In hindsight I should have pointed out to Ms Harpy that the fire Marshall would overrule her.  But I let it slide.  As we were finishing the papers with a pleasant young man, a couple of new tenant coeds came up to Ms Harpy and asked if she could send some one over to clean up the water leak that poured through their window during the rain last night.  Ms Harpy asked "Well, is it a real serious leak?!"  The tenants said, "Yeah, we are out of towels to sop up the puddles."  Ms Harpy was underwhelmed.   I think Inga will survive until the end of the year - but there are a few advantages to the ol' dorms.

Oregon Trail 2010 - Stage 3

They don't want to hear it. 
Lets get up!  Let's get moving! Come on!  We're burnin' daylight!





The Call of the Open Road - Early Morning Response

Our time at Wind Whistle is done.  I grab a towel and stick my head beneath a water source supplied  by the US Bureau of Land Management.  Thanks Mr. BLM!  I put a dab of shampoo on top of my head and wash, more out of old habit that out of need for full-bodied hair these days, squeegee the soapy water out of my beard, put on a fresh Hawaiian shirt and I am ready for The Road.  Another great day awaits.  We will finish this comparatively short day at my sister, Sheri's home in Meridian, Idaho.  She plans to have dinner for us as well as a couple of nice rooms for our overnight stay.   Our first order is breakfast, about 30 miles up the road in Moab.  We stop at the Pancake Haus (apparently actually run by Germans, hence the spelling of Haus).  I am good to go after a stack of apple cinnamon hotcakes.  We all brush out teeth and enjoy the indoor plumbing before tucking into the day's adventure.

Crossing over the Wasatch Range and descending into the Great Salt Basin, we note some brilliant red colors on the vine maples contrasting with the deep green conifers on the steep mountainsides.  Moving north on I-25 through Salt Lake City is an unwelcome change in driving environment to dense and intense traffic barrelling through narrow lanes frequently under construction.  Inga has been offering to drive all along the way, and once we get beyond SLC, and Ogden I pull into a Quickie Mart to fill up and reluctantly turn the joy of driving over to her.  We use the facilities, wash the windshield, attempt to convert a couple of Mormons to Calvinism and then exchange seats and head toward Idaho.  About 10 miles up the road, Inga asks, "Did you put gas in the tank?"  Now that I think about it, no. I have never forgotten to gas up at a gas station before.  Oh well, I know that there is a big Flying J gas station up in Snowville. and we'll fuel up there.

Inga maneuvers The Q from I-25 to I-84 as we cross the scablands of the Columbia Basin Basalts.  Even for a geologist, I find this terrain uninspiring.  We are in cell phone contact with Sheri and are feeding her out ETA.  She will be feeding us once we arrive.  As it happens, she is going out the door to take Daniel and his saxophone to marching band rehearsal as we pull in.  Tony is out at another event an is not expected home until after dinner, so Sheri, Sue, Inga and I sit at the well spread table together.  Big news from their household is that Tony has been selected for a HUGE international honor in receiving an award for his innovation with Java computer language and is preparing to receive the honor at next week's conference in San Francisco.  It is so good to talk of positives and anticipate good things that may come from Tony's international recognition for his creativity and hard work during his spare time.



Oregon Trail 2010 - Stage 2

The second leg of this trip was going to be the Big One - a 900-miler.  Wichita Falls, Texas all the way to Southern Utah.

We faced those miles and miles of Texas before us, skirting along the south side of the Red River, pushing US Highway 287 into the Panhandle.  Open, flat country begs for the sweet sound of a whirling odometer, but I know the Department of Public Safety wants me to slow down and enjoy the scenery, to take in broad horizons filled with scrubby mesquite trees as far as the eye can travel or the flat red earth soon be be seas of sorgum.  While driving this stretch, I have no radio or CD on, my passengers are mostly asleep, but  I enjoy an active life of the mind.  This environment stirs an old memory from back in high school.  There in my California History Class, Mr. Zapanovich lamented to us the fact that our rich California history was not well appreciated; while in Texas - "a place where even the jack rabbits have to carry a canteen to cross half of the state - they take inordinate pride in such a flattened and desolate place!" 

I also remember where I have seen the watchful DPS in action during previous trips across US 287; Henrietta, Estelline, outside Amarillo.  I am mindful of The Law around every small town out on this western plain.  Approaching Vernon (Home to the Prison for the Criminally Insane) I see a Pontiac in the fast lane quickly closing on me and then passing me.  I then see a DPS car quickly closing on the Pontiac and riding closely on his tail, but the Pontiac stays in the fast lane.  He has chosen poorly.  After a minute or two, the red & blue lights come on and off they go to the side for a little chat.  I slow down through town and round the highway curve on the far edge of Vernon and begin to accelerate up to the posted 70 MPH.  The DPS cruiser headed eastbound, quickly flips across the median and treats me to a light show.  I shoot a quick glance at my speedometer, 74 MPH.  Really?  Really, he is after me. I have my license, proof of insurance and registration ready to hand the officer once he walks up to my window.

"Is there an emergency?"

     I once worked with a guy, Spud Basham (I am not making his name up), and he was asked the   very same question; only his response was, "Yes, I'm out of peanut butter."  The officer said "What?" 
Spud confessed to the officer that he figured he had probably heard every other excuse so he thought he would try a new one.  The officer laughed and let Spud go without a ticket.

Feeling that humor was not going to be so disarming in this case, I truthfully explained, why no- there is no emergency, in fact I had just witnessed his partner pull a car over just 3 miles back and I was very mindful of my speed, just an unintentional excess as I was pulling out of town. I am sorry.  Looking at my license, "What brings you all the way out here from Garland?"  Well, my family is just getting started today on taking my wonderful daughter back to school in Oregon, she will be setting up her first apartment, so we loaded up the car with all the supplies she'll need and we are going to help her settle in [like any respectable law-abiding family would do]. 

"Oh, Thank you very much officer. Oh, yes I'll certainly be careful.  Thanks again for just the warning".  Major bummer avoided, we proceed uneventfully at the proscribed 70 MPH.  We passed "Cadillac Ranch" west of Amarillo where a series of Cadillacs are planted hood ornament first into a cotton field.  I nod to the DPS sitting below the underpass on the outskirts of town.  I think a topless woman driving a motorcycle just passed me.  No probably not - that can't be pleasant when colliding with large insects.  I should pay closer attention, but I am not going to speed up to confirm or deny this observation.

