June 9, 2008

Monday

HOW TIME FLIES

My how time flies!  Here it is seven thirty, Monday morning, the beginning of our sixth week away from the beautiful and comfortable Coldspring house.

It was thirty nine here last night as the clear skies allowed radiation cooling to take place but by the time the writer rose the bright sun in a cloud flecked sky had already raised the temperature back to fifty.

Turning neither left nor right the writer went straight to his laptop where work began anew on week five.  An hour later he paused to make coffee and tea before returning to the keyboard.  With a little perseverance he would have the week ready for Onie when she woke.  She could do her magic and then get it posted.  We would be up to date and the business of fishing could be addressed.  By ten the writer was finished with his work on week five.

Onie had awakened, gotten a cup of coffee, given the writer a cup of tea, and settled down to watch the news.

Outside the water in the river was slipping by, its surface reflecting the bright morning sun while beneath that rippling tide first run sockeye were making their way upstream.  Perhaps today one or more of those fish would find its way into our coach, via a hook, line and sinker, of course.

After the news we took week five off for Onie to begin work on. 

The writer trimmed his beard, his hair line and went off to take a shower.

When he returned Onie had hot biscuits and sausage on the table.  It was a true feast.

Finally we got to watch Family Feud with Richard Karn, one of our favorites that we hadn’t seen much of since leaving home.

The dish at Sidney and Barbara’s rig had been bumped into by some of the taller folk, during the get together at their rig.  It had been decided it needed to be a foot higher to keep someone from hitting it and disturbing the signal and perhaps getting hurt in the process.

We set off to get the job done.  We took our tuner in case the dish had to be re-aimed.  At Sid’s the mounting board was taken down and moved up and then the dish did have to be re-aimed.

With Onie inside and me outside we got the job done.

As the day progressed the writer, hoping to soon be a fisherman, took an inventory of terminal gear, cleaned and rearranged our tackle bucket.  Sockeye fishermen carry buckets with their gear in it, not a little tackle box that could never hope to hold a bonker.

Once the bucket had been cleaned and the tackle arranged there was nothing to prevent the writer from rigging up and going to the river.  Onie soon joined him, Sidney and Barbara.  All four gave the water a sound thrashing for the next half hour and all with the same results, no fish, BUT the kinks had been removed from the new line and some had been placed in our backs.

Seated, in the setting sun, at our picnic table we ate the big salads Onie had prepared and then had fresh steamed broccoli and chopped venison steak covered with sautéed

Morel mushrooms and Vidalia onions.  When the feast was over we went inside to rest, do a crossword and get ready for bed and a movie.

CMT showed Silverado, a movie I had seen before but couldn’t remember all the details.  We watched it for an hour and a half and also saw an hour of commercials during it.  We won’t be watching any more movies on CMT.

With the commercials and the movie at an end we watched a little of GSN before rolling over and going to sleep.

June 10, 2008

Tuesday

SLOW DAY

Last Night we watched the local, Anchorage, weather.  The lady predicted a low of thirty five for Soldotna and a high of fifty three for today.  One can’t be sure if we got to thirty five but it can be stated with certainty that it was thirty nine at one a.m.  By the way, it was also light enough to see to walk around the park without a flashlight.

By the time we rose for our coffee, tea, egg, grits, sausage and a biscuit for the writer it had warmed up to fifty.  Part of our Coldspring routine returned as we worked a crossword with our first meal of the day.

We dressed and Onie and Barbara went off to Soldotna to spend the day shopping while the writer entertained himself with email, answering, composing and deleting files.  The www was also checked for news and a few games were played before he settled down to write a bit.

It was cool and the sun was sinking over the hill to the west but there was still time to wet a line so he quit the keyboard for the river.

The best laid plans of mice and men sometimes go awry.  The writer’s did.

When we had moved Sidney’s dish antenna we had re-aimed it.  Afterwards it was discovered that part of the channels he had received previously were not coming through.  We would see if we could correct that this afternoon.  Before we started moving the antenna we called Dish TV.  If the writer had to go through the phone tree and talk to the folks at Dish each time he wanted to watch TV he would rely on smoke signals.  To say that talking to the employees of Dish is an exercise in patience is to say that being burned at the stake is likely to hurt a little.

