Last week’s radio club meeting went well and garnered a couple more compliments in re information shared and time usage. I’m pleased. But the meeting also led to a couple of items for further discussion. Now I need to learn how to post the agenda so folks can request additions to it before the meeting.
Another trip north (been doing more of those than average lately) brought with it more observations.
Along the side of the road, past Grenada on the way to Yreka, there is an old, two-tone Ford automobile just sitting there being overgrown by grasses. It once belonged to an amateur radio person who spent a lot of time on the air with the truckers along I-5. His call was K6BOD and they all referred to him as “Bad Ole Dog” or as “Mister Ed”. He went silent key (that’s ham talk for “died”) back in 2003. He had been a lone radio operator behind German lines during WW II, but never talked about the experience.
He was active in amateur radio and was involved in getting a “truckers” repeater up and running. None of that is important to non-trucker hams (or non-hams in general), but I find it interesting that BOD’s vehicle still honors the side of the highway.
And just south of Gazelle, there is a place where the large front yard is (and has been for as long as I can remember) a plowed field.
Occasionally, a green something raise its head a bit, but then the area is plowed again. I have no idea what the owner is thinking. And this appears to be the second owner (at least the second since I’ve lived here) because about four years ago there was a For Sale sign at the road. So, if the land actually changed hands, why is the current owner following the previous owner’s habit? Maybe some day I’ll drive in and ask.
Last week, as we went past, I noticed spring trying its best. I wonder how long before the plow again does its thing.
Beginning monday, we’re having rain. Monday night we also had lightning and thunder and tuesday some snow. One or two of monday’s thunder claps were so close to overhead that dishes on the shelves rattled. And tuesday’s snow was as much rain as snow. So the view out the front door is much the same as last week.
Some years ago lightning struck a tree just down the road a piece. Left a jagged stub sticking up into the air. It was a dw years before the stub was felled and cut for firewood. Still, we are now aware that we are not immune to lightning strikes with all the TALL trees around here.
I have gone off on what appeared at first to be a genealogical wild chase … tracing the Coit family of San Francisco. I was answering a contact about the Hall family from a fellow researcher when it dawned on me that one of my paternal 2nd great-grandfathers’ middle name was Coit.
Back in the early days of this country, it was common to give a son the mother’s maiden name as a middle name. So Moses Coit Hall’s mother was most likely a Coit.
Since I have no given name for that 3rd great-grandmother, I am thinking I might luck out by tracing back from a known family to Maine in the mid-18th century. Since Grandfather Moses was born in 1790, his mother would have been born around 1770, give or take a few years,.
I don’t expect to find a direct relationship with the SF Coits, but I’m hoping to find a usable hint. Wish me luck.
Last week, due to a not-welcome event, I made eye-to-eye contact with a friend I hadn’t seen in much too long. We spent two hours just talking, sometimes both at once. Fortunately, it is one of those friendships which take up right where it left off.
The time was wonderfully refreshing. I am now determined to not let it lapse again. The problem is that she is nearly two decades younger than I am and so is still working which means her only free time is late evenings or weekends. Oh well … we’ll work out something.
Another example of the fact that every event has a silver lining.
During a discussion last week, I indicated disdain for someone because she was unable to deal with her birth name. I’ve been thinking about it since. I’ve come to the conclusion that names are changed for three reasons (maybe more, but I can deal with only three right now) … either the person is taking up residence in a new culture with different name norms … or they can’t accept who they are … or they have grow out of a name and need a new one to fit the new person.
I know people in each category.
The woman to whom I referred, with less than admiration, hasn’t changed much other than her name. She has aspirations but relies on the work of others (either given willingly or just assumed) to accomplish her goals. I’m not sure she is aware of this trait or, if she is aware, chooses to ignore it by labeling it unimportant because that’s just the way things are done.
At the same time, I know another woman who continues to grow and give, and for whom a name change is more than appropriate as an indication of the source of her growth.
Me? My name is the same as it has been for almost 62 years. Either I haven’t changed or the name was a good fit from the beginning.
The Roth book, “Divergent”, was a mixed read. The idea of a dystopian Chicago was interesting. I don’t know Chicago well, and George has been away from there so long he doesn’t know the city any longer, so the setting was like a foreign city.
What put me off was the sadism displayed by the “Dauntless”. I always have trouble with sadism. I think I’ve told you I’ve never seen the end of the movie “The Piano” because I left when it became apparent Ada’s husband was going to mutilate her hand(s).
As for “Divergent”, I read on, hoping it would be worth it.
One thought I couldn’t shake off was ‘How can a woman who starts her “Acknowledgements” with a thank you to God for Jesus write such scenes.’ Yes, it is there in the world. Does that make it worth perpetuating …
Oh well … my own aversions showing.
Maybe it was an instance of the end justifying the means. I’ll see how the author deals with this aspect in the rest of the trilogy.
I questioned, last week, whether roosters could differentiate between human males and females. I received the following from a friend in North Carolina …
“In your blog you were wondering whether chickens knew the difference between men and women. It brought back memories of the farm up in Canada when I was a about 17 or 18. We raised Rhode Island Reds and neither myself or my dad would go in the barn without a rake or shovel in our hand because Old Cocky would attack us.
He was a beautiful BIG guy but mean as hell at least to Dad and me. Our German Shepherd would not go anywhere near the barn as long as he was around and yet the rooster loved my mother . She could do anything she wanted with him, even pick him up and tease him. He loved her to the point that he would come a running as soon as she walked out of the house. He would follow her all over the yard.
I had a buddy come up from the city for a visit one time and he could not get over the fact I would wrestle an 800 pound cow with horns for fun but was scared of a 15 pound chicken.”
It would appear that maybe roosters can tell the difference. Thanks, Don.
But that doesn’t explain the rooster who put a spur in my lower leg a few years ago.
Oh well …
And speaking of birds …
there were three hummers at one of the feeders a few days ago.
We saw George’s medical provider last monday. He is in fairly good condition for his age, but I am still convinced he has Lyme’s Disease. Fortunately, his medical care provider (a Nurse Practitioner) listens to me. We will be starting him on a medication regime as soon as his prescription arrives from the VA, and will be seeing Denise again the 5th of June.
His white count is a bit lower than I’d like. In just a few weeks it went down from 8.something to 6.4. Normal spans 4 to 10. The drop concerns me a bit. We’ll see what the Lyme’s treatment does with that.
And that’s all for now.
‘Til next week …