Avoiding Cell Phones

     My wife has insisted I must keep my phone with me at all times to be ready in case of emergency. I dislike having to carry it around all the time. I have decided to become a nudist. Then I can legitimately avoid carrying it.
     My ass muscles aren't strong enough to keep it in place and carrying it in my armpit would only work until I needed to reach for something. That isn't even factoring in the gross-out factor of using the phone after carrying it in either of those two places.
     I think this will work but am postponing the experiment until warm weather again presents the sun to warm my future nudity. I have high hopes. Wish me luck and look away. It won't be pretty.

Unlucky Garage

I promised, in an earlier post, to relate to you the easy way of driving a car through the back of a garage. I had forgotten this pledge until my lovely mother  reminded me of it and how angry the incident had made her. So, as promised, the easy way to drive through a garage  wall.

As I may have mentioned, when I eventually got my driver's license my Mom was kind enough to supply me with a Chevrolet Chevette to drive. For those too young to remember, a Chevette was a hatchback vehicle, mine was a four door stick shift. It had seen better days but still ran just fine and was more car than a lot of kids had.

The Chevette gave me mobility and also helped out my Mom. My Dad had passed away shortly before I got my license. As a matter of fact, my uncle took me to take my license test the day of my Dad's funeral. I guess they thought it would take my mind off Dad's death. It didn't but was a nice gesture. I have four siblings and they needed ferrying about. Having a second driver in the family was helpful.

A license and car gave me kind of a big head. I had the power and wasn't afraid to use it. In my defense, having four arguing kids wrestling in the back seat was disconcerting in a car that weighed hardly more than those four children. A firm hand was necessary. I also understood, then, why my Dad used to get so hot when we argued behind him.

When one of these arguments was going on, we were on our way home from town and the car was rocking back and forth on the road from all the silliness going on in the back. I had already warned the yahoos  several times and the wrestling kept up. Finally, much like my Dad, I lost my temper and pulled over about a mile from home. I ordered everyone out. They were stunned into submission. Everyone climbed out and I took off. They made it home about twenty minutes later and never failed to calm down when asked nicely afterwords.

My sister, Barb, was closest to me in age. Only eighteen months younger, she was determined that I not have things my own way very often. As the oldest girl, she was a strong supporter of rank based on seniority. One day coming home from somewhere with Barb in the passenger seat, I was pulling into our "garage."

The garage was an open faced shed structure built to the side of another shed on the property. It was essentially a three sided pole barn. The barn columns were telephone poles and horizontally installed two by fours provided a means to attach corrugated steel for siding. It was a nice way to keep the rain and snow off the car parked inside.

As I pulled up to the garage, I noticed a bicycle laying on the concrete slab inside. In the interest of convenience, mine, I told Barb to go move the bicycle. She promptly told me where to stick it. We argued for a minute and then, disgusted but unwilling to leave the car and lose face, I opened my door and leaned out. I leaned out as far as I could but couldn't reach so I stuck one foot our the door, intending, I suppose, to kick the bicycle out of the way. Slowly, I released the clutch and the car rolled forward. I kicked the bike and depressed the clutch.

The thing about a clutch is that it removes the motive power of the engine from the wheels. It is not however, a brake. The car kept rolling toward the back of the shed. If nothing else had happened, I probably would have bumped the back wall and that would be the end of it. Nothing else did not happen.

 As the back wall eased toward us, I had the bright idea to use the brake. To do this, I had to release the clutch. Remember the leg hanging outside? If you have never driven a stick shift, it is important to know that two legs are required to make the system work.

The other thing about a clutch is that when released, the engine re-engages with the tires and the car moves forward. Brakes don't work well when fighting against an engine. It didn't really matter whether the brakes worked or not though. I had missed the brake pedal in my panic and stomped on the gas pedal.

The end result was that the car fairly leaped at the back wall and through it before I got my leg back in the car and applied both brake and clutch appropriately. The front of the car and the tires promptly dropped off the back of the concrete slab and stopped.

That is the easy way to drive through a garage wall.

Luckily, the tires did grab the edge of the slab and the car moved back onto the slab. The two by four holding the siding wasn't destroyed, only pulled loose. The car had a minor scratch on the fender. The siding was kinked but not totally ruined. I patched it all up in less than an hour.

Mom was pretty hot, as I mentioned already but calmed down when she realized little permanent damage was done. There were some new ground rules concerning the driver and passenger responsibilities after that too.

 Another positive note is that I got another little story out of the experience. Lucky me. Unlucky garage.

Don't pay more than the worth of a word.

