Judy’s sister, Kathy, whom I used to love until two weeks ago, sent Judy and me an email talking about a Rescue Brittany (which is, apparently a pointer – not a spaniel) named Max who lives in our little town in the middle of nowhere and needs to be adopted and do we know anybody who wants to adopt a dog?…
Unfortunately, included with the email was a web site.. And the website has pictures.. Of Max…
Equally unfortunate is the fact that Judy actually went into the web site and looked at the pictures… Of Max… He’s cute… And he has Brittany eyes that say – well, you know what dogs’ eyes say…
At any rate, Judy started talking about Max a lot.. The next thing I knew, there were two contractors knocking at the door to measure for and quote on a fence in part of the yard… Then she went to meet Max… She took Max for a walk. (Apparently Max has no problem walking, even though he is nine years old. In fact, Judy had a hard time keeping up with him.)
And then Judy filled out adoption papers…
And now the adoption people are going to come out to our house and inspect, but they are going to wait until the fence is in…
Max is a friendly dog, and loves people, other dogs and even cats…
And he actually points…
(As mentioned in Chapter 24 of my ongoing bio, We have a cat named Panther, and while I’m quite certain that Max will get along with her, I am not at all certain that Panther will get along with Max. She is not used to friendly dogs… I wonder if it would freak her out if Max ever pointed at her…)
End of background…
Beginning of conversation…
Judy was comfortably situated in her favorite place on the sofa in the family room with Panther sitting on her lap and we were discussing her trip. At some point, I made a hissing sound, imitating Panther the Vicious. Somehow, Panther was startled by this and jumped from Judy’s lap to the back of the sofa…
Judy was trying to calm her down…
“Don’t be scared Panther – I’ll protect – you can trust me…”
A New Guitar Player, An Old and A New Guitar Player
and
An Old Guitar Player
You’re probably reading this relatively soon after you read Chapter 23, which means that you are expecting me to pick up from right where I left off…
That’s all well and good, but while you just read chapter 23, I wrote it about 8 months ago, and I have to get back into the swing of the story… Give me a minute…
I have a cat. My cat’s name is Panther… Here’s a picture…
Hello! My name is Panther... I have killed coyotes, rattle snakes, cows and bears... You don't want to mess with me...
The reason I bring this up is that my son, Billy, and his wife, Lacey, have a dog. His name is Monkey.
Hello! My name is Monk. I have made friends with a mouse, another dog, and various forms of wild animal excrement in the back yard... I wanted to be friends with Panther the Vicious, but she didn't see it that way...
I know what you’re thinking… So what?
Well, Here’s so what…
Billy and Lacey decided to go to Alcatraz a couple of days ago, to see Shawn and Megan (another set of married Kammerer boy and wife).
OK – to be truthful, they weren’t going to Alcatraz to visit Shawn and Megan, they were going to visit Alcatraz WITH Shawn and Megan…
Anyway, the point is that they were going to be away a couple of days, and they needed a Monkey-sitter. That turned out to be me, for the most part… And Panther…
Monk is a very HAPPY and FRIENDLY doggy, and is really a lot of fun to be around. But he is still a very young pup, and has not yet learned that some animals do not want to be friends with him.
Panther, who is ten years old and has had many an encounter with coyotes and other wild animals, and so is a master of feline self-defense, just sees Monk as another potential way to leave the earthly life of a cat… She is wary of poor Monk…
So, when Monk came into the picture on Monday night, Panther was understandably nervous…
Things weren’t all that bad, actually. Panther spent most of the next day perched high above the floor staring down at Monk and Monk spent most of the day perched low below the ceiling staring up at Panther.
This arrangement worked well until two things happened…
Monk ate something and had to go out for a “walk” in the backyard.
Panther took advantage of the missing dog, came down from her perch, ate something of her own and visited her litter box.
These two event’s were pretty much mutually exclusive until I decided that it was time to bring Monk back into the house… Through the “mud” room… Which happens to be the exact geographical location of the litter box… And Panther was just finishing up…
Not surprisingly, this led to a, somewhat, tense encounter between the two…
No violence actually occurred, but there was a sort of stand-off / stare-down, accompanied by some meaningful circling around the kitchen floor. It was really quite educational…
After the stare-down / stand-off, Panther just jumped up to her high perch and Monk resumed his spot on the floor…
Later that night, Judy brought Monk back to Billy and Lacey’s…
And all was back to normal…
…
I had, of course, let the rest of the guys know that I was coming back to town.
The rest of the guys had, of course, not let me know that I had been replaced by a new lead guitar player. I wish I remembered his name, but I don’t. I know, I’ll just refer to him as “Monk”…
The first practice after I got back was awkward, awkward, awkward. Yeah, that word comes closest to fitting the situation, though there’s a certain amount of tension and stomach illness that isn’t quite covered with that term…
After introductions were made, there was a lot of “er-ing” and “uh-ing” and avoidance of eye contact going on. Except between Monk and me… We actually looked at each other a lot… No violence actually occurred, but there was a sort of stand-off / stare-down, accompanied by some meaningful circling around the garage… But we got through the practice..
