Who Threw that Rock?

I'm not really sure about the time line on this one, but it doesn't matter because in the great scheme of things, it all happened at once.

Unless of course you' re a scientist and don't want to see the world\universe\life as holographic and simultaneously occuring. Then it's not as easy to believe "creation" museum theology. What's the matter ? The idea of the children out walking the t-rex doesn't jive with you? Forget the carbon dating and Geological Know it Alls. What do they really know? They weren't alive sixty five million years ago .

I don't want to be blasphemous 'cause, well,.... go figure, but maybe GOD went to the table on the sixth day and said " let me create the creatures for all the different time periods of this world, today, and tommorrow I'll sleep late and make the old man happy" , and that's the way it went down.

All the animals created on the same day doesn't necessarily mean they all lived at the same time, they just got designed in one day. Wouldn't that explain biblical literature and still accomodate science?

Or maybe they're standing knee deep in swamp on another time plane, next door, right now, and we can't get there because we don't know how to plane jump. Are there people there too?

However it's laid out; fifth dimension, four ,three, shadow and light, I can see a real correlation between the pyramids and the dinosaurs, timewise. I mean, that would explain all the pyramids in those sandy, dry areas; " standing knee deep in swamp", is how the dinsaurs are depicted.

The long knecked brontasaurus, placidly eating swamp greens, waiting to be eaten by Mr. Rex. Gigantic Webbed-winged bats with hair balls swinging at the end of their long tails slowly floating by in the sky. Peering down they look for what a swift dive might bring to their jaws.

No Thanks. I'll live in the desert. Build a huge pointed building out of rock. Keep the soft bellied reptiles off the top. Make sure if there's a tussle the stones are big enough it doesn't getted knocked over. Makes sense to me.

That would explain massive stone carvings and statues around the cities. Not to Idol: Intimidation. I bet when Mr Rex bit the giant stoneman, or tried to Grab the neck of the Sphinx in those jaws, he learned his lesson. That's why they would put robes on the statues; make 'em move; draw the bite. The statues weren't cold. Don't be silly!

The pyramids would explain man still being on this plane and the Dinosaurs being extinct, too. If the big rock struck in the gulf of Mexico, wiping out all of Atlantis and every Geological, Sociological, and Architectural proof of the Book of Mormon, and we know it must have because we know there was definitely an Atlantis, Then it would have killed all the Dinosaurs because they were in the wrong part of town and couldn't get inside the pyramids to the honey. That explains man's proliferation of the earth, too. All those months , even years in the pyramids waiting for the sun to come out again. Just man and his honey,

That explains the pyramids in the jungle, too; After the rock the CC&R's were relaxed.

Thus, Man survived and the dinosaurs died......but,....obviously there in itself, is more argument for the belief in Miracles and suspension of all scientific knowledge.

Yeah,..it all happened at once, I got it.

Coffee wars , Property Prices and Nothing Left to Lose‏

"Everybody will be move to Oregon sooner or later."

Sooner would be better. I'll say it again, "even if you can't move now, buy now, move later." Why? Because I say? Of course not! Only a fool takes advice from a fool. And I live on a hill, shit in a bucket, and have no indoor plumbing (laughable living conditions according to Dan).
Hell, those facts alone should be enough to disregard anything I have to say, so maybe we should consider some other factors (I recommend not basing decisions about moving on the words of a fool, or those that have never left Colonial Village).
COFFEE WARS, that's the first factor I want to consider. Not that Starbucks and Dunkin-Donuts will determine our national economy and save the housing market, but they are great indicators of the times. See, I don't think that improving a latte, or customer service, is going to save Starbucks. As times get harder it is my bet that the extravagance of $3.50 cups of coffee will be one of the first luxuries to give way to reality. Look for coffee shops, cafe mochas, and cappuccinos to disappear quicker than equity in a Las Vegas home (this might be a good time to invest in a Mr. Coffee). My point; the world is changing, the common American is not as rich and, worse yet, has already spent the wealth they had. The boom is over and the piper has his hand out.
Coffee's are out, but look for an increase in liquor consumption. Times are getting harder and unnecessary expenditures will be first to cease. Closing coffee shops are indicative of this. As the economy goes, Starbucks goes. PROPERTY PRICES continue to fall; nationally a 7-9% drop. On the west coast; Los Angeles a 13% drop, Las Vegas a 17% drop last year (2007). I know from checking the MLS , prices have dropped 30% in Sacramento since the of summer 2006. The only encouraging sign is the rate of decline has decreased recently, but a comeback is not foreseen by many until 2009.
This Fall will be even better for buyers. Houses are so cheap in the old hood I'm considering leveraging a little money and picking one up (immediately following the sale of my property in southern Oregon) and paying cash for more acreage.
Nationally, 2007 and 1991 are the only two years property prices decreased for an entire year. Everywhere except Portland OR, Seattle WA, and Charlotte NC. Portland and Seattle property actually saw modest increases in price in 2007 .

