Quitting: Day Three, Pill Three

I'm on my third day of Chantix. Just finished my breakfast and pill. I don't know that the meds are working but the mindset is right in that I smoke, but I find it less satisfying.

Sam was upset thus morning about going to preschool and wanted to come home. I made him go in but it's very upsetting when the easy thing is to let him come home and play.

The one thing that has gone right this morning is that I come home and turn on BBC and there's _The Doctor's Wife_ episode playing right at the hero moment. And that makes me smile.

Who am I kidding? Lots of things make me smile. I have a lot to smile about...

Quitting Day 2

Thursday Nov.20. 2013

Today I'm putting into motion the end a 25+ year affair. I don't think that my mistress even knows it's happening. And I hate to blindside her, she's been there through some of the roughest and some of the best times. But it's not out of spite that I do this. She's just no good for me. 

Bacon biscuit, bottle of water and my first Chantix pill. 

Here's to me not climbing a bell tower.

______________


That's how my day started yesterday. I'm quitting smoking. I'm taking Chantix to help me along on my recovery from this addiction. And believe me, it's an addiction much like any other. You can argue that this is way easier than recovering from or just plain out quitting drugs or alcohol and I would argue that you are wrong. This particular flavor of addiction is easier to stay with because it's there and easy to grab. I live in a community where just walking into a liquor store is something that would be seen. I used to drink quite heavily and one of the perks of moving back home is that I'm always in view of everyone.So no more worries of alcoholism getting to me. I'm on the straight an narrow as far as that is concerned.

Somehow the same doesn't hold true for smoking. It's more accepted for some reason as just something that happens. I wish it was just as shameful for me. 

As I wrote yesterday, smoking has been there for me through the rough and the good times. I do enjoy smoking. But it has come time that we part ways. It's expensive, it's unhealthy and I just don't want it anymore. 

I'm done. The medicine hasn't had time to kick in yet, but I already don't want to smoke although I have. 

I think it is going to stick this time.

I know it's going to stick this time.

I'm taking my second pill as soon as my biscuits I've just cooked have cooled off and I can slap some bacon on one. 

No vivid dreams or feelings of depression yet. No mystery aches or pains. It's all in the mind.

Here's to "clean" living.

Saturday

This past Saturday was the wife's birthday and she wanted to do something special. Not shopping, no big dinner, no trip to the theater. She's just not that kind of gal.

She wanted to finish the dam at Lake Murray near Irmo, SC.

If you Munzee, you know what these power trails are like. Walk and scan, walk and scan. It is time consuming, it is quite a walk and it's fun!

We started this particular cluster earlier this year, just before what I like to call the Great Undeployment of '13, which I know is a sore subject for some folk but it does play a part in this story. So be patient.

I started in Munzee when it first came around. I didn't think much of it at first. It tool a while to grow on me. I was still heavily involved in another geo hobby and was reluctant to change. Things and people get old and after a decade of the other hobby I decided that I would change. I still do the other hobby but if I continue in it as heavy as I was, I wouldn't have any joy left for it. So here I am.

One Sunday, when the kids went with my parents after church, we were in Camden,SC to get the weeks groceries and have lunch. She was playing one of those mindless games like Candy Crush or some such, one of the ones that keeps me awake at night due to the glow from her iPad on the other side of the bed and I was grabbing a few Munzees in between stops. She asked what I was doing and I grabbed her phone and installed the app. In a few minutes she was hooked. (See this post.) And so we found a hobby in common that we could enjoy together again.

We aren't really ones who Munzee for points. The only competition is between us and our friend Wally. I have never really worried about points in any of these games. I just want to get out and enjoy myself.

Which brings my back around to the point of this story. The dam at Lake Murray was a thick cluster. Some of the Munzees were four in one place. There weren't many that were there alone and I was dreading hearing that buzz of "archived" all day long. I really tried to find somewhere else that we could go and something else we could do for the day, but she only asked for this one thing, to finish that cluster. How can you say no to a gal on her birthday?


I could just imagine how long it was going to take for us to make it down the damn. And I could also imagine how frustrated I was going to be about halfway through. I hate when things like this happen and it dampens my enthusiasm for whatever game I'm playing. I only ran one power trail while I was deep in geocaching. It was 108 caches on New Years Day of 2012. I swore to never do it again because halfway through I had a "I just want to get this over with" mentality. I had fun with my friend that was with me, always did no matter what. But it was mind numbing to hit cache after cache. 