(I should interject here that Monk really was a better guitar player than I was. But this wasn’t a talent dispute – it was a territorial dispute – and he was invited to encroach into my territory and he did so, willingly…)
The real fun came when we had our first gig together… That was a real hoot…….
If you think there was nervous tension during my first practice with Monk, you should have been on stage while setting up for the first gig… Not a lot of talking going on, just quietly going about the business of setting up.
Sound checks, Lighting checks, tuning up, etc.
Then we started to play…
Things were going OK. And then for some reason Monk decided to take a break in the middle of a set. He just put down his guitar, left the stage and went to the back of the hall to stand all by himself. I thought that was a bit odd…
While he was back there, we went into a song with a long guitar solo part in the middle. It came time for me to do my solo and it was going well. So well, in fact, that Monk came running back up to the stage, picked up his guitar and joined in the solo…
After a minute I realized that people had stopped dancing and were just standing there… Looking at us… No, they weren’t just watching – they were looking amazed and I couldn’t figure out why…
I started listening to what we were doing… Wow – that sounds pretty good! In fact, it was AWESOME! We had found a new sound and it was really good! In fact, I think that Monk and I connected during that solo – all the tension had disintegrated into space… We were playing off of each other like we had been doing it for years…
I became amazed!
I decided at that moment that I could live with another guitar player…
Then it came time to come out of the solo and there was supposed to be a change of beat… And Mike lost his timing on the drums… And it all went away…
And so did Monk… Yep, right there in the middle of the set, he just stopped, packed up his stuff and we never saw him again…
Those of you who know me well know that I am a complete lightweight when it comes to the consumption of alcohol. I don’t drink very often, and when I do I don’t actually get “drunk” because I don’t actually drink more than one of whatever it is.
For future reference, what I DO get is – uh – interesting… But I’ll just skip that for now…
Tonight, Judy and I decided to have dinner at a local Chinese restaurant…
Waiter: “Can I stalt you out with somesing to dlink?”
Judy: “I’ll have a lemonade, please.”
“And fol you, sul?”
Me: “I believe I shall have a glass of Merlot, please.”
“Vely good sul. Wourd you rike that cord or loom tempelatule?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Wourd you rike the wine chirred or walm?”
“Oh – chilled, please.”
“One grass of melrot, chirred. Thank you.”
“Thank YOU.”
The waiter left and Judy’s eyes met mine…
“What?”, I asked…
“Nothing,” she replied as she broke into a really large grin. “I can drive home.”
“Not necessary – they always water down the wine here.”
“OK,” she responded…
Well, we were both right.. The wine was watered down…
Judy and I were in the car driving along when, after about 90 minutes, she said “Would you mind if we had a little quiet time for awhile?”, to which I – truthfully – replied, “I’m not talking.”
This response was met with a silent glare for about 15 seconds…
And then she reached over and turned off the radio…
Well, it finally happened… After three and one half years in this house, I have finally done it to myself…
It started with the pool test. You may remember the pool test – I prefer to think of it as a “Test Pool”, particularly since I haven’t had much opportunity to “clean” it in the past couple of weeks – it’s sort of… uh… dirty (gross). But I digress…
And now, further digression…
The pool actually came with a filter, which I have run quite a bit, though not so much the past few weeks. It also came with a vacuum and instructions for it’s assembly and use.
Sadly, the instructions must have been submerged in some form of liquid at some point because the pages were all wrinkly and stuck together, rendering them useless. But, after hours of searching Google and Youtube for a fresh set, I finally figured out how the thing goes together and operates. It would have been great except for the fact that the 18 ft. telescoping pole that attaches to the business end of the vacuum was not included with the kit. And it is not of the self-propelling persuasion.
Bummer…
End of digression #2…
Commence digression #3…
I, and sometimes Judy, have enjoyed having the pool outside these past few weeks since the family reunion at our house. It’s great exercise, and I have figured out how to swim in a circle, so it’s almost like having an endless pool in the yard. With a little more practice, I could apply for a job as a dolphin at Sea World.
Digression #3, sub digression #1…
I actually worked at Sea World at one point of my life (it was a third job at the time – we were in some financially stressed times). I operated a gift stand just adjacent to the dolphin show. I was exposed to 4 shows per day for months on end, so I know the routine, and I know I can do the job.
End of digression #3, sub digression #1…
But summer is over, and the weather is starting to cool down around here, and it’s time to take the pool down for the season. And, in it’s current state of “sparkle”, taking it down is probably a lot easier than cleaning it well enough that you don’t think you’re swimming in something more “natural” (read that “swamp”) than an 18 ft. above ground “doughboy” type swimming pool.