From Amarillo on, Old Highway 66 becomes the dominant motif.  Playing for tourist dollars, trying to resurrect the faded glory of Highway 66 (if ever it was truly glorious); Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and an old TV show from the early 1960's - I doubt that many Americans living today have an affinity or even nostalgia for the Chicago to San Bernardino route that facilitated the Dust Bowl migration into California.  Route 66 has been rerouted, paved over and mostly forgotten, such is our American History.  We stop for lunch in Tucumcari, New Mexico at an old diner on "Historic Route 66".  I must say, one of the best chicken fried steaks I have ever had.  We begin to pick up interesting geologic formations along the road as we drive across New Mexico; festooned cross-bedded sandstone from ancient river systems, fresh looking black basalts and finally some handsome mesozoic sandstone cliff and mesas.

A quick bite to eat in the late afternoon in Gallop, NM.  Inga finds one local Gallop restaurant, in the heart of Navajo Country, particularly amusing, "California Fast-Food Chinese Restaurant".  It must be good, because across the stateline, Window Rock, Arizona has the same franchise.

Wind Whistle Cove

We are still headed west as the sun sits low on the horizon, and then in twilight we turn north, past Canyon De Chelly in NE Arizona, looking for a landing spot in Utah.  Around 11 PM we pull into a favorite location of mine, Wind Whistle US Forest Service Park, about 30 miles south of Moab.  I over-nighted here a couple of times before, and the place has average 1/2 person per stay (not including myself).  This night in late September, the place is chalked full.  There is even someone set up in my campsite.  I lay down the ground tarp over the salmon-pink sand and inflate a couple of air mattresses, while the ladies unroll the sleeping bags.  We sleep the night on moonlit desert ground among the pinion pines and sage.  After a long days drive, what a privilege to spend the night under the stars among ancient sandstone cliffs in the American West.  As I settle in, I am grateful to experience a night where the plasticine wrapped, heavily-padded, over-package and tactilely insulated modern existence is peeled away.  The owls hoot and the distant coyotes howl and primal satisfaction follows me into a world of rest.

Desert Varnish (Manganese Oxide) Making Tiger Stripes on rim of Wind Whistle cliff

Morning at Wind Whistle - No Paparazzi Please!

Oregon Trail 2010 - Stage 1

All three of us in The Q had our reasons to to heed Horace Greeley's advice and "head west!"  I was looking forward to 4600 miles of windshield time across the Great American West, reason enough for me.  Inga was anxious to embark on setting up her first apartment, a big phase in one's life.  For Sue, this was to be our vacation, so she threw in a few pleasant detours to be taken before her return to Texas.

Grant of course had his Senior Year of High School to finish, which meant he was to be bach'ing it for 10 days in Garland.  For weeks ahead of our departure on the Oregon Trail, we offered to instruct him on basic cooking and decent meal preparation.  He declined, figuring that even if we bought him food to prepare for a variety of dinners, he would not bother to cook it.  So we layed in a large larder of Mac & Cheese and a couple of large frozen pizzas.  Otherwise, paraphrasing General William T. Sherman; "If food is purchased, I will not cook; if served, I will not eat."  The other concern was getting him to school [refer to earlier post: Bus(t)ed].  At the beginning of the school year, we expected Grant would simply get to the corner bus stop each morning.  But the district's new policy was to keep all high school students off the bus unless they were not enrolled in certain honors classes.  He dropped his honors class at the start of the year, thus loosing his tax-payer funded wheels.  Without too much hassle, his buddy Sam was employed to chauffeur Grant to and from campus .  But still, it gripes me something fierce.  With arrangements for the Boy and his dog made, we were ready to go West.

Sue finished up her work at Preston Hollow Presbyterian by mid-day on Wednesday, 9/15 and arrived home to finish packing.  She squeezed her vacation bags in between Inga's apartment gear and basic camping accouterments.  We waited for Grant to arrive home from school at 3 PM, heaped much advice upon his head and then left the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex before evening rush hour. Destination - Wichita Falls.

We had invited ourselves to the gracious home of Sue's brother Bill in Wichita Falls as a stage-stop before we began burning up the big miles on the odometer.  Bill and Susan Cook are just 150 miles out, which allowed us to arrived in time for Susan's sumptuous creamy chicken dinner and an evening of catch-up conversation.  We had miles and miles of Texas planned for the next day, so we turned in planning on an early start.  When we awoke, Bill had already left for work, as is his habit to get in before other distractions arrive.  Susan was also up before us to keep to her morning routine of excise with a friend.  We slugs, put ourselves together, called Bill to ask about how to lock up the house once we were really ready to be on the road.

With the rising sun in my rear view mirror, I head out on the highway with the longest of travel days before us. 

Oregon Trail 2010 - By the Numbers

Inga mostly twiddled away the summer at home in Big D; too hot, too few friends to drop in on, too bad and soo sad for the socially active sophomore at the University of Oregon to endure.University classes started Sept. 27, long after all of her friends returned to school.

She was ready for the Left Coast long before it was ready for her.    She and two friends, Katie and Laura, had secured an apartment across from campus prior to finishing their freshman year in the dorms.  They rented a local storage unit for their bulky things dredged from the dorm rooms and parted ways until Fall. The apartment came furnished, so it was just a small matter of coordination with her mates over social networking sites during the summer to arrange for utensils and other small sundries to finish out the living quarters.  Inga packed up an old set of plates and bowls, some extra knives and bought an electric griddle and crock pot.

Mom wanted to be part of the apartment move-in, but could not get away from work obligations until the 15th of September.  The apartment lease began Sept. 15, and Inga figured she should be there on the 15th when the keys were distributed.  The parental plan was handed down; the 4Runner was to be packed with all of her apartment and personal necessities, we would leave Garland on the 15th and arrive in Eugene on the 18th.  We would move her in then, but not before.  Overland travel was cheaper than airfare and shipping all of her stuff.  Plus this was gooing to be a roadtrip.

