Heat's Back On

Ever since the wood stove's fire bricks wore away, the oil stove has been our only source of home heat. That's especially bad because it requires both oil to burn and electricity to run the blower -- if we are without either, we're out of heat. We really need to do something about that.

So far, we've been pretty lucky, but today the oil stopped flowing. Sounding of the oil tank confirmed that it wasn't empty, but when Kathe disconnected the supply pipe only a little oil dribbled out, so we knew it was the culprit.

But what was blocking the pipe? Sediment? Ice? And how could we clear it?

I only had one idea, and it seemed pretty dubious to me. Still, it was all I had. I went out and bought a little bit of diesel fuel and requisitioned the big veterinary syringe that I'd used for years to wash out my ear canals. I loaded the syringe with fuel oil, jammed it into the supply pipe and flushed the pipe with oil, then drew back, just like washing out a nasogastric line.

I got a syringe full of dirty oil, plus a big glob of nasty black crud. I repeated the process with a couple of cups' worth of diesel, and the line began to run freely.

I lit the stove and Kathe congratulated me on a successful experiment. I remembered the time that she had finished a difficult repair and celebrated with a Tarzan yell, and said,

"Right now I am made of win like Charlie McCarthy is made of wood and Joan is Maid of Orleans!"

You don't get very many chances to say something like that.

Oh, one more thing: when Kathe gave that yell, she also called out, "Everything in this house that works, works because I made it work!"

You've got to share that title now, sweetie.

//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Memento mori."\\

New Keys

My Uncle Wesley is too sick to drive his Isuzu pickup, so waste not-want not, my aunt Anne is allowing me to borrow it indefinitely.

It did have one problem: the key was bent, and over months it got worse. I took it to a drug store and the clerk clamped the crooked key into their grinder, but the copy looked like the original the way that the FBI Unabomber sketch looks like Ted Kaczynski.
Finally the other day, I was riding around with Kathe while she delivered notices, and noticed that her current stop was a locksmith's shop, a real one and not just a grinder setup at a drug store.

So, I got a pair of keys made and took them home to try them out on the pickup. Only aftyer I got home did I notice that both the old key and the new ones were from Albany Lock & Key. Huh.

Not only did the new keys work, but they work better than the bent key at unlocking the doors and starting the motor.

Dang, I should have done that months ago. Among other things....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "At least that's one thiong taken care of. Don't stop now. And don't forget to thank Anne and Wes again."\\

Giving Stuff Away

Kathe and I live in a big old house with lots of space (although the lookout tower where I write these words remains imaginary), and we have filled entirely too much of that space with things for which we have no current use but which are just too nice to throw away.

Or could we throw some of this stuff away? Or find good homes for it with people who would appreciate how nifty it is? But how would we find such people....

And that was how things stood for us, even after we got hooked up to the Internet, until just recently. Then we discovere Free-Cycle, specifically the Albany-Corvallis chapter, located on Yahoo.

Yesterday we gave away big stacks of National Geographic. Today it was a classic Victorian-style baby carriage (which did in fact carry several known babies, most recently Waldy). The NGs are going to be circulated among home-schooling families (a very suitable fate for them), and the carriage will serve as a display space for a doll collection.

We are sitting around feeling virtuous, or at least like not such complete and utter fools as all that, for hanging onto those things for so long, and wonderfully relieved not to be responsible for them anymore.

Thanksgiving Message

I am thankful that Kathe and I are still together. People went out of my life this year, and for much of it I thought Kathe was going to be one of them. I am grateful to Kathe for offering me another chance.

I was in a great deal of pain over the past year, of which the hole the doctors cut in my head last Thanksgiving was only the most obvious, and far from being the most painful. Some of that pain I took out on Kathe in ways that now make me cringe with shame. Very little of what I put her through was deserved.

Mainly, though, I look back thankfully on the good times Kathe and I have had. There were a lot more good times than bad, after all. And I look forward to good times yet to come, and give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way

Con Report, Day Three

The soak turned out to be less "blessed" than it was "marginally adequate". The hotel had disabled the bathtub drains, and only had one stopper to offer to guests who actually wanted a bath (as we had specifically requested). The desk clerk managed to find us a coffee can lid which more or less held the water back, provided we didn't move around too much in the water. But hey, we managed.

The next day we passed up "A Mission to Mars" and "Women Role Models in Science Fiction" in favor of "Guilty Pleasures", thereby showing where our priorities lay. We also experienced "Magical Realism" and pondered "At What Point does Society Stop Being Civilized?"

We walked the halls, and I observed that goggles are the new propellor beanie.