"Everybody will move to the Pacific-Nothwest sooner or later".

Sooner. The first of the baby boomer generation are already buying here. There are another nine years of baby boomers to retire, I recommend not letting all of them beat you here. My sister is selling real estate, working out of southern Oregon now (40 miles from me) and according to her (she sold three properties last month), baby boomers are starting their migration and the cheaper properties are being sold quickly. She sold a $500,000 property (not one of the cheaper ones) on the Applegate river last month to a doctor from Maryland who will not retire for another couple of years. Don't tell the doctor his actions parallel the advice of a fool!
The other property also sold to an out of state buyer. I was lucky my personal problems came to a head when they did . Only heartbreak, the need to give up old habits (habitual drug use), and impending disaster drove me out of California, and thank God I didn't wait too long to leave (a buyer showed up and he lost the last seventy thousand dollars of value in my old place). If I had stayed in California, at this point, I would have had nothing left to lose.
As it is, I now look to turn a profit, again. If you still have time to move, don't wait for the walls to tumble.

Obviously, I only wrote this post to get a cheap shot in at friends, and to let everyone know there is an escape...

Don't wait too long!

The End of Winter‏

The flag waves lazily today under cloudy skies with patches of blue. Penetrating sunlight reflects brightly in the distant ridges where the last of winters fleeting army of white is on the retreat. Not even reinforcements in March will prevent the inevitable meltdown of the oncoming new season: Spring.

My old friends, six grey mule deer, wander up the hill behind the shack. Stopping to eat the new grass beginning to bud, they quickly look up when I gently tap the upstairs window with a pen (I should hear so well!). I try to get Croco-Dog to look out the window (he likes the deer ), but despite my efforts his attention cannot be distracted from his ball.

The house, much easier to heat now that temperatures are staying above freezing, is comfortable and roomy for one person. It will soon be expanded: Opposite the kitchen and upstairs, on the back of the house, I'll add a living room with windows that face south and west. Someplace for a big screen and a pool table. This time next year I want the pictures to reflect another years work.

When I compare pictures twelve months apart I realize how much progress has been made. Like most accomplishments achieved over years on a day by day basis, looking back, it is hard to fathom the depth of the accomplishment immediately upon completion. Remember that when you stop to take a breath in your educations.

The pictures help to illustrate my feelings. Wouldn't it be nice if we could photo the human mind to graphically show and encourage the new graduate, who on occasion will look around and say, "For what did I work so hard?'' The fruit of ones labor is not always apparent to the producer.

This second summer the shack and my property will blossom dramatically if I can only apply myself as I did last year. That will be the hard part; my incentives, my fears, my desires have changed. I have waited 51 years for this Spring. With good luck my new home will be a success, a springboard, and history: sold for enough profit to do it again on property without a mortgage where I can apply what I've learned here. Can I get a Hallelujah?

With bad luck anything can happen, but I never forget that we make our own luck for the most part, and hard work goes a long way to influence an outcome in most circumstances.