Sit back and enjoy the journey,  Nothing better than a westward roadtrip!

BY THE NUMBERS
     Days on the Road:  10
     Miles Traveled:       4,675
     Gasoline Used:       221.15 Gallons
     Cost of Fuel:          $639.87
     Average MPG:      21.1

     Most Expense Gasoline: Crescent City, CA  @ $3.499 per Gallon
     Least Expense Gasoling: Garland, Texas @ $2.449 per Gallon

Bad Words

How about you give me an adjective and a noun that when paired make you cringe.

Sure, there is the usual: Drunken Driver, Petulant Policeman, Creepy Cableguy.
Now, how about Neophyte Phlebotomist?

Grant signed up for the High School blood drive, was scheduled for around 9 AM on Thur. Nov. 11th (this way he would miss English Class).  He requested a special pancake breakfast, but his mother suggested he needed to face the needle with more protein.  Hence she was out of bed early making a perfect batch of crispy bacon and popovers filled with jam and pumpkin butter,  We all agreed this was a good start - as far as it went.

Dodging English class, Grant sat in the designated donor's chair, and was approached by a young woman with a needle and a plastic bag who exuded a perceptible confidence deficit.  Grant extended his left arm as requested, then his right arm, and then his left arm again. 
Where are your veins? She inquired. 
She proceeded to spank this elbow crease with a couple of her fingers. "Hey! Hey! She shouted across the room, "I can't find this guy's veins."
A more experience bloodsucker came over and had Grant stick out his left arm.  She drew a line upon his skin and instructed Grant's phlebotomist to "Try it there." {Remember, lines are for beginners]
On target.  But - "Hey! Hey! I can't get any blood to come out of this guy's vein!"
The experience woman returned and cranked the needle the other direction; and just like Moses in the wilderness striking the rock with his staff.  The precious fluid flowed.

Beware the Neophyte Phlebotomist -- lest this story be written in vein.

How Do You Fix a Dead Mouse?

I think I got a dead mouse, how do I take care of that?
The words make as much sense in 2010 as they did in 1984 - but over time the likely answer has changed.  In 2010 the likely response is: Check your USB port connection (unless you have an optical mouse) and then replace the AA batteries.

But this dead mouse is hitting me in the ol' olfactory not on the flat screen monitor! 
There is something rotten in the 4Runner.
The odoriferous epicenter is the passenger-side rear seat. 
A stink bug fart most foul! 
I searched under the cargo carpet and found nothing but a particularly pungent patch of padding. 
No skeletal remains or offal.  The area was doused liberally with bleach solution followed by gale force fabreeze.  Eventually the unpleasantness passed and now I can breath easier knowing that I am inhaling a blend of road dust and dog hair.

Modified lyrics to the
Dead Skunk Song - Loudon Wainwright III

Creepin' through the garage late last night
He shoulda just left and he woulda been all right
He hopped in the dark and quiet SUV car
The mouse got squashed and there you are!
You got yer
Dead mouse in the middle of the car
Dead mouse in the middle of the car
You got yer dead mouse in the middle of the car
Stinkin' to high Heaven!
Take a whiff on me, that ain't no rose!
Roll down yer window and hold yer nose
You don't have to look and you don't have to see
'Cause you can feel it in your olfactory

Home Coming

Since it was casually mentioned on Wednesday night that he was planning to attend the Home Coming Dance on Saturday with Sam and Zach and he was going to bring Calli, and maybe some other girls would go as well.  This was the lackadaisical  plan the high school mates threw together.  The 11th hour announcement of this plan to us parents was probably a nod towards the question - What do I need to do now to be ready for the Home Coming Dance on Saturday?

Grant's first suit was picked up after tailoring Friday evening [see previous post: Becoming The Suit] and Mom dropped by the neighborhood florist to order a wrist corsage for Grant's date Calli and a matching boutonniere for the gentleman.  The color of the corsage was chosen after Grant consulted with Calli and texted the appropriate colors to his mother while she was ordering at the florist's counter.  This episode brings to mind a couple of questions:
    1. How did anybody manage to organize and coordinate meeting times, locations and even coordinate colors before cell phone and texting & photo image technology? 
   2.  If basketball had not been invented, where would they hold high school dances?

Grant's sister, while home from college in the summer, helped Grant select a sky blue dress shirt and matching diagonally striped tie, just in case the need arose for a "cleaned up image" during his senior year.  Now that Grant owns a bonified dark pin-striped suit, I understatedly suggested that his light blue, diagonally striped neck tie may not be a good match for his pin-stripes.  But what am I? Chopped Liver?  A quick shot of his suite with his camera phone was sent to Inga in Oregon with the question, "What matches?" [See Question 1 above].  The answer came back, definitely not your new shirt and tie.  He and his Mom, with Inga's approval, selected a white shirt and a black and white paisley neck tie.  Now that is to the 9's!

With the shirt pressed and starched and several attempts at the full windsor; the outfit was assembled to a high gloss satisfaction.  Calli texted her address and driving directions to Grant; all of us loaded into the car to pick Calli up -- but only after stern warnings issued to Dad not to try ANY strange humor or make ANY social gaffes while in the car or in Calli's home.  I was to understand that I would be allowed to take a few photos of the couple at her home, but then they were to be delivered promptly to Zach's house where everyone would meet up then travel to the Dance.  I was waved off from photographing anything inside the staging area and left to watch from curbside.  Inbedded reporters with the 101st Airborne on manuevers in Iraq have less censorship than I was given.

Zach's hot date had dumped him 2 days before, so he was going stag.  Several others, some couples and some single party-goers showed up at Zach's staging area, the names and numbers apparently were quite fluid all evening.  Sam's date had her father show up unexpectedly at the Dance and tell the Home Coming chaperons that her mother was "sick" and she had to leave with him immediately (This was a fabricated story, obviously full of underlying weirdness, but best left alone at this point).  Grant and Calli managed to stay together throughout the evening and have a great time, some dancing, some socializing and then an early exit prior to the last DJ tune at 11 PM in order to get to the restaurant before it closed.  Numerous others joined with Grant, his date and friends to dine at the Olive Garden.  The restaurant staff managed to seat about 20 in their party and were served rather quickly.  Grant bought Calli an enjoyable, good, large meal and then phoned home with the new plan [see Question 1 above].  He and Calli would be dropped off at our house and then someone here was to take them back to Calli's place, since it was nigh midnight (her curfew was 12:30), could Mom or Dad do that?