After thirty three minutes on the phone answering the same questions and repeating the same operations on the screen three different times for three different people we were told to check the connections to be sure they were good.  If that didn’t work the antenna would have to be re-aimed but under no circumstance were we to touch it.  A service technician would be sent out to do the job.  For the last time the person on the other end of the line was reminded that Sidney had bought the antenna, new, in Anchorage and we had installed it.  That made four times for that part of the story.  The writer asked if the technician (?) understood that sentence.  She said yes but repeated that under no circumstances were we to touch the antenna.  She was told we would check the connections and call her back if that failed to cure the problem.  Then we hung up.  The connections had been checked while we were on the phone and they were all good.  We would re-aim the antenna another day when we weren’t quite so stressed.

The ladies were still not home from shopping so we had some snacks and discussed the world’s worst inventions.  Phone trees were first.  It should be an immediate hint that a company who won’t pay someone to talk to you when you call them and direct your call to the proper person probably won’t be that interested in helping you solve your problem.  Just for an instant, make believe that phone trees really are a good way to serve customers.  It is make believe you know.

Now you, the customer, walk into a store to buy a product.  There is no one in the store except a security guard to be sure you don’t walk out with merchandise without paying.  He will soon be replaced by a set of double doors that will lock you in until you pay for your merchandise.   As you enter there is a phone on a pedestal.  You pick up the phone and it asks if you wish to browse or buy, press one to buy, press two to browse.  If you press one you will be allowed through a second set of doors where the merchandise waits.  If you press two you will be directed to a computer terminal.

Inside the second set of doors is another phone. When you pick it up it tells you to dial one for men’s clothes, two for ladies apparel and so on.  If you select ladies apparel you will be directed to go through a door marked “lds” after you have entered your social security number and answered your security question, perhaps your mother’s maiden name.  Inside the door marked “lds” there will be another phone standing in front of another set of doors.  The phone will tell you to press one for tots, two for teens, three for misses, four for mature women and five for large women.  Make your selection and answer some more security questions.  Each answer leads to another door and another phone and more selections until you finally get to where you want to shop, say sleepwear, where you find they are out of your size.  A final door will dump you in the alley where you will be mugged.  This is service as it is known by companies with phone trees and you are welcome to it.

When the ladies got back they brought fresh snacks as well as Barbara fetching some fresh vegetables from the refrigerator.  Those along with a sliced Vidalia onion and some wonderful cheese rounded out our waists before we went home around ten.

We watched a cop show and then went to sleep.

June 11, 2008

Wednesday

FINAL TWEAKING

The rain had first been noticed at two in the morning.  It’s slight but steady patter on the roof increased as the driver lay awake listening for what rarely comes in Alaska, thunder.  It didn’t come this time.  From time to time, as the writer turned in bed, he heard the rain hitting on the rooftop.

By nine it seemed the rain meant to put in a lengthy appearance so the writer rose and made tea and coffee before sitting down to his laptop.

Onie slept on until the smell of fresh brewed coffee woke her and she joined the writer in the living area.  The slightly wet paper was shared before Onie rose to fix oatmeal and bacon for our repast.

On the table the breakfast quickly cooled but was eaten anyway as this time of the year it is almost impossible to keep hot food warm long enough to eat it that way.  Keeping cold food cold is no problem and many foods can be kept in the basement in lieu of the refrigerator.  Two crosswords were worked in their entirety and the Sunday puzzle finished.

Outside the rain kept falling and as a result the thermometer remained at fifty.

A little writing and a lot of gaming took place while both laptops saw action.  The writer munched away on the black licorice Onie had brought him, yesterday.

Outside the rain fell.

The last of the hot beverages were consumed.

The heater ran constantly trying to chase away the cold and damp but it wasn’t making much headway. 

We returned to the bedroom and the warmth of our sheet, two blankets and bedspred where we watched a lot of game shows before rising for supper.

Outside the rain fell.

A big salad, served nice and cool, started our meal.  It was followed by steaming hot cornbread, fresh from Onie’s oven, kale and jerk chicken that had been grilled a couple of days ago.

We had promised Sidney and Barbara we would give their dish a final tweaking to regain the channels lost when we moved it up.  We put on our heaviest coats and walked to their camper, in the rain.  Once there Onie got the signal meter on the TV screen while the writer and Sidney went outside to tweak the antenna. 

And tweaking was all it needed.  A move of less than half an inch, probably less than a quarter, was all that was needed to get a signal that was sixty percent stronger than pre-tweaking.

While the adjustments were being made Barbara took the time to check on the plants that had been moved from Shirley’s site.  The chives and ground cover, both, were thriving.

Inside the camper we surfed through the channels.  They were all there.