I was prepared for Saturday to be like that.

I was wrong.

I want to take a moment to praise the Munzers in that area. Either a very dedicated Munzer or a large group of them have gone through and removed at least 80% of the archived Munzees on that dam. No trash. It's a pleasant cluster full of active Munzees. This made me smile. I've seen archived power trails with moldy pieces of log left on their own in film canisters all over the east coast. I am very pleased to be associated with folks who take a certain pride in the game so as not to put a bad public face to it. It's refreshing, even more so because I found this in my home state. If I could afford it I would send most everyone that has a Munzee on that dam a diamond or a mystery just to say good job.

This is why I play these games. It gets me out and active. It lets me see the world. I get to see the history of the area, I get to meet other players. Occasionally, I get to tell people about whatever game I am playing. We had a gent download the app in front of us on the dam Saturday so that he and his boys could start playing.

We have our problems occasionally. Undeployed limits, clusters that don't follow the few rules we have to the letter, etc. But in the end this is all about fun and getting out there.

And this is why I play.

This morning...

I dropped Sam off at school and was going to run by the bank to pay a bill. I thought they would be open at 8:30 but 9:00 it was. My original plan this morning was to do the bank thing and head over to the track at our church to get some walking in. I ended up walking in town and figured out that the six miles from Saturday with Mags really did a number on my left ankle.

I walked a mile+ this morning and checked on my Munzees and played Ingress while doing it. I grabbed some AP and made a small field and I'm happy.

I got in some exercise which will increase in the next  few weeks so I'm good.

It's my blog, I'll write what I want.

Ghost Stories: A Visit From PawPaw

I knew him all my life until he was called home when I turned fifteen. He was one of my first teachers and probably my first friend. His name was Henry Criminger, but I called him PawPaw.

He and MawMaw (another story) lived on farm land that they leased from a lady in the community. The family didn't inherit it after they passed on of course, it wasn't theirs. But the old home place and the outbuildings still remained decades after. They had running indoor water but still used an outhouse. They had electricity but no switches on the wall, all the lights were the bare bulb, pull string lights. They farmed and had a few animals. We killed a hog every year, picked vegetables from a garden plowed with a mule and had Sunday dinner there most every week when I was little.

PawPaw used to try to scare me and my cousin Pat by making a sound that I can only describe as a wounded cow, only spookier. A maaaaaaawwwwww. Very guttural, very loud. It always spooked us.

I went back there after I separated from the army, nostalgia I guess. I wasn't into photography then, I wish I was. The house sat at the end of a long dirt and gravel drive with four huge oak trees on the property. Maybe more, it has been a long time since I've been there or thought about it. I went into the house to have a look around. It was falling apart of course. I don't know that anyone lived there after MawMaw moved out (she lived with Mom and Dad for fifteen years after PawPaw passed.) 

In the kitchen was some of the old free standing cabinetry, stuff that antique collectors would kill for. Old cabinetry with porcelain counter tops and the old sink and spigots that would be stripped from a deserted home nowadays for the metal.

And there in the middle of the kitchen sat MawMaws old table. Kudzu had made its way in through the floors and entwined its way up the legs of the table and chairs. It wasn't spooky, I wasn't scared, I was sad. If you only know how many biscuits I ate at that table. A lot of family meals and Christmas dinners, Thanksgiving and Easter, etc. You could still smell the smells and hear the sounds. Well, I could anyway.

 In one of the cabinets there was still a stick of peppermint candy in an old box. I still like that stuff. They always had peppermint candy. The powdery, stick kind.

I walked out onto the back porch where the old freezer used to be. There was one of the old string lights. I pulled the string more to hear the click than expecting it to light up. One of the ice boxes was still sitting there. Along side it was a Pepsi crate with a couple of old, glass long neck Mt. Dew bottles. I think PawPaw started a lifelong addiction to the stuff for me. I still love it.

I walked out into the backyard and down to the old barns, past the dog pen and old salt box house. I was just wandering and remembering. He had a small blacksmith shop and chicken pens. They really had most everything they needed to live there. Some of the grape vines are planted at my parents now. My daughter has eaten some of the same grapes I used to.

I was standing there just lost in thought when I heard it.

MAAAAAAAAWWWWWWW!

My skin went cold and my knees went weak. The hair stood on the back of my neck. 