Calli was delivered safely at home, I think after a grand evening where she was treated to dancing and dining with a comfortable crowd of friends, many with orchestra connections.  Back home, Grant changed into casual clothes and went back to spend the night at Zach with a bunch of other guys, staying up watching movies.  Most everyone had to be at church in the morning, so Grant was up and back home by 8:30.

Such is the whirlwind.

Becoming The Suit

Wed., October 20, 8:45 PM:   "Oh, by the way, you know I going to Home Coming, right?"

"The football game or the dance, or both?  Home Coming is this weekend, am I correct?"
"I hate to miss the Rangers American League Championship game, so I'll probably skip the football game, but I'll go to the dance on Saturday."
"Are there girls involved in this plan?"
"Yeah, me and Sam are going to meet over at Zach's, I'll bring Calli and Zach's got a real hot date from somewhere and Sam thinks he can get someone to go with him."

"The plan sounds fine, but you are going to need a suit, and do you think Calli should get a corsage?"
"Yeah, probably."

Thursday after school, Grant walks to my office and we drive to K&G's Men's store to pick out some nice formal attire for Saturday Night.  Grant thinks he would like to go with a black sports coat and nice black slacks.  Based on his fitting with his orchestra tux, we start with size 46 R.  Grant tries on a few sport coats, but I suggest that rather than trying to match jacket and pants, we should try looking at suits.  Grant sees the wisdom and conservation of clothes shopping effort in my thinking and we move toward the suit racks.

Hey! Hey! Hey! Black velvet jacket?  As I pull my find from the hanger.  No Dad, I do not think so, Grant deadpans.  Based on his tone of voice, this is now serious business.  The original man-in-black style begins to lose primacy as Grant considers other fashion possibilities.  Grant selects a couple of pin-striped suits, likes the look.  A classic.  He finds the suit that suits him.  I agree that he has selected a good looking suit (far better than the plaid polyester monstrosities that were my first sets of formal clothing).  Now let us see if we can get the trousers tailored by Saturday night.  We ring the bell to summon the tailor, and after a few minutes a small Vietnamese woman appears; and yes the trousers will be ready Friday after 5 PM; Must Bring Ticket!  

Grant takes the claim ticket and proclaims, "I like the feel of wearing a suit, makes me feel snappy.  And after all if I am hosting the desk at Sports Center on ESPN, I will have to be wearing suits everyday."

Crunch Time

Those actuaries, they know their stuff. 
The most likely time to be involved in an auto accident?  Why, Friday afternoon.

On a typical day, Grant walks to my office, 4 blocks east of Garland High, rides the alligator 3 floors up and then waits for me to get to a good stopping point with whatever 'awl bidness' business I am working on, and then he takes the keys and drives the Toyota 4Runner (affectionately known as just "Q") 3 miles home for driving practice with his Driver's Permit. 

Vicky Aguilar, works on the 4th floor and gets off work at 3.  I did not know her until we met by accident on Friday, October 8.

Grant had backed out of the parking space, began to pull forward when Miss Vicky also began to back her pickup out of her spot, 5 spaces in front of us.  Grant stops - Miss Vicky continues back - Grant honks - Miss Vicky continues back - I hear the sound of a crunch & a thud; was that the sound of the bumper and grill caving in or my stomach dropping helplessly into my lower loins?) as Miss Vicky continues back - Miss Vicky then stops, comes out of the truck and says "I didn't see you!" [or apparently hear the horn either - but I make a written note of her quote].  Important information is exchanged between Miss Vicky and myself, camera phones were deployed and all the while I am thinking this is just a bad day for everyone, no sense in getting overwrought.  No damage to Miss Vicky's truck.  I suggest that we talk later that evening and see if there might be a way to avoid getting the insurance companies involved.  We drive home. I return to work and renew my auto policy online (expires 10/31/2010) - just in case.

Later in the evening I talk with her husband, and he says that maybe $1000 in damges he could handle himself and maybe a friend of a friend who does auto body work might be able to do a deal.  I tell him I'll get estimates in the morning and see what the damages appear to amount to.  Saturday I get 3 estimates, all around $2750 mas y menos $50 for replacement of left headlamp assembly, front bumper and radiator support.  I tell Mr. Aguilar that the damage appear too severe to handle without insurance and that I will file a claim.  Claims Rep comes by the Sunstone office Monday morning, writes a claim ticket for $2958.  I drop off Q at Sergio's Auto Paint & Body on Monday afternoon and get Sergio to throw in some touch up body work on a few other dings not from the crunched grill.  Deal is done.  Q returns to his rightful place in the garage on the following Saturday.

I am still waiting for by $499 deductable to be refunded to me by Miss Vicky's insurance, since it has been determined that she was at fault, as traffic in the through lane has right of way over vehicles backing out.  I have a bad feeling about this last $500 though.  Be careful out there, especially on Fridays. TGIS.

Bus(t)ed

Grant has been kicked off Bus 406.  Actually the driver gently invited him not to ride his bus anymore; "Hey kid, I'm not supposed to be givin' ya rides anymore ya know."  News to us.

We just figured the transportation department for the GISD pulled a snafu again as the new school year began.  Earlier in the Summer we had filled out the forms sent to us to make sure the bus was routed through our neighborhood as it has been for the past 15 years, with a stop at Corley and Ladywood around 6:30 AM.  The first day of school - No bus.  It has happened before.  We drove him in the car and Grant caught the bus home from school after Day 1.  The next day the bus stopped and picked him up in the morning, but when he boarded for the ride home in the afternoon the driver told him it was against policy for him to ride the bus.  Indeed, there it was on the website: the district will not provide transportation to students living more than 2 miles from campus unless they are enrolled in the IB Program (International Baccalaureate), a super-sized AP curriculum that functions as a magnet for Garland HS.  Grant had been taking some IB courses, but rearranged his schedule and dropped the IB class, so according to policy, "No bus ride for you!"