We visited about the news, the floods, the tornadoes, the killing of two little girls, the high and still rising fuel prices, wars, food stolen from children to further political power, it seemed things were normal for a world full of mean greedy people.

After a while we took our leave and walked home, in the rain.

There Onie went in to watch TV and the writer took rod and reel as well as the tackle bucket and headed for the grate.  Fifteen minutes produced wet cold hands and nothing else so he returned to the coach and its warmth.

Inside he joined Onie where more game shows were watched before we switched to TMC and movies of Sophia Loren.  Operation Crossbow was the last thing we watched before going to sleep.

June 12, 2008

Thursday

FUEL ON THE FLY

The writer had digested the contents of the morning paper, by nine, when Onie rose and it was turned over to her.

Outside the temperature was a little warmer than yesterday, and the rain had given way to an overcast of heavy laden clouds.

By ten the sun had driven some of the chill from the morning air.

The writer was up to date with his stories.  He got up to fix Freedom toast and sausage for breakfast.  Onie sat down to work on getting week five ready for posting.  When it was ready she posted it and sent emails to some of the readers who like to know the minute it goes up.

A few half hearted tries at catching a fish were made but with about two thousand fish a day coming up the river it is almost pure luck to be there when they are and even then the river is thirty or forty yards across so catching one is a remote possibility.  The cold temps and falling mist weren’t too conducive to a long stay, either.

Back at the coach a campfire was started.  Sitting close by it the chill was soon chased from the bones of the writer.  The drifting smoke soon alerted Sidney and Barb to the fact we were outside and they came to join us.

While Frank had been suffering with allergies Enga, being a Swede, enjoyed the cool weather and had been out and about, all day.  Now she joined the four of us around the fire.

While the fire warmed us and the smoke drifted skyward the sound of a low flying airplane caught our ear.  Many Alaskans own and fly their own airplane so the sound of an airplane over our camp is not unusual but this was the sound of a big airplane, not a single engine float plane.  A quick glance overhead proved our ears were right.  It was a big airplane, an air tanker.

As it flew just overhead we could see the twin booms and nose receptacles used for fueling in-flight fighter jets.

Later Onie fixed supper for us then we watched some game shows and a movie before going to sleep to a gentle patter of rain.

June 13, 2008

Friday

SUPERSTITIONS

Friday the 13^th.  Which of you tried to avoid stepping on a crack so as not to break your mother’s back or thought a black cat brought bad luck, when you were younger or even now?   Those are ridiculous ideas fed by ignorance and years of the same lies being repeated.  It is the same kind of ignorance and lie that leads one to believe that taking property from his neighbor, either through taxes or other forms of thievery, will better ones position or that spreading lies about another person will make one seem bigger and better.  Superstitions are also unchristian.  God controls our destiny, not a cat or crack so today one should not waste his time on such nonsense.  Onie and I won’t.

Rain continues to visit us and with it cool, or perhaps cold, temperatures remain around us.

Our breakfast of warm-ups got us ready for a day of yard saleing with Sidney and Barbara.  Ask us the last time we went to a yard/garage sale and Onie and I would probably look at you through glazed eyes as we harkened back to a time that has never been.

Today we left at nine.  Sidney was driving his truck.  It has run like a top since we picked it up.  Frank’s on the other hand has two blown pistons and the engine is being replaced under warranty.  It has been in the shop about three weeks and it still isn’t ready.  Hopefully the new engine will be installed before he wants to leave in late August.  The writer has recommended their next trucks have Cummins engines.

No paper was needed to tell Sidney or Barbara where yard sales might be taking place.  They know.  They have been making the rounds of the back roads and byways for sometime in search of bargains and they do find them.

Today they found an assortment of needed items as well as some things for friends.  We found a mobile to hang on our awning, the only fish brought into camp so far,

Only about 16" long, but real showy as it turns and glistens.

some nice serving dishes, a decanter for Onie’s sweet and sour dressing, some more books for the writer and a lamb’s skin jacket for the writer.

The jacket was four dollars.

Later we stopped at the Bear’s Den Restaurant, for lunch.  The Alaskan Seafood Chowder, Salad and a fresh baked sourdough roll filled us.  For those of you paying attention we did not all eat off one plate but four different plates with the same lunch.  It sounded so good on the menu we each ordered the same thing right down to the blue cheese dressing on the salad.

Before heading home at three we stopped by Fred Meyer to do a little shopping.  Onie and I enjoyed a latte and Chai tea.

At the camp LaVon had hot peach cobbler waiting for the camp.