I knew that if I turned right then I would see him standing there on the back porch grinning with his hands cupped around his mouth, the sun glinting off his glasses. In those old overalls that always make me think of him when I see an old man at the grocery store wearing them. Looking back on it I wish I had, but I was frozen in place.

When I finally turned around the string light was swinging just a little and I could swear I saw a shadow just flit away.

But maybe that was the sun and shadows playing tricks on my eyes. And maybe it was just a memory playing over in my mind.

I guess I'll never know.

A New Dead Language

I read a lot. I find it sad that languages die because the native speakers of that language pass away. 

Dialects like Cromarty, a Scottish dialect, that died with this gentleman. 

Just think of the stories that are lost because there was one word that can't be translated into any other language. Think of the sound of that language, even though you or I may never have heard it. It was probably music to someone's ears as they came home from war or the first thing they ever heard as they came into this world. 

Today, here in the US, a language started its descent into history. My son underwent a frenulectomy to correct the fact that he was tongue tied. A simple procedure and we were in and out in less than two hours. A little discomfort and lots of pudding and Jello. He's okay. 

But he has already started to hit letters dead on that weren't there before when he speaks. He said his sisters name, Logan, properly today instead of Wogan. 

A language started dying today. It's last speaker is still living but just gave it up through necessity. I am the last person who could translate that language but I couldn't properly speak it if I tried. 

The language of Sam can be added to the list of dead languages. It is exciting that he moves on in life but I am going to miss that little connection that only he and I had. 

Blessings

I was at the grocery store picking up a few things. I happened to take my change with my from the jar on my desk because I am lazy and don't like to roll change. It's time consuming, change is dirty, I just plain out don't want to do it and other things can be done with my time. I usually get twenty to fifty dollars out of my change jar so yeah, that's groceries. Milk, bread, drinks, etc. Money's money. 

We aren't hard up for money. As a matter of fact when a lot of people around us were failing we were just fine. That's not a brag. We were lucky in that. We still hang in there and do great for all that's going on in the United States right now. Most all of our stuff is paid for, we don't carry a car note (although we may again soon), so we have a house payment, the regular bills, and taxes each year. No more than anyone else has to do. It's not a hardship it's life. But that's not why I'm writing this.

Across from the machine are the little quarter candy machines, you know, gum, hard candy, little cheap knick-knacks your kids are always asking for change for and there's a little guy standing there doing his thing, trying to figure out what he wants. No adults around, so no one to watch how he's acting and he's pondering his choices. Just a little fella, probably eight or so and clean cut, just a face in a sea of faces.

I put the change in a blue bandana instead of carrying my jar. No breakage and I can just fold it and slip it in my pocket. I'm self conscious at that machine. I know that most people think that you're broke and having to use your change to make due and believe it or not, I am not the most self confident guy in the world. I don't know that it's being self conscious or just the way I've been trained but I am constantly aware of most anything going on around me. I know how many people are in my area and what I can do to protect myself or my family. I know who's watching me and who isn't watching there kids. It's just a thing. Anyway...

I take the change and dump it into the hopper and make my selection for the service I want. I always go for the cash. Amazon and B&N cards are awesome choices but I can do the same with cash and pretty much buy what I need. I have the bandana and I'm folding it. It gives me something to do while I wait. I take out my cell and I'm about to check in with you fine folk on G+ when someone taps me on the shoulder. It's the little dude. 

"Here, you can have my quarter. I don't really need it. And you look like could probably use it more."

The Grinch's heart had nothing on mine in that moment except for the fact that mine melted instead of grew. Kids don't really have the concept of money, well, they have the concept but not the love of money that we as adults do. It was his quarter. He hadn't gotten anything from the machines and had nothing in his hand, I had been watching him as well. Apparently he'd been watching me too. Kids do that sometimes, they watch what you do.

I grinned and told him I was just rolling loose change and that I didn't like doing it at home. He said his Dad didn't either and motioned to the bench outside where a guy probably about my age was sitting. I told him thanks for the offer but I was okay and he walked out to sit down with his Dad. I imagine Mom was inside shopping.

After I got my voucher I walked out to where he and his father were sitting and praised that boy up and down. I also praised the father for getting it right. Such a little thing but that's the kind of heart I want my kids to show. I don't care that someone else might do the wrong thing with what they give people, I want them to have that kind of heart where it is giving freely for love of another human being.

This is how I was raised and how I will raise mine. Kindness.

