Blue Jays

The stray cat is quickly becoming my partner cat. Grey, with an extra heavy coat, and big light green eyes, one can look at him and see he is not tame. Except when he lets me scratch his ears. Or at feeding time. Which for him, like the dog, seems to be every time I pass by. The Cat still sleeps outside, and isn't friendly with other people or Shep, but he doesn't bother to get up from my motorcycle seat when I drive up now either. Friends.
The blue jays recognize my whistle . When they hear my special screech the trees in front of the shack become a waiting ground for hungry birds. I like to throw a couple of pieces of broken bread down for them, then go behind the long mirrored window in the Octoberfest room to watch the show. After that it's on.
The Bluejays come in cautiously at first, swooping down from the oak trees, to the shoulders of the wooden people in front of the shack, to the ground and sour dough love. Once the first, and bravest birds, successfully grab bread and fly, the rout is on and birds approach from everywhere. Free Bread Birdie!
Winter. I have other things to do then talk to the animals. Returned from down south last Thursday. When I arrived the cabin looked like a Swiss chalet. The windows were frosted, resembling store window decorations, but the ice was real. Uh-oh. The five days I was gone temperatures were well below freezing. The plastic plumbing in the house froze. All the pipe split. The Toilet froze and exploded. The faucet on the kitchen sink broke. Five days of plumbing later I'm still trouble shooting leaks and replacing pipe. I don't know if the water heater has to be replaced. I may have a shower tonight, it may not be an option.

No water damage luckily, the pipes are exposed on the inside walls and everything was frozen solid.... I just swept up the ice and turned the main off before I lit the fire. Next time I leave in winter I'll take precautionary measures. The crisis gave me something to do anyway. Good training my brother said. Life is wonderful, Every miserable moment.

Happy Holidays

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?

Days of Rain

Cabin fever season. I haven't left the house for two days. The dog and I had dinner about 13:45 today and I'll probably be in bed about 16:00. The dog only gets up to eat or 'go'. After days of rain, the creek behind the house is a bubbling torrent, polishing the rocks at it's bottom where it has eaten the soft topsoil away and now races downhill. Opening the door to the shack one is greeted with the sound of water gurgling by, and it is both pleasant and reassuring. I like the sound of the rain on the roof too! Cozy! Until the water torture affect comes into play.
The shack is completely closed up inside now, meaning the inside walls are built too, and the insulation is no longer showing. Where the rough edges of the boards meet I've used expanding foam insulation for the chinking. Not only is it attractive, but everyday the place has gotten one step closer to being as 'tight as an egg'. I have to be careful not to overfill the wood burning stove or the house gets too hot.
The rain continues to fall steadily. The creek widens and narrows with the fluctuations in the rainfall, and today the waterfalls have been at their full 12 inches. I need a life. I tried to have one, but the Kings are the worst team in the NBA.
It's a shame we can't know that when we agree to buy "NBA Pass". The hated Lakers are winners again. Life is so unfair. Of course, after the referee went to jail and (beforehand) admitted the 2001 playoffs were rigged (you know the hated Lakers were 'supposed' to win), thus robbing the Kings of their championship, I can't believe in the NBA anymore. It might as well be big time wrestling. Commissioner Stern should be tarred and feathered. Really!
The rain has stopped for a moment. The storm, or this storm, must need to take a breath. The Weather Channel says rain for another five days. I am afraid that life in the mountains is too slow for this urbanite. Is the redwood tree, stationary with nothing to worry about save sun and rain and nutrients in the soil, content to observe the world from its platform for thousands of years? It would be a thousand year torture to me. Thus, not having a thousand years, I no longer feel I have time to hermit in the mountains.
I looked at a large trimaran for the second time last week. I'm not getting any younger, it may be time to see the world. I'm not kidding. Every day I wake up and think, "life is so wonderful ...and so finite." There could never be enough time to share with my sons. There isn't now, and it decreases everyday. I need more freedom to be able to spend more time with you both.

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.

Dogs

My nephew called me today. He said it was about time to bring his dog up here to live, that BooBoo (the dog) had shit on the floor for the third day in a row and he was done with her. I considered whether or not living with two dogs rather than one would make me less lonely. I decided not, so I made my nephew a better offer: I told him the dog could come and live with me if he came too!