Without referring to further instructions, I have made the unsavory discovery that if one wishes to disassemble a swimming pool, one must first remove the water from that pool…
Fortunately, the manufacturer of the pool has acted wisely, and included 2 (two) drain spouts, conveniently located at the bottom of the pool liner.
Unfortunately, the manufacturer of the pool conveniently located the 2 (two) drain spouts at the bottom of the pool liner (this , of course, was dictated by nature – water – and other stuff – runs downhill).
I say “Unfortunately” for the following reasons:
The pool is 5 ft. deep.
The pool was mostly full.
The drain spouts open from the inside of the pool.
I don’t have 5 ft. long arms.
In order to open the spouts, I have to get into the pool.
In order for me to open the spouts from inside the pool, I have to submerge my face a couple of feet into the water/dirt/??? mixture.
I cannot bring myself to do this.
A cursory glance at the condition of the water in the pool, together with the fact that there are real, actual non-human things swimming in the water, convinced me that getting into the pool at this juncture is not an option.
This set of circumstances requires genius action. And since the only genius in our house is Judy, and she wasn’t here at the time that I decided I was ready to embark on this great adventure, I had to come up with something myself…
BUT I came up with a marvelous idea all on my own. Having watched a fair amount of television in my life, I once saw two criminals stealing gas from a car by using a hose and siphoning from the fuel tank…
There were only two things I had to overcome:
They had to suck on the hose until it filed with gasoline in order to create the siphon, and the guy who did that got a mouthful of fuel.
They had about a 3 ft. hose. All I have is a 50 ft. hose, and that is connected to another 50 ft. hose, and the connection is really stuck so I couldn’t get them apart.
However, genius that I am not, though reasonably intelligent guy that I am, I noticed that when I turned off the water with the hose still submerged in the pool during filling, water backed up and was released through the pressure release valve at the spigot.
siphoning…
From that point it was a simple matter to create the siphon through 100 ft. of hose, place the leaky end of the hose into 30 ft. of leftover 4″ drain tube and run the tube down the hill to the gully next to the driveway.
This was last Tuesday night after work…
Indication that I am pathetically in need of something to do:
I must say, it’s been a rewarding experience watching the water level in the pool slowly recede throughout the week. Judy has been in San Diego for a few days, and I have thoroughly enjoyed reporting the progress on our daily phone conversations. It’s now down to less than a foot deep, and I am beside myself with anticipation that it will be the next best thing to dry by tomorrow morning.
End of all digressions…
This morning at 5:35 AM, I awoke with high expectations! It was still mostly dark outside, but light enough that I knew I would not need a flashlight to see the level of the water in the pool…
And it was early enough (and dark enough) that the neighbors would not see me as I stepped outside and around the corner to the pool in what I will refer to as my “pajamas”.
So, at 5:37, I bounded from the bed, threw open the drapes, opened the sliding glass door, slid the screen door to the left and stepped outside into nature’s beauty…
Then I closed the screen door behind me, walked about 8 feet around the corner to my favorite “watch the water drain from the pool” post, saw that it was less than a foot deep, turned around and went back to the bedroom door.
Did I mention that our screen doors automatically lock when they are fully closed?
This pool is a test. This is only a test. If this had been an acutal pool, it would have come with a pool man… Or a pool woman… Or a pool kid… Or even a skimmer with a pole…
Day 2 –
Why does the water in the pool look like it was put there by a herd of incontinent horses?
Day 3 –
The leak seems to have abated a bit.. I wonder if there is a way to apply a patch under water… I have invented a way in my mind… All I need is a large tupperware container, some glue, some gasket material, a saw and some duct tape…
Judy just got home and asked me if the leak has stopped… It’s more of a long damp streak now…
Day 4 –
I just tested the new skimmer with the four’ telescoping handle… I skimmed up three dead grasshoppers, four leaves and some other as yet unknown type of bug… I’m excited…
Day 5 –
I have discovered that there are actually two deep ends of the pool… There seems to be some sort of hump in the middle… I wonder if it’s one of the horses… Serves it right…
Day 6 – The filter has been running for four days straight… Two and a half days with chlorine … The water doesn’t seem quite as yellow this morning… Seems to have a slightly greenish tinge to it… Does anybody know if that’s a good thing?
I put a second gallon of chlorine into the pool… I may have to actually get into the thing tomorrow to test it out…
Day 7 – I got into the puddle at about 11:00 PM and swam around (yes, I figured a way to swim in circles) for about 20 minutes.
And yes, I wore swim trunks.
Day 8 – Turned the filter back on. Added a little more water… Must be because I was thirsty at the time.