We went into the dealers' room and as I looked casually over a table full of books, the dealer laid a book down as though especially for me to see. It proved to be A Houseboat on the River Styx by John Kendrick Bangs, a book I had been looking for for some time, and which is noted for being associated with a surprising number of synchronicities (for instance, Alan Moore named his character Promethea, whose stories are all involved in the interplay between reality and fiction, "Sophie Bangs" long before he'd heard of John Kendrick Bangs) and cultural curiosities (for instance, its cast of famous dead people included Sherlock Holmes, who at the time of the book's writing had been killed off and had not yet been resurrected).

Finding the Houseboat was good luck for me, and I hope that it will prove to be an omen of good fortune for both Kathe and me, also.

Since we weren't staying at the con hotel and were pretty tired also, we left in the middle of the afternoon rather than dead-dogging it. Maybe next year.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Regarding next year, ask again later."\\

Con Report, Day Two

We spent the night at a less than ideal motel (no bathtub to soak our respective sore bones, for one major thing), went further down Barbur to find a better one, then went down to the Marriott for more conventiongoing.

We attended workshops and panels on "Mermaids, Sirens and Other Attractive Nuisances"; "Portraying Workplaces in Science Fiction and Fantasy" and "Have Comics Shaped Our Society?" We went over to visit my cousin Jean and her husband Lukas, then back to the hotel for "What Would Happen if the Oil Stopped?"; "Magic or Technology: Why Must We Choose?" (where I was scolded for saying "magic realism" rather than "magical realism") and the "99 Cent Costume Workshop" (which was fun, but we declined to enter the costume competition in our outfits) and "Non-Eurpoean Mythology: an Untapped Resource".

We also attended the costume contest, voted for our favorites and then left without dancing, opting instead to go get food, go to our new hotel (the Aladdin), take a blessed soak and go to bed.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Remember that fortune cookie? It said you would profit by spending time with family."\\

Con Report, Day One

Kathe and I are attending OryCon 30 in Portland this weekend. We arrived late on Friday (before the opening ceremonies, which we skipped, but after a lot of the programming for the day).

Programming we did attend included "Absurd Robots and the People Who Want to Own One" and "A History of Planetary Probes".

We brought our new matching sweaters, and our even newer matching tights, which we were to wear on Day Two.

More to this post later.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Have a good weekend."

Time Change

Yesterday, my phone's alarm woke me at 0630, so I could get to my parents' place by 0800. But by the time I'd gotten there my phone was on Standard Time, and it said it was 0700.

I know the alarm was still on Daylight Savings Time on Monday morning, because then it was full dark as I made my way to the shower, and this morning it was light at 0630.

So apparently the phone's clock did automatically shift back to Standard Time, but not until sometime between 0630 and 0700, when the official time change was at 0200. Weird.

Galileo Confirmed

Tonight at 1905 PDT, Kathe and I were heading back to Corvallis from Albany on Highway 20 when we pulled over near the Hewlett-Packard campus, rested a pair of Fisher-Price binoculars on the roof of our van, and observed the distinct crescent shape of Venus.

We enjoyed it a lot.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."\\

Uncle C, Please Contact Me

Uncle C, please contact me at the e-mail address that is posted on that other blog.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says: "Everyone who isn't Uncle C, don't worry about it."\\

Good Samaritan's New Wing

The other month, when my father was in Good Sam, I noticed their new wing and meant to blog about it, but forgot about it until just today when I was up on the hill (as it happened, on another errand for my father). Possibly I will later move it to an earlier date, which will retroactively make this a retroactive post....

The new wing is still under construction, but the graffito I noticed on the top floor is no longer visible -- I think some new construction has covered it up.

But as I was saying, I admired the new wing under construction, reminded a bit of Major Matt Mason's Moon base playset, and thought that it must surely be attractive to urban explorers.

Then I noticed a graffito (I think it said "Rat" or something like that, which I took to be a personal tag), which had been placed in violation of the conventions of the urban explorer but consistent with the conventions of the smart-aleck.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You would know about smart-alecks, John."\\

Comment Moderation Enabled

Any future comments on this blog will be subject to my approval.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Up yours, NJ."\\

It Suits Today the Meek and Base

The other day I was watching a financial news report and saw a great big red flag (Chinese) flying in front of the New York Stock Exchange.

Probably not one person in ten who saw that image even noticed the irony.

A socialist of, say, 1908, if granted a millennial vision of the future, would have drawn all the wrong conclusions.

George Orwell, though, would have recognized the final scene of Animal Farm.