Barbara dishing up the cobbler.

Onie and Priscilla visit as they enjoy the warm cobbler.

Ted Gotto, Sidney Johnson and Jim and Phyllis Nichols.

We had barely stored our purchases when a coach, followed by a pickup towing a fifth wheel, pulled in.  It was our friends from Maine, the Gottos and the Nichols.

Introduction was made while the peach cobbler was enjoyed and then everyone turned to getting the arrivals settled in their sites.

By six o’clock the Gottos and Nichols were settled in their sites.

Later the writer visited with Ted and Priscilla Grotto in their rig.

Onie, ready for bed, watched a movie until the writer showed up and then they watched together until they turned off the tube and went to sleep.

June 14, 2008

Saturday

ANYONE FOR WASHING?

Summering in Alaska has many similarities to summering in Coldspring.  Some of those similarities are aches and pains, day time, there is no real night here in Alaska in the summertime, eating, sleeping and washing the clothes. 

No matter how careful we are our clothes still seem to get dirty.  Since I haven’t been able to keep them clean through careful use I have tried wearing them long enough to see if they will reach a point where they are so dirty they begin to repel dirt.  After some extensive research on the subject I can report that my clothes have never become that dirty; however, they have become so dirty as to repel Onie and other people but not dirty enough to repel bugs or other dirt.  With the knowledge gained from this non government funded research it has been determined, at least at our house, that clothes worn for at least five days but less than thirty should be washed in lieu of burning.

Clothes worn less than five days should be considered clean unless the shirt retains its shape when stood on the floor and the pants require being whacked with a ball bat to fold them at the knees.  Clothes worn over thirty days should be burned unless it can be conclusively proven that some fabric remains under the dirt, grime, oil, fish scales, feral hog fat, deer blood and assorted dead grasses and weeds clinging thereto.

This little report on my research is merely to let you know that we do not knowingly, needlessly or frivolously waste our time, soap or water washing clothes nor do we wash them too often just to wear them out so Onie can go shopping.

Today after breakfast, oatmeal with walnuts and sausage, coffee and tea all blended with the working of a crossword, we gathered and sorted our dirty clothes, placed them in the dirty clothes basket, and a ball bat was needed, and headed off to do the wash.

While it was being rid of the accumulated dirt, no fish scales yet, we scrubbed ourselves, in the shower.

When the wash was done Onie set off for Soldotna with Barbara riding shotgun.

Yours truly stayed in the coach, ate a few cherries, played a couple of games, got some music from the thirties, forties and fifties playing and then tried to get the creative juices going.  They flowed so quickly they ran down my chin so I had to get up and grab a paper towel before continuing my pursuit.

Outside the sun sank in the west and took what little heat the distant sun had brought to the long somewhat sunny day. 

Inside the coach the heater ran and the noiseless tapping continued on the laptop.

Later, when Onie and Barbara returned, Onie dropped Barbara off at her camper before c0ming home to the Marlin and writer where she and the writer unloaded her purchases.  The stockpile of groceries and goodies, for her trip next week with Tracy, Haley and Diana, continues to build.  Some of the non-perishables are already being stored outside the coach to provide the writer with the order he prefers.

A fresh salad soon adorned our table at it was followed by apple chicken sausages and snow peas.

With supper over we watched a movie before retiring.

(Can we retire if we are already retired?)

June 15, 2008

Sunday

FATHER’S DAY

Father’s Day like Mother’s Day always falls on Sunday thanks to some politician who couldn’t abide the thought of the common folk having another holiday.  After all, only politicians deserve to work part time and get full time pay, and benefits and travel paid for and a rich early retirement.

Of course none of these thoughts went through the writer’s cerebral cortex when he rose on the beautiful sunny, somewhat warm, Sunday morning that would be celebrated nationwide by families who wish to express their love and appreciation for their Dads.  No, the thoughts of politicians didn’t surface until Monday morning when he was writing this little piece.

What did run through his mind was how blessed he was to have Onie for his lifemate and for them to have five wonderful children and nine fine grandchildren.  After all it is only children who make a Dad.  Without children men remain just men.  It is only in acquiring children that men become dads.  Hopefully when this occurs they assume the responsibilities that come with dadship.  Fathers should be the best bread winners they can, the most responsible citizen they are capable of, the most loving and protective person in the lives of their children, as well as the disciplinarian for the father that loves his children will follow the tenets set forth in the Bible and not spare the rod nor spoil the child.

