My Critics

Well, I recently mentioned to a friend, a good friend, that when I had written enough letters to be able to glean through them and pick out one hundred and fifty good ones, then I would publish "Letters from Bradland".

My friend responded, " You know,...... there are those whom would say that your letters are just the rantings of an ex-postal employee". And he smiled at me. And he was right, 100% correct except for the word "just". I am an ex- postal employee, and the term, ranting, has been used to describe my letters in the past by those of greater education than I , so I argue neither point. But "just " the rantings , No, No No.

"Just" makes me sound like a damn rabid dog, foaming at the mouth, spewing rantings on empty E-mail boxes and shitting on the floor. Are you kidding?

I would have to argue these letters are the "exceptional" rantings of an ex-postal employee.

"Just " makes my letters sound like they are not entertaining , thought provoking, funny , sad and enlightening.

"Just" diminishes the sociological and cultural differences I try to illustrate between the rural and urban lifestyles I expound on.

"Just" makes my letters sound like any sum bitch could sit down and whip out a little ranting . I take exception to that.

My letters make people feel rich, smug, intelligent, happy to be where they are, superior, self righteous.

My letters, and their honesty about my bad choices, make others feel good about the choices they have made. It's important for people to be given credit for doing the right thing, and how often do everyday heroes like YOU get a pat on the back for being strong and making the right choices? Kudo's to you whom can read where I went wrong when you avoided the pitfall.

My letters give perspective from perception you can only get from the Bradman.

ie

Then I thought, " That miserable mother*****will probably go out to dinner tonight, have a few drinks, go home and get in bed with a women whom loves him, not once think about how lucky he is, and then not be totally cozy, until he remembers that I'm alone, Pissing in a milk carton in a funny looking shack in sub-freezing temperatures, With nothing but a wood burning stove to warm myself, after a one course dinner of smoked salmon and only a dog for company.

Thats why I'm here , so everybody can be comfortable.

"Just" gives the impression there is nothing but the words on the surface. I'd like to think there are deeper thoughts conveyed, a deeper story told. And I do believe that "Letters from Bradland" will be a roaring success despite what the critics think . Who foresaw the pet rock?

I Could Return

Craig's List has a small house on a third of an acre on 67th street, two blocks from my old compound.

FOR SALE for $125k. That is a $150k difference from my California property selling price 2 and a 1/2 years ago. All the money that was needed to finance all the good and bad choices, extravagance and excess, substance abuse and self abuse that I packed into 20 years. Well, almost enough. Twenty years is a long time.
Now being of moderate income and having sold my residence in the city to retire in the mountains of southern Oregon, I never thought affording a house again in that city in the valley where the two rivers meet (especially one at least as good as the last) would be possible. It would appear, however, that returning to purchase equal or better housing at this point is entirely feasible.
That wouldn't look good to all the people who have read my various posts predicting flood and future deserts for the Valley (not that what others think carries great influence for me; I have watched others "think" while I have lived my entire life). Somewhere between locking yourself in a safe room and running headlong into the train, there is a style for everyone's life.
The winner shares the most love, has the most fun, and lives the fullest life (in my opinion). Since I am still enjoying life and living fully, there in itself is the argument for me. Though it would be better if I was most loved.
Part of me would love to own a home in California again. I love southern Oregon too though. Croco-dog likes the Shack and property.
Anyway, as luck would have it (only luck and the Housing Market moved me at the right time; enabling me to both catch the wave and return with the swell gone), I could return to California and buy a residence. The perk is bills paid, debt resolved, mortgage owed, systems cleaned, and adventure lived; I would be way ahead. Think of what I could have done if I had been on top of the game.
Choices.

Tales of Doom

I've been at the shack for 7 days now. I know there are people out there who would love to be alone in the mountains of southern Oregon for a week, but for me, well, I actually jogged two miles today on my mountain road, worked on the house, and now am writing this post to occupy myself. Maybe I should put this place on Craig's List as a $1500 a week mountain hideaway rental. One week rented a month would be cool. That would be enough I could be gone to the city to spend money.
Anyway, don't be a sucker, let your Congress Rep know, nothings going to save us; give the money to the Chinese and forget the bailout.
Hey, we owe it to them. I know how it feels. I want my money too. Now. And hell no, no more credit till I'm paid.

