Sunday, May 22, 2016


What to do for the 1,000th  blog posting, other than amazement  I’ve kept doing it, and a few people keep reading it? Instead of some epic rant, decided to do something for my late Dad.

When I returned from the Army, the dormant flying bug became full blown. With some bucks in the bank, decided it was now or never. Snagged a job with a meteorology company that had a contract to study snowfall patterns. Great  job. We worked when it was storming and were off when the weather was nice. My coworkers went skiing. I went flying.

My Dad always had the flying bug and used me as an excuse to start lessons. We went in on a 1939 Piper J-4, somewhere around 75 hp, operating off a 7,000 AGL runway. As my father was known to say, “You by God learned what flying was all about”. The J-4 is a forgiving airplane at reasonable altitudes but hasn’t much margin for error at the altitude we operated.

We put many hours on that bird. Later, after earning his Private ticket, Dad bought a Cessna 182. He had become involved in Real Estate and that airplane helped put together several ranch sales in the region. He always said the ranch deals payed for the plane.

My Dad was one hell of a stick but was careless. He didn’t appreciate his son pointing out his lapses. Since he had such a domineering personality, I was about the only person who would speak up. He intimidated flight instructors. While he never bent one, I know he scared himself a few times.

We had a strained relationship all the years. He and my mother divorced after 33 years. Family joke. My sister and I tell people we are the result of a mixed marriage. My Dad was cows, my Mom sheep. My sister adds their marriage was a range war.

Around age 60, my Dad started to reinvent himself, for lack of a better description. He started examining his beliefs and ways of dealing with things. I’ve always admired that. He died in his sleep when he was 64, probably from complications of undiagnosed sleep apnea.

Two things I regret about his death. First, my sons never got to know him as they grew up. He was terrific with kids, just not his own. Second, we were starting to patch up our differences and we probably would have had a much better relationship. It was hard as I inherited his temper and my mother’s stubbornness, not to mention she was often a bitch on steroids, and I am sometimes my mother’s son.

I do have to cut my parents some slack. They grew up in the Great Depression in a Grapes of Wrath environment. Their drive to succeed was undoubtedly fueled by what my parents described as, “The belly flapping principal”.

In summary, if you have made it this far, thank you for reading this.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Justice Served

You read of long drawn out court cases with criminals escaping justice for years. So I was pleased to read of this mope getting convicted 17 months after the deed.

This is lightning fast compared to many places in the country.

Sometimes it happens faster.

The dog was found and reunited with the owner. The perp was a known gang member.

A lot of crime flows through LaSalle, Evans, and Greeley on US 85. Since Weld County Deputy Brownlee was killed a few years ago trying to take into custody a mope instead of just shooting the asshole, the LEOs in the area don't take chances.

Several police involved shootings have demonstrated excellent marksmanship.

This one stick in my mind.

A Weld County officer calls my sister "Mom". We had breakfast with the couple that morning. The restaurant is next to the crime scene. A cleared firearm was still lying in the alley. Of course, the scene was enclosed with crime scene tape and an officer was guarding the crime scene.

Overall, the LEO community in this area is competent and professional. As always, there are a few badge heavy assholes who should be working merchant security instead of law enforcement.

One thing is certain. Show a firearm and they will shot you. More power to them.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Jowl Shaker

Car fire, Mile Marker 77 I-25 just South of Wheatland, WY. Cell phone photo - sorry for the quality.

Passed the scene around 0520. Dry road, daybreak, no wind. Skid marks indicated heavy breaking and a swerve to the right, across the breakdown lane and into the borrow pit. The car was on it's right side and totally engulfed in flame. Best guess? They were trying to avoid an animal. The other route driver and I have both hit a deer on that stretch of highway within two miles of this wreck.

My stop was at the hospital where I learned everyone got out and refused medical assistance. Good news.

People just won't condition themselves to take a hit instead of swerving and braking. Kind of like an airplane. If a crash is unavoidable, get the nose up and the wings level. You need to mentally prepare.