Now Grant continues to play cello in orchestra, also a magnet program for Garland HS, but apparently not the clout of IB.  The bus still comes through our neighborhood, but it only accepts worthy passengers.  May be next year only students with a GPA of 3.25 or above will be bused? Or may be only those who are proficient in Spanish III or above can be transported?  Or, only those who are athletes will be eligible to ride? 

What a pain. We did not bother to raise a fuss or cuss about the bus. We now just drive Grant 6 miles RT to school in the morning and he rides back with a friend or walks to my office 4 blocks from school and I drive him home.  The bus policy makes no sense.  I pay taxes for a transportation department and the bus goes right past our house, what is gained by not stopping?  I would vote for that the School Board save expenses by cleaning out the buses everyday themselves ... with their tongues. 

Driven with a Purpose

Driving lessons continue.  Grant drives to and from school and takes the wheel for local excursions and shopping jaunts.  After a few weeks of lessons, instructor and student were headed home when the student pulled off the Lavon Highway and into the parking lot. 
Instructor: "Where are we going?!"
Student: "To the 'Bell'."  "One cheesy gordito crunch, one crispy taco and a medium Baja Blast please.  Do you want anything Dad?"
Fast Food Worker: "That will be $5.68; please pull up to the window."

Operating a vehicle is no longer an abstraction, one can use a driver's license to feed yourself!

A Fair Day

Historic tradition is for Dallas and surrounding suburbs to give students 1 day off during the State Fair of Texas in October.  Garland Schools got Monday, Oct. 4th off from school and a free ticket to attend the Fair.  After several starts and stops in getting everyone coordinated, Grant & 3 friends scheduled to board DART Blue Line at 8:50, ride to Pearl Street Station and then Transfer to Green Line and exit at Fair Park Station.  This is the second year DART train is able to take Fair-goers from Garland down to SE Dallas to see Big Tex - host of the Fair, and all the attractions - saving gas and parking dollars big-time, plus parking hassles. 

Even without parking, money flows quickly out of the pockets at the State Fair, but Grant managed to get it all done for just $40.  Including must-have samplings of "Fair Food" [Translation: Deep Fried EVERYTHING]  Years past have featured Fried Coke, Fried Twinkies, Fried PB&J, Fried Peach Cobbler, Fried Guacamole, Fried Pop Tarts ... Grant's "Fair Food" included funnel cake (fried), Root Beer (Fried Lone Star Beer this year is off-limits for under 21 crowd), Hamburger (grilled!) and for dessert - Chicken Fried Bacon.  He took in the car show & got photos in the driver's seat of a 2010 Corvette and Camaro.  Also rode The Texas Star (largest Ferris Wheel in North America) and saw the open air Bird Show, with a variety of trained birds that sometimes do what their handlers want them to do, and sometimes not.  Returned on the DART train and sat across the aisle from Jason Castro (and his entourage), runner-up contestant on TV's American Idol. Arrived home by 7.  A fair day.

Caught Between a Rock and the Deep Blue Sea

Don't think I don't know that this title is a mixed metaphor.  But it works.

On the one side, the oil business and on the other side, family commitments and a holiday road trip.  Stuck in the Middle are our lives in Dallas. 
    All of this summer it has been a push to get my Eldorado Prospect, a shallow oil well drilled in Southern Arkansas. 
    All of this summer, Inga has been counting the days to get back to Eugene, Oregon to move into her first apartment and get started with her sophomore year at the University of Oregon.

Location for the drilling rig has been built and the rig will be onsite Sept. 8 and ready to get drilling the Owens #1 well with promising prospects for the rocks of the Rodessa Formation at 3,300 feet underground.  Inga has packed up spare dishes, saucers and cups, knives from home, purchased a griddle and slow-cooker for her new place.  She expects to be in Eugene on Sept. 17 to move her school stuff out of storage and plans on spending the day of Sept. 18 dipping a triumphant toe in the edge of the Deep Blue Sea at the Oregon Coast.  Like MacArthur: I have returned!

The catch- the plan is to drive to Oregon and use the college-mobile to haul belongings awaiting in storage at the end of the Oregon Trail.  The plan is to leave Dallas on the 14th.  The other catch is that I need to be sitting the well and making decisions for my investors as to whether we struck oil and make the call to complete the well, or not.  The question is, can I finish the well in Arkansas by the 14th and turn the vehicle around to the westward trip in time.  If not Sue and Inga will turn the Camry into an Oregon Trail prairie schooner and do the trip without me.  I would hate to miss a westward road trip. 

A wiseguy once noted; "Time is nature's way of keeping everything from happening at once."  I hope nature can stick a little time into these plans, so everything does not happen at once.

Drive Time

With freshly minted temporary Texas Driving Permit folded into the front pocket of his shorts, Father and Son back out into the alley and head 2 miles down the road to Williams Stadium under Saturday's high noon sky.  No HS football game at the Stadium until this evening, so we have a broad, 1/4 mile block-long parking lot mostly to ourselves for driving lesson #1.

Use only your right foot.  Accelerator on the right, break on the left.  Check and adjust mirrors, get comfortable in the drivers seat.  Son, start the engine.  Put it gear.  Test the gas, now the break.  Drive to the end of the lot and turn around.  Watch your speed on the turns.  Keep the vehicle straight, try not to drive over any of the yellow parking space lines.  Good job.  Control your speed in the turns.  Anticipate turns and stops.  Use a bit more of the break.  Nice, smooth acceleration - good, just like that.

Grant says, "Not too bad, I think I feel comfortable."
That is the point.  No license until you are comfortable in all driving situations.  That comes with time.
 
We'll try this again real soon.  How about I take us to a drive through and we get some lunch?  Sounds good.  Here is to success!

As Dad always says, "Drive Fast! Take Chances!"  Seriously, do as I do, not as I say.

Permit Me -- Please

At last!  Our long family nightmare is over.  Grant has his driver's permit from the Texas Department of Public Safety as of 4:59 PM, Friday, August 27.