You all know what a blessing is. I don't care if you believe or you don't. I've been a quarter short before and had to put something back. I've been out of house for my own stupid actions and decisions before too. This kid wasn't judging. He saw someone he thought was in need and he acted. He was a blessing sent tonight not cause I needed the money but because I've had a bad day and someone knew that I needed that smile put on my face.

I wish we could all be like him.

After I got my few things I pulled a dollar out of my change to give him when I walked outside but just as mysteriously as he appeared, he was gone. He was probably out pulling someone from a burning building or stopping a bank robbery. Okay, maybe not. But I'm sure one day he will.

Heroes don't stick around for thanks.

Peace.

S

The Weekend Is Over

So this isn't just a blog. It's my outlet, my place to write my thoughts and it's my therapy, because I'm not going to pay someone else to give me their opinion on what they think I'm feeling and why. I know the cause, I know what I am feeling.

I am wondering about a lot of things all the time, just like any other human being on the face of this planet. Something I've been pondering lately:

What happened to being a man?

I see a lot of sensitivity out there. I don't have a problem with that so much as the fact that I see a lot of guys on social media who act like junior high school girls. The constant "woe is me" of a person who has absolutely no command of their own place in life. And these aren't the guys who have gone through horrible divorces and had their hearts ripped out and their place in the lives of their children disrupted. That I am there for ya on. I couldn't imagine not being here with my family. That's a hell I never want to experience and work everyday to make sure I never have to.

These are guys that seem so emotionally weak that they shouldn't be able to function in society,much less hold down a job or exist outside of their parents basement apartment.

When I grew up being a man was just that. You took care of your responsibilities, you watched over your folk and yes, it's okay to cry, but at least be a man about it. I mean there are times that you have to be just what you are, human.

I don't even cry at funerals and neither does my mother. I think we've discussed this and figured out that anyone who has led a good life is something to celebrate not mourn. I would cry at the loss of a friend or a family member, I have. I am human. And I suppose we are all built differently. Some of us have experienced things that have caused our heart to become stony rather than embrace our softer feelings. Sometimes you have to do that to survive what you go through. It's either man up or give up. I chose and continue to choose the former. 

Another thing I really have a problem with is those of you who think it's okay to tear down people in a public forum. Joking around with a friend is one thing, whether in real life or on social media, but to take someones personal life and talk about them like they are subhuman and to talk about their child in the same way is absolutely uncalled for. It's not only ungentlemanly, it's beneath us as human beings. I recently experienced this on social media and it made me sick to my stomach. It took away every bit of respect I had for the person who did it personally but also professionally. Sad thing is that I really enjoyed them professionally and thought highly of them. A badly placed word or post can really take away from you. It's hard to come back from that because when you rip down someone else I can't help but think what you say about me. 

Men, real men, can bring their thoughts to you face to face. Or virtual face to virtual face as it is as I have more friends online than in real life. People I respect and value their opinions. We really strip away that evaluation of someone based on their appearance and really get down to what they are inside online, I think. 

That's all my rambling for now. 

Peace.

S

Bad Morning

The Culprit:

Sams favorite cup. He wanted Sprite with his lunch. Unfortunately, some roughhousing between Sam and his sister ended up in a bad scrape to the roof of his mouth. 

The Cure:

Some Motrin and a popsicle. That at least numbed it for now. I know it hurts. But there's really no serious damage and sadly nothing can really be done for it but to heal. 

Oh and this helped too...

I've taken to shaving in the afternoons while they nap (Well while he naps. Logan is eight and plays quietly in her room. Don't tell Sam.) It's a quiet time when I can get my stuff done. 

So today was a shave together day. LOL 

Sometimes it's a blast being home with them. 

S

Old habits die hard...

And I don't...

It's not really anyone's fault. This is just the way things are and with the good being overshadowed by the bad, this is the way I am. 

People are just what they are. I've gone through life watching them. Some have proven loyal, others have shown what I already knew them to be. 

This little clip spoke to me. I don't really like people all that much. It's hard to swallow but it's a basic truth for me. I'm too soft hearted to like people much, they take advantage of me if I let them. 

I suppose this makes me a "really odd dude" as well. And it does serve a purpose. 

People who make it past the part where I am wary of them get the benefit of someone who will always stand by them. And that's worth the world to me. 

And the irony isn't lost on me that a guy who doesn't like people met one he ended up falling in love with and helped make two more. 

