We are in the process of moving into a new home and I was just feeding our new fish in our new pond just off our new front porch. We have been able to count eleven adult fish in the pond. We figure that they must be adult fish because we have just discovered two actual new fish in there with them. I was having a fun and relaxing time watching them swim to the surface and grabbing the fish food flakes sprinkled there for them.  

We had asked the previous owners of the house if the fish had names. They responded that, yes, they had named them. Not only had they named them, they could actually tell them apart! I can’t tell one from another (except for the two babies because the coloring is lighter at this stage).

So, instead of giving them new individual names (I can’t remember the originals), I have decided to name the group. They are now collectively known as FPF’s (Front Porch Fishes). I know that it probably ought be be something like Front Pond Fishes, but I like Front Porch Fishes. 

At some point we may be able to tell them apart, and then will can give them individual names, but they will always be FPS’s to me. 

Murphy is also quite curious and went sniffing around the pond while the FPF’s were at the surface feeding. Afterall, he was raised as a hunting dog. This triggered a thought in my mind:

Hmmm… Maybe it’s time for me to go get a new fishing pole… I don’t think you need a license to fish in your own pond…

This may sound a bit off, but it’s more sporting than shooting them with a gun, don’t you think?


Wow… Haven’t done that in about 30 years. Just played a game of one-on-one with Steve. Hoops. It was pretty grueling. Intense. Game seemed to go on for hours, though it was only about 20 minutes. Maybe a hundred shots each. I finally emerged victorious.

6 – 4.

I’m guessing Judy has had about enough…

As most of you know, I am involved in the production of a motion picture. In the movie, I am required to speak with a British accent. Because I have never spoken English English before, have to practice, which is fine, except that it is driving Judy nuts.

I have found a way to make her even more crazy with the ‘practice’ sessions – I have begun narrating my life. In a British accent. Yes, I walk around describing my every move, everything I notice, my every thought. In a British accent (sort of). 

As I said, it’s making Judy go bonkers. 

This is fun.

It’s not very good, but I think mine’s better than Kevin Costner’s. Closer to John Lithgow in Cliffhanger. 

But it is getting better. Really.

Here are three samples for your perusal…

Test One

Test Two

Test Three

A few months ago, we were testing some functionality on the D3300 camera. There was a guitar in the room (seven, actually, but I only have two hands, afterall). Steve and Judy decided to play along (Judy playing the part of the beatnik** in the coffee house, totally enthralled with my performance. Note the look of complete contemplation of the lyrics and the keeping of time with her foot). 

In the video, we are not actually Dixie Fried (especially me). And Judy is not a shape in a drape in this case, but she is certainly everything plus. 

And while this may have you interviewing your brains, and you think the performance is slated for Crashville, if you know your groceries, you will see I actually threw babies out of the balcony. Just be sure to focus your audio.

And yes, this is off the cob.

The whole thing is actually quite disturbing…


** beat·nik
  1. a young person in the 1950s and early 1960s belonging to a subculture associated with the beat generation.

It was dark. In fact, it was really dark. And hot. And humid. And it smelled bad.

And I found myself lying between sweat soaked sheets that reeked of chlorine bleach and calamine lotion and were stretched across a bed frame so full of splinters that you could use them to hang the ‘resort’ supplied bath towel that’s so thin you could read the newspaper through it in the pitch black darkness of  a hotel room that was so run down that even the rats, mice, termites and spiders had abandoned it nearly a decade ago.

Well, at least the chances of catching Hantavirus were low, what with the conspicuous absence of vermin, and all. 

As I lay there in the dark, I rehashed the events of the previous eight hours, trying to figure out why this trip seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Was it the promise of the the resort restaurant – “Voted the best escargot in Lake Misery County!”? “Wow!”, I thought. “The best escargot! I don’t know what that is, but it sounds great!”

Well, I found out what it is at breakfast that morning… I ordered up a big plate of the stuff at 6:00 AM, thinking that I would start out my day with what they were the best at. They asked me how I would like them cooked and I said “extremely rare, please.” 

Two minutes later the waitress placed a plate full of their best dish in front of me. 

I looked at the plate. I kept looking at the plate.

It took me a minute for my mind to process what my eyes were trying to tell it, but the message finally began to register. It looked like… like… like… snails… Snails! Snails sitting right there on my breakfast plate!

It was the only time in my life that I ever saw a snail run – and I’m not talking about the ‘moving rapidly from point A to point B’ kind of running. I’m talking about a ‘nose stuck to the face of a guy with bushy mustache and a really bad head cold’ kind of running.

Finally, the waitress asked if she could bring me anything else. I stared at the pile sitting before me for another minute in an attempt to decide whether to ask for ketchup or Snare-All. I opted for a “to go” box… and the check.

She said, “certainly, sir!” and left me to my imagination, returning thirty-seven seconds later with the check and an empty Energizer Battery box along with a roll of duct tape to keep it shut after she dumped the ‘best escargot in Misery County’ into its gaping maw, being careful not to spill any onto the old bedsheet that passed for a ‘table cloth’. I couldn’t help wondering what all of those stains on the tablecloth were.

At least they have good taste in batteries.

And I now have, yet another, use for duct tape I had not previously thought of. 

I got up, walked to the cash register, paid the check, walked out.

After walking about fifty feet, I happened upon what appeared to be a serviceable garbage can and, looking around to make sure that no-one was watching, deposited the collection of deceased, slimy Mollusca  Gastropoda as I passed by.

Breakfast was finished before it ever started. I think I know where all of the missing vermin went.

I will never look at snails the same again.