An article in the Dallas Morning News some months back cited the trend of High Schoolers obtaining their Driving permits/licenses later in life.  The author & sociologist speculated that the rite of passage that was once embodied in the DL, has lost some of its potency with the rise of Facebook, texting and cell phone communication, facilitating a sense of independence that was once reserved for physically driving away from the parent's home.  All sociology is suspect in my estimation, but maybe sometimes they are correct.  The trend of late licensing certainly has resonance with our experience with Grant.  He has never shown much interest to-  head out on the highway, heavy metal thunder, born to be wi-ild!  Content to stay in touch with friends via computer and cell phone.

A proto-driver is eligible to begin the licensing process at age 15.  Late in his 15th year, after some prodding, Grant got the mandatory form (VOE) from the school office to verify that he was not a drop out on the road to alcohol; because the state insists that you be 18 before you drive our highways like and angry drunk. I think we citizens would be served just as well if we dropped the suggestive name highway and referred to our major thoroughfares as "sane and sober-ways". A name change, preferably with a hyphen, will fix everything.  On this my canine-American companion is in complete agreement with me. We printed the application online, filled it out and mailed it and $20 to Austin to get the "Parent-taught Instruction Manual and Education Log".  Grant's job was to slog through the Texas Driver's Manual (included) and then go online to answer questions at the end of the chapters.  Did you know that it is illegal to drive drunk now?  Also, the mixture of drugs and driving is punishable by law?  Motivation flagged for this informative online process, and then the 3 month window for the VOE expired. 

Grant turned 16, but seemed to be mostly OK without a license.
Grant turned 17, but seemed to be mostly OK without a license.

A new state law passes, and the online "Parent-taught Driver Course" is no longer valid.  You must now buy a state approved computer course with online testing capabilities and will be issued a Certificate of Completion once the student passes.  It is still illegal to drive drunk and punishable by law to be stoned and behind the wheel.  We opt to buy the cheapest computer course at $109, thus saving $150 over the "fun and entertaining" instruction kit.  With some prodding, Grant slogs through this course and receives his certificate.  But his VOE has once again expired.

His sister returns home for the Summer and harangues her brother for his slackerness.  But, too late, one can not get a new VOE until school opens, unless you come to the District Office.  Inga drives Grant to get his new VOE from the District. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect VOE; they do not issue those forms on Fridays.  More Slackerness in the face of bureaucracy.

School starts, and the Office issues another VOE.  Two days later, Grant gathers School photo ID, passport, Social Security Card, Certificate of Completion for Parent-taught Drivers Instruction and study log and application form and headed to the DPS with Mom.  Whoops!  Application form must be notarized and signed by Officially designated Driving Instructor, Dad.  Mom calls and says they need my notarized signature and will come by my office with the form.  There is a bank on the first floor of my building with notaries.  I sign the form, get a notary stamp and the two weary travelers return to the DPS, leaving the bank at 4:10.  They present the forms, and Selma (or was it Patty) looks everything over and then requests her supervisor to rule on whether Grant can apply for his permit with his mother, rather than his father who is the Official Driving Instructor?  The supervisor says that the answer would be no, but since we have my notarized signature, he will allow Grant to take the test.

Grant begins answering the 24 multiple-choice question: What is the stopping distance of a 2300 pound car traveling at a speed of 50 MPH?  What is the average flight velocity of a European Swallow?  Is it legal to be drunk and operate a car weighting 2300 pounds?  What is the legal distance you must leave between a parked car and a fire hydrant? What is your favorite color?  The provision is that the DPS Office closes at 5:00 PM - sharp.  If you have not finished your exam by 5 PM, you will be given a failing grade, and must return to retake the exam (I am not making this one up).  With the state employees keeping one eye on Grant and one eye on the clock, Grant submits his exam for grading.  He passes, It is 4:59 PM.

Permit in hand.  Our 2 1/2 year effort bears fruit.  Now I will soon have to insure a second teenage driver.  Maybe I can drag out the instruction process until he is 26.

Take me out to the ball game...

The family has been following the Texas Rangers Baseball Team this season, with great expectations that the Rangers will get into post-season play for the first time since 1999.  The Rangers are fielding a good team with decent pitching this season and were well represented on this year's American League All-Star Team, with 5 of our players selected by receiving the most fan votes. Grant and Inga did their part in getting our players selected by casting on-line ballots for the Ranger Allstars, and as a reward for their loyal votes, the Rangers sent 2 free tickets to both to be used during the August series against the Minnesota Twins.

We selected to attend on Wed. August 25 to coincide with "$1 Hot Dog Night" promotion.  It was 78 degrees for the first pitch, while 2 nights previous it was 102 degrees at the start of the game - are we the ultimate 'fair-weather fans?'.  Inga choose not to get a hot dog at the baseball game - which caused me and Grant to express our suspicions that she joined the Communist Party while in Oregon last year.  She claims she loves Mom, Baseball and BBQ, is OK with apple pie, but does not like hot dogs (not even for $1?!).  She was quite happy to ingest her share of cotton candy and garlic fries as we saw the Rangers win 4-3.

...Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack...
Family friends, John & James Swindle (John is 1 year older than Inga) plus Lauren (Church Youth Group Leader), also voted for the Rangers Allstars, and they offered to take Inga and Grant to the Rangers game the next night, Thur. Aug. 26 for 1/2 price tickets.  So off they went again, vowing not to buy ballpark-priced food (now that Dad's wallet wasn't 2 seats away).  The Twins roughed up our ace pitcher and won the last game of the 4-game series, 6-4.  The fan group stopped for a late dinner after the game on the way home. 

There are just somethings that gotta be included in a proper summer.

The Last First

THE last First Day of School.  August 23, 2010. Grant's Senior Year.  Not one to speak his thoughts, Grant methodically set his alarm for 5:45 AM, go up, showered and dressed - it isn't good and it isn't bad, it is just the routine.  I was up to inquire if he wanted the ceremonial good luck send-off?  Grant knew what I was speaking of and said, "sure, that sounds good".  I set to mixing up a batch of cinnamon, ginger-bread pancakes.  He said he'd like four.  I served 'em hot off the griddle, and then made five for myself.  His sister awoke for the bon voyage and later ate all the rest of the hotcakes for her breakfast and lunch.  I dragged him out to the front porch, this time no complaints, as it is just the routine to take a few "1st Day of School photos.  I took 5 for good measure, none of which turned out to have his eyes open.  But at least the photo routine was completed.