I know that the previous chapter was Chapter 23, and you are probably wondering what happened to chapters 24 – 545. Keep in mind that Chapter 1 started more than half way through the seventh grade, and Chapter 23 is the beginning of my senior year in high school, and that was 41 years ago. Allowing for some really short chapters, none of which have yet occurred (unless you count Chapter 21, of course), I’m just taking a shot in the dark and guessing, off the top of my head, and without incorporating the number 17 (see chapter 19, where I explain the derivation of the Third Fermat Prime Number – see footnote at the bottom of this page) that right about next weekend, Chapter 546 would be rolling around…
Hence, Chapter 546…
Knowing that, I think I can correctly surmise that, you are also probably wondering what next weekend is doing in my biography, especially considering that it hasn’t even happened yet…
Well, to repeat what I said in the addendum to Cow Facts 3, I’m glad you asked…
This will be an adventure full of Firsts (good ones, I hope)… It will have, as do all future events, things that have never happened before… Sweat that has never been perspired… Pictures that have never been taken… Stories that have never been told… Food that has never before been eaten… and even people I have never met in my entire life (and one who I met “once… long time ago…”)…
And it has the benefit of being in the future, so I can take a week off from writing, to recover, without feeling all that guilty about it…
Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls – Children of ALL ages – you are about to witness biographical history in the making!
I’m not absolutely certain of this, but I may be the first human being to actually biographize events in his life that haven’t yet taken place. (I am fairly confident that I ‘m the first person to use the word “biographize” in a sentence relating to life not yet lived, though.)
That behind us, I shall now proceed to regale you with history not yet existing…
One week from this Saturday, I will be embarking on a journey that, frankly, I have made three or four times before, though not in the past few years…
I have been invited by one of the many the sisters, Lori, of my friend, Koni (who will be appearing in future – or is it past? – chapters of this seemingly endless history of my musical life), to join her and some of her friends and hike the Upper Yosemite Falls trail in Yosemite National Park.
For those of you who have never hiked this trail, take my word for it when I say that it’s not an easy trek. It’s about three miles with an elevation gain of a little over three thousand feet… that’s about a thousand feet per mile, which roughly works out to about a 20% average grade… And it’s fairly rugged… And I hope I have at least one more in me…
I invited my son, Shawn and daughter-in-law, Megan, to join me and keep me company… These people do ALL of the trails in ALL of the places they can get to – and they do the Half Dome trip a couple of times a year… When I invited them, Megan responded “I hate that hike”… that’s how tough it is… I agree – it’s one third the miles of Half Dome with two thousand fewer feet of elevation gain, and it’s at least three times as tough as Half Dome…
I have warned Lori that I will not be keeping up with the group (who, after seeing some of their pictures on her Facebook page, I truly believe probably have some mountain goat in them – that’s not a slam – that’s a testament to the shape they must be in), but she has implored me to “suck it up” and I have made the mistake of saying that I can do exactly that…
I had actually challenged one of my many brothers, Tim, to this same hike last September, and, in preparation for that, I went to the park several weekends in a row, and trained by seeing how fast I could get from the valley floor (the parking lot at Camp Curry) to Nevada Falls. I actually made, what for me, was pretty good time the second weekend out – I got out of my car, made it up the Mist Trail to the top of Vernal Falls, and then to the top of the Nevada Falls, ate lunch, Stuck my feet into the water, came down the John Muir Trail and started my car for the trip home in well under four hours.
Unfortunately, the September trip never happened… Then winter hit and my training skids got equally hit…
In the winter around here, I tend to be a bit sedentary. Not too many trips to the park to hike (slide) around the valley floor, so I’m not in the shape I usually would be in for something like this (although, as they say, round is a shape), so…
Over the past week (we’re still in the past, and the here and now), I have decided that I should start to train for this adventure… It’s weed-whacking time in my neighborhood (that’s exercise, isn’t it?)… I also took the trash out this morning (well, OK – I loaded it into the back of Judy’s car so she could take it to the bottom of the driveway on her way to work. But I carried the empties back up the driveway, and that’s 364 feet up hill, so I actually did the hard part)…
OK… Here we go… Here’s how I see this going down Saturday after next…
Sometime early in the morning, I will arrive at Lori’s camp site, or maybe at the trail head, at Camp 4 and hope I don’t look too much like I’m not a rock climber… At any rate, we’ll all meet up to start the mosey up the hill…
At this point, I will refer to the group as Group Zero – when we are all together…
** Note: I consider a person to be part of a group if they are within the length of my driveway, or three hundred and sixty four feet, of that group.
Approximately twenty minutes up the trail, we will diverge into two separate and distinct groups:
· Group Two, the lagging behind group, will consist of me
· Group One, the lead group, will consist of everybody else
At about the time that Group One hits the middle falls, Group Two will be hitting Columbia Point, and pretending to stop to take a picture. Then I’ll pretend to take about thirty more pictures from different angles. When I run out of nature to shoot, I will open my backpack and take a picture of my lunch…
After shooting my lunch sitting on a rock, and my lunch sitting on a fallen tree branch, and my lunch sitting on the ground, I will take a picture of my lunch back in my back pack.