With no luck (or no buyer) I'll set steel post and build the aforementioned living room.

Murderers named Peterson. Serbia, Kosovo, Obama, yo' Mama...........

...............................................Yo' daddy and Osama, everybody wants to rule the World!

It's raining here today. It's raining everywhere on the West Coast. Almost out of firewood, I had to fall three dead cedars and cut firewwod this week. Tweaked my back on the third one, been lying in bed for two days now. There is nothing like a Back Problem to make one realize that Good Health is most important: Not being able to move without pain really drives the point home. Living as I do, movement is necessary, there is always work and there is no next neighbor door in case of an emergency, just the airlift.

Rain is nice. The holes in my driveway fill full of water and there is no guess-work as to where to place the next load of small boulders and break them into gravel. The good life. Simple. If I had meals served it would be equivalent to a little forced hard time. The difference is I cook for myself and the labor is a result of necessity, not sentencing. Someday I'll charge a buyer for every load of rock. Someday..........

Speaking of buyers, and sellers: The adjoining piece of property to mine is for sale: 8.66 acres, 3bd 2ba 2006 modular home, $249,950.00. Makes an undivided half of my property( 9.72 ac. total) for $40,000 look pretty good. I may sell the whole place for $125,000, make fifty g , worry about the tax man later. I know my neighbor will be delighted to see my place at half the price of his. If that doesn't happen then I'll turn the whole place after two years( November) for a profit and start looking for another principal residence. I've been here sixteen months now, it's almost time to capitalize. It seems like a long time from my perspective, but I would bet for those whom have lived their lives in exactly the same fashion for the same period of time, the previous sixteen months seems like yesterday. Be careful, lifetimes slip away in the same fashion.

Change makes for good markers when it comes to time. Accomplishments are even better. One can spend a lifetime in routine: Looking back at endless, repetitious days that have no distinguishing factor, measuring time by how much the principal on their residence has decreased, or how much sick leave they've accumulated. There is nothing wrong with that. It's safe.( Mistakes and failure are also good markers of time, though not as pleasant to reflect upon.) In the end one cashes in a lifetime of work, or dies and leaves it to be inherited, but either way it's "in the end".

In the END, I would imagine everyone has regrets, I already do, but I don't want to be sorry that Comfort and Familiarity deprived me of the desire for adventure. I don't want to visit adventure, I want to live it! (safely ). The next adventure will start in November, maybe in Italy. ( I always wondered why everyone didn't sail off to the new world in the 1500's, the equivalent of going to the moon today.)

My oldest son, Bradley Garrett, already a world traveler, will be moving to Milan in three months to study Italian in country and if I can convince him he likes me, I'm going to learn to drink wine. It's that or off to China to teach English. China is appealing because my checks will continue to go to the bank while I work there. I could bank in America, work and live in China, visit Italy by going west.

I always thought I'd make a good "bad" guy in the Chinese movies, You know, rap a little chink, get my assed kicked on film, be the whiteman chinese love to hate, make a few bucks and go to Thailand to research perversion. Sounds good to me even without the higher education.

My back hurts, I'll have to get back to you with the rest of this letter later.

City-Lag

The frost on the ground is barely surviving in the warmth of a coming rainstorm. The thick fog that covers Illinois valley, a fog I normally look down upon like a white sea from my perch on the mountain, slowly is crawling up sleepy valley canyon, veiling the world with a sheer nightgown of mist. High thin clouds, pink in the morning sun, will soon give way to thick, dark clouds and rain .The slow, beautiful, serene world of the mountains.

