Mama Cave Bear

Daddy's hobby 3

Good News!  WordPress and Mozilla have found an apparent fix to thier problems and we can post photo’s again without being shut down on the browser.  This has been a monumental hassle the past several weeks and it is good to know that it is over.  I have missed the graphic’s and hated the back n forth between this and Microsoft.


This year will be our first year of “Snow Birding” we will leave Oklahoma in the fall in our coach and we will return “just in time for the tornado’s” as my friends on the Westcoast are prone to put it.  That would be around April or May, or in other words, the following spring.  Either way, we are looking forward to the lifestyle change and eagerly await it’s appointed day sometime this fall.  Most everything that I have done so far this summer or spring, is geared towards that goal.  It will be something totally new for both of us, and we are ready to take the plunge.

Two people living within the parameters of a small space could be a problem, we are not sure if we will make it or not.  Might end up killing each other in some rest area over the issue of burnt toast or something.  You ever stop to think about how different men and women are?  Well, they are.

Women and men just think differently, a woman will limp into the room and the man will say, “What’s a matter with your foot Marge?” and the woman will reply, “I hit my big toe on a chair when I was crossing the livingroom.”

Now a man, he will come limping in and when asked the very same question will reply, “Some idiot left a chair in the livingroom!”

Women …They’re sitting there during Ugly Betty or Dancin’ With The Stars and they are simpering, wiping tears from the corner of their eye.  The hubby is sitting right alongside his woman, and he is thinking, “might as well run two more strands of wire back there at the same time, a red & black, #14, just in case I got to hook something else up later on.”

Then there is reality.

A voice yells out “C’mon get in here, three minutes to American Idol” and the guy is thinking “shoot me, shoot me, take me out in a field like an old dog and put one between my ears.”  She often has scared me in the past, she said “she always wanted a big Prevo with LOTS OF STAINLESS STEEL” which we all know, takes a mountain of elbow grease just to keep up.  Having observed her services or help at maintenance on a Koi Pond one long hot summer, I thank God for my dull, clean, low-maint Eagle 10-S.

She can never understand why it takes so long to get from point A to point B, will offer up the Atlas and say, “Look it is only this far on the map” pointing to three or four inches.  But then again, the male by the same standard is most likely the only person on the face of the planet that can relate to “one inch equals a mile” and actually get away with it.

So the saga continues …Testosterone is what I am after.

Ice Road Truckers, American Loggers, NASCAR I want to implode something in Minneapolis or some other place back east.  I don’t want to listen to Paula Deen explain how she found this old dead armadillo on the highway, and soaked it in a secret sauce for the last nine hours, and when we’re done girls “it will taste just like chicken!”  When was the last time you heard anyone male or female for that matter say something like:  “I just love the rich hearty beefy flavor.”  Give me a break.

Face it, we is different.

Take buses for instance, men form a close personal relationship with their coach, they fawn over it, they brush it, they stroke it, feed it, maintain it, they have the most fun you can have in this world with your clothes on, and their respective mates, they hardly even notice.  Men take a great deal of pride in their accomplishments, like a barnyard cock, they strut around the bus, they notice ever ding, every dent, pulling a rag from in their pocket, they knock off the unwanted.

For the most part, I am the same way, the very same way.

Now I refer to it as my hobby, “Daddy’s Hobby,” but others have called it an obsession.  I certainly do not qualify to assume the rank of Certified Bus Nut or Qualified Bus Lover, but there are people whom I come in contact with here lately, that are clearly over the edge.  Stainless Steel Fever has hit with a vengeance on some of these folks, they are carrying a new strain of The Ebola She Don’t Wanna Turn Ovah Virus of which I am sure there is no known cure.

Here is the problem, another bus lover comes over, he admires my coach, we start to bond, and things go swimmingly well.  With all good experiences in life, there is give and there is taking, relationships form, things previously not known are now known.  It is called The Rumsfield Principle I believe, “we have known knowns and we have unknown knowns, and there are the unknown knowns that are still not known at this time.” And as long as all this stays on the exterior of the coach or in the storage bays located along each side, all is well, but the minute I open the door and offer a “stranger” as she refers to them access to HER coach, I am in hot water.

Like a Mama Bear protective of her new cubs, I am put on warning.

I had an old man at Camping World who just insisted on seeing the inside of yore rigg as he put it, so I opened up the door.  There she sat at the table, playing a game of solitaire a game she devotes hours too, and I told the old man, “Step up there pard, and check it out.”   Then I got the look, you know what I am talking about here, “the” look. (Sort of like being THE only male standing in Victoria’s Secret store on Wednesday …. What is HE doing in HERE kind of look)

Later on, afterwards, the look will be replaced with the finger, which she deftly points at me, and when the discussion is particularly heated, the finger starts moving slowly at first, from side to side, the finger will emphasize by moving rapidly from side to side in order to clarify.  Often this is followed by lift off!  (providing all launch code provisions have been met and adhered to)

I just hate that when it happens.