"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."
(Coffee Wars, Property Prices, and Nothing Left to Lose 26Feb08)

It's a year later and the news has only gotten worse. I read an article this week written in 2004 by Mark S.. Watson, 'The oncoming economic depression.' Mr. Watson had foresight. I found the article interesting because it was exactly four years old. If Mr Watson is correct, and he seemed to be accurate back in 2004, don't look for things to improve for a long time. In a small, small, small world, America's big standard of living is going to shrink a little.
Remember the rich have no borders and don't care about the non-rich. You have money or you don't. Believe that, and this: money can live anywhere and cares not about nationality or allegiances. Former President Bush is developing a compound in Paraguay, isn't he? Of course that might be to avoid prosecution, or worse, but after what has happened in this country the last eight years, does anyone really think he gave a damn about the average American? And the strings that strung him damn sure didn't care about America.
Starbucks is closing another three hundred stores today. That 's what this letter is about. They were my measure a year ago and, unfortunately, they are my measure today and the first sentence of this paragraph says it all.
Welcome to the future. You'll be forced to live in a house that's not worth what you owe on it, as it's value decreases. Fuel prices and insurance will force you to mass transit where you'll be forced to meet people you don't want to meet, private transit will be restricted to the upper classes, and worst of all, you'll have to brew your own coffee because Starbucks will only be affordable to the wealthy.
Enjoy them while you still can...

A Note to My Oldest Son

What's up Son,
Have you no opinion on American politics? Perfectly fine really, I know nothing about Britain except everybody in London is from somewhere else, and you can meet women from everywhere in the world and never leave the city limits. Oh, and look right or die, 'cause that's the direction from which traffic approaches! Find a good bakery for coffee and a foreign girl, (since I'm a foreigner in London) and it's a hook.
Woke up to snow flakes this morning. Cold. Winter doesn't want to release the mountains from it's grip. When the sun comes out Spring warmth is in it's light though. Meanwhile I'm forced to cut firewood daily to keep warm. Exercise. Next year I'll stock 10 cord of wood, not 2. I can deal with the solitude as long as there is food and firewood in the house. The basics; food, shelter, warmth. Love, laughter, music.
Perverted perceptions of the basics are wrong; green bud and easy money were not part of the original formula. Sugar babies weren't either. I slept with several last night in the pocket of my pajamas. During the night they slipped out of my pocket and proceeded to glue me to the bed. They were still good eating after being removed with a pocketknife. Like honey. The perfect food.
Your cousin got a 60 day notice to move out of the trailer. His dad agreed, and he's got 30 days left and not a clue. It's bite the bullet and grow up for your cousin. I might bring him to southern Oregon as an indentured laborer.
I figure your cousin, Carlos, you and me and it'll be THE PONDEROSA! BonannnnnnnZaaaaaaa!

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.

My Vision

...is much clearer then people realize; from my perch I see the world.
Aaahhhh.....but am I clairvoyant? Nothing special, like all computers of some sort I assimilate information and draw conclusions. Here's one; people in the California city in the valley where the two rivers meet don't think of it as low lying land. Like Bangladesh, or New Orleans, or some of the Gulf states, that valley is as susceptible to 'coastal flooding' as the coast. Additionally, unlike the coast (which has the sea rising on one side), the valley must deal with draining first. The valley city in question's official elevation is 17 feet above sea level. Is that the valley floor? I don't know, but the important measurement is the elevation of the riverBED. In other words: how many feet does the ocean have to rise before that river quits flowing? Or just becomes sluggish? Salt water is already invading the delta... Rivers flow downhill. It will not be a matter of channeling water, it will be a matter of drainage. That valley is an inland sea in the future. Who will see it? WE will! The future is now.
Those catastrophic climatic changes that will happen over fifty years due to a three degree rise in the earths temperature... well, we're already two degrees there; the last degree won't take the rest of those fifty years. Can I see this? Only because studies and scientists all over the world are pointing to the change. And some of the documented psychics foretold it happening around 2012-13. 'The world will end as we know it'. Which indicates to me that mankind will not end, but civilization might.
How you live, and whether you live, might come down to where you live in the near future. What's the near future? As long as I live must be considered the near future, so ok... fifty-four years, or 2061.
Now using my twisted mind to do some figuring (even if it takes until 2050) that valley is going to see a earth changing catastrophe in the near future! And believe me (which you don't) 2020 is a lot more likely as the outside date if global warming continues as it has. So far the warming rate is exceeding all expectations.
What am I stupid? Have I been looking into crystal balls? 12 years ain't that far away? Look at the rainfall records broken this year... records shattered all over the world, but that valley is exempt? Now is the time... Sell! Live there if you must, but take your money and re-invest out of the cities. Go somewhere you can buy land and pay cash. Somewhere safe in a mountains, where the weather is conducive to farming with a small town or city nearby. Do it now! Then, your Safe-haven will be waiting and paid for! Just rent till your retirement checks go to the bank.
Then, IF there is a catastrophe, or you have to wait ten years to retire, and don't want to give the entire 'baby boomer' generation a head start on you, you will already be set!

Of course I wouldn't be so Brazen as to tell you how to live, or what's good for you, or what you ought to do. And you'll be smart to remember; only a fool would take advice from a twisted mind seeing the world from a hermit's perch! I write this to everybody and once again am seen as the asshole wishing everybody to doom. DUM DA DUM DUM.