What a quandary! But I think I'll keep them. Here we stand. 

S

SoA Re-Watch Season 2

Wow. I'm now on my last episode of season two. I haven't been watching much of anything else.

I love watching the evolution of the characters throughout the show. Sometimes it's hard to tell who the truly bad guy is because, let's face it, they're all criminals. There's a certain black and white to it but many shades of grey here. They aren't all bad guys just a product of what happens to them and what they have to do to survive. Even the police that are "dirty" show faith and honor to the relationships they've made. 

If you've never watched it, I highly recommend it. The writing is superb. The acting is great. Even in the roughest parts of the show there are some great laughs. 

S

Sons of Anarchy Re-Watch

I'm thirteen episodes into my SoA re-watch. It's weird to go back through this show knowing what I know about it and see the foreshadowing that happens throughout the episodes. 

I've also noticed a lot of the characters actually switching lines in later episodes. Clay, Jax and Opie having an almost complete role reversal. Gemma berating Wendy about religion and turning to it later herself. Gemma and Tara basically switching places. It's a well told story. And I know the payoff at the end will be worth it. 

Season 2 will be watched this week and I hope to have finished up by the season premiere in September. 

I know some hate these shows. But I kinda like the bad guy/antihero shows. Jax, while having done some horrific things, is just a guy trying to get his family to a safe place in life and is willing to do anything within his power to protect them. I get that. I'm a dad and husband. So yeah, I can go there. 

Anyway, here's to a fantastic series. 

A night alone.

Sometimes I forget how amazing Sam can be. Helping around the house, shopping, hanging out. I need to write down the great times to remind me when the bad times come and that the good times are just right. 

I never thought we'd make it this far. We had such a rough start with him. Last night sitting there trying to get him to sleep (at 11:00. Sorry. He wanted Mommy) and just before I got frustrated, he looks up and says, "I want Mommy. But that's okay, I got you."

This is why I am glad that I'm a Dad. It's the little things. 

YEARS AGO

Back when the terrible thunder lizards still roamed the earth, after a hard day of hunting mammoth and when people didn't buy things just to throw them away, when I was a young man, this was the weapon of choice for shaving. 

My wife has apparently been doing some concrete work with my disposable (which I have been nursing well beyond the "comfort strip" because, let's face it, those things are outrageously expensive) and I remembered that we still had her Dads in a drawer. There it was loaded with a fresh blade. 

Not one nick boys. I still got it. 

Loss

"What experience do you have in pest control?," he asked me. As I looked him over I took him for a simple person. Kind of a redneck, well, he was a redneck, but something told me he wasn't a guy to mess around with.

"None," I said. "But I'm not afraid of hard work and I can learn anything quickly. I'm a little more intelligent than what you're probably used to having walk through the door."

That was probably the wrong thing to say. I saw the squint in his left eye, barely noticeable, but there. I've been in enough interviews to know the signs on a persons face when they aren't exactly pleased with an answer. This continued for about thirty minutes. A long interview, in my experience, has always been a good sign.

"Well, what we're looking for is someone who doesn't mind getting dirty. Termite work is hard, I don't mind telling you that up front. We work quickly and get the job done because there is always work to do," he said. "I see you were in the Army, that's a plus, and a combat engineer. You don't mind getting dirty or working hard and I like that. Well, I'll talk to the manager and the owner and see what they think. We'll call you in a week and see what we can do."

"Don't bother," I said getting up from my chair. "It has been very nice talking to you but I need a job and really don't have the time to wait. It's a shame too, I think we could have worked well together," I said. "I'll have a job by the end of the day."

"It's awfully tough out there," he reminded me. "Jobs are scarce right now."

And didn't I know it. I'd worked for Coca-Cola for about six years and had looked for a way off of that truck for the last three. Nothing paid as well, nothing I wanted to do anyway.

"Well, I'll have something by the end of the day even if it's flipping burgers," I said as I walked out the door.

Ten minutes later back at our apartment the phone rang. I had gone to the interview in Coca Cola uniform having just quit that morning. I couldn't follow the new company line they'd adopted since buying us out from a smaller family owned operation. They were looking for any reason to get rid of us anyway.

"Hello?"

"This is Phillp from Carolina Pest, why don't you start Monday morning?," came the voice on the other end of the line. "I think I can use you."