Then I will continue on…
Sometime later, Group One will reach the top of Upper Yosemite Falls. They will take lots of pictures of Yosemite Valley, three thousand plus feet below. They will eat their lunch. At least one of them will read War And Peace while relaxing in Nature’s wonderland… Cover to cover… The more fearless of them will leap over the guard rail and onto the ledge below to get a closer view (I know they will do this because I once had to follow (chase) my youngest son, Steve, out onto the same ledge to make sure he didn’t do something stupider than jumping over the guard rail onto the ledge).
*** Note: Steve is why I don’t mind being slow when we hike together… I figure that by the time I get to where he is, he will have either already done the stupid things I know he is doing or has killed himself attempting to do them… Either way, I don’t have to actually watch… He is our “Envelope Pusher”… I, on the other hand, have to work hard to drag the envelope behind me…
Groups One and Two will eventually converge and become Group Zero once again. This will actually happen twice on the hike… This first time will be at the “seven eighths of the way up the hill” point as I am on my way up, and they are on their way down. We’ll stop, exchange pleasantries, and I will tell a story or two of the magnificent wonders I have encountered along the way. Then, in an effort to stall for time and rest awhile longer, I will show them the unbelievable pictures I have taken along the trail…
“Look at this one of this rock! Isn’t it spectacular?”
“Oh, and here it is again, but the lighting is a little bit different, and there is a nice tree in the background!”
This will go on for as long as I can stretch it out, until they can’t take any more… that’s when I’ll pull out the BIG GUNS –
“And here’s my lunch, sitting on the nice fallen tree trunk – check out the way the peanut butter is starting to slime over the edge of the bread crust… Oooooo…”
At this point, we’ll, reluctantly, bid each other “See you at the bottom of the trail”, and I will be forced to continue the struggle upwards alone…
And three hundred and sixty four feet later, I will be back in Group Two…
By the time I actually get to the top, Group One will be back down as far as the Middle Falls, and may take a few minutes to frolic and put their hot, tired feet into the soothing, ice-cold water.
I, finally at the top, will NOT jump over the rail this time. But I will take the opportunity to take some more pictures – the view really is spectacular – and maybe even get one of myself with nothing but air behind me..
Then I’ll pick a spot by the water (above the falls) and eat my oranges, trail mix, and my lousy peanut butter sandwich…
Then, rested and refreshed, I’ll begin the long walk down…
This is actually the hardest part of the journey…
About half way down, I will don my favorite Knee braces (assuming I can get them back from Shawn before the trip – I know – maybe he will mail them to me! That would be nice!), adjust my shorts and prepare for the loose and crumbling (that’s why they call it “decomposing”) granite along the trail. This is one of the many places my official Yosemite Park hiking stick has literally saved my life in past years – I’m not kidding. Shawn and Megan got Judy and I the telescoping “ski pole” type of sticks a few years ago – One of mine doesn’t stay telescoped any longer, so I won’t bring them with me. If I rely on them, I’ll be dead before somebody has the opportunity to carry me down the hill.
About three quarters down the trail, I will trip over my own two feet and start cannon balling down the path.. I will gain speed and, at last, the second of the re-convergences will occur as I bowl my way through Group One… this will change the entire dynamic of the hike – Here’s how…
As I roll down the hill toward the other Group, I will eventually come within three hundred and sixty four feet. At that point, there will no longer be two separate groups, but only one – Group Zero.
They will hear me singing “Climb Every Mountain” at the top of my lungs (I have to get something musical in here somewhere) and, perhaps a bit startled, or perhaps unwilling to take another look at the pictures of my lunch, will get out of the way and let me pass.
At some point, I will, once again, break the three hundred and sixty four foot barrier and we will become two groups again… BUT…
Did you notice? What happened here? Think about it… It was actually quite subtle – almost insidious – a metaphysical phenomenon…
And it puts me in my rightful position… I will have become…
Group One…
Yes, ME – Group One… Buahahahahahahahahaha – I’ll teach them young whippersnappers a thing or two about hiking the trails in Yosemite….
Back in Chapter 19, https://billkammerer.wordpress.com/2008/09/I discussed the importance of the number 17. And I explained, in careful detail, the Fermat number:
In mathematics, a Fermat number is a positive integer in the form: f_{n}=2Ù {2Ùn} + 1
where n is a non negative integer.
Some of you thought I was pulling your leg… Not so, and now I have absolute proof… Because I own my web site, I have access to statistics… Somebody actually was directed to my site by looking for an actual Fermat Prime Number! Here’s a screen shot from my statistics page:
Proof that Fermat Numbers exist... So there...