Eyes wide-shut: 1st Day of School

Not one to speak his thoughts, Grant methodically set down at the dinner table, where his place was set with the "Red Plate" signifying the diner was to be honored for a particular accomplishment or mile stone that day.  Mom asks, "Well, how did your day go?"  The answer, "Fine".  A second motherly probe, "What did you do today?" The answer, "I went to some classes".  Dad cracks up at this pathetic dinner discussion dynamic.  Dad says that we old folks could barely remember what happens at a High School, but we at least had figured out that he would go to some classes - what we really are looking for are some details about subjects, opinions of teachers and specific instructions. 

Grant's defenses warn down, he says that his schedule has math, science and English.  He was going to take guitar lessons at school, but thought the teacher seemed inappropriately rigid - so he'll drop guitar.  The counselors were swamped, so it will be a few days before he has his new schedule straightened out.  Oh, yeah, I have a bunch of paper for parent to sign.  Then it was off to familiarize himself with the Greek alphabetic symbols for statistic class homework.  Too exhausted to do dishes, he gets a pass and goes to bed at 8:30.

Tennis Anyone?

Last year, his Junior Year, Grant took a flier and tried out for the Mighty Owl's Tennis Team, with really no previous experience on the court.  He not only made the team, but also was one of a half dozen to be named to the JV traveling squad.  Coach Jackson remarked on his strong serves.  He practised hard, relished being a part of the team, upgraded his racquet, and for most of this summer spent 3 days a week playing and taking some lessons.  We were most proud to see his initiative and dedication to tennis. Grant mentioning that he liked his tennis experience better than football - which he played as a freshman and 5 years in the Pee Wee League, where his Eagles were Turkey Bowl Champions (Garland City Tournament).

As a Senior this year, Grant was no longer eligible for the JV squad, so he had to try out for a place on the 10-member varsity squad and there were 8 or 9 returning varsity players.  Tryouts were for 2 1/2 hours in the 103 degree heat.  Word came the next day that he did not make varsity.  One can try to be philosophical and look a the "greater perspective" - even in the Bible, Moses served in Pharaoh's court, and that led to 40 years in the wilderness.  No doubt about the real zing of disappointment for everyone around here, but who knows where he'll be in 40 years.

School begins August 23rd.

10-Day Triple Digit Rule

The "10-Day Triple Digit Rule" is now in effect:

Suneson Household Rules
Section III "Table and Menu Code"
Article 14

If the external temperature reaches 100 degrees (F) or exceeds 100 degrees (F) for 10 consecutive days, the head of the house shall serve key lime pie for dessert on the tenth consecutive day that temperatures meet or exceeds 100 degrees (F).

It was tasty.

Too Fuzzy for Texas

Strider (Too Fuzzy for TX) enjoys building a snowman during cooler times [Feb., 2010]

We are now on our 4th A/C unit since moving here in 1989. We upgraded 2 1/2 years ago to avoid the misery of August in Dallas without "refridgerated aire", because we Dallasites love to put on airs as it keeps the ladies from glowing so much. My Lady calls Friday afternoon saying it is 86 inside... I am thinking to myself "my wife is hot! - I'd better get the A/C fixed. It is 104 outside with an overnight low of 80 forecast.

Meanwhile, Inga home from college for the Summer from Eugene, Oregon (cool green Eugene) has a "Mustache Party" at Carolyn's house. Dad's advice: Stay over at Carolyn's as loooong as you can, it will be a night to remember here at home; and I say that not in a good way. Inga comes back at 4:30 AM - without a mustache. I open all of the windows and amp up the ceiling fans. As the sun slowly sets, we sit around the living room in the fading light watching the sweat beads form on one anothers skin. Enough of this entertainment! Lets get out of here. I don't need to ask twice to get Sue and Grant out to dine at an air conditioned eatery where we linger until we go take in the late show at Firewheel Mall. Upon recommendation of the kids, we parents see Inception while Grant opts to view Will Farrel's latest flick. Grant will see Inception the next day for the 2nd time with buddy Eric.



Chomper the Desert Tortoise does not usually take advange of the A/C; so he does not know what he is missing from his perspective in the backyard burrow. Alas, this leaves Strider richly resplendant in very thick, black fur (a gift from his Chow and Labrador Retriever heritage) to hang his spotted tongue on the floor as he pants trying to absorb the last hint of coolness from the foyer tiles. Alas, Strider is too fuzzy for Texas.

Chomper: No complaining about the blown A/C

But Strider smiled even more than the rest of the family when Danny arrived midmorning Saturday to replace the blown capacitor and get us comfortable again and under warranty to boot.

New Year 2007

The traditional Suneson Family New Year is celebrated with the McCord Family at the "Blue House" atop a piney East Texas hill,. The McCords annually host the Sunesons and along our mutual friends the Rices and Swindels at their gypsy cart horse breeding enterprise and acreage. We all have kids around the same ages and the boys energetically bounce from computer games to air-soft gun fights in the woods to rope swings and trampoline theatrics. The girl's activities are somewhat a mystery, but they will watch movies, help with the horse and barn chores and deal with the dogs and rabbits as well. There is always a jigsaw puzzle to be pieced together next to the fireplace in the living room and the world's problems are solved with discussion late into the night. The shared cooking responsibilities that always result in sumptuous communal meals at the grand table are the highlights of each relaxed day over the New Year Holiday; the wine tasting interspersed with samplings of ports, scotch and an occasional liqueur is also enjoyed leading up to New Year's Eve.