Compared to the stimulation and excitement of the city; the fast paced, twelve lane highways at rush hour, fast food, all night everything, all those people trying to squeeze as much life as possible out of every moment as they scramble full speed through their daily routine. It is understandable why returning to the mountains can result in city-lag (society is not always really such a rat race).
Our next door neighbor in California, Darryl, had rats infesting the whole neighborhood from their base in the boxed-in eaves on his garage; one summer evening just before dark I watched them from the roof of the house exit from a hole in the eave and gather on the roof of his carport. It was like a Disney movie; old fat rats walking slowly and sniffing, young rats wrestling, playing, and all the rats in their prime racing from the carport roof to the pecan tree. It's limbs overhanging the roof, and all of the rats streaking through the neighborhood via the trees. It was a commune, not a society.
The ant world is more of a society, with the hill as the city. One ant out on an adventure, sees the sun going down and decides to head home. As he returns to the hill, other ants returning from their day join him. The closer they get to the hill, the more ants there are, until their lines get thicker, multi-directional, full of worker ants, foragers, scouts etc. The ant speed of movement increases proportionately in their distance from the hill. Suddenly there is a hurry. Movement more purposeful and straight. There is more control and supervision, larger enforcement ants and traffic direction, more societal requirements. The door is crazy. Ants bumping into each other. Ants bringing in leaves. Ants everywhere. Move or get walked on. There is no time to wander back and forth looking for grasshopper limbs, no time to explore cracks; one might get in the way, or an enforcer ant could get the wrong impression.

First of course is the drop in blood pressure and the natural lull after the rush. The senses relax without the constant radars up that are necessary in the city. Secondly is the realization that the party is over and it's back to cooking for oneself (two more weeks and it's Webber time). The convenience of fast food and restaurants, a poor man's fantasy. Reality can be depressing. Another realization is it's hard to be lazy in the mountains: find and cut firewood, move large rocks onto the driveway and crush them with a sledgehammer, keep the fire in the stove burning.
City-lag is like being lazy; depressing to know there are lots of things to do and all work! Work isn't exciting like the city. It's work, but without the work I'm bored. The city was fun. Fun takes money. Money takes work.
Finally, normally the second or third night back, you sleep fourteen or fifteen hours and wake up with your senses running at mountain speed. Akin to four or five deep breaths after a fast dash."There's no hurry now." The return to a world unobstructed with urban sprawl and strip-malls, devoid of traffic and people, and nary a neighbor I can see. I've been back nine days and not been once approached by a panhandler. The only company I've had is a friend and the neighbor's dogs on their passing stroll to the school bus stop. Plenty to sniff there before returning home. The good life.
My friend showed up two days after my return from the city. He works at the hardware store. He arrived with a six-pack of Corona and a bottle of Clamato juice. He loves my glass-shack. The shack has a certain lure to the cowboying, frontier male in all of us.
My friend owes a large mortgage, is 52, and has 28 years left on his mortgage. If not for his wife (I hear that a lot), he'd prefer to live in a shack next to the national forest, and own it in five years. He would like to retire in ten years. "Ten years is a long time," I tell him, "but something will happen. Have faith."
The evening view is spectacular. Still suffering from city-lag, as he talks I feel better; I remember to count my blessings. I think about that commercial, "You don't need a nip and tuck, you need a plan." Oregon has been my plan for twenty years. I'm here. At 51 I'm comfortable. The pace and relaxed state is good for me.
The city-lag releases it's grip. The clamato-beer is good. My friend leaves and I'm grateful for the visit. Suddenly, I remember with earnest again that life is wonderful, every miserable moment.
Be happy.

Mine For the Day

It gets worse everyday, this election process. Sen. Hillary already sounds like a sore loser, like she had something stolen from her, and Sen. Obama like a smarter Jesse Jackson. I still like the short guy with the red headed wife. Obama is not the man to run the country at this point. Hillary isn't the woman. If Hillary could just be a black man I think we'd have a democratic candidate.
Has any Presidential candidate before pulled such overwhelming support from the black vote? Is it about race? Ask Oprah who she would have supported if all the candidates were white? Undoubtedly a woman? Isn't her audience predominately female? Yet she supports a male over the female candidate? Race over gender? Like something from Oprah.The hypocrisy of that speaks for itself!
Now here is the question... In this year of 2008, when most socially conscious Americans living in an enlightened world condemn racism, at least publicly, why is it sooooooo important to black Americans to elect a black man President? I don't know. Obviously, I am not a black American.
When I talk to my friends, white, middle class-assholes for the most part, like me, I don't get the impression that 80% of them will vote against Sen. Obama because he's black. Are 80% of woman voting for Sen. Clinton? How about 80% of non-black women? If 'it's not about race' is a lie and it is about race, is race really the right criteria to elect a President?
McCain for no change. I think we better start the process again..... America still needs a next President, or at least a good actor.... c'mon Fred.