So there you have it… I truly am some sort of genius… Or, at least, I can use Wikipedia…
Addendum #2 – Actual footage actually shot by me at the top of the falls during the above described adventure…
Twenty minutes ago, I was sound asleep happily dreaming of my new Sears Craftsman Model 79186 Weedwhacker Gas Trimmer with the 32cc 2-Cycle Engine, Incredi-Pull – P2 Technology, Hassle Free Cutting Head, and Convertible Attachment System*, when I was awakened by the feel of my wife’s hand groping my own hand (which was somehow vertically situated above her head, leaning up against the headboard) and following it along down to the top of my head, as if she was trying to figure out what this thing was…
And then she said, “What are YOU doing here?”
“Oh, I’m here this time most every night … What do you mean what am I doing here? Where do you think we are?”
“I’m on the couch. What are you doing standing behind it?”
“You may be on the couch, but I’m in bed asleep.”
“Really? What time is it?”
“12:53.”
Dead silence… then she started laughing and said “Sorry for waking you – I thought I was on the couch reading my book and you were the cat.”
“You woke me up for this?”
Then she went back to sleep.
Now she is sawing Zs and I’m wide awake writing this stupid story…
* Really – I was – I’m now convinced that I am no longer a teen-ager…
Well, I gotta tell ya, getting to this chapter has been difficult… Not because I didn’t want to write it, but because I’ve been busy… distracted… unavailable… lazy…
So, ready to proceed to the next chapter, I showed up at the front door of the Megowan estate… It was the beginning of just about the best year of my life up to the time I went into the Navy… It was a blast!
I must have knocked on the front door, and somebody must have answered because I ended up inside the house. Honestly, the first thing I remember is not getting to the house from the bus station, not being greeted, not walking into the house, not meeting everyone in the family – I don’t remember any of that stuff…
The first thing I remember is Mr. Megowan and I alone in the rec room with the door shut… He had a pipe in his mouth… I had teeth in mine… He looked me in the eye… I looked him in the eye… And Then it began… The inquisition…
“So tell me about yourself”…
“So tell me about yourself.”?
I wasn’t actually expecting that exact question, and I went into an immediate Brain Fart – and it was about a twelve on the Richter Scale… This wasn’t just a deer in the headlights moment. I don’t believe that the analogy has yet been developed to adequately describe whatever it was… I literally saw my life flashing before my eyes in an attempt to pick out something good to say…
So, with Kathy from the seventh grade in mind, all I could think of to blather was “Well, there’s not much to tell.”
Looking into Mr. Megowan’s face, I could easily see that this was not really the answer he was hoping for, so I continued the mental review of the events of my life in hopes of, quickly, coming across something that might be more acceptable a response…
Finally, after a mercifully short eternity, I clearly remember picking out what I thought would be appropriate facts about Bill.
I told him that I was the oldest of eleven living children.
I told him I was heavily influenced by my Irish Catholic grandmother.
I told him that my dad worked for Sears.
I told him that I played the guitar.
And, culminating my litany of self aggrandizement, I proudly proclaimed that I was way out of his daughter’s league…
Of all of the facts I had just put forth, this last one seemed to brighten his face up more than the rest…
I should interject here, that when I was in high school, I was the guy that all of the girls mothers wanted to have date their daughters. Why was that? It wasn’t because I was rich, or smart… Pathetically, it was because, when a parent got to know me, I was generally considered to be safe.
Yes, I was the safe choice for a boyfriend for your daughter… Some parents even had a nick-name for me. I was called… (Eesh – Do I really want to do this?)
They called me… They called me… This is difficult… They called me…(Deep breath)…
“Harmless”…
Yes… “Harmless.”
And, for better or for worse, it was true… I had never met a girl’s mother who couldn’t trust me.
Anyway, the point is that Mr. Megowan allowed me to stay. The deal was that I could stay until I found another place to live… That actually happened about a month or so down the road, but I’ll get to that later…
Just about immediately after my initial conversation with Mr. Megowan, I was made to feel right at home. It was almost as if Mr. Megowan had exited the rec room and loudly proclaimed to the entire family that “You can all relax! This guy is way out of Colleen’s league!”
I would be bunking in with Colleen’s younger brother, Patrick, and one of her older brothers, Blair.
Pat was just starting the seventh grade, and Blair was home from college for the summer…
Blair had an interesting summer job, actually. He was a courier for the blood bank (I think – or maybe the local hospital), and was on call just about 24 hours a day. If I remember right, a shipment of blood would arrive at the Greyhound Bus station, Blair would get paged, hop in the car, get to the bus station, pick up the package and deliver it to the hospital or other appropriate place.
The interesting part was that he often got paged in the middle of the night, and being roomies, when he got paged, I got paged. There were some sleepless nights until he went back to school…
Being the curious sort, I asked him if I could go along with him sometime just to see what a blood courier did… Who knows? It might be something I might be interested in pursuing some day when I went away to college (it could happen – I was already away at high school, and it didn’t seem like that much of a stretch to going away to college. As it turned out, it was a pretty long stretch…). And it wasn’t long until I got my chance to get a first hand look at the intricacies of moving blood from point A (the bus station) to point B (the hospital). (It would be a few years before I got to see the journey from point B to point C (the patient).)