Ceste Le Vive which is French for “that is life,” south of the border it translates La Vita Loca, “this crazy life.”  Thus ends today’s tale of woe, it is often, “not easy to be me.’  A tough grueling act, balancing several balls in the air at a given time working on a need to know basis.  A tough job but what the hey …. Someone has to do it.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to find a spot at the back of the lot and see if I can pull up some local channels and Ophra this afternoon.  She is supposed to have this six foot four-inch Georgia Lumberjack weighing in at 245lbs., his main complaint seems to be he cannot figure out a way to keep his 98 lb., four foot seven inch wife from beating him up.

I don’t want to miss that, no sir, I want to see this one for sure.  Might even be some good ol’ down south finger wiggling in there too.


Totally Blank and Recent

I sure wish and Mozilla would fix their respective issues, this has been going on for two long, this shut down crap.  For a period of several weeks, whenever I try to load a picture into this mother, I get in return for my efforts, a system crash.  Fun is fun, but I am tiring of it boys, why don’t you fix it?  



Okay, time to cover some ground and voice our concerns over the critical and impotent issues of the day.  Our understated purpose and vision statement for the 21st Century.  I understand from a fairly non reliable source that the world is going to end on Dec 21, 2012. Which would be my 40th anniversary of working on the railroad if I were still working.

Another end of the world scenario.  Thinking back, it was the fifth grade the first time I heard that the world was going to end, there was a rumor running around school that specifically addressed this issue.  I also remember being very upset, but then again, I was awfully young in those days, just out of puberty and rushing headlong into what my Dad affectionately referred to as “my dumb-ass years.”

Ironically, it turns out that he and the Navy recruitment officer were right.

The second time I heard about the world ending was in the seventies when Oral Roberts locked himself inside a 900 foot tower in Tulsa, Oklahoma and professed that the end was near.  I faintly remember a vision of a 900 ft. German Sheppard telling him this or something like that, however, try as he may, it did not happen.  Some cult over in Arkansas did the same thing, not long ago, of course it did not happen either.

But if you have ever been to Arkansas you would understand that last statement immediately.

So time is once again running out for all the hopeless souls that inhabit this planet, 2012 and then a super asteroid will hit the outer atmosphere and poof, most of us will be pop tarts.  Or it might be a collision on a super sized scale with some celestial body named by some dweeb at NASA, something like planet X or maybe even “Y.”

One source of amusement will be numerous websites will pick up on this of course, and all the airheads of the Internet will begin predicting adding to the fascination of the event and I suppose to a certain extent chaos.  These are the gasbags that currently espouse this theory based loosely on the Mayan Calendar which in itself (to a somewhat normal person in a mediocre good frame of mind) is kind of ludicrous.

We are supposed to bet our future, the future of mankind on a primitive calendar that they insist ends on that fateful day?

I am somewhat convinced that all of these “so called superior cultures” were a bunch of dope smoking, jungle loving cretins’.  I mean who builds runways for aliens in the middle of nowhere (that can only be seen from space), I rest my case.  Now why would anyone believe that a primitive Mayan Long Count Calendar would portend the end of civilization as we know it?

Let us call it what it is, foolish.

If they had all these mystical powers, if they were capable of seeing into the future, then why were they catastrophically wiped out (by unknown forces) and almost immediately if not sooner, vanished from the earth, it seems to me this all could have been avoided.

Mayan Calendar:  May, 2nd, 1211, end of the world, make preparations for evacuations.  Jungle guava-mano comes into season.  Yearly payment to the shaman is due on the 10th.

Now I do recognize that there remains a certain percentage of you who do believe this is going to happen, and are dead certain, that I am (as usual) “full of it.”  Which could be a sprinkle of truth there, I am not sure.  But for all those skeptics out there, remember this …. “Y2K” …. Another non-occurring event highly publicized that did not happen.

Basically what I think about the most whenever this subject comes up is this one little thing.  “Something wonderful begins to happen when we are able to recognize and acknowledge our thoughts, even as they happen.  When a thought surfaces, rather than resist it, simply acknowledge it and let it go.”

In other words “DWABI” which is slang, pronounced “Doo-Wab-ee” and simply means:  Don’t Worry About It.”  Our problem as I see it is simple …. We seem to be smiling less these days, and worrying more.

Not a good thing, no sir, not a good thing at all.

The end of the world (again) yawn, aint gonna happen.  Like I told the little woman just the other day when she brought it up I said, “Don’t worry about it Honey, we owe far too much money for the world to end  any time soon. Everything is just fine, I hear it is all going to stay in place, and the Atlantic Coast is to remain also.” That seemed to qualm her fears and anxieties (a double shot of rum in her Pina Coloda seemed to work too).

For the remainder of you, who don’t buy into it like me, I will see you on Dec 21, 2012.



<!–[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]–><!–[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]–> <!–[endif]–><!–[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]–><!–[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]–>