Homesick

Being in Sacramento the previous ten days prior to the last two, Seeing my wife every day, Eating fast food and having a variety of people to talk with , and, of course, taking full opportunity, I became homesick. Homesick! Oooooohhhhh Sacramento, How I love my home, that climate, those old friends, the life I lived.

My youth, being unbridled and undisciplined. All the things that force me to build a new world at fifty. All the mistakes that I regret now that the Piper has arrived. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Oooooooooooohhhhhh how I miss my wife. Would she but leave her world and make mine complete. It won't happen, yet, I cannot return to the world I'm homesick over: That world is gone. The fast-food is still there, a variety of people are still there, but my part of that world is an aside now. Homeless in Sacramento. My being homesick is like wishing for a full head of hair, or my sons to be children again. That must be why they call it The Past.

I miss the house on 71st st: The rolling gate, wrought iron and brick pillars. I drive by and the gate is always open. The new owner opened another section of the fence and the driveway is circular now. The "attack" pets aren't racing back and forth behind the fence, filled with false bravado in the safety of the "compound", dying to get free to kill. This guy doesn't know how to keep a fortress! I guess that's why they call it Sold.

Homesick for that climate in Sacramento! Early February and already upper sixties. When I left the mountains it was a continuous storm . Snow storm. The Sun, too far south in the horizon to break above the ridge that divides the north and south side of Hope mountain, was only giving up three hours of direct sunlight a day to Bradland. When it wasn't raining or snowing it was shady. The ferns love it, but, the moss began to overtake my spirit and I had to roll. (Everything covered by a foot of snow and I was down to my last eight pieces of firewood)

Homesick for those old friends. They still have Homes in Sacramento. I am homeless in Sacramento. Visiting people when you live out of town is different then visiting when you live three blocks away. You can randomly stop and shoot the shit with people every day when you're neighbors, but it's Homeless in Sacramento to drive old paths to chat with friends when you no longer have a residence in the area: You're visiting a world you no longer reside in: The Past: What Was.

After ten days of sitting at my Nephews', I realize we don't have a life, my nephew and I.

I return to the new world, arriving in the late afternoon. The remorse for every mistake I've ever made hits me and I am humbled and crumpled, Homesick for What Was, sobbing in self-sorrow and regret, paying the Piper mentally with every club I can think of to beat myself. The snow has completely melted but the house is cold in the afternoon shade, and as I struggle to start a fire in the wood burning stove, hoping the last of the firewood will heat the house over-night, I pray to God for redemption, happiness, salvation and patience, and I try to have faith and be grateful for All the blessings in my life. Then I cry myself to sleep: Homesick for a Segment of Life. A seventeen year segment. What a Wonderful Everything it was. It was Life!

The next day I forage for firewood. I cut and bring home at least a few days of semi-dry, but seasoned oak. It is amazing how a little work in the sunshine pulls me from the depths of depression. Work. Work. Work. Feel Good, Good, Good!

Having a purpose to life is essential, even just the basic(but important) function of providing fuel for heat is therapeutic to my soul. Arriving home I feel better: I should have food and heat for days. In the final analysis it's all about the basics: Food, Shelter, Pot, Liquor and Love. And then it strikes me: The Sun was shining on my face when I left the house at 9:00 Am: Summer has given up it's southward trek and Winter is retreating behind that ridge:The Sun is rising high enough to deliver light and warmth to the shady side of the ridge: Spring is coming. Sunshine, crystal blue skies, the mountains!

It was nice seeing you.