     Literature can move the heart and inflame the mind. Sentences have driven men to reach for a new life or destroy a government. Writers the world over have searched for the phrase to perfectly express a thought. Each word in the perfect sentence is a jewel linked to the next, a shining gem-like expression in the necklace of an idea. The perfect sentence is beyond value.
     Isn't it amazing that in the search for the perfect sentence it is possible to pay more than the worth of the sentiment, and by doing so, devalue it? As authors cast about for "the" way to express themselves, they often muddy the water with their own brilliance. To use a saying, or colloquialism to make the point, "Why use a five dollar word when a fifty cent word will do?"
     Yvonne Perry, in an article using the same saying suggests that a speech tailored to the audience will be enjoyed more completely than one using expressions containing "fifty dollar words". Could it be that while aiming for the highest moral peak, the best way to get there is with words that touch the greatest number of moral men? Take Mahatma Ghandi's expression for example: "Be the change you wish to see in the world". It would be a challenge to find some part of that anyone does not understand. It is, however, a world changing sentiment, thought, idea, meme, concept, and belief.
     Their are at least 600,000 words in the English language according to the Oxford English Dictionary. According to Michael Quinion, of World Wide Words, the average college graduate has a vocabulary of between 20,000-25,000 words. Although this is a highly variable and problematic statement, according to Mr. Quinion, if he is even close, there are many thousands of words left out.
     Reading lately, the ideas of fellow wordsmiths put to paper or blog, wading comes to mind. The need for mental boots to wade through lovely, fifty dollar, words in the hopes of finding a fifty dollar idea is sometimes exhausting. Most ideas are expressed best that are expressed simplest. That's not mine but it's true. There is always the phrase that cannot tell the story completely without the.... one.... perfect... word, possibly a fifty or hundred dollar one.
     Save your money for that time, that phrase, that world changing, mind blowing idea. The rest of the time, do the world, and yourself, a favor. Remember, a gem I don't recognize is only a rock. The perfect sentence is accessible to all the men you wish to reach.

Friends Getting Divorced

     Today, I was approached by a colleague who wanted to speak to me privately. This person is one I respect and admire in many ways and I was glad to offer him my opinion on anything he wanted to know. I was surprised though when he started the conversation, "My wife left me three months ago."

     It is always a shock when someone I feel is intelligent, sane, good and genuinely a nice person, tells me they are getting a divorce or in the process of being separated. My psyche is still stuck thigh deep in the mud of that imaginary world where only dysfunctional people get divorces

      It's also a surprise that they feel I have something to add to the big picture of this situation. I don't see myself as an expert on divorce. I would never want to be. I should be flattered I suppose. My divorce has been largely amicable. We both dislike some of the things the other person does or does not do but we make the day to day situations flow from one to the other with relative ease. I don't know if  that is obvious or maybe just being the divorced guy in the room makes me a resource.

     My advice isn't advice though. I can share my experience. I never give an opinion about money, or visitation, or how to interact with the soon to be ex-spouse. Those are intensely individual situations and the state has set up more guidelines than I ever will. Like I did today, I try to reassure and commiserate. I offer my support. I relate whenever experiences overlap. Truly, I don't know if I do any good at all.

     I have been approached several times in this way. No one has ever come back for more. I don't know if that is because I didn't offer what they needed or if, in an hour of uncertainty, they reached out in a way they normally would not. Maybe these friends are looking for a type of guidance. I'm just not sure.

     Here are a few things I know to be true for me. Some may relate to others too.

• Divorce sucks - Glue two sheets of paper together. The next day pull them apart. Little bits of each sheet rip and tear and refuse to stay a part of the original sheet. Nothing will ever be able to put either sheet back the way it was. Divorce is like that. You tear. You rip. Nothing is ever quite the same.
• The feelings don't fade quickly. - I am still angry at my ex, not as much, not as often but still pissed off. I'm not proud of that. I'm just saying it's hard to let go of a pain that deep.
• Couples with children will likely have a much worse experience than those without. - Unless a partner abandons the family entirely, there is a reason to argue with the person you never want to see again, regularly, for another twenty years.  Every game, play, sleepover is now a debate or you have to be in the stands with persona non grata. 
• Children's expenses are irritating and hard to manage. When one person is making decisions across town without asking for input arguments are going to happen.
• It is very easy to feel like a total failure. - I believe in the institution of marriage. I made a promise to God, man, and my spouse. We f***ked it up. I spent a long time feeling like a loser over that. Some days, I still do.
• We both may be better off. - My spouse wasn't happy with me. We didn't communicate enough. We didn't care enough apparently. So, maybe the opportunity to find the partner we can communicate with and care enough for is a blessing. I have to hope so.
• I have come to know myself more completely. - I know it's hard being single. It's tough being the only parent in the house. I understand, now, how to cope. Life didn't destroy me or end when my marriage ended. Sometimes I had a shitty day, or week, or month. I'm still here. Life is pretty good for the most part. I know my strengths and weaknesses so much better now. I know what I want in a life partner. Those are hard won things that some people never figure out.
• I still believe God has a plan for me. - When I felt like a failure, I was certain the world had given up on me. I was afraid God would too. I'm now pretty sure the world as a whole doesn't give a rats ass and never did. We have to count on the friend and family ties we build to stand in for the world. God won't ever give up on me. He is also pretty close mouthed about what he wants for my life but I get hints every now and then. Like anyone, I need prayer, introspection and communion with something bigger than myself. I have faith the plan will unfold as it should.
• There is a future for me. Hand in hand with God's plan is the existence of a partner who is right for me and me for her. I still believe in marriage. I still hate divorce. I am positive and optimistic that I have found that partner and, this time, we'll get it right.