On the surface it looks like a selfish offer, I know: I want company. Actually it is a very generous offer when you consider THE TURMOIL OF YOUTH, and that he has to find a new "place" in thirty days

See, I'd have company (probably be tired of his ass in three days, he's always tired of me after 72 hours), but he'd get to keep his dog, and he'd get free rent, and he'd get a stable home for him and his dog, and all without a deposit, first and last, and references. He wouldn't have to falsify income either. He would have to get a job. Remember all those hassles?

I got up today lonely. I'm tired of having nothing to do but work and no one to share my misery with. I've been home two days from Sacramento. I miss many things. Friends. Family. Wife. The weather: Sacramento is a paradise weather-wise. I think one has to live elsewhere from the valley to realize how comfortable it is. I discussed Sacramento with my mother. Her leaving Sacramento after fifty years and moving to Grants Pass was really a return to her home: She grew up on a farm outside of Myrtle Creek, Oregon. She's very happy with her move. I grew up in Sacramento. I'm lonely.

Mom will be eighty years old this July. She's joined the Grants Pass garden club, a church, a widows group. She wants to make friends and have a full life. I am invited to meet people. I decline. I have no interest. I languish in my loneliness and make little effort to resolve the problem. It is not people I miss.

It has been below freezing every night here. I still build a fire every day to take the chill out of the air. There is a lot of work involved when one lives in the mountains. Especially in a cabin that still needs the plumbing and is heated by a wood burning stove. Spring is so wonderful.Summer will be better.

I think about my next move: Should I look for property in the mountains I can pay cash for, then rent a place in Sacramento? or re-invest in the valley and return to the city? or go to China and teach for a while? I'll have to SELL first, and China is out because I have a dog. I can't give Shep up, we're partners!

My nephew's call reminds me of why I moved to the Mountains in the first place: I could no longer afford my home in the city but I absolutely needed a base , a home, stability, a sanctuary with a yard for the dog. It terrified me to think of being a renter while I watched the rest of my assets disappear ( fools and money, I knew I needed to re-invest, quickly). I remember being homeless, money in the bank didn't negate the fears, Those six weeks before I found Happy Camp road were horrid!

Happy Camp road is still all it was before: I realize it's Hell Explained that is making life not worth living...............Google will take you there if you don't understand : It's really a question of here or her. And if it's not her then China may be the answer, in which case this will be a great place to return to. Maybe I should take BooBoo for Shep?

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.

A Lord of the Rings Weekend

All three movies are on Tv today. I am so jazzed; something to do all day that requires no work. Kickin' it with Gandolf and the short, hairy ones. There's a storm moving in too. When the films get to the parts I've already seen (this is a repeat for the first two. They played Friday and Saturday) I can watch the clouds slowly conquer the mountains and surround them in rain. Life is so wonderful!
The Fellowship of the Ring is almost over. As the age of man draws near to it's end, I wonder what the next age will bring? What will the life form of the next age be? Probably a Crocodile. The meteor didn't get them the first time around, Global warming won't get them this time. And there will be a lot more low lying shallow water. Sounds like a good deal for the Crocodile.
Probably a good time for me to start cross-breeding my Croco-dog. The Croco-dog will be the baddest dog on the block. Bred to keep its tough crocodile exterior, but retain a soft warm coat of hair on top of it's skin. The Croco-dog's tail will not only be able to pick a gazelle up out of the water, but also be faithfully wrapped around his master at night to help keep him warm. The Croco-dog will only need to be fed once a year or so and, with that kind of frequency in food necessity, the Coco-dog will be virtually maintenance free. Poop free too, almost. And when it does Poop, it will just look like someone left a steely in the living room, you know ball-bearing type thing, hard and round.
Maybe Ents will come back. A cross between plant and animal: Swamp-Thing. Tolkien must have had secret history books from Middle Earth. No one could could have come up with all the names, maps, history, everything! I call Bullshit. The man had to have found the treasures of Atlantis.
...Finally, the wind is picking up. The assault on the mountains begins. Bradland is normally last to give in to the cloud cover, first to bust out. Thus, the many rainbows. Might be the nickel mountain, but I always heard it was the pot of gold. No matter, they all equate to southern Oregon. Follow the yellow brick road.

Just go north til your dink is dinky
and the air ain't stinky
Where the snow will fly
and the colds' in your eye
the rain don't hurt
cause it ain't filled with dirt

Sorry, I guess the movies are putting me in the mood for some middle earth lore.

...It's raining now. Hard. I can hear it on the roof and the side of the shack. Every wind driven burst of rain screams, "Coooozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"