When I'm driving I do a lot of "what if".  What if that semi gets blown into my lane? What if that oncoming driver can't make the curve and takes his half out of the middle? You get the picture.

So WSF, you are the poster boy for safe driving? Hell no. I drive too fast most of the time, to the point even stalwarts like my sister ask me to slow down. I've had a drivers license for 57 years and I've been off the road a few times. Always, the shiny side has stayed upright. Never have bent one to the point I couldn't keep driving it.

The point here is to encourage all of you not to drive in condition "White". 

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Confidence in the Mainstream Media

What is wrong with this picture?

Adventures in Moving

Following Rev. Paul’s move to their new home sparked a few memories.

Growing up my family must have moved at least a dozen times if not more. When I was in the 7th grade my parents were able to buy a small ranch where they stayed for several years. My father often said the best way to move was with a 5 gallon can of gasoline and a book of matches.

1970's  found my bride and I living in a West Salt Lake City apartment. We bought a house in Granger and were in the process of moving when my father showed up. He was on his way to a fishing trip in Oregon but pitched in to help with the move. All the light stuff was already moved but the heavy furniture remained.

  “Where is your hand truck” my father asked?

   “Huh” was my reply.

Off we went to a rental yard and got a furniture hand truck. Damned if it didn’t make things easier and faster. Of course, there was the whole sotto voice remarks about raising a dumb kid, the picking up  the car and setting it on the jack, etc. Still the help was most appreciated.

When we relocated to Seattle, I bought a used International 18’ box truck for the move. We got everything in it except the dog house. That got lashed to the back. Spoiled the otherwise professional look I believe.

That truck paid for the move. A plumbing contractor bought it for twice what I paid for it and was happy to get the truck. I was happy to sell it, profit or not, because I used it to commute for three weeks. Fun, fun, fun on Seattle hills and narrow streets.

After each move I swear it is my last one. I will undoubtedly be saying it again.

The definitive bumper sticker.

   “Yes that is my truck. No I won’t help you move”

One hazard in writing a blog is being sidetracked. While looking for a photo came across this.

Two hours later returned to the search.

Seems fully restored El Caminos can bring as much as $100,000. Maybe less for this one.

Anybody interested in a project?

Probably should quit about now.

Friday, May 13, 2016

A World Without Borders

What follows is a personal political rant. You have been warned and may choose to move along.

Our current hack of a Secretary of State, the Viet Nam War hero turned Viet Nam War liar, gives a commencement speech where he states the ultimate goal is a world without borders. Pissed on the graves of every man and woman who died protecting our borders from foreign despots, he did.

Time after time Democrat Senators, and some Republicans, vote to cede portions of our national sovereignty to the United Nations. Sovereignty paid for by blood and sacrifice, and these smug elites just give it away.

For many years I was active in the Democrat Party. Yet, holding my nose, I’ve voted for the GOP Presidential candidate the last two times. Hell being a Blue Dog Democrat these days. Now I don’t even bother going to any Democrat functions and I seem to vote for the GOP candidates. I voted against Sen. Udall, and I will vote against Sen. Bennett. Damn me if I ever vote for someone giving away our sovereignty.

So, WSF, you are a Republican. Hell no. When I think of Republicans, I see Karl Rove, Grover Nordquist, and the rest of the “I’ve got mine, fuck you, and I will get yours too” crowd. Next up are the Evangelicals who care less about the Constitution than the Lightbringer (the S.C.F.O.A.M.F).

So where am I? Probably an old, burned out populist with anarchists tendencies.

I’m warming up to Donald Trump on the basis he can’t be worse than what we have. I’m firmly in the camp of anybody but Shillary.

My suggestion to Mr. Trump for his first hundred days is to take all of the social justice warriors in the military, and all the ones on the government payroll, form them into a task force and send them to Syria. There, they can teach the local population on social justice values.

Off subject entirely, something I saw on Facebook that made me laugh. This is for all the veterans.