I remember it like I was awake at the time…
…3:00 AM – the pager went off. Blair and I each sprang from our respective beds, put on our respective pants, etc. and headed out the door…
What we encountered when we walked out the door was exactly reminiscent of the phenomenon known as Tulle Fog (pronounced “tooly fog”). Tulle fog is an extremely dense, low lying layer of fog that inhabits the Central /San Joaquin/Sacramento valleys of California during the fall and winter seasons. I have driven through it from below Bakersfield almost all the way to the Oregon border. The stuff may rise only ten feet above the ground or go as high as a thousand feet, but the altitude isn’t what gets you…
For those of you who haven’t experienced tulle fog, imagine a thick coat of oatmeal spread out over your windshield as you drive down the road. Visibility can range from literally zero (0) to maybe six hundred (600) feet. Most often, I have experienced between ten and twenty feet…
Ventura doesn’t get much, if any, tulle fog, but they do get sea fog, being on the coast. For some reason, tulle fog is what the sea fog was pretending to be on this particular edition of three O’clock in the morning…
Blair drove slo-o-o-o-wly…
We eventually got to the bus station where he picked up the package and headed out to make the delivery at the hospital…
We quietly drove along the freeway, not seeing where we were going but doing a good enough job of getting there anyway. After awhile, we actually started a spirited conversation…
The topic of the newly invented and installed “lane bumps” came up immediately after we woke up…
It has become evident to me, by carefully analyzing the data gathered from the survey in my last post, that most of us have no idea how to rate a cow.
Including me.
So, once again, I went to the almighty “Google” and entered my query “how to rate a cow”. And, once again, I was presented with a plethora of sites related to the topic at hand… sort of…
As it turns out, there are about three trillion ways to rate the bovine species (approximately one method for each dollar of debt the U.S. is about to incur, if you include interest. But I digress…).
For example, One site – concentrates on the “Syneresis Rate of Cow’s, Ewe’s, and Goat’s Curd. Effect of Thermal Treatment and Ultrafiltration”.
Another focuses on the “Improvement of the rate of cow dung decomposition using rock wool for maintaining the fermentation heat.” (While this is not, strictly speaking, a rating of cows, it does contain the words “Rate” and “Cow”, so I decided to cut them some slack and give them honorable mention.)
And then there are the multiple Bovine dating sites that popped up – really:
* “RateMyCow.com – the greatest cow rating site in the developed world
Ratemycow is a dating site for cows and bulls to meet online and rate photographs of themselves. http://www.ratemycow.co.uk/ – 30k – Cached – Similar pages”
* Something told me not to click on this link, and so I didn’t.
Because of the numerous sites and rating criteria available to the cow connoisseur, I have decided to take it upon myself to narrow it down to two possible categories – namely, my two favorite parts of a cow – milk and steak.
However, for the sake of brevity, I will limit myself to the rating of cows milk, and leave the meat for a possible later discussion…
And so we launch…
Because I couldn’t actually find any sort of rating system for the grading of cows based upon the quality of milk they produce, I am forced to come up with my own highly scientific method of doing so… Here’s what I came up with…
Cows will be graded on a scale of 1 – 5 according to the quality of milk produced based on the following six categories:
Color of the milk
o White is best
o Green is not best
Temperature of milk
o Ice cold is best
o Luke warm is worst
Will the milk make you fat?
o No is best
o Yes is worst
This is a particularly difficult category because it is in direct conflict with nature, as is the next category…
How does the milk taste?
o If it tastes like it won’t make you fat, then it doesn’t taste as good as milk can taste, but it won’t make you as fat as fast as milk that tastes like it will make you fat but tastes great, will – This is best
o If it tastes like it will make you fat, then it probably will, and it will taste as good as milk can taste – Unfortunately, this is worst
This one goes hand in hand with the next category…
Consistency
o Rather thin, not quite like water – Best
o Somewhat creamy, though not thick – worst (Bummer)
How does the milk interact with Oreos
o Almost infinitely enhances the experience of eating Oreo Cookies – This is best
o Causes Oreo Cookies to immediately evaporate on contact – This is worst
Additionally, while the scale of 1 – 5 is the norm, occasionally a cow may produce milk of such high quality that it will merit a score above 5, though only temporarily. This score will be displayed on the cow in the form of a removable yellow tag, clipped to the ear, with the score written on it.
Likewise, a cow may produce milk of such poor quality that it rates a score of less than 1. If the cow is sufficiently bad, the score will be permanently branded upon her torso, in plain sight.
So there we have it… The six qualities of milk which, when mixed together and averaged out on a scale of 1 – 5, will give us the rating of the cow in question.