___________________________________

This began somewhere around eleven years of a, I guess I can say, friendship. Phillip was always hard to read. You never knew quite what he was thinking. But he was the kind of guy that would praise in public and berate in private. He would never raise his voice even when he was angry.

I learned most everything I knew about termites from him. He then taught me about moisture work, powder post beetles, repairing wood damage, etc. So much knowledge in that head of his that the student would never become the master. Not that he would hold anything back, he always offered his knowledge of things relating to the job. I just couldn't hold it all in my head.

I found out a lot about him over the years. He liked his beer. He liked to fish and hunt. He gave to others. Of himself and anything else he could. He was one of those "give you the shirt off his back" kind of guys. I watched him cut the price back on a few jobs because the folks just couldn't afford it and he always, always let the owner of the company know why. Sometimes offering to make up the difference himself.

Then came one year that we weren't going to get a bonus at the company. No one was happy about it. Some threatened to quit. I had to explain to my partner Josh that we weren't due a bonus, that a bonus was something the owner gave out of appreciation and that this year was a tight year for the company. A month later and we got a surprise. A bonus, not a big one, but we all got something. At least the termite crew did.

We found out later that Phillip had taken money from his own pocket and made those bonuses for us. That's the kind of guy that hired me and I gladly worked for and with. He never made you do anything that he wasn't willing to do himself. And was always willing to lay a hand to a tool and get the job done.

___________________________________

Sadly, I fell out of touch with several folk at the company. That hits me hard because it's my fault that I did. They were like family to me but I had moved on to other opportunities. I won't ever forget my time with them.

That squint in his eye? I saw that many times. I always stood down when I saw it, no matter how much I thought I was right. Very, very rarely was I right when pointing out anything that I though was wrong on paperwork, chemicals, the way to do things on a job. But when I was I always heard, "Well, you're learnin'!" 

Yesterday I found out that my friend had passed away. I can't say that we were friends in the way that people throw around so carelessly. I had and still have a huge amount of respect for the man. And, it's not a slight against anyone else I worked for in the company, an even greater amount of loyalty. I was there for some of the hardest times he probably went through with his family. And he took me aside when he was able to come back to work after being gone awhile and thanked me for taking care of our business in the company. No one else could make me feel that proud there. He did.

Flip, I missed your funeral. I'm sorry for that, but I know that you didn't like a lot of attention. I hope that it wasn't too much for you if somehow you know all those people showed up to the funeral home making a fuss. You had a lot of people that thought the world of you, I was one of them. And I hope you don't mind but yesterday got to me when I saw your obituary there on the screen. I feel loss at your passing and things like this hardly ever bother me. You were a good boss, a good teacher, and a great man to have on my side, which is where I always knew you would be as long as I was in the right. Thanks for teaching me and guiding me. I am better for that and to have known you while you were on this earth.

Goodbye.

I was supposed to be at Geowoodstock...

I had planned last year to attend GWXI in Florida this weekend. Plans change.After several things that went down I have kind of pulled back from the geocaching world. I still give a look here and there, check out new listings, read some of the blogs, listen to some of the podcasts occasionally,but the thrill just isn't there right now. The adventure has gone out of caching for me. I don't hear those first four notes of the Indiana Jones theme song when I see a new cache anymore. Maybe it's me, maybe it's that the new cachers think that what's being put out is an adventure. Either way, here I am.

I've only attended two GeoWoodstocks.

The first was in Warren, PA. That was an awesome weekend for me. I am not very comfortable around large groups of people. I like to hang back, take pictures and watch. I never had much interest in poker but I ended up  sitting through nearly the whole of the Geopoker tournament and really enjoying it, sitting through the podcasters live shows and making a couple of friends out of the bargain (HeadHardHat probably remembers a late night call) and meeting folk from all over. This really brought me out from behind the lens of my camera. I'm so used to being on the other side and just watching that I forget that the picture has sound! I just have to listen. I met Triple HHH, DarylW4, XpunkX, you know all the big names. I met MollyMonkey and made a friendship there that, while infrequent, is always there when we see each other in real life or online. It was a whole new world for me. I also visited Centralia, PA and a part of the abandoned PA turnpike and several other very cool locations. This is what caching is about to me. 

GeoWoodstock IX was very well put together. The exhibits and the flow of it were pretty good. Nothing's perfect, I heard complaints, but I heard way more good than bad. I met some of the people I've always wanted to meet up with. I also had the chance to promote Geocoinfest 2011 which I was helping plan and I really got to see what it meant to put on a great event. I will always be thankful for that to the folk that set up the Warren event and I made it a point to tell each volunteer and board member I met for that event. It was truly worth my time and money to be there. And it was a privilege.