Or tablecloths. 







Murphy loves to go for rides in the car (truck, in this case). He especially likes it if there is some good music playing. In this case, we were waiting in a parking lot for my son, Steven, listening to some Rod Stewart. 

Love my doggie… 


I don’t think I want Judy to see this. She may get ideas, and those guitars are expensive…




Hello, again, Gentle Reader(s – being optimistic here),

It’s time to launch yet another category in the seemingly unending launch of new categories on this blog site. Today, I am introducing the newly conceived Domestic Poetry category, based on the fact that I couldn’t think of anything else to call it. 

It may change in the future when I choose to expend the energy required to come up with a decent title, but for now, it’s Domestic Poetry.

So, with that, let us be off…

As, probably, all of you don’t know, I love cashews. I think that the cashew is the absolute best nut ever devised by God. Sure! There are other nuts – Peanuts, Walnuts, Almonds, Pistachios, Politicians (I don’t want to play favorites, here), Hazel, Macadamia, Pecan, Hex, Wing, Cap, Flange, Coco, Brazil, and Pine to name a few. But Cashews really stand out, in my book.

This being the case, I have decided to formalize my taste for cashews in the same way that I have formalized my feelings for my dogs. With a poem.

So without any further explanation, I shall begin now…

Ode To Cashews


William H. Kammerer, Jr, Esq. (Not)

“I think that no-one ever knew,

A tree yummy as a cashew”



I love Cashews, yes,

It’s cashews that I love,

I love them when they’re from below,

And when their from above. 


Cashews to the left of me, 

Cashews to the right,

Cashews there for me to eat,

All through the day and night.


Cashews to the North of me,

Cashews to the south,

Cashews to the East and West,

Just waiting for my mouth.


Cashews in the kitchen,

Cashews in the den,

Cashews found inside my house,

Located end to end.


Cashews in the cupboard,

Cashews in a drawer,

I love cashews so darned much,

I’d eat them off the floor.


Cashews lightly salted,

Or not salted at all,

Or even lots of salt on top,

You know I’ll eat them all.


Cashews with my breakfast,

Cashews with my lunch, 

Cashews for my dinner, too,

Yes, I eat them by the bunch.


Cashews for my mid-day snack,

And for eating in between,

Chances I may forget them,

Are really pretty lean.


No matter what the time of day,

No matter time of year, 

The cashew is the nut I crave,

With them, I have no fear.


So if you wonder what I’d like,

For Christmas time this year,

Just think of this and and when you shop,

The answer’s pretty clear.




I used to work. At a job. I loved my job, but I love being retired, too.

Some of the things I loved about the job are:

  1. The people – not just my co-workers, but ALL of the people I came into contact with, and I still keep in contact with a lot of them. I think that some of them may be getting sick of me by now, but I really do enjoy them and miss them. So I  bug them on occasion. 
  2. The job, itself. For the most part, I had a lot of fun doing what I did. Again, that’s because of the people I got to work with.
  3. The industry. It is a crazy industry with a lot of motion. Major changes all of the time. It’s also a very large and, at the same time, a very small industry. Everybody knows everybody else, no matter which company you work for or segment of the industry you work in. It helps that I was in the industry for 30 years. I am friends with janitors, help desk personnel, sales reps, software developers, marketing folks all the way up to CEOs in a lot of small to large companies. 

But, like with all jobs, there are some things that could be challenging to get through. 

  1. Email.
  2. Meetings.
  3. Email.
  4. Email.

Email could be challenging and even entertaining. One of the more entertaining things about email is when you get one from a co-worker in, say, China, for whom English is not a first language.  It’s even more entertaining when the email includes lots of other people who speak the same non-English language, say, Chinese. 

And it’s even more fun when you (me) don’t speak Chinese as a first (or any) language. 

Those emails go something like this…












免费门票索取联系人:吴R  联系QQ:1085157548  Tel:134-8079-4297

Let me know if you have any questions.

I always enjoyed the “Let me know if you have any questions” part the best. That’s because the whole thing became a question for me. I just didn’t know where to start asking.

I still don’t. 


Lots of people have been asking me how I like retirement. I have to be honest with them, so I tell them the truth.

“Honestly, some days are really, really great. Others, though, are just great.”

Well, my cousin did this thing about what she would have looked like 100 years ago. Basically, you go to a website and log in using your Facebook account. The site then takes a look at your profile picture, analyzes and rewinds your appearance back to what it thinks you would have looked like 100 years ago and displays the you that would have been.
Apparently, I was quite handsome, well loved, fashionable and would have had less hair back then. Also, I brought all of these qualities with me when I kicked the bucket and started my new life.
And It’s amazing that I reincarnated as Half Dome.
me reincarnated

I really like Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”. A lot. So I scribbled down my own words for Christmas and almost made them fit into the melody.

So, here it is…


Started working more into the green screen practice. again, none of this is part of the film, it’s just practicing and figuring out how to do this stuff. 

Sky Diving… How not to…

First Time In France?

Let’s Try France (Again)

My youngest son, Steven Kammerer, was up this weekend.. It’s always fun when he is here. This was sort of a working weekend for us. As one of my “newly retired” duties, I am working with Steve, Billy and Shawn on a cinematic production – we are making a movie. Should be done around mid 2017.

We spent this weekend checking out locations and figuring out how to use the props and other hardware and software we have.
One of the things we tested was the green screen. Got it all set up, found a bunch of lamps to work with ( Note to self – need to get actual lighting fixtures) and we were ready to go.
Except that we didn’t know what we were going to do with it.
So we made it up as we went along…

And this was the first attempt…