Cider Can Be Hard!

I'm really enjoying this home brewing thing.  I'm on my fourth batch of beer and ready to rack it to secondary. Batch one was a PDG(Pretty Darn Good) Pale Ale from a Great Fermentations kit. It tasted good. It was bitterer than the beer I was used to. There was a nice aroma from the hops. After I let some if it actually carbonate, it even had a nice feel on the tongue. My success encouraged me to stay the course.

I bought a second kit from Great Fermentations called Easy Wheat. The second batch was a mild wheat beer. I was going to add cherry for something similar to Sam Adams cherry wheat. Apparently, I didn't sanitize as well as I thought. Some bit of bacteria slipped into the fermenter and I got serious funk in my beer. All but a half gallon of that batch went to the septic. I have a faint hope the batch will mellow over time like a Brett beer, tart but tasty. It's a very faint hope.

I decided to try again. This time I bought a kit from Tuxedo Park Brewers Supply. They're pretty cool over there. This batch turned out good. The beer was bland but after I added the cherry concentrate, it turned out very tasty. I got some great feedback on the beer and actual requests for more.

About the time I started the second batch of beer, I also decided to dive headfirst into hard cider. It was October and the apple orchard out by Mom's house had fresh apple cider without preservatives. I did some reading, listened to some podcasts and I was ready to go.

I bought a gallon jug of the cider and a packet of bread yeast. I was going low tech. I drilled a hole in the cap of the bottle and fitted it with an airlock to keep that nasty bacteria laden air outside and release the carbon dioxide created during fermentation. I heated the cider to pasteurize and added the yeast, then some corn sugar for extra oomph and yeast food. For weeks, I checked the bottle. It bubbled steadily for a month.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any more. I decided to bottle the cider. I was much more excited than a gallon of hard cider deserved. With a happy heart, I went to the basement and set the cider on the washer. Then I ran back upstairs to heat up some sugar water for carbonating the bottles.

When the carbonating mixture was ready, I skipped merrily down the stairway to the garage eager to add it to the mix and rack the cider into bottles. When I reached the washer, I was devastated to see my gallon of cider on the floor and the clothes washer on the spin cycle with an unbalanced load. Half my cider had leaked out of the cap. Not only was I going to have to clean up the cider, the smell was going to permeate the garage and my dirty clothes for weeks.

I set the cider up on the washer since the spin cycle was finished. With the dirty towels, I started to mop up the cider. Man, I was mad at myself. That was a dumb move. I saved some of the cider but I lost a lot. In my own little world, I kept cleaning.

Suddenly, a bottle of cider fell on my head. Apparently, my clothes washer has two spin cycles. I quickly righted the bottle after losing a little more of the precious elixir. I turned off the washer and set the bottle on top. Then, I inserted a racking siphon into the neck of the bottle. A racking siphon is a rigid plastic tube used inside a container to move liquid from one container to another. I had attached a plastic tube and bottle wand to the end to make filling my bottles easier.

Apparently, a racking cane with a tube on the end is exactly heavy enough to tip a half bottle of apple cider. Yes dear reader, after filling one half bottle, six ounces, the bottle once again fell on top of my head. It was at this point that I went insane.

After waiting impatiently for over a month with joy and excitement in my heart, I had been forced, through my own stupidity to kneel in a pungent apple mixture and then been attacked not once but twice by the very cider I was trying to save. I ranted. I raved. I dented my washer. Not only that but I still have no idea where the bottle from the cider landed when I heaved it out the door and into the woods.

Several weeks later, I saw some cider for sale in the grocery store. FYI even when its not on the label, commercial cider contains an additive to prevent fermentation. At least this time, I don't smell like apples.

Cider can be hard. However, I can't seem to prove it.