Then came GWX. They took it back to its roots, as close as possible anyway, I still don't understand why it wasn't held in Louisville where the first GW was held.

It was held in Sellersburg, IN. The big difference for me was that this one was very spread out. Hundreds of feet between sections of the event. The flow was very bad. the vendors were sparse, the heat was unbearable. Now they couldn't have done a thing about the heat. That's not in their power to make happen. What I saw was that there wasn't water for the animals brought to the event, public restrooms that were available on the fairgrounds weren't made available to the attendees of the event, people were having to walk in a half mile to the event (there was special parking if you bought the top tier of package, we did), the food line and drink line were split so that you got your food first then had to go stand in another line to get your drink, etc. So much was wrong with this event. Again, this was compounded by the heat, which was out of all of our hands.

Not all was lost for me that weekend. I visited Captain McHarry's Vault, which was one of my favorite caches ever, I ate dinner at Claudia Sander's Dinner House (yes, the Col's wife) and downtown Louisville is something you have to visit. If you're ever there spend a day and really take it in. Sights in between all these and other great places and you get why we cache and take the chances we do.

It's all in the journey. And at the end of it, I don't really have a complaint.
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This led to my decision to stay home this weekend. I didn't want to go and feel like I wasted my money. I am sure the folk in Florida made a fine presentation of GeoWoodstock and I would like to hear from cachers either way how it went. Just post in the comments here or on the comments on G+, it will get back to me.

I stayed home and took the kids to the zoo. It was a perfect Saturday with perfect weather and I couldn't have spent a better day with better people than my family. No caches found, no Munzees scanned, the zoo most of the day, a trip to the bookstore and dinner. We were home by five and relaxing.

I thought about the last two GW all weekend. I had some great road-trips and was lucky to have ended up having at least one great experience for an event. 

I just felt like writing. Thanks for reading.

Naked Castaway Pt. 1

I suppose it's prudish of me, but I didn't want to watch this at first. I had no desire to look at another mans bare butt for the length of the series. But I started watching Naked Castaway,today and I am really enjoying it. 


If you haven't watched it, the show is about adventurer Ed Stafford surviving alone on a desert island, Oloura 200 miles southeast of Fiji for sixty days and, as the title suggests, he's naked. He is dropped off on the island with nothing but a cameras and "what God gave him".

He's had a pretty cool career up to this point. He attended the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst and became a commisioned officer in the British Army in 1999. He commanded platoons in the Devonshire and Dorset Regiment. After leaving the military he became an expedition leader with the charity Trekforce, leading community and conservation expeditions through Belize, Guatemala and Borneo. He's also walked the entire length of the Amazon for charity, a feat that landed him a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. So yeah, quite a guy.


I am liking the show. At first I though it was just going to be another boring reality show. But, as he goes through his first day you can see that he is really terrified that he may have made the wrong move here. His first task he sets for himself is the hunt for fresh water, which he finds, but there's never enough. Food is another problem which he seems to be overcoming. I found myself laughing at him as he explores the island and comes upon things that have washed ashore. Plastic bottles, a shirt, a rugby ball. Discarded trash that you and I would take for granted.

But then he makes fire and the joy he has from this really got to me. Something so very simple,that I carry in my pocket and can have at anytime being such a major necessity. I've done survival training and had to make my own fire, but not in a situation where I wouldn't have been rescued if I had failed. Of course I am sure that there's an emergency plan in place for Stafford as well.

I am splitting this into two parts. Going to finish the second and last episode this afternoon.

JS

Waiting.

At the doctors with Logan. Ear infections. Bleh.

A Foodie Post (Sort Of)

One of the few foods that I absolutely love is cornbread. Both my grandmothers and my mother can make excellent cornbread. It has to be just right, the balance of corn meal to butter in the finished product.