BTW, have any of you seen the British comic strip "Maggie's Farm", in which a human (well, zombie) manager is hired for the dilapidated Animal Farm? She remains puzzled by why production continues to fall, in spite of strictly observed taxidermist policies, although she is pleased by the reduced costs....

Anyway, it's a strange old world, isn't it?

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Yes, it is."\\

My Father is Not a Mennonite

He's just staying at their home.

He has a massive infection, caused by the indwelling catheter he was wearing due to complications of his spinal injury, and is now in the fourth week of a 6-8 week program of intravenous antibiotics, every four hours.

That requires him to live at the Mennonite Home until he is done with his every-four-hours infusions. The unfamiliar surroundings add to the confusion caused by his infection, which adds to the confusion caused by his stroke.

It helps if there is someone at his bedside to help re-orient him when he starts thinking that he needs to hurry to OSU to look after his Psychology students, or to the church to look after his Vacation Bible School kids, or to the airbase to report for duty.

Mom is doing most of that. I fill in for her in the evenings. It is wearing me out, and I hate to think what it is doing to Mom.

Just on top of everything else....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You do what you gotta."\\

Naughty Sarah

Sarah Palin is wearing Naughty Monkey shoes.

At least she forwent the Quickie, the Nookie and the Bonk Her in favor of the Double Dare, but even so, talk about raising issues of judgment....

Presumably Naughty Moose hip waders were not available in her size.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "John, I understand that you are under a lot of stress, but really...."\\

The End of the Story, Epilogue

Then again, maybe Kathe and I do have a future together after all.

We'll see.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Only time will tell."\\

Is There a Way?

I have always said, "There is a way", but what if there isn't?

Perhaps I have put myself in a position from which there is no honorable way to move, no way to avoid a choice that breaks the heart of at least one person I would rather die than hurt.

But to choose death myself would only cause still more pain than any choice I can make. So what then?

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I have no idea at all."\\

One Way or Another

I hadn't told my now-grown children about my relationship with R***** or about G****'s birth, not because I considered it a shameful matter but because I wanted to respect R*****'s privacy and because I thought explaining the matter might prove...complicated. Basically, I didn't want to get into it, and I didn't see any pressing reason to do it.

Now that Kathe and I are apparently parting ways, there is indeed a pressing reason.

The other day, one of my daughters called me from Texas and asked casually how we were doing. I felt I had little choice but to tell her all of it. I was sorry to dump it all on her that was, but there was, after all, a lot to tell, so I did.

I was encouraged by the fact that her first response to the information dump was to tell me that my first priority needed to be to be a good Daddy to Gideon. That is the response I would have wanted to hear from her, and I agree.

I also asked her to call her sister in Portland and ask her to call me. Instead, she called her sister and, without explaining why, urged her to visit Kathe, and she is in town now, and I'm very glad of that.

So, the girls know the story now, and the boys know most of it. Soon enough, everyone will know the whole story, and soon after they will all be sick of it, because while some of the story does not reflect well on me, I am not in the least ashamed of knowing R*****. Or G****.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Knowing what you should be ashamed of is half of a moral education."\\

UPDATE: At R*****'s request, I have deleted her name and our child's, since we will not be living together after all.

My Father is Very Sick

At Good Samaritan getting IV antibiotics for a resistant bladder infection, which turned into three antibiotics for a bladder and kidney infection, which is now, I think, three different and stronger antibiotics for an infection of his kidneys, heart and possibly other structures.

Dad has been plagued for months by a series of highly-resistant infections. They keep piling on new antibiotics, but meanwhile the bugs keep getting more resistant.

If you would like to do something in honor of the suffering of my father and others like him, please go right now and wash your hands.

I'm serious. Wash your hands now. Wash your hands several times a day, with soap and hot water, taking as long as it takes to sing one verse of your favorite song.

And not with antibacterial soap, either. Casual use of antibacterial substances is part of the problem.

Wash your hands, people. Wash surfaces that people touch frequently (like computer keyboards). Wash them, and wash them again when needed.

I am not being the least bit blasphemous or facetious when I implore you earnestly to for God's sake wash your hands.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "When was the last time you washed me, John?"\\

After the End of the Story

I have at last seen the e-mail headed "The End of the Story", and have also learned a couple of significant facts.

One is that the e-mail wasn't actually as bad as I had imagined. Quite reasonable under the circumstances, actually. Another is that Kathe did, in fact, send me a copy, and when she heard that I had complained of not getting it, she sent it again.

Finally, Kathe didn't actually send the e-mail to everyone on Earth, but only to those with whom she had excvhanged e-mails in the past. This last was a comfort to hear, because just before Kathe sent out the e-mail she asked me to provide her with a copy of my own Friends list on Hotmail.