As the calendar marked the end of Christmas and the coming New Year, it looked like the McCord tradition would have to be broken by me in 2007. One of the well-known rules of the oil business is that if an oil well is to be any good, the geologist will have to be on location during a holiday or his wedding anniversary. My partner Todd Stallings and I had sold our Fandango West Prospect to West Texas Gas (WTG) out of Midland, Texas back at the end of the summer. By all rights the well should have been down to the pay zone on Halloween. But WTG had contracted a Chinese-built rig to drill the Rocker B 52 #1 well - its maiden well. Our lease was
going to expire October 1, 2006, but the well was spudded at 11 PM on September 30th, thereby saving the added expense of renewing the mineral lease. The drilling rig had numerous problems, the major disaster was that they got the drill pipe stuck in the hole at around 7,000 feet and finally had to cut the drill pipe off to get free and start drilling a new hole around the stuck pipe that was left behind. With this 3-4 week delay, it soon began to appear that I might have to drive out to location for Thanksgiving.

Drilling the Rocker B 52 #1 on New year's Eve

Then the rig began to list, drilling progress was again stopped and a large crane was needed to come and straighten it up. I had to tell my partner that I was obligated to dance in the Nutcracker Ballet so I could not make it out to the West Texas location prior to Christmas - Todd was incredulous, and to this day I do not know if he truly believes I had such an obligation, or whether he believes I just made up an excuse because I did not want to spend Christmas Eve at the rig. To his credit he did not ask too many questions. As I monitored the drilling progress over the internet it looked like I could spare to spend time with my parents and family for Christmas, but soon after the well would be getting close to our targeted pay zone.

The family packed up and headed east to the McCords for on schedule, where they had a good New Years Eve fireworks show from the myriad of whizzers, fab-poppers, fire fountains and spark-loppers that can be purchased for just such an occasion along all rural Texas highways at certain times of the year. I rented a Toyota SUV to take me west 380 miles to the site of the WTG #1 Rocker B 52 well, the last 15 miles are on ranch roads that had some hellacious mud puddles. When I returned the SUV to Hertz, the attendant came out to check the mileage on the vehicle, but when he saw the thick coating of West Texas mud across a good portion of the white exterior, he turned to me and said, "Man! What you do, film a Toyota commercial with this one?"

On New Year's Day we gathered in the mudlogger's trailer to what the computer screen that tracked the amount of time it took the drill bit to drill 1 foot of rock. When the time it takes to drill a foot decreases (in this case from 5 minutes/ft to 2 minutes/ft) it tells us that we are drilling rock that is more porous (not as solid) and porous rock (dolomite with holes) is where the oil and natural gas is to be found if everything works as planned - otherwise you get salt water in the porosity. Nobody will pay you for salt water, but they will pay you for oil and natural gas. We found the porosity we were looking for a 9,684' and then the question becomes, is it filled with oil or with water? To answer that question, we examine the rock chips (cuttings) that are ground up by the drill bit and washed out of the hole.

Mark watching the drill time with Mr. Chima Nzewunwah (Mudlogger)

If the cuttings are examined under UV light which will cause any oil to fluoresce. When the cuttings from the porosity zone were brought into the trailer to be examined we saw a faint light-blue fluorescence and the trailer filled with the unmistakable sweet smell of success (it smells like crude oil). We drilled 11' of the porosity and then stopped to test the formation to see what it would produce. The next day a Drill Stem Test (DST) sealed off the pay zone from all of the fluid in the hole and let the formation flow into the drill pipe. After 1 hour we recovered over 8200' of gas cut oil and not water, an excellent test. After the DST we went back to drilling to see how much porosity we would find in the Fusselman Formation. This took another few days. After we had drilled deep enough to evaluate the zones of interest, we stopped drilling and prepared to log the well, which is to run some specialized devices down to the bottom of the bore hole and then they would measure properties of the rock formations as we pulled the tools out of the hole. I drove back our to West Texas for the looking run to see first hand what kind of well we had. The logs showed that we have 15' of oil pay, then 8 feet of non-porous limestone and then another 26' of porous dolomite, that is mostly water at the bottom. But there are indications of more oil and gas in the lower zone too. However, despite my lobbying to test the lower zone, the decision was made by WTG to run pipe to the bottom of the hole and produce from the upper 4' of the upper 15' pay zone.

Logging the Rocker B 52 #1 on Jan 6, 2007

After a confirmation that my prediction of what we would find almost 2 miles below the Earth's surface was confirmed after several million dollars were spent, I left the location headed for home with a deep satisfaction and thankfulness. On my way off the 250 sq. mile Rocker B Ranch, I drove by to check on another well in which I have an interest, the Go & Go #1 Mallet. I have included a few photos of the #1 mallet pumpjack and some of the wildlife found out on the rolling mesquite plains of West Texas.

Mallet #1 in the West Texas sunset. A minimal producer for Sunstone Exploration, Inc.

A herd of West Texas Pronghorn Antelope grazing on the Rocker B Ranch.

We Wii

That metaphorical yellow puddle of excitement on the floor has now been mopped up. Grant had desired a gaming system for Christmas, so he researched the costs, pros and cons for each system and presented the comparison to us pair of Apatosauruses for our consideration. The top choice was the Wii Gaming System. We knew from news reports that the PlayStation 3 was so hyped that people were known to be sitting in line in front of Wal*Mart for days awaiting the arrival of the limited number of PS 3's. The Wii had no such reports associated with it - so being the reluctant shoppers we are, we waited until early December to begin looking to purchase a Wii.

Sold out. Sold out. Sold out - but maybe on Tuesday. Try again later. Give us a call, maybe a shipment will arrive on Sunday. Alas, Grant's stocking was stuffed with IOU. We continued to search post-Xmas; gathering phone numbers of nearby distributors and calling. The problem is that by the time he was out of school and called, all the Wii's had been sold. But there were PS 3's available now - go figure. Recriminations soon began to fly: "If you did not spend all day at work, you could get in line a get one before they sold out again!" "But, if we did not spend our time working, how would we pay for a Wii?" Good point. I thought so too.

V-Wii Day! January 16, 2007 (less than 3 weeks after Christmas) the local Games Stop has Wiis in stock the afternoon that Sue drops by to check. Sue grabs the penultimate Wii and floats beamingly out the door. A single step outside the door a panic stricken dad rushes up to her and asks in a plaintive voice, "Oh God, that isn't the last one is it?!" With her best impression of Marie Antoinette she spoke a cruel reply, "Oui, Oui!". Merry Christmas. [Actually there was 1 left which the poor fellow was able to purchase]