From Wikipedia:

Native Americans were using ground corn (maize) for food thousands of years before European explorers arrived in the New World. European settlers, especially those who resided in the southern English colonies, learned the original recipes and processes for corn dishes from the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Creek, and soon they devised recipes for using cornmeal in breads similar to those made of grains available in Europe. Cornbread has been called a "cornerstone" of Southern United States cuisine. Cornmeal is produced by grinding dry raw corn grains. A coarser meal (compare flour) made from corn is grits. Grits are produced by soaking raw corn grains in hot water containing calcium hydroxide (the alkaline salt), which loosens the grain hulls (bran) and increases the nutritional value of the product (by increasing available niacin and available amino acids). These are separated by washing and flotation in water, and the now softened slightly swelled grains are called hominy. Hominy, posole in Spanish, also is ground into masa harina for tamales and tortillas). This ancient Native American technology has been named nixtamalization. Besides cornbread, Native Americans used corn to make numerous other dishes from the familiar hominy grits to alcoholic beverages (such as Andean chicha). Cornbread was popular during the American Civil War because it was very cheap and could be made in many different forms—high-rising, fluffy loaves or simply fried (as unleavened pone, corn fritters, hoecakes, etc.)

Corn dogs! I love corn dogs.  Just the corn dog and some mustard. It's just perfection in junk food form. I can't remember where I first had a corn dog, at the beach maybe? Probably. I see them all the time there. Maybe the State Fair? I can smell them now as I'm writing this and my mouth is watering. A smell stuck in my memory not so much for the dog part as that sweet cornbread around it. I love the taste and texture of it.

From Wikipedia:

There is some debate as to the exact origins of the corn dog; they appeared in some ways in the US by the 1920s, and were popularized nationally in the 1940s. A US patent filed in 1927, granted in 1929, for aCombined Dipping, Cooking, and Article Holding Apparatus, describes corn dogs, among other fried food impaled on a stick; it reads in part:

I have discovered that articles of food such, for instance, as wieners, boiled ham, hard boiled eggs, cheese, sliced peaches, pineapples, bananas and like fruit, and cherries, dates, figs, strawberries, etc., when impaled on sticks and dipped in batter, which includes in its ingredients a self rising flour, and then deep fried in a vegetable oil at a temperature of about 390°F., the resultant food product on a stick for a handle is a clean, wholesome and tasty refreshment.

In 300 Years of Kitchen Collectibles, author Linda Campbell Franklin states that a "Krusty Korn Dog baker" machine appeared in the 1929 Albert Pick-L. Barth wholesale catalog of hotel and restaurant supplies. The 'korn dogs' were baked in a corn batter and resembled ears of corn when cooked.

A number of current corn dog vendors claim credit for the invention and/or popularization of the corn dog. Carl and Neil Fletcher lay such a claim, having introduced their "Corny Dogs" at the Texas State Fair sometime between 1938 and 1942.^[3] The Pronto Pup vendors at the Minnesota State Fair claim to have invented the corn dog in 1941. Cozy Dog Drive-in, in Springfield, Illinois, claims to have been the first to serve corn dogs on sticks, on June 16, 1946.  Also in 1946, Dave Barham opened the first location of Hot Dog on a Stick at Muscle Beach, Santa Monica, California.

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No matter where or when it came from I am certainly glad it did. You can also get these on Amazon. It's a lot of 1000 for $20.00. That's a pretty good deal. And I am sure that some enterprising person with the right motivation could make something with corn dog sticks as well of find other uses for them.

I write because of things that come into my head during the day and this has been in there rattling around for most of this one. We ordered supper out last night and the kids both wanted corn dogs and so did I. I went to town and picked up supper having to smell them and wanting to eat them all the way home. Even the kids. I wanted to take food from my babies mouths. (Did I mention I love this mixture of two of my favorite things?)

Arriving home we un-boxed supper and sat down at the table, something we are slowly getting back into every night, TV off, quiet family dinner. Well, not quiet. Not my kids. There's usually a raised voice or two.

Anyway, I sat and watched these two heathen children peel all the cornbread off the corn dog and proceed to eat the weenie inside. This confuses me. Why didn't I just get some weenies and a nice stick from a tree outside? You've taken the best part and discarded it. That's like keeping the wrapping paper and throwing away the present to me. Not a direct mental image but you know what I mean if you are reading this. Or if you have kids.

I'm torn on the subject between the discarding the corn bread and the fact that I am the recipient of the discarded corn bread. It would seem that it's a win win, but I feel as if my children have no religion. Also that deal on Amazon and buying hot dogs weenies at the store and just doing that makes more sense than buying them corndogs. Again. I would miss out on the discarded corn bread. I am starting to think I need to have them both checked. Also, if anyone want in on a thousand corn dog sticks, I may have a deal for you.