A Dad walks a tightrope a lot of his life as he tries to demonstrate love and affection while demanding respect and obedience.  The Dad who fails to instill this respect and obedience in his children sets them up for dramatic disappointments in later life, at best, and failure at the worst.  God is the model father and earthly dads should emulate him to the best of their ability. Most dads fail and most dads succeed.  That is not a contradiction it is a fact.  Most dads fail when it comes to being the ideal father for the world takes a big toll on time and energy for the father who strives to earn the best living he knows how, for his family.  That toll on time and energy means he is not always at his best when the time comes to be with his children, to lead them, to train them, to play with them, to love them, to talk to them, to listen to them, to discipline them and to just be there for them.  This is true for moms also. 

But dads do succeed in spite of the price the world extracts for as they work to provide for their families the families see, then or later, the love that drove dad to spend hours working, for their benefit, and not at a job that was always pleasant.  Sometimes this realization doesn’t come to the children until they have reached adulthood and experienced parenthood.  If this is the case hopefully dad is still around for them to express their thanks and appreciation of the time he gave from his life.

Dad succeeds, too, when his children grow up to be honest, trustworthy, hardworking adults who have good moral values they learned from him as he spent his life modeling for them.  They have learned that not all people will be heads of state, powerful or rich but they have learned that all people can and should be the head of their own life, following God and with his help can be powerful in a way heads of state cannot.  They are rich regardless of their earthly wealth for they only need look around them to see the beauty of the earth and that belongs to everyone and is a richness that cannot be taken from us.

Minus children and the rewards of parenthood a man and woman can work together, accumulate wealth and travel the world, in ease, but they will never know the joy of parenting nor the heartache.  Then again the joys almost always outweigh the heartaches.

Sunday morning in the coach, this morning, meant buckwheat cakes, generously laden with English walnuts, and a couple of links of our venison/feral hog sausage along with copious amounts of tea and coffee.  The Sunday crossword also got our attention before we left it all to get ready for church.

On the way we saw a snowshoe rabbit taking his breakfast, down a little lane.

The young preacher at First Baptist Church, Sterling, brought a fine message on what a dad should be.  This is his first year pastoring and he is doing a good job in rightfully dividing the Word.  His sermon was sprinkled with many memories of his own Dad who had passed away within the last twelve months.  His Dad’s empty boots stood near the rostrum as the message was delivered, as reminder that no one can fill his Dad’s boots.

Back home Onie took a picture of the writer, dressed in his Sunday go to meetin’ clothes, next to the coach and flowers.

Then we went down to check on the river, to see how much it has risen in the last couple of days.  It seems that would be about two inches.  Onie looked very beautiful in the afternoon sun.

Pawpaw walked down to where he likes to fish and looked at the gravel still lying exposed to the sun, waiting for snow melt to deliver enough water to cover it.

When the gravel is covered the second run of sockeye should start.

Dawn and Tracy called to wish me happy father’s day and I called my two brothers, David and John to wish them happy father’s day.  Our father died in nineteen eighty and although he is no longer here, physically, he is here in our memories.

The Sunday crossword is always challenging, requiring us to collaborate and do some creative thinking to solve it but we are usually successful.  This afternoon we spent more time filling in the blanks.

Later Onie fixed a wonderful salad while the writer exerted himself splitting wood for the fire we would have this evening. When the salad was history the grill was fired up to cook the filet Migons Onie had bought for this occasion.  After a few minutes on the grill the body temperature had been restored.  They were very tender and tasty going with the potato, mushrooms with onions,  and sugar snap peas that colored our plates.   

After such a repast we were too full for the dessert, strawberries covered with honey and cream.  Onie put it in the refrig for a later time.

Well fed we went outside to enjoy the fire, it wasn’t needed for warmth but is was nice for ambience, and the first truly warm day we had experienced since arriving.

Sonny came over to visit and before long he went back to his coach to retrieve Birdie and some Skip-Bo cards.  Onie and I didn’t know how to play but we were about to learn.  Seated at the picnic table we whiled away the afternoon learning the game.  Before the last game, of three, was started Sidney and Barbara joined in.  They had seen us earlier and come over to visit with Barbara coming loaded down with snacks.  The first two games the boys had finished second to the girls but with the addition of Sidney to our ranks we managed to finish just ahead of last.

By now the sun had long since dropped behind the hill to the west and with it the warmth.  The fire felt good now but was too far away from the table for us to want to stay for another game.  The party broke up with each couple finding comfort in their own rig.

Onie and I watched Forensic Files on TV before dozing off.