I have decided to call this the Professor William H. Kammerer, Jr. Cow Scale, in honor of my dad, William H. Kammerer Sr..
Time to look at a couple of cow examples (as photographed by my lovely wife, Judy, while on her way to work one day) and observe the practical application of the William H. Kammerer, Jr. Cow Scale (Kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?).
Cow Number 1:
This cow has a (temporary) rating of 74, and is an example of the rarest occurrence of her species – the nearly unheard of “Bovine Over Achiever”. At some point recently, she produced a quantity of milk of stratospherically high quality – a here-to-fore believed to be impossible combination of the six categories –
Color: Whiter than white
Temperature: 40 degrees “F” at the time of milking
Fattening? : No – In fact, the milk from this cow will cause you to loose weight by negating any empty calories consumed within three hours (before and after) of downing a glass
Taste: Like the most fattening milk available on the market today – Unbelievably good flavor
Consistency: Just below cream level
Oreo Factor: Three days after eating an Oreo Cookie with the milk from this cow, the afterglow persists
We LOVE this cow…
Cow Number 2:
This cow has achieved a rating of -3 (Minus 3). It produces Squid milk that tastes like rotting fish.
Color: The same color as a 1970’s era “just darker than Lime Green” Leisure Suit
Temperature: A balmy 83 degrees “F” after five days in a garage freezer
Fattening?: Is the ocean wet?
Taste: See above
Consistency: Steamy large curd cottage cheese at the time of milking
Oreo Factor: They couldn’t get an Oreo within five feet of this stuff – One cookie was actually heard to scream as it was brought into proximity of the milk from this cow, just before it disappeared in a puff of Oreo steam
Farmers hate this cow. It wouldn’t make a good hamburger…
BUT – there’s more… Even worse, this cow is part of an entire herd of particularly vile creatures, as caught on “film” by my wife… Observe, if you dare, the putrid gathering…
One can only imagine the deadly hazards of stepping in the wrong spot in this pasture…
** As a public service to those of you who have requested clarification on a couple of points made in this post, I am writing this short addendum.
Question 1: Why is the “over 5” rating temporary?
Answer 1: Good question. Here’s the logic behind that decision:
If a cow happens to rate above “5” at a given point, it could be because she was having an especially good day, week or month. She will eventually slip…
Of course, it could also mean that she really is that good. But over time she will age and slide backwards – and her rating will naturally reflect this “slideage” – it happens to all of us at some point…
When this happens, the quality of her work will (if she lives long enough) diminish to the point where it hits a rating of “1”. Any lower than this and she becomes an “eater” and is now worse than useless to the farmer – she is costing him money. This is where steak comes from.
Question 2: Why is a rating below “1”permanent?
Answer 2: Glad you asked. Here’s why:
It directly relates to the reasoning above – When a cow hits that lowly level, it’s usually because she is on the way down and nature takes it’s course. From here on out, the creature will only degrade further, so the animal will never again attain the lowest of the “acceptable” ratings, “1”.
Because the cow has only one function to the farmer, it really has no opportunity to learn a new trade and improve it’s lot in life by becoming, say, a race horse.
It will always be a bad cow, an “eater”.
Question 3: Well then, why not give it a lower rating?
Answer 3: This has to do with something called “Political Cowrectness”:
If you lower a cow’s rating to something below “-3” (-3 has been determined to be the breaking point), the cow will feel bad about itself and stop eating.
Question 4:So what? Just turn it into steak.
Answer 4: Unfortunately, cows this bad can no longer be used as food or clothing of any kind. Once a cow is somehow missed in the inspection process and degenerates to this level, she is routinely consigned to the “weed field” and becomes a “herbicide” – saves on chemical weed killers…
Response to “Cow Facts…” has been unexpectedly strong, and of high quantity. Therefore, I have decided two things
I will continue to publish my thoughts on cows, albeit with shorter entries (probably, though not for sure, inserted somewhere within the contents of my eternal Bio. I am even in the process of devising a “contest” of sorts, complete with FREE prizes (of sorts)… But I’ll get to that at a later time, after I have fleshed out all of the details).
In the interest of better serving you, my loyal reader, I have implemented a special survey designed to help me figure out exactly what I’m dealing with here…
Once I have determined our level of proficiency regarding the fascinating world of cows, I will better be able to fashion my writings in ways most unimaginable to you, and to the world in general… Armed with the basic information to be gleaned from my survey, I will take the lead as we, as a single cohesive unit – C.O.W.S., march forward into history.
…I intend to make this the premier cow information site available in the immediate universe.
But first, the survey…
To take the survey, click on the URL below…
Select the one that most applies to your experience/knowledge of cows ( surveys) By the way, Judy was on her way to work and spied a herd of cows… She stopped on the side of the road and actually took pictures… Upon close inspection of one of the photos, I discovered that she had found the answer to a mystery long ago forgotten